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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1519/30375/BGambleATGambleATv1.2.pdf
2657924e2f12afbc9e2eaea6afe49c54
Dublin Core
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Title
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620 Squadron
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-23
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
620 Squadron
Description
An account of the resource
Twenty-three items. The collection concerns 620 Squadron and contains photographic slides or aircraft and places, an autobiography of Alan T Gamble, wireless operator training school documents, a memoir of operations on D-Day by Noel Chaffey and a short biography of him as well as noted of crews lost on 620 Squadron during Arnhem operation.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Darren Sladden and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE [/underlined]
By
ALAN T. GAMBLE
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART ONE [/underlined]
[underlined] “BY THE SEAT OF HIS PANTS” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART TWO [/underlined]
[underlined] “NO PROBLEM SPORT” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[page break]
TO THE MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[line of O’s]
[page break]
THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
OLD….BOLD PILOTS
Anon.
[page break]
[underlined] FORWARD [/underlined]
Like most impressionable youngsters I had ambitions; notwithstanding the fact that ambition is one thing and the chance of achieving it is something quite different.
In those early days I was not aware that there were so many factors involved. The only one that seemed obvious to me then was opportunity, or the lack of it, but on reflection it is obvious that both ability and motivation were most certainly lacking.
With the most important ingredients that one needed to guide one's path in life missing. I was stuck in a rut which seemed to be the normal lot of an average child from an average working family, although there may well have been a spark of a Walter Mitty trying to get out.
I had developed an interest in all things mechanical from bicycles to motor bikes then cars and aeroplanes. As far as aeroplanes were concerned I could not get enough of them. I read everything I could lay my hands on. I made models. I went to air shows to be thrilled by Alan Cobhams Flying Circus at Shoreham and to Tangmere for Air Days. On one occasion my hand built bicycle took me as far as Hendon for the Air Pageant and more thrills.
I once watched one of the giant German airships, the Hindenburg, cruise in from the Channel between Worthing and Lancing on it's way to Cardington, never suspecting that in a few years time there would be more lethal visitors following the same path.
Those early days were full of the exploits of aviators. Scott and Black and the original Comet. Amy Johnstone and Jim Mollison. The Schneider Trophy attempts and new records being made all the time by intrepid aviators on transatlantic and round the world flights from places like Hendon and other mysterious outposts of civilisation such as Mildenhall!.
For me to ever come into close contact with aeroplanes looked like remaining a schoolboy dream forever.
My schooling was not spectacular. I reached no academic heights. I could not even qualify for High School. I don't think I ever
[page break]
had a school leaving certificate but if there was one perhaps the kindest comment that could ever have been made on it would have been "goodbye"!.
On leaving school I had taken up an apprenticeship as a cabinet maker/polisher and the years passed by as the world lurched from one crisis to another until the prospect of another war loomed on the horizon.
Eventually the day came when ultimatums were given and promises were broken which resulted in the Prime Minister broadcasting the declaration of war against the German Nazi State over the radio on 3rd September 1939.
I had already made tentative enquiries about joining the RAF which attracted me like a magnet. Perhaps that is when I should have joined but I didn't; and the story that unfolds is the result.
[line of stars]
[page break]
It is difficult to describe one's feelings at the time of a declaration of full scale war in the knowledge that is was likely to be a very messy business.
For myself I could only recall all the stories that my father and my uncles had related of all the horrors that they had experienced or that they knew of and it was only 21 years since the last terrible conflict had ended with all of the human debris and suffering still evident in everyday life.
Even the Sunday walks along the prom. at Worthing were not without their reminders, with the war wounded from a nearby base being taken out in their basket chairs. They were the blinded and the limbless and those with such disfiguring injuries that they had so be covered with netting to avoid upsetting the kids or the sensibilities of some people whose war had only meant a few shortages and would rather that such unfortunates were kept out of sight.
There seemed hardly a family that had not lost a loved one, some having disappeared from the face of the earth with no resting place, and it looked as if we were going to have to go through it all again.
I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I made my way to the front garden gate with my friends after we had heard the broadcast by the Prime Minister; “....we are at war with Germany .....”. We were very quiet for a while as we contemplated what it was going to mean to us all and were each busy with our own thoughts when the wailing of the air raid siren jolted us back to reality.
As is turned out it was a false alarm but it certainly go things moving. Almost before the siren whined down an Air Raid Warden dashed by on his bike frantically ringing his hand bell and shouting to us to take cover which made very little impression on us except to shout back and tell him what to do with his bell. After that initial jolt the conversation turned to what we were going to do about it as there was little doubt to our minds, at our age, we were bound to be involved and would be likely to join a lot of our other friends who had already joined the services.
[page break]
I had made up my mind that it was going to be the Air Force for me but it was a long time before it was possible to get anything near what I wanted.
Every time I went to the recruiting office I found that their priorities did not coincide with mine and in the end I left it in the lap of the Gods.
Shortly before my 20th birthday I was called up!.
A great deal had already happened. Norway and Denmark had been lost to German domination and most of the continent of Europe was under the NAZI jackboot.
We had suffered serious setbacks all over the world and our resources were stretched to the limit. We had fought the Battle of Britian [sic] and only won it by the skin of our teeth. The threat of invasion of our shores still hung over us, which I and a good many others, as civilians, had been prepared to defend in the uniform of the LDV. (Local Defence Volunteers), later to be renamed 'The Home Guard' or more affectionately known later as 'Dads Army'.
I still wanted to change my kharki [sic] uniform for a blue one so when the time came it was 'in for a penny-in for a pound', I volunteered for aircrew; and much to my surprise, was accepted. There were still hurdles to be overcome like the medical examination and that was a tough one but when it case to deciding the aircrew category that I wanted the selection board and I had a little problem.
With so many young men joining, mostly with ambitions to become a pilot like myself, there was little chance for me with my educational qualifications; or lack of them!
They said No to pilot, No to Navigator, and No to Flight Engineer, which was actually my second choice, but they finally agreed that I might make the grade as a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner. That was good enough for me, especially as there were a lot of other things that I did not want to be!.
That was it, and I still had a chance of getting into the air but it took a long time. Nearly two years; and not without a few ups and downs along the way and a lot of hard work to make up for my mis-spent youth.
[page break]
With a great deal of excitement I followed the instructions that I had been given and found my way to Cardington in February 1941 for 'induction', which seemed to me to be a new word for a monstrous machine that devoured humans but had none of the glamour that I had expected of the place that I had previously known from news reels and books. The home of the airship.
Anyone that went through that routine will recall that as soon as the gates were behind you and you got a number that is all you were.
Most areas were out of bounds and we were confined to camp. No longer was our life our own so I suppose it is not surprising that I only saw the airship sheds close up on one occasion whilst I was there.
I saw more of a highly polished floor under my nose, and of the plumbing of the latrines, and the mess kitchens on fatigue detail and of uniform beds and uniform lockers and contents until I was utterly sick of the sight and smell of boot polish, floor polish, metal polish, stained porcelain and disinfectant and stacks of greasy tins.
It did not take long to learn that everything was best done by numbers if I was going to survive without getting into too much trouble.
There was the one time that I made the mistake of allowing myself some original thought when I forget that airman were not supposed to think and that the order of the day was still "yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and die". The very backbone of blind discipline, in that terrible place.
One wet day the hut sprung a leak allowing a steady drip of water to splash onto our brightly polished stove in it's immaculately whitened surround next to a highly burnished coal bin which contained a load of rubbish under a carefully placed top layer of dusted and polished coal.
I would go as far as to suggest that the coal was kept just for inspection time and was otherwise locked away, whilst we did our best to burn the rubbish and the dust. With very little success of course.
The net result was that the leak was threatening to destroy all of our hard work just before an inspection by an officer was due.
[page break]
It seemed that the easiest thing to do was just to place a fire bucket on the stove until the last moment but the Sergeant in charge had different ideas when he came in for his final look around.
I was left speechless after a good dressing down for mis-use of fire fighting equipment when the offending bucket had been removed from the hot stove and the guilty person identified.
He roared; as only Sergeants can, "you, can't put out a fire with 'ot water you stupid airman: what are you?". By that time I had also learned in a very short space of time that the safest thing to do was agree with anyone with stripes on his arm, and admit sheepishly,to the accusation.
After that it was just a case of keeping the head down and only doing what I was told to do in that soul destroying place and hope that my turn would come later.
Most of my off duty time; and there was not such of that, was spent resting or sleeping. I was too damn tired to do such else after being on the go for about 14 hours a day.
It was obviously more than some people could take and it was not unusual at night to hear a little weeping going on in the darkness by someone who was finding it particularly hard going. Our civilian clothes and most of our personal posessions [sic] were sent home in a cardboard box at the RAF's expense and then we belonged to the Air Force body and soul. After that it was just a matter of settling down and running around like headless chickens.
We learned all the basic things that were expected of us. Who and who not to salute and how. Great chunks of Air Force Law and the Air Force Act were thrust down our throats, including the riot act; to leave us in no doubt what-so-ever as to the very meaning of the word 'discipline' as applied to the forces of the Crown.
It was definitely "yours is not to reason why" etc,...and after three weeks of agony, having been confined to camp all of that time, we were considered fit to go out in public with our bright new uniforms and partially shaven heads.
[line of stars]
[page break]
Going out in public did not mean that we were free. We went in a large party by train, more or less under escort of several NCO's and were delivered to a unit at Skegness for more 'square bashing'.
After being herded and marched about we eventually finished up being allocated billets in what had previously been holiday boarding houses, but there was a difference. Air Force beds and the three 'biscuit' sections of mattress had taken the place of the more comfortable Slumberlands that pre-war paying guests had enjoyed, and as many as possible had been packed into each room.
We were rounded up every morning and marched about and drilled first without rifles and than with, and drilled some more, and then some more until at times I wondered if my feet still belonged to me. They finished up a mass of blisters on top of blisters until a visit to the MO determined that synthetic soled boots did not agree with me and the inflamation [sic] subsided after changing to leather. How glad I was that I had not gone into the Army. I wondered if they would have been as sympathetic?.
At last we were moulded by our drill instructors into regimented lumps of humanity and with the passing out parade in sight there was considerable competition to be the best flight on parade.
Well; among the instructors anyway.
My efforts made sure that we were not!.
It was still common practice in those days to wear such things as sock suspenders as socks were not made to stay up on their own any more than trousers were, so it was not unusual for me to be wearing them.
Unfortunately one of mine came adrift on the march as we pounded our way towards the saluting base with rifles and fixed bayonets. It was causing a bit of a problem as the chap behind me kept crashing his No.9's down on the trailing bit and although it was a bit of a lurching job as it twanged it's way back I am sure we could have got away with it.
Nevertheless, a young officer on the flank worked his way across and came alongside me as I was in the outside file, and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "step out of line and fix that quickly", so I did.
I stepped smartly out of line by half a pace and bent down to
[page break]
rip off the offending article but half a pace was not enough. Four others tumbled over the top of me in a tangle of arms legs and rifles.
We managed to recover sufficiently, minus a sock suspender, to get back in line before we marched past the saluting base but it goes without saying that there were some very red faces. I was of course carpeted by the flight commander and threatened with all sorts of punishments and it was the first time that I had been on a charge of any sort. I'm not sure what the charge was though but I was beginning to get the hang of things by that time. I do remember that with tongue in cheek I stated in my defence that I had only done what I had been told to do like a good airman and the fact that it went wrong was hardly my fault……there were a lot more red faces and a great deal of spluttering. The case was dismissed and I was told that I should go a long way in the Air Force. The further the better…..like TIMBUKTOO!.
As far as postings were concerned I kept my fingers crossed for a few days and was agreeably suprised [sic] to find that I was going to Mildenhall in Suffolk, instead of some isolated outpost, to continue the process of turning me into aircrew.
Sometimes I have thought that Mildenhall might have been better off without me!.
[line of stars]
[page break]
At Mildenhall my 'on the job training' started off in 'A flight office of 149 Squadron and there I started, to familiarise myself with the workings of a flying unit and aeroplanes.
I sort of bumbled along quite happily as the work of the unit grew on me.
It was one big thrill to be soaking up the atmosphere of this very famous RAF station that had been the scene of numerous departures of record breaking flights before the war and had at one time even been inspected by representatives of the German Air Force High Command.
Currently it was flying almost nightly operations against targets in Germany and German occupied territory, particularly ports and invasion barge concentrations.
I was moved out to the flights after a certain incident which was the result of been asked for assistance by the flight commander. It seemed that he had mis-laid his safe key and as he was 'ops' that night "could I help by getting his pistol out of the safe”?.
It was yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. That request was as good as an order from such an exalted person and it certainly never occurred to me to refer the matter to the Flight Sergeant in charge.
Many years later I was to find out the correct procedure to achieve access to a safe when the key had been mislaid, but then; if the officer did not seem to know what to do why should a 'bloggs' with only a few months in the service be any better informed!.
'Sir' was quite happy to find his pistol, all oiled and cleaned, with ammunition, laying on his desk when be returned from briefing and with many other things on his mind he did not have time to ask questions.
It was two days later when the subject came up again as he still could not get into his safe so I was obliged to show him how. All I had to do was pull it away from the wall diclosing [sic] the hole in the back created by a circle of holes done with the aid of a Wolf electric drill. He seemed very upset and reckoned with a bit of luck that he would become a casualty before anyone found out. I must confess that…………………
[page break]
in my ignorance I could not understand his concern.
People and aircraft were being lost and damaged right left and centre but 'slight' damage to a safe seemed to be a much more serious problem.
I am not too sure of it but I do believe, that he was the great P.C.Pickard and that somehow he overcome the case of his damaged safe.
As for me, I was dispatched to the flight line and actually let loose with a tractor and refuellers. I don’t remember anyone asking me if I could drive but as it happened the only thing that I had been behind the wheel of before had been a Bren gun carrier,(in the Home Guard-days), when training with local regular units; but no-one seemed unduly concerned and I was soon charging about happily with petrol and oil refuellers as well as towing aircraft about.
It did not take long for the administration to find out that I did not hold a driving licence for my various sorties onto the public highway when I thought it was about time I tried to qualify for a full service licence. Not only was no-one interested but I found myself restricted to camp boundries [sic] only. No harm in trying anyway!.
In due course I found myself having to undertake a different sort of training.
Everyone was required to do a short local course of field training to ensure that they were proficient in the use of certain basic weapons, and as a relatively new arrival I was detailed to report.
I had handled enough weaponry in the Home Guard to know my way around most of what the RAF could produce and I had been awarded a marksmans proficiency in basic training apart from handling all sorts of non-standard stuff.
We had been issued with Canadian Ross .300 rifles of 1916 vintage that had never seen the light of day since they had been manufactured. They had hastily been taken out of storage as the result of an appeal made by Churchill for assistance after Dunkirk,and had been shipped to us urgently with millions of rounds of ammunition in a special convoy. Along the other items were more hand grenades, some Browning automatic .303 rifles and perhaps the most potent of all; the Boys .5ins anti-tank
[page break]
rifle which looked like a king sized rifle which fired armour piercing shot.
This latter item was looked at very suspiciously by the 1914/1918 veterans who were 90% of our ranks and when it had arrived and been degreased along with everything else there had been a lot of dicussion [sic] as to who was going to do the test firing of the thing. The net result was that they; and that included my father, encouraged me to do it, so off we trooped to the range up in the Downs to try and prove something.
Having given the Brownings a satifactory [sic] work-out the time case for the Big-one!
Despite the fact that it was on a bipod and it's heavily padded butt was pulled tightly into my shoulder, and I was in the classical prone position; when it went off I thought the heavens had fallen in. I was forced back several inches but despite the painful process the shot went where it was intended and everyone was satisfied. I promtly [sic] became No.1. on the gun.
The idea was to have a crew of four but it was questionable whether I would have the rest of the crew with me to spot and load when we were confronted by an enemy vehicle, despite the fact that in those desperate days we were expected to stand and fight to the last.
What we lacked in experience then we made up for by our determination to defend our homeland. The order of the day when things were at their worst was 'take one with you' which spelled out some very nasty goings on both for our unit and any Germans that got further than the units manning the beach defences.
Among the assortment of weapons were the 'Molotov Cocktails';bottles of mixed petrol, oil, and parafin [sic] to back up the lavish use of hand grenades.
Part of our defensive plan was to throw then all out of the upper windows to saturate the road junctions with splinters and flame; so my attitude towards that course was one of mild amusement. And a certain amount of smuggness [sic] .
[page break]
It therefore presented no problem when, at a certain part of the course we were in the weapons pit and the Flight Sergeant was calling us in one at a time and going through the procedure of throwing a hand grenade. After a series of bangs I was next in line, so it was "next one, step forward" etc and it was my turn to turn the corner into the active part of the pit.
I think that the Flight Sergeant had probably had one or two nasty experiences with the highly sensitive and nervous types as he seemed very tense when I arrived on the scene.
We had all done a dry run in practice so the rest was done in time honoured fashion as I was handed the grenade.
It was "by numbers-one, pull the grenade off of the safety pin, holding down the lever" ...."Two, throw the grenade overarm...and get down". The lever would fly off as it was thrown and then it would go off in either four or seven seconds from the time of throwing according to the fuse that had been inserted, and I doubt if many people hung about after the pin was out.
In the Home Guard we had practiced a short count after releasing the lever so that an air burst would result but what we were doing was not quite as sophisticated so I thought I would show off a bit. After pulling the pin and holding down the lever I enquired of the F/Sgt "now?".
He went a strange puce colour and kept shouting "now, now, now" as I continued to hold down the lever in the throwing position. Then he changed his cry to "everyone out" which was followed by a mad scramble as the trench was cleared in record time.
I contemplated putting the pin back in and handing it back to him but figured that was pushing my luck so I lobbed it down range where it went off with a satisfying bang.
I soon found myself facing a very irate 'chiefy' who suprisingly [sic] enough just sent me back to my place of work instead of escorting me to the Guard Room on a charge of some sort. But not without my ears burning.
He hurled several unkind remarks after me as I departed about "clever s...." and expressed the hope that the nest time I tried anything like that I would blow my f…… head off!!. Charming!.
[page break]
I soon found that there were plenty of other explosive articles about the place that one had to be very suspicious of in the absence of adequate instruction.
On my introduction to the innards of a Wellington I was told that the 'magic box' with a loose red cover on it in the navigators compartment had a demolition charge inside it and could make a nasty mess of things if interfered with. The same applied to the red cover over the firing switch on the table.
Other nasty devices were the explosive cable cutters set in the leading edges of the wings. It was good bye fingers if they were accidentally triggered and a short 12 bore type cartridge fired a chisel head into a plate.
A job that I did not particularly care for was towing a fully fuelled and armed Wellington about when repositioning was necessary.
It was a very rare job which I did very gently in case anything fell off despite being assured by many people that it was perfectly safe. After all; it was argued, the pilots had to taxy then around and fly them in that condition.
So they might have done but that did not make me feel any happier about the task.
Too many things just seemed to be taken for granted such as the incident out near 'A' Flight dispersals, no more than 100 yards from the 'Bird in Hand' and less than that from a fuel dump.
I came across an armourer sitting astride one of the new 4000lb. 'cookie' bombs on a bomb trolley. He was carefully chipping away a groove around it's middle with a hammer and a cold chisel as they had a tendency to slip out of the bomb hoist sling when arming up!.
The expression on my face must have been one of absolute horror if it reflected what was in my heart but once again I was assured that it was perfectly safe. Nevertheless, I took off at a high rate of knots to the other side of the airfield until he had finished.
I was to learn later that activities such as that really were quite safe. It was just a question of learning about what made things tick but I always remained a little suspicious ever since the occasion when a Cpl fitter had climbed into a Wellington
[page break]
undercarriage wheel wall to investigate the malfunction of an indicator micro switch. I had been shown such things when the safety locks had been in but on this occasion he had said "perfectly safe"…….but it wasn't. The undercarriage collapsed and he was crushed into a very small space and that, unfortunately was the end of his waiting for a pilots course to come through. It was a very unpleasant and messy business for everyone involved.
I generally tried to steer clear of trouble but it was not easy. I once got a loaded petrol bowser stuck in the sand on the way out to 'B' Flight. The Flight Sergeant was called to sort everything out, and me!.
Everyone stood around making various suggestions and I foolishly put in my pennyworth but got told to "belt up” for my suggestion so I just stood back and watched the fun. But I had a feeling that attaching a tow [underlined] above [/underlined] the tractor axle was not a good idea. There were lots of strong words when the tractor and the F/Sgt finished up on their backs but it eventually came out, I finished refuelling. and the aircraft went on ops. despite my efforts.
I still remained on towing and refuelling, even after I was left to refuel a Wellington on my own but I did not secure the filler caps correctly; mainly because as far as I can recall no-one had ever shown us how they should have been done.
It was a very alarmed pilot who landed immediately after take-off with petrol pouring from his wings, and the aircraft was unserviceable for some time whilst drying out. Even then I only had a dressing down and some belated instruction but perhaps the final effort was when I tried to put 'F' Freddie into dispersal on my own.
I had marshalled it in onto the taxyway opposite the dispersal pan and the Sgt. pilot airily told me to put it away; so I tried, but not very successfully.
Although I was fairly adept at hitching up the tow bar and operating the air brakes from the cockpit and I got nicely lined up going into the dispersal I had overlooked the fact that it was a bit of a down hill gradient and the brakes of a Fordson agricultural were not designed to hold a ten ton aircraft in such circumstances....and neither did it!.
Not only did the brakes not hold but the aircraft pushed the
[page break]
tractor, and me, through the hedge sideways resulting in a bent tractor and bent rear guns as well.
Eventually someone realised that perhaps a lot of responsibility was being placed upon 'Bloggs' from time to time, inexperienced as he was, and however willing he might be. From then on, although I still towed things about the fitters and mechanics, who were after all the responsible tradesmen, did the jobs that they were qualified and paid for....and more importantly, signed the Form.700 accordingly.
There were still some dirty and unpleasant jobs to be done from time to time; such as cleaning out the remains of a rear gunner from a battle damaged Wellington. A very unpleasant memory to carry with me when I subsequently set off for aircrew training. Despite the banishment to the more mundane jobs I did some-how get dragged in as an 'extra' in the film 'Target for Tonight', by being allowed on the mainplane and going through the motions of refuelling.
It was a great dissapointment [sic] when I saw the film after the editors had been at it. I appeared in a two second flash out of what I recall was at least a two minute take.
There is always the possibility that when they saw the proofs and noticed this leering airman on the wing trying to look like Errol Flynn they were obliged to do more drastic cutting rather than re-take it. We will never know as the film was also darkened by filters to give a night effect although it was taken in daylight!
[page break]
Piece by piece the vast programme of aircrew training which involved thousands of people was inexorably sucking me, and others, into it's system as it churned out the crews to man the thousands of aircraft that were pouring off of the production lines. My name came up to the top of the list and I was off on my travels again.
This time it was to Blackpool for the beginning of Wireless Operator training; which turned out to be just another production line although it was not nuts and bolts coming off of the end. Blackpool by that time was a sea of blue. Even Reginald Dixon the well known organist at the Tower Ballroom was in uniform as a Corporal drill instructor and his duties seemed to leave him a lot of time to continue to play the organ.
It was a welcome break to go along to the ballroom to enjoy his recitals. 'Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside' always seemed to be booming out some time of the day, but it was no holiday for us.
The boarding houses had been taken over in the same way as they had been at Skegness and they had crammed even more double bunks in so that there were about ten times the number of "guests" that would have normally have been accommodated in peace time.
It was a new experience to eat in our billets which was a change from the mass catering that I had been getting used to but although the landladies did their best with the ration allowances they did seem to dish up some strange things at times. Nevertheless, my taste buds had already undergone a change and I recall that I was eating a lot of dishes that I would have previously turned up my nose at. It was either that or go hungry!.
Our days were divided between morse training and drill with weekly visits to the swimming pool for our bath. The bath arrangement killed two birds with one stone as all the boarding house bathrooms were either locked up or otherwise out of bounds to us. We used the bedroom washbasins. The alternative to a [underlined] real [/underlined] bath was to partially heat a swimming pool.
The tram-car sheds had been converted for signals training and had been fitted with long tables equipped with headsets and morse keys, and stony faced civilian instructors seated at the
[page break]
end of each table.
Half the day was taken up in this environment getting used to the incessant dit,dit,dit,dah,dah,dah, at increasing speeds until the bell went to give us a break or when someone cracked up under the pressure and had to be carried away screaming or crying. It was not only the WAAFS that were affected that way!. No-one who ever went out that way ever came back but there were other ways of being withdrawn from training. It very nearly happened to me when I got 'stuck' at one speed and it was only after pleading with the chief instructor that I finally made the breakthrough.
Then one reached the stage where there was a progress test undertaken in the most nerve racking place. It was in the upper floor cutting rooms of Burtons, 'The Fifty Shilling Tailors', which had also been requisitioned.
The room was set out in a semi circle of tables facing a raised dais upon which there was one table with an elaborate brass morse sending key and a headset. All of the other tables just had headsets.
As we progressed through the course we were tested at an appropriate speed with no re-test if we could not meet the requirements, until the final test came up.
If anyone failed at that point they were washed out, finished, ceased training, call it what you like; and were sent off somewhere else to be something else.
The tension started to mount when the Warrant Officer who was conducting the test, appeared in his white dust coat and issued a dire warning about cheating. After that he set a metronome going to monitor the speed, and by the time he made his first signals check to ensure that everyone was hearing satisfactorily every nerve in the body was jangling.
By the time the opening dit,dit,dit,dah,dit, had come across some people had already gone to pieces but the remainder squared up their papers, checked that their half a dozen pencils were at the ready in case of breakages, and with one more deep breath just ploughed on hoping to get the test piece down with no more than the permitted number of mistakes.
It was inevitable that a good many people 'went for a Burton' in that place. 'Going for a Burton' was a phrase among aircrew
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when referring to those who for obvious reasons had disappeared from active service. That was the signals side of Blackpool apart from the fact that we even tried to read everything in dots and dashes. The paper, the hoardings, even our letters from home. The locals must have thought we were all daft but as in most skills it was a case of practice making things perfect or at least proficient, but I recall that we used to get some strange looks.
A lot of our time was spent in Stanley Park, the Tower Ballroom, and the public baths where we had our weekly bath; (unless one was rich enough to bribe a landlady). and that weekly bath in our case was combined with dinghy drill.
It is indellibly [sic] imprinted on my mind.
Stanley Park was bad enough with incessant marching up and down doing rifle and bayonet drill with a crazy old F/Sgt who worked us up to a pitch where we could have quite cheerfully put one through him. I'm sure old Freddie Fox knew that too.
The baths were something quite different.
Few people had swimwear and in fact it was considered 'cissy' to wear it anyway so several hundred blokes in their birthday suit's were quite a sight and there was a great deal of speculation as to the sight when they were replaced by WAAFS in the same state of undress. The mind boggled!.
To my knowledge no-one ever found out although there were a few bets taken. but security was very strict and WAAF Police replaced RAF Police when the switch was made and a roll call confirmed before the actual change over was made.
Despite the fact that I had been brought up by the seaside I was not a good swimmer, probably due to the fact that I had been pushed in at the deep end at an early learning stage. Being a slow learner I had swallowed a lot of water before being dragged out and pumped dry. It is hardly surprising that thereafter I was not attracted to deep water. Especially the cold variety.
Nevertheless, I did manage to swim the required width across the deep end to qualify as proficient but it was only the preliminary to the so called 'dinghy drill'.
I always seemed to go straight into a state of shock when it came to donning an icy cold, wet and heavy Sidcot
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flying suit, plus parachute harness and 'Mae West' life jacket which was inflated by the mouth after being thrown in. In practice the inflation was done by operating a pressure cylinder toggle but we had to do it the hard way.
There was an awful lot of floundering around after entering the water without swallowing too much especially with all the weight one was carrying, and suffering from the others making waves and generally simulating heavy seas before getting into the dinghy. It made things very difficult and I did not even enjoy doing the aggravation bit to others either.
There were times I could have cheerfully packed it in and remustered to a less demanding ground job but somehow I stuck it out.
[line of stars]
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The day finally dawned when the agony was over and with others I was off to Yatesbury in Wiltshire to learn all about procedures and equipment.
At last I was doing something tangible and I sailed through the course to be awarded the 'sparks' badge at the end plus a few more pennies in my pocket.
I certainly needed the latter as at Mildenhall I had for some reason been overpaid to the extent of being some £5 in the red at one time so deductions had been savagely made until the debt had been paid off. I could have settled it in cash at the time but I was told that the accounts section did not have a procedure for it so for a long time I had only been receiving 5/- five shillings, (25p) every two weeks and in a place like Blackpool my cash balance did not last long. It was no fun at all.
I was very glad when it had been finally settled and I no longer had to rely on the kindness of others for the odd cigarette, cups of tea and buns as well as the odd postal order from home. I'm sure a lot of others were pleased about it too.
I did manage to make up for the lack of certain 'home comforts', namely food, on one occasion though.
On a physical training run at Yatesbury one afternoon I decided that I had had enough and dodged the column by peeling off between some huts followed by a shout from a Cpl. who had seen me go. With that I put on a spurt with the intention of rejoining the party further down the route but did not reckon on the ability of the PTI.(Physical Training Instructor). He caught up with me first and that was me on a charge.
Later, when asked by the officer why I had not stopped when told to do so I simply told the truth and said that I thought that I could run faster than the PTI and that I had hoped to beat him back to the group. My award for failing to do so was three days C.C. (confined to camp), full marching kit parades twice a day at the guard room and kitchen fatigues to go with it. I didn't mind one bit!. I had nowhere to go anyway and I finished up being one of the few people in that place who was getting [underlined] four [/underlined] meals a day for a while.
It was worth peeling buckets of spuds and cleaning a mountain of dirty dishes and pans. The cooks were sympathetic and served up generous helpings as they would for themselves. I do not
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ever recall seeing a skinny cook!.
Someone had got hold of the idea that if you were particularly good at morse beyond the basic standard required then there would be a chance of being earmarked for Coastal Command so with others I put in the extra effort and time and achieved the extra speed almost up to Navy Telegraphist standard.
In principal it seemed a good idea when Bomber Command losses were reaching somewhat frightening proportions but it did not do me or anyone else any good at all as far as I can recall.
As soon as the course was over we were dispersed all over the place; mainly in Bomber Command, to consolidate the training doing all the things that Wireless Operators did and still wondering if it was all worth while.
I went to Marham in Norfolk.
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Photo
YATESBURY 1941
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I covered a lot of ground whilst I was at Marham but I still had to get airborne and there was a long way to go.
I suppose that being aircrew under training had a lot to do with the fact that I was given a wide experience of different jobs in a very short space of time. That is what I thought at the time anyway!.
I started out on the flight line doing daily inspections and ground tests on Wellington and Stirling radio equipments and was later transferred to what was then called Flying Control; as the R/T (Radio Telephone) operator.
Theoretically my job was to relay the controllers instructions to aircraft but everything seemed so incredibly slap-happy during daylight hours that I often found myself doing the actual control whilst the controller kept an ear open in the background.
I found myself particularly attracted to the two Thompson machine guns that were kept in boxes in the control tower. So much so that I was permitted to clean and polish then regularly; provided that I did not put the magazines on!. One particular controller seemed pleased to have someone around that was familiar with then as he certainly was not. My Hone Guard experience again. We only had one in the platoon but everyone knew how to use it!.
On one occasion during a quiet lunchtime with no movements notified I was on my own in the control tower when a Stirling arrived in the circuit and the pilot asked for landing instructions, but the pilot would not circle whilst I got in touch with the controller so I finally gave landing permission. Having given taxying and parking instructions I dashed out of the tower to marshall [sic] it in next to the tower. I was amazed to find that the pilot was a very small lady of the ATA. (Air Transport Auxillary [sic] ) and her only crew was a flight engineer.
I did not have such choice after that but to sign for the aircraft and then had another surprise when an Anson landed and taxied in without any warning at all. The pilot was non other than Jim Mollison who was doing the taxi driving to take the Stirling crew out.
The controller who had seen the activity from the Mess soon came dashing along after he had seen the aircraft in the.......
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circuit and were very surprised to find a brand new Stirling neatly parked but I got a hell of a rollicking for my efforts.
Things got tightened up eventually when another aircraft arrived that no-one seemed to know about. As R/T operator I also performed the duties of 'airmen of the watch' and although I had registered the notification signal in the log and written the details on the movements board it would appear that the controller had not placed a great deal of importance on the movement. As a result he was unaware of the visit of a VIP, (Very Important Person). None other than the Under secretary of State for Air!. Phew!, that caused a stir when he did realise what the score was. The Station Commander was not too pleased either!.
I suppose someone's head had to roll and it was possibly mine as I started a series of detachments to widen my scope of knowledge; unless it was to keep me out of the way!.
I did the rounds of Honington and East Wretham and numerous jobs and being of an inquisitive nature soon found out how things ticked.
At one time I was surprised to find that elements of the Czeck [sic] . Air Force were making a great deal of fuss over what they considered to be their low pay (they were paid RAF rates, Sgt's about £4.50 a week) then the unit moved and things went quiet.
Although I was expecting to be recalled to Marham it was still a shock when it happened. Even more so when I was required to draw flying clothing and prepare to go back to Yatesbury for the air training course. After that everything happened so fast that I wondered what had hit me. It was already mid 1942 and as our activities increased so were our aircraft losses increasing. It was with some apprehension that I embarked on this part of my training. My feelings were not improved when on the morning of departure; waiting for transport at the Guard Room. I was detailed off by the SWO (Station Warrant Officer), to help collect a coffin from the morgue and load it on the transport where it was draped with the Union flag.
I don't know if the SWO had remembered me from another incident which surely should have stuck in his mind, but whether he did or not I have reason to remember it as I was taught another lesson.
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It so happened that I snored; even in those days, which was not a good thing in amongst a crowd of people. In the barracks where we were jammed in with hardly room to move between the beds it was a considerable source of annoyance to my neighbours; if not the whole room although I was not the only one with the problem. It was just worse when I had put a few pints under the belt.
It was not unusual to wake up in the morning to find myself surrounded by a selection of footwear that had been hurled in my direction during the night. Whether any found it's target I would not know. I was usually too far gone.
There was one night that the others in the room could no longer put up with it even when well aimed No. 9's did not do the job and suffice to say that when the SWO marched onto the parade ground is the morning for the colour hoisting parade there I was, still fast asleep in my bed at the foot of the flag pole.
It was a hell of a situation as I struggled back to the billet with my bed and bedding with the SWO hurling dire threats after me. Good job I wore singlet and PT shorts in bed!.
However. it had not resulted in direct punishment. I was still on the mat of course but in my defence I stated that as I had known absolutely nothing about it by virtue of being asleep throughout the whole episode I could not be held responsible.
You can't tell SWO's things like that and get away with it even if the case was dismissed. It was not surprising that after the incident I found myself on guard duty every other night for two weeks, and that included the evening parade as well as the morning colour hoisting parade that the duty people did. It was very uncomfortable being under the eagle eye of the SWO all the time so my turnout and drill had to be impeccable to avoid further punishment. Somehow I got away with it. When detailed off for the loading up I was foolish enough to ask what had happened to the poor chap in the box; only to be told by the man, with a glint in his eye, that it was a Sgt. Air Gunner who had 'copped a packet' a few night [sic] previously. After that I was only too glad to see the coffin subsequently placed in the guards van and draped with the union flag in the care.....
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of the escorts whilst I took off to another part of the train and tried to forget about it.
Back at Yatesbury there were some familiar faces among the entry and we were in a different part of the camp; more or less segregated from the 'sprog' wireless operators, but otherwise there was little difference.
It was not long before many of us were sporting Leading Aircraftsman 'props', and a few more pennies came in useful as well. There was no such thing as a flying pay supplement in those days.
As usual the day was split between job training and other activities, and I was looking forward to the air experience part of it. At last I was going to get airborne and I was all set to enjoy it. It was the beginning of many occasions when I was to feel somewhat disillusioned about taking to the air.
Our initial flying was done in the De.Haviland Dominie as the RAF called them. Many were in fact ex. civilian Rapide's that had been requisitioned and as a result had had a name change and were flown by a mixture of civilian and service pilots.
They were fitted out with several radio positions at which we carried out exercises under the supervision of a Cpl. Instructor with a similar set-up on the ground where we also worked in rotation.
There was of course no toilet compartment, and not even the paper bag that is standard in today's aircraft. There was just an open square biscuit tin of the type that the ancient 'hard tack' biscuit came in, (circa 1917), and there were plenty of those.
That type of biscuit was being substituted for bread several times a week in most units as a great deal of our flour was being sent to the bottom of the Atlantic by the U.Boats, and the civilian population had preference when what limited flour supplies were being distributed. Hence the endless supply of tins. We were obliged to use them instead of paper bags but it was all very crude. It was loose on the floor for anyone to use as necessary. Ugh!!!.
It was a most nauseating experience as most of us were getting airborne for the first time so we were a bit queasy, and more!. It was all part of the elimination process. Anyone who spent
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more time at the 'throw-up' tin was threatened with withdrawal from training and remustered to ground wireless operator.
It was very difficult to force one's self to overcome the discomfort sufficiently to get back to work but the process was motivated by the fact that the rule was that the last one to use the tin was the one that had to dispose of it after landing. Yuk!. I made sure that it was not me.
I was not sorry to progress from that stage to the single engined Proctor for solo exercises. Then I only had myself to worry about…….and the pilot!.
By that time I was getting increasingly aware of the varying abilities of pilots. Not that I had had any alarming experiences, but the seat of my pants was always a very sensitive indicator of how a machine was handled.
It is difficult to explain but I had always had the same sensitivity either in a car or on the back of a motor-bike and that feeling was beginning to develops in respect of pilots. I had come to the conclusion that there were pilots and 'drivers airframe' to use a stores nomenclature description of an item, and it was always to be the same. I knew whether I was comfortable or not.
THEN I MET A PILOT WITH A REPUTATION…………..!!!!!!!!!!!!
[line of stars]
Photo
YATESBURY 1942
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On completion of the course the next move was to an Advanced Flying Unit at Penrhos, North Wales, on the Lleyn peninsular.
I fell in love with that area right from the start and still have a soft spot for it. The years have changed it very little. It was only a small airfield operating Ansons in which Wireless Operators and Navigators carried out more advanced exercises which covered a lot more countryside and took us almost up to the level where oxygen was needed. Just one more thing to contend with.
The pilots were all service types doing a stint as taxy driver to get more hours and experience as they progressed in their training but I had hardly settled in when I picked up a 'buzz' that was going around concerning a certain pilot who apparently was putting the wind up a lot of people.
He had gained a reputation for doing some crazy things and until quite recently had made a habit of flying under the Menai bridge which is the magnificent old bridge built by Thomas Telford across the straits between the mainland and Anglesey.
The practice had just been strictly forbidden under threat of the most severe punishment because someone else had tried it but had killed himself and a few others in the process.
Most people seemed to be keeping their fingers crossed hoping that they could avoid flying with him so I faced the future with some apprehension when I found myself on a flight detail with him as pilot.
My first impression of Sergeant. Francis, Cadell, Macdonald was that he did not look the sort that could put the wind up anyone. I had expected a 'jolly hockey stick' type such as the Pilot Officer Prune, (the accident prone cartoon twit), who featured in an Air Force Magazine, but as he did not fit that category I was forced to the conclusion that he must be downright ham-fisted.
It was a surprise to find that he was a little older than the average pilot, certainly on the wrong side of thirty, and it was many, many years before I was to find out exactly how old he was.
First impressions were of a strangely rugged character with rusty fuze wire type of hair with a heavy drooping moustache to match who seemed strangely out of proportion.
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It took a second look to find the real reason for that impression. His torso was that of a six footer, with well developed chest, arms like the branches of a tree but he had short stocky legs giving him an overall height of no more than 5ft 7ins.
In standard battledress which was designed to be purely functional he looked as if he was suffering from a severe case of 'ducks disease'.
We climbed aboard the aircraft after a briefing that was brief and to the point. "If we get into trouble I will tell you what to do, whether you jump or not, and you only jump when I tell you to. Got that?”. Then he started up, taxied out and took off and although I had my eyes shut during the first part of the routine I opened when there were no unusual sensations and wondered what all the fuss had been about. My sensitive parts had given out no alert signals and it all seemed pretty normal to me.
As the exercise progressed I virtually forgot that I was in an aeroplane despite what he was doing with the machine although it was impossible not to notice that he seemed to be trying to turn it inside out in the gentlest possible way.
The main issue was that I did feel any discomfort at all although a few hill sheep might have done so as we steamed up one side of Snowdon and down the other and we seemed to balanced on one wingtip as we went around the Great Orme on Anglesey with Puffins and other sea birds getting somewhat agitated by the disturbance. My insides took no longer to settle down after that flight than they normally did so I decided that I could cope with that sort of treatment at any time and it certainly made life interesting. My companions still had different ideas though as the stories of his various escapades became more and more exagerated [sic].
Before I left Penrhos I learned a little more about him whilst he was still scaring the daylights out of others.
He was reputed to have previously been Chief Engineer to Gar Wood the racing driver of pre-war years and although I have never found the need to verify the story I have never had reason
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to doubt it either.
As far as I was concerned he certainly knew what he was doing and that was good enough for me.
The operator training became more and more demanding as time went on and I had reached a point where there was a great deal of satisfaction in being able to transmit and receive messages in morse, juggle with frequencies and identify my control station through a cacophany [sic] of background noise. It was gratifying to be able to code and encode messages efficiently but as usual it was not all work and no play. I think we would have gone daft under the pressure if it had been. The pattern was the same as before with the days split between training and exercising.
There were invariably some high jinks in Pwllheli where the Royal Navy had taken over the nearby Butlins as a training establishment and in the traditional Navy way had named it HMS something or other.
There were all sorts of derisive remarks about Nary terminoligy [sic] as they called the bus the 'liberty boat' and they had to salute the 'quarter deck' on leaving and boarding their 'ship'. We called it the main gate!.
Of course we countered with suitable remarks about our 'wizard prangs', 'bombs away' and 'chocks away', but some they resented their 'ship' being called HMS Bullshit, all of which resulted in some good nattered rowdy exchanges in the local pubs.
There was a lot of ale sloshed around. and a great many fried eggs consumed in the basement kitchen of a sea front hotel after chuckout time at 6d, (2 1/2 new pence) each.
The 'end of course' party was a great success and I recall putting in a great deal of effort into assisting one member of the course with some conjuring tricks. He was a member of the Magic Circle and why he picked me I haven't the slightest idea. Little did he know what that did for my confidence which was being somewhat undermined by the realisation that I seemed to be accident prone. As it happened, the, programme went without a hitch and that little exercise did me a great deal of good.
I only vaguely remember the return to camp after that party. It was somewhat hilarious as we came back via the beach where several of us had to be rescued from the sand dunes where we
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had capsised [sic] and ploughed up a lot of sand.
I finally collected my flying log book that recorded the entry of the flight with one Sgt.F.C.Macdonald and normally it would have been just one more entry without much significance as I continued on my travels once more.
[underlined] Fate decreed that we would meet up again!!. [/underlined]
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Photo
PENRHOS 1942
Page 30 And there’s more!
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I continued the process of going up and down the countryside like a yo-yo which was quite an experience for someone like me who had never ventured very far from the home town before the war and I was certainly getting to know my way around.
My next journey was to a gunnery school on Walney Island just off Barrow-in-Furness, flying old hacks such as Blackburn Botha's and Bolton Paul Defiants which seemed to be a very chancy business.
Most of the time the direction of take-off was straight towards a hill and if that was not bad enough the Botha was a death trap on one engine. If there was an engine failure it could not maintain height on one and the emergency exit was straight into the propellor. Turning or not it was dicey.
The Defiant was not so bad although it had a nasty habit of flopping onto it's side in the air if the gunner failed to inform the pilot that he was rotating and firing on the beam. The pilot needed that information so that he could counteract his controls and it was not all that easy to get out of either if in trouble. I have the greatest admiration for the chaps that went into battle in those things.
Somehow I struggled through that period in the depths of winter and at one stage I was very close to being put back in training when I went down with a severe cold and only just avoided going sick, especially as we had strict orders about flying whilst suffering from a cold which resulted in bunged up nose and ears. I felt so bad one evening that I doped myself with whisky and asprin and retired to bed early after a hot shower even though it meant going to and from the ablutions through several inches of snow.
By the time the others came back to the hut later in the evening my condition had them so worried that they woke me up.
There was a considerable cloud of steam rising from me but once they were assured that I was not on fire the threw more blankets on me to continue sweating it out.
Despite the fact that I was a bit wobbly in the morning I still managed to fly my last detail and in fact even get a good score but the rest of the time there is a blurr [sic] .
I have vague recollections of Northen [sic] ale which appeared to be a lot stronger than average and of an hilarious evening at
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a vaudeville in Borrow where most of the course occupied the front row of the stalls, booing and cheering the acts as seemed appropriate.
There were often rowdy exchanges with the conciencious [sic] objectors who were formed into non-combatant pioneer units to man things like smoke generators to mask the docks from air raids, and some energetic clashes with strong minded and well muscled WAAFS who manned a lot of the searchlights and barrage balloons. All good clean fun!.
Eventually, in the end came the passing out parade and the award of the cherished Air Gunners brevet with promotion to Sergeant, and although that was only the outward sign of qualified aircrew it did at least take the place of what had by that time a very grubby white cap flash.
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There was still a lot of training to do, and more travelling as well.
The travelling was not so easy by that time as most of us had gathered more flying kit so everywhere we went it meant struggling with two kit bags.
The next port of call was a Wellington Operational Training Unit at Turweston, which was a satelight [sic] unit of No.12 OUT Chipping Warden, both near Banbury. Oxford. 'A' and 'B' Flights were at Chipping Warden and 'C' and 'D' Flights were at Turweston.
It was there that crews were put together more or less by mutual agreement.
In the first 24 hours everyone just browsed around gathering more paperwork, dealing with arrival procedures and generally making one's self known.
I had hardly settled in when the 'jungle telegraph' was sending out the news that a certain Scotsmen had also turned up. The notorious F.C. Macdonald!.
There were frantic efforts being made by people to find themselves another pilot of their choice. Anyone but him!.
I was not fussy, or for that matter as quick off the mark as some. I had met a Navigator who had also been at Penrhos and had not yet found himself a pilot and although he could not remember Macdonald he found him and introduced himself.
By the next day Macdonald had made up his mind and the crew lists went up on the notice board.
I was looking them over when he came up with a group and announced rather ungraciously, “so we have got you have we?".
A remark that was not designed to inspire confidence although I must confess that I felt a lot happier with someone of known qualities so I was not unduly concerned.
That was the way that the crew came together. I don't think any of us were very special.
Macdonalds background was still vague and was always remain so although I gathered that he was married but separated.
Peter Hobbs, the navigator, was an ex Cpl. accounts clerk who
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had been in the Voluntary Reserve. Both he and Macdonald were a little older than the average and were newly commissioned Pilot Officers.
We actually started with a commissioned Observer/Bomb Aimer but he did not last long.
It transpired that he had already flunked a pilots course, and a navigators coarse so they made him a Bomb/Aimer before they found out that he was too tall for the front turret so off he went to retrain once more.
He might well have been doing courses later on in the war to qualify for some-thing although it is just as likely that he may well have distinguished himself somehow.
He had certainly been been [sic] determined to be aircrew anyway but I must admit that his case was the result of a policy that I was never able to come to terms with.
To commission someone first and then go to considerable lengths to see if he was any good at anything was odd to say the least. However, that is another story!.
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In the place of 'mastermind' we got 'Hoppy’ Hill, so named because he bounced and rolled on the balls of his feet when he walked around invariably with a novel of some sort tucked under his arm. I never did find out what he had been doing before he joined the RAF.
Then we had another Mac. McIlroy, a Canadian Rear Gunner who had been at Walney Island at the same time as myself although I could not recall him. He had been with the Canadian Pacific Railway in some capacity although in his own words he had spent most of his time doing trying to do nothing.
Then there was me. A cabinet maker/polisher who had finished up doing almost anything to remain employed; and I mean anything. My last civilian employment had bees as a milk roundsman!.
Nevertheless, whatever we had been doing we were all in the same boat (or aeroplane) and we all had one thing to common. That was to get on with it and hope to come out of it is one piece.
We were a fairly wild bunch in our off duty periods but I would not think that we were any worse than any other crew.
It was from that point onward that living, working and playing as a crew started. It was for me anyway. Almost to the exclusion of everything else.
Suddenly it seemed that my youthful ambitions had been fullfilled [sic] although it was a pity it had come about under such circumstances.
The most important thing was that we got on well together and we concentrated on getting moulded into a crew which involved an airborne discipline that few people could understand considering our peculiar life style.
Although our crew seemed to be the ideal balance of officers and NCO's with commissioned Pilot and Navigator some crews had formed up with some very odd mixtures with Sgt. pilots and commissioned gunners but which ever way they were mixed the pilot was always the captain is the air.
This arrangement was incomprehensible to some Army and Navy types and even the USAAF. It did not seem compatable [sic] with the normal chain of command yet it worked satisfactorily within the RAF.
Mac, as he was always to be knows, still looked as lumpy in
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his new uniform as he did when we had first met despite a change of rank insignia and a fancy cap but there were more important things to concern ourselves with than how people looked.
We had far more serious things on our minds.
Flying had become a very serious business and if we were going to be together for any length of time we would be relying on each other a great deal for survival and it was to that end that Mac went about his part of the programme as if he had been born with wings.
As far as I was concerned he was an absolute natural and on more than one occasion I was asked by wireless operators in other crews how I got on with him.
I think some of then may well have been regretting their choice of pilot and were looking for a way out but I usually pointed out that I was in no way considering a change. Particularly as no-one saw us overshooting from missed approaches to the runway or had seen us swinging about all over the place on landing or take-off as I had often seen others doing, so what more could I ask?.
On more then one occasion I was told that I would be sorry, (as if I had made the choice): But I never was....Not once!.
I got the distinct impression that for some reason Mac was not very impressed with wireless operators, although from his occasional remark he seemed more interested in having a spare gunner aboard, and I was beginning to feel very spare until one night I had the opportunity to exercise some of my training. We were flying is the local area of Chipping Warden one night when the voltage regulator down by my left foot went haywire and burst into flames.
The voltage shot up and batteries started to cook immediately so I had to work very fast to tell Mac what I was going to do before switching the Ground/Flight switch to ground which cut us off of the engine driven generators, then go rapidly through the fire drill whilst Mac called control for an emergency landing on what little internal battery power we had left.
He did happen to mention afterwards that perhaps a wireless op. might have some use in a crew after all. Only perhaps!.
As time went on we did get to know him a little better although he was one of those chaps you could never get really close to.
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He was not actually unsociable but uncommunicative. More often then not when asked a question on a subject which was not directly related to what we were currently doing his answer would be a knowing wink, a tap on the side of his nose with his forfinger [sic] which could be taken to mean anything; like, "I don't know", or, " leave it to me” or," mind your own bloody business!".
No doubt some people would call it the attitude of a dour, canny Scot but I did get a satisfactory answer on one occasion when I asked him about flying under the Menie [sic] Bridge. His words for once were encouraging.
"Only a bloody fool would attempt that without the wind on the nose, at low tide and through the widest span'", and then I knew that he was not as crazy as some people would like to think.
That in my book added up to a calculated risk, and there were some more to come.
As we ploughed on through the course a great deal of time was spent in the 'Harwell Box' which was a compartmented type of simulator in which we practiced all of the airborne procedures for a bombing sortie, [underlined] only at twice normal speed!. [/underlined]
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All the clock faces had been altered to achieve the time factor and we had to work frantically to keep up with all of the information that was being fed to us from umpteen different sources: It certainly kept us on the ball, particularly the navigator.
That was not the only simulation. For the first time our operating heights were soon to be up in the rarified [sic] air above 10,000ft for lengthy periods. Above that height the use of oxygen was essential and mandatory, and just to wake sure that no-one treated the matter lightly we were introduced to the decompression chamber.
Eight at a time with a medical orderly, we entered the tank which was fitted with inter-comm and after it was sealed the pumps started to reduce the pressure as one would experience in flight.
When 10,000ft was reached on the internal altimeter we fitted our oxygen masks and then the pressure was progressivly [sic] reduced until the altimeter read first 15,000ft, then 20,000 and finally 25,000ft by which time various parts of our internal plumbing were beginning to respond to the pressure change.
We had been provided with note pads and pencils and were than told to start writing our names on the pads as the oxygen supply was turned off.
I was no different from the others when the voice on the inter comm said that the oxygen was back on and we were called by our names and asked to describe any sensations that we had experienced and the answer was unanimous. Nothing!. But the shock came when we were told to look at our pads.
Our signatures had tailed off into an unintellible [sic] scribble and then re-appeared at the bottom of the page.
The realisation hit us all. Although most of us had experienced some light headedness as the pressure lowered we had not been aware that that was the warning that could lead to oblivion and possible death. It was frightening to think that the process was so insidious that it was possible to be unaware of it.
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After that little demonstration no-one needed any further warning on how to recognise the early effects of the lack of oxygen and I was later to find that my tolerance was quite low and I usually needed oxygen at 8,000ft, and that if I needed to move about I had to be fairly quick when going from a main point to a portable bottle especially later on when I was often sitting next to a damned great hole at the back end of the aircraft where there was no main outlet.
The training got more and more realistic both in the air and on the ground. We had got used to the parachute harness and packs by that time and the short briefing on it's use such as "after you have jumped, count ten and pull that", but suddenly it got serious now that we were going to have to face all sorts of unknown difficulties whilst we were defying the laws of gravity.
We started more intensive training off a rig. First without 'chutes just jumping off of a 12ft platform onto coco mats and then right up in the eaves of a hanger with harness and weighted cable system.
The landings were the same spine jarring thump either way as we made contact with the ground with feet together, knees slightly bent, slight angle to the direction of landing to roll over shoulder and hip on contact.
That was the classical way of doing it if you had the opportunity!. A very good friend was not so lucky when his turn came. He had already received a smashed arm when the aircraft was hit but although some of the crew put his 'chute on and threw him out he lost consciousness on the way down and busted a leg is several places on landing. But he fared better than the others. They all went down with the aeroplane!
Perhaps I was fortunate in my approach to the training and found no great difficulty but others were not so lucky and were required to do it again and again until they had improved their technique but not without a few sprains and bruises as one ploughed on through the course.
We finally completed it with a better than average crew assessment and then we were all on our travels again, but for the first time as a crew.
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Our next destination was to a Stirling Conversion Unit at Stradishall, near Bury St Edmunds. Back in-Bomber country again!. We had known that we were destined for "heavies' long before we left OTU. In fact, I had known before I left gunnery school as I had only done the short course for wireless operators and bomb-aimers, and my log book had been annotated accordingly.
Nevertheless, I had hoped that I would finish up on Lancasters or Halifax's as I already knew enough about Stirlings to be very wary of them.
When I had marshalled in a new one on delivery to Mareham [sic] I had been amazed that the pilot of the monster had been a very small lady of the ATA.
The Stirling was impressive. Although it looked very big it’s dimensions were not much more than the other 'heavies'. It was just that it looked so incredibly bulky.
It stood high on an undercarriage that looked more like some scaffolding around a building, placing the pilot's eye some 22 1/2 ft above the ground which was very high for those days and did not make the assessment of the distance between the wheels and the runway any easier whom landing the thing.
I was also well aware that they had been causing all sorts of problems when the Marham Squadrons were converting to them resulting in all sorts of hair raising incidents and bent aeroplanes.
At least I was familiar with it, and the radio compartment but the fact that I was going to finish up as a crew member on one was a thought that I had not entertained.
Soon after arrival the crew was made up to seven by the addition of a Flight Engineer and a Mid-Upper Gunner.
'Paddy', the flight engineer was of course from the emerald isle and was no stranger to the Stirling having been a ground engineer on them at Waterbeach until he had remustered. He was several weeks into his conversion training and it was a long time afterwards that I learned that he had never flown before he got airborne with us. He must have wondered what he had let himself in for.
Certainly he had a nasty shock when instead of finding his pilot to be another fresh faced youngster he got this 'gnarled old man' as someone described his.
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It was suggested that his main task would be to help the poor old bloke in and out of the driving seat!.
It did not take him long to find out that Mac was something different.
The mid-upper was at the other end of the age scale. Ralph was a fresh faced youngster who had just about changed his Air Cadets uniform for RAF uniform although of course he had done the gunners course since joining and had been at Stradishall for a few weeks on a familaristion [sic] course. But he had not long been out of school.
The crew was now complete. although for a while there was a little doubt about us staying together as Mac found out that he was not exactly built for the Stirling; or visa versa.
The lady ATA pilot had been small but she had seemed to cope but I suppose it was a matter of proportion, and Mac's proportions were somewhat different.
With the controls and the seat adjusted to their limits he still needed some special padding made up to improve things. and the seat of his pants took a terrific beating as he wrestled, wriggled and sqirmed [sic] to handle the thing.
The take-off and landing characteristics of the machine did not help such either. An uncontrollable swing to starboard could develop very easily and the tall undercarriage would be incapable of standing the strain and 'crunch', another one would bite the dust adding to the numbers that ended up damaged by that sort of accident which was already in excess of the numbers lost by enemy action.
It usually depended on how fast you were going at the time whether you walked away or were carried away from the wreckage. Not a pleasant prospect!.
In theory the idea was that the engines were opened up on a staggered basis having due regard to any cross wind. until a speed was reached when the rudder would give effective control, then all engines could be taken to full power.
The snag was that with a full load there was never a lot of runway to spare so it was usually a choice of two evils. You either took a chance of running out of runway if you did not get the power on soon enough or you slammed it on at the beginning of the take off run and took your chance with a
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swinger'.
Mac seemed to have it down to a fine art.
Whatever the length of the runway. Whatever the load, the strength and direction of the wind. Whether the runway was uphill, downhill, or both, with bump or a hollow in the middle, his computer brain had it worked out. Whatever the circumstances and however tired he was we always seemed to make a perfect take-off and landing. So far I had not experienced a bad one with his at the controls.
Nevertheless, he was wearing out his pants at an alarming rate in the process.
So much so that the instructors were having serious doubts as to whether Mac and the Stirling were quite right for each other.
Then something happened that removed all the doubts.
On the night of 13th June 1943 we were doing night circuits and bumps in preparation for his first night solo.
After several circuits the check pilot gave Mac the thumbs up after another satisfactory landing and vacated the aircraft the aircraft in the vicinity of the control tower before we taxied around again for the next take-off.
After the usual pause for the routine cockpit check we entered the runway and were soon thundering along gathering speed; when it happened.
At the most critical point, almost half way down the runway, with about 90mph. on the clock, the port outer seized with a crunch that could be felt throughout the aircraft despite all the other sensations, and 30 tons of Stirling started to swing to port.
It was a wonder that the prop did not sheer off which would have been normal but the reflex action that went on in the cockpit was fast and furious. It had to be to prevent us from becoming another statistic.
Paddy closed down the dead engine by stabbing buttons and switches that cut the ignition to the engine, cut off the fuel, operated the bulkhead fire extinguishers and 'feathered' the propellor as Mac called for maximum power on the inboard engines as obviously his hands were very busy with the controls.
As Paddy took over the throttles and the propeller pitch controls the power came on with a bellow as he shoved the inboard
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We were just at the 'unstick' point and almost at take-off speed as the swing to port became more pronounced with Mac struggling desperately.
At least we were almost airborne which was better than being splattered all over the airfield and his efforts were being rewarded as we then started to go slowly into a starboard turn with only just enough speed on to keep us flying.
Standard procedures dictated that we had to go into a right hand circuit as it was invariably neccessary [sic] to turn away from the dead engine. There was so little margin of control if you went the other way that a nasty mess was the likely result.
Still close to the ground with wheels and flaps still down Mac was straining every muscle to maintain control but slowly and surely we increased our speed still swinging to starboard.
From my position in the astro dome I could see the hangars and the control tower dead ahead!.
If that wasn't out of the frying pan and into the fire!.
It looked as if it was going to be decidedly messy and certainly it was going to do me no good at all if I dived for my crash position…...and then we started to climb and bank as the speed had built up sufficiently.
With wings almost vertical we went between No's. 1 and 2 hangers, taking a telephone line with us. I had a very unusual view of the water tower as we went around it straight into a very low level emergency right hand circuit for a landing that was just like all the others. As smooth as silk. Even under those circumstances.
It was shortly after we had landed that I became aware of the fact that I seemed to have been holding my breath for a very long time and I had been very close to ceasing to breath altogether.
We taxied around to the control tower to pick up the instuctor [sic] pilot and when he came aboard he was still very much out of breath as like most of the staff in the tower, he had abandoned it rapidly as we headed straight for it.
He just managed to gasp "you'll' do" before we taxied back to dispersal.
There was so doubt in our minds anyway. He had tamed the beast and there congratulations all round.
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Mac's reaction was normal. A wink and a tap on the side of his nose. No comment!.
After that there was very little let up as the training including flying intensified. Mac continued to wear out his trousers in his efforts to maintain control and that’s what it was all about as far as he was concerned. Total perfection, and he never, ever, let the machine take over. We had absolute confidence in him.
The only other incident of any note throughout the course occurred shortly after we had landed one night and had got back to the billet. A Ju.88 intruder who had followed someone in tried to shoot him up on the runway without success. He sprayed lead all over the place and I think the most damage was done to a window above my bed in the barrack block. I was under it!. There was no one hurt although my bed was showered with glass.
That sort of effort did not impress us very much if that was the best they could do. It all seemed a bit panic stricken and I had seen plenty of similar activity on the South Coast where air raids on Worthing had been mainly of the hit and run type.
I had been close to several attacks as they came blasting along the railway line and the shunting yards but they never hit the gas works which was opposite the hospital; which was just as well as my father was invariably fire watching on top during a raid.
Not one bomb fell on the railway line or the signal boxes in the local area but there was a fair amount of damage to civilian property and loss of life. The flat in which I had spent the first few years of my life was one that collected a direct hit although mostly the bombs fell in open ground.
There is still evidence to this day of the occasion when an Me.110 straffed [sic] along the line. The metal footbridge between East Worthing and Worthing Central still has the canon shell holes in it and my wife remembers it well.
She was walking along the road parallel to the railway when this chap came blasting in firing both front and rear guns and she was obliged to make a hasty dive over a low wall into someone's garden for safety.
Even then I thought it was a bit panic stricken and not very effective.
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It was whilst I was at Stradishall that I saw the half scale Stirling in one of the hangars. A very interesting little machine. It was about the size of a Wellington with a cockpit just big enough for two in tandem, and four little two blade props on Pobjoy engines. It had been built for test purposes early on, whilst the full size machine was still in the design stage. Even then it was-fall of snags but they pressed on.
No-one sees to know what happened to it eventually. It had been pranged and was not airworthy but it just seems to have dissapeared [sic] . Perhaps it will turn up at the back of a barn one days!.
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[underlined] THE SHORT BROS. S.29."STIRLING" [/underlined]
Built by Short Brothers, Rochester & Belfast and Austins, Longbridge.
First flight (Mk.I) 14th May 1939. Followed by Mk's II, III, IV & V.
Began with daylight operations in 1941 before switching to night operations until the end of 1943. Later used as glider tugs. paratroop and supply dropping and finally transports.
2,374 of all types manufactured but none remained in flying service after the early 1950's.
[line of stars]
[underlined] Model B.Mklll [/underlined]
Span...................99ft 1in.
Length………………87ft 3in.
Max. all-up weight…………70,000lb.
Max. speed…………270 mph. (Economical cruising 180mph. fully loaded)
Range……………….Max. 2010mls. (According to load).
Service ceiling………17,000ft.(14-15,000ft with max. load)
Engines………Four 1,650bhp. Bristol Hercules Mk.XVl
2 stage, supercharged, sleeve valve, 14 cylinder radials.
Defensive armament…….8 .303in. Browning m/g. 2 in dorsal and front turrets. 4 in rear turret. All power operated.
Max. bomb load………..14,000lb. (Max. bomb size 2000lb.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 44 [/deleted]
[underlined] FOR NORMAL BOMBER OPERATIONS THE CREW CONSISTED OF:- [/underlined]
Pilot………………………..………..who was always the captain.
Navigator……………………..…..who was also trained as a bomb aimer.
Observer/bomb aimer…..….who was also trained in navigation and was front gunner.
Flight Engineer………..………...was responsible for monitoring the engines and other systems. Often acted as co-pilot.
Wireless operator/gunner….communications, radio direction finding and trained reserve gunner.
Mid-upper gunner……………..)were interchangable [sic] between positions
Rear Gunner……………….…….)but generally preferred one position.
Note:- On occasions another pilot was allocated to the basic crew for operational familiarisation and became the co-pilot.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 45 [/deleted]
It was the middle of June when we left Stradishall and it was a pleasant change not to have to travel too far to our new unit. We moved by truck just a few miles up the road to Chedburgh, a satelite [sic] station of Stradishall.
Most Stirling units were concentrated in East Anglia and we were to join a new Squadron being formed on the day we arrived. The Squadron had been numbered 620 and we would be the partner to 214 Squadron which had been in residence for some time. It had been formed by the standard procedure of hiving off 'C' flights from established Squadrons. In this case 'C' flights from both 214 Squadron and 149 from Mildenhall; by coincidence the same Squadron that I had been with at Mildenhall previously. To assist the rapid build-up new crews direct from training were being added so with virtually a snap of the fingers the new Squadron was born on the 17th June 1943.
Chedburgh was just another war-time airfield that like so many had just mushroomed all over the countryside by the hundred. A tremendous achievement both in planning and engineering considering the enormous amount of material and man-power each one absorbed. It was not surprising that Britian [sic] was often referred to as an unsinkable aircraft carrier. There were over 100 airfields in East Anglia alone!.
They were all built to the same basic pattern with Nissen huts all over the place with dispersed accomodation [sic] tucked away in woods and down country lanes that ensured that everyone had plenty of exercise in the process of getting to and from their place of work.
The airfield was situated alongside the A143 Bury St Edmunds to Haverhill road and the set up was much the same as any other unit.
The Station support services comprised an Administrative Wing, a Technical Wing and a Flying Wing and within the latter were the flying units, the Squadrons, which were independant [sic] units.
Altogether the station was manned by between 1800 and 2000 people including Squadron personnel, with an establishment of 16 air-craft per Squadron. plus 4 reserves. Theorhetically [sic] that should have given the station a total of 40 aircraft but we were rarely up to even the basic strength and then not for very
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All the arrival formalities that we had done so often were soon completed with introductions to the Squadron and Flight Commander as well as the specialist leaders, in my case the Signals Leader, who was an operational Wireless Operator filling the position by virtue of his previous experience and seniority.
With all that attended to Mac had received his instructions from 'B' Flight Commander and we boarded the bus that continually circled the outer edge of the airfield where the aircraft were dispersed.
On the way we passed many Stirlings poised like great vultures, except for the odd one that looked as if the vultures had been at them and had gangs of men working on them.
When we stopped at one dispersal pan Mac said "this is it". 'This' was a pleasant surprise. We had become so used to flying old hacks that had seen better days that to be looking at what appeared to be a new one was unique. Even more of a surprise was to be told that this one was 'ours'.
This particular Stirling was serial No.EF433, built by Shorts at Belfast, and was still new enough to have a new smell about it.
The Squadron identification letters of QS and aircraft letter 'W' had been freshly painted on it's sides over some other lettering that turned out to have been 214 Squadron's identification, with whom it had apparently done three operations before being transferred on the formation of the Squadron.
We were concerned with getting to know that piece of machinery more intimately than anything else we had had dealings with in the past.
We spent hours going over it with the ground crew; testing and adjusting until we had it ticking over like a well oiled sewing machine. We air tested it and put it through it's paces again and again. The gunners tested their guns over the sea. Pete checked his box of tricks. Hoppy put the bomb release mechanism through it's sequences and tested the front guns. I tuned my radio and made contact with the control stations as well as testing the radio direction finding system. Mac and Paddy did everything they could to ensure that the engines and controls gave the right responses by throwing it around at height including a landing procedure with first one then two engines
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feathered and everything throttled back just to see how she stalled as well as a maximum height climb until they were at last satisfied that if anything went wrong with it it [sic] would not be our fault.
When all that was done we were ready for anything and both crew and aeroplane were in a partnership which we hoped would be for some time. As it turned out it was longer than than [sic] the average!.
We were soon to find out what we had let ourselves in for on a series of night operations that were not without a little excitement.
[line of stars]
Four days after leaving Stradishall we found ourselves on the Battle Order for the night of the 22nd June and from the moment the order went on the board everything started clicking into place as we started a procedure that hundreds of other crews were doing up and down the country in order to deliver thousands of tons of bombs and incendiaries to the enemy.
Mac had already been through it the night before, flying as second pilot with a crew to Krefeld, but the only thing he would say about it was that we would find out soon enough, accompanied of course by that tap on the nose.
I was naturally apprehensive at the prospect of flying over enemy territory now that we were finally committed and not unaware of the losses that had already occurred in 214 Squadron in the short time we had been on the base. Fortunately there was plenty to do to take our minds off of the inevitable as the procedure had become standard for major exercises and operations and we knew precicely [sic] what to do.
The first thing was to ground test and then air test the aeroplane and with [deleted] that [/deleted] over to try and get some sleep before the briefing and all the other business whilst the ground crew prepared it for the flight with bombs, fuel, flares, ammunition, oxygen, first aid packs and safety equipment such as the dinghy, inclusive of the distress radio and a multitude of other individual items to be checked over or stowed.
Our next step was to change into clean underwear of the aircrew type. The pure wool and silk mixture. Not only for warmth in the sub zero conditions we were likely to
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encounter at altitude but just as important to reduce the risk of infection if injured. That was the general idea anyway, but at the rate we were soon to be flying we very often had to wear underclothes a week or more before the laundry caught up with us.
'Night Flying supper' was always something to look forward to at whatever time it was scheduled. The rare operational egg and bacon special. That meal was not just a 'perk' but possibly the last one that one would get for some time depending on the circumstances, and then we were off to the operations block.
Once we got there we were cut off from the outside world. All the outside telephone lines had either been disconnected or were at least monitored and even the local telephone boxes had been disconnected or secured as soon as the teleprinters had started clacking away earlier to advise that the operations order was following.
Within that environment there was a lot of activity and the amount of stuff we had to get together was quite extraordinary.
There was basic stuff such as parachute harness and pack. Life jacket, (the Mae West), helmet complete with earphones, microphone and oxygen mask, all to be tested on the rig in the safety equipment section. Then to change into sea boot socks and flying boots. Then to empty pockets into the locker and don the heavy fishermans roll neck sweater. The next step was to draw rations and escape and evasion packs that all had to be stowed into the numerous pockets of the life jacket and as if that was not enough we then gathered up our specialist equipment.
The navigator and wireless operator carried the most and it was quite a pile of stuff. Maps, charts, rulers, pencils, computer, (of the Dalton circlar type for wind calculations etc) , sextant, star tables, code books, lists of call-signs, frequencies, identification beacons. colours of the day information etc. Some of the secret stuff was typed on rice paper for the purpose of disposing of it by eating it if if [sic] the need arose.
It was hardly surprising that we needed large canvas flight bags for all of the odds and ends apart from having to carry all of the other gear.
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After assembling all that there was a short briefing by the specialist leaders before the main briefing took place, and it was at this point that the pilot, navigator and bomb-aimer were given advance knowledge of the target so that they could make their special studies of route, and target photographs before everyone else trooped into the main briefing room where the whole thing was put together so that everyone knew what was going on.
The teleprinters had been spewing out stuff for a long time after the planners at Command and Group HQ had held their planning meetings and sometimes the Operations Order was yards long. The operations order contained details of take-off times, route, turning points, target data, ack-ack defences, possible fighter activities, heights to fly and speeds, winds and weather en-route and return, fuel and bomb loads, pathfinder marking, alternative and emergency airfields, radio procedures, radio beacons, frequencies and callsigns, etc, etc. and even details of any POW camps if they were near the target.
The complex mass of stuff had been sorted out and the whole station was in top gear as we at last struggled into the main hall to assemble around our own table where there was a great deal of chat with clouds of tobacco smoke floating about by the time the whole assembly was called to order by the senior briefing officer. That was always a dramatic moment and the climax of all the activity that invariably seemed to be a race against the clock. Heaven help a crew that was late!.
The windows had been shuttered as soon as preparations had commenced and the 'fug' must have been murder for non-smokers.
As soon as everyone was in and accounted for the main doors were closed and two RAF Policemen took up position outside. Everyone settled down within the chaos of equipment all strewn around the floor and on the tables as the briefing got under way as soon as the big wall map was uncovered.
The briefing officers included the Flying Control and Met.Officers. The Armament and Engineering Officers, The Wing and the Squadron and Flight Commanders, and very often the Station Commander
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who took no part in the proceedings although he occasional took part in the operation with a 'scratch' crew but he invariably had a few words of encouragement at the end of the briefing.
When the curtains were drawn back from the wall map there was a bit of a gasp as eyes followed the coloured tapes across to the target..Mulheim, and then with such waving about of an old billiard cue that had been 'liberated' from one of the messes the show got under way.
It was a source of relief to find that we were not part of the main force. Our detail was 'Gardening'. The code name for mining, which we would be doing by flying part of the route with the main force and then dropping out to sow our 'veg' as we approached the Frisian Islands. I was glad of that and would not have cared for a trip to Mulheim first time out.
Mac would still say nothing about his trip to Krefeld. In fact very few people would. When asked, the usual answer was, "you will find out soon enough", and as far as Mulheim was concerned Mac would only say that we should think ourselves lucky that we were not going there. No-one argued with that!.
As soon as briefing was over there was a mad scramble for the crew bus to take us out to dispersal and to load all the gear into the aeroplane.
Having stowed everything where it should be there was time for a tour around the outside to make sure that all protective covers and control locks had been removed.
When all was ready it was just a matter of waiting for start up time with a few minutes quiet contemplation, a pee on a wheel, and a cigarette.
Any chatter there was at that stage was about anything other then the operation ahead of us.
Although the start up and taxy times had been given at briefing there was usually a signal from the control tower as back up bearing in mind that radio silence was strictly imposed from the time that the operation had been notified.
The signals were yellow/green verey flare for start up or a double red for cancellation so when the yellow/green went up the game was on. Some game!. Suddenly it was all deadly serious.
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My only consolation was that it was my own choice. I could have been blown to bits in the infantry, or roasted in a tank, or faced several different ways of drowning in the navy so it seemed as good a way as any of taking my chance.
With the start up everything in the aircraft seemed accentuated. The smell of paint, leather and fuel brat was all mixed up to create the odour that was peculiar to an aeroplane.
There was the additional smell of the rubber oxygen mask that was attached to the now sticky leather helmet and would be stuck to my head for the next few hours.
There was no way around that as the earphones and microphone were an integral part of the helmet.
Then there were the atmospherics on the otherwise silent radio receivers that mingled with all the other muffled noises as the aeroplane case to life in the hands of Mac and Paddy.
Starter motors whined. Engines coughed and spluttered and the airframe vibrated from end to end with the initial rough running in rich mixture. Flaps were operated, bomb doors were closed and brakes released with hissing air and sighing hydraulic systems after the wheel chocks were waived away, followed by the rolling motion of the heavily laden aircraft as we taxied to the marshalling point near the runway threshold. Depending where the dispersal was in relation to the runway in use determined the length of time taxying, and the order of take off, but normally by the time we reached the threshold the oil temperatures and pressures, and cylinder head temperatures had risen sufficiently for the engines to be run at near full power against the brakes to test the magnetoes [sic] .
As was usual in aero engines there were two magneto's to each engine, each serving one of the two sets of plugs per cylinder. That added up to 112 spark plugs altogether and it was neccessary [sic] that every one was doing it's bit when full power was called for. Then the superchargers were tested, and the variable pitch propellors, with the aircraft shaking and rattling until all four engines had been tested after which they were throttled back to a nice healthy tick over.
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That was the decision point of 'go,no-go'. The engines had to give power within certain tolerances before a full load take-off could be attempted, and a decision that we would have to 'abort' if all was not well would here been an anti climax at that stage.
It would have meant entering the runway at the allotted time, rolling down and turning off at the intersection or the end, and then justifying it to the engineering officer and the flight commander. It was not a decision to be taken lightly.
That first time, with a live load and everything checked out satisfactorily, a green aldis lamp signal flashed from the caravan in acknowledgement of the aircraft's letter signalled on the downward identification light and we were ready to go.
We entered the runway with the one hundred and one checks complete and the adrenelin [sic] started to flow as we went through the familiar procedure.
Line up, brakes on, one third flap, engine cooling gills set, superchargers in low gear, props in fine pitch, mixture rich, engines wound up, a momentary pause for a final check of revs and boost with the aircraft straining against the brakes....brakes off; and a surge of acceleration as we started down the runway. Then the continuing acceleration and the tail coming up followed by a final bellow from the engines as the throttles were shoved to the stops.
The runway lights flashed by at ever increasing speed. The aircraft gave a little sideways fidget as the line was corrected and we were soon approaching the critical speed.
Very mindful of several tons of high explosive and a great deal of high octane fuel surrounding us we continued to thunder down the runway until those of us not in the cockpit knew by all the familiar sounds and sensations that all was well up front. The flight engineer who had followed the pilots hand on the throttles up to the stops had now taken them over and applied the friction locks as Mac devoted all his attention to controlling the aircraft as at the same time the engineer was calling out the increasing air speed.
The rumbling stopped; the attitude changed and we knew we were airborne. The next call was "undercarriage up" and as soon as they were showing up the next call was "flaps in" and another
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change of attitude as the aircraft was 'cleaned up' before there was a final change of engine note as they were throttled back after reaching a safe height and speed.
At that point we all started to breath [sic] a little easier.
All the time the intercom between the pilot and enginneer [sic] was lively as the action and subsequent indicator response was called out and acknowledged.
With so such to do and so such depending on it being done correctly it was a rigid discipline, and very soon we were climbing on the first heading to the rendezvous position before climbing further to our operating height.
On that first occasion we set off at medium level under cover of the main force and once more we were on our way. This time with a difference……it was for real!..
[line of stars]
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As soon as we got clear of the coast the gunners tested their guns with a couple of bursts and the smell of cordite drifted around for a while, after which they settled down to their long spell of sky searching.
It was a lonely and demanding job but very neccessary [sic] as they methodically scanned up and down and left and right with the turrets following their search.
You could not see them out there but there were a lot of aircraft milling about with between 600 and 700 hundred converging on the main rendezvous position from East Anglia, Lincolnshire and Yorkshire to make up a solid stream. Even in good night conditions you were lucky to be able to see further than 700 yards so that if anything did show up there was not a lot of time to take action.
Some separation was provided by the various waves being at predetermined heights, and by time separation between the waves going through a check point or turning position, but nevertheless there were still a large number of aircraft packed into a relatively small area of sky at any one time.
When I was not in the radio compartment my position was in the Astro dome. That was the clear vision dome on top where the navigator took his star shots from and where I could assist in the search.
From there I could still remain plugged into the communication system and listen for routine broadcasts from the Group control station every half hour. These included up-dated forcasts [sic] of the weather in the target area and a common barometric pressure setting for the altimeter to ensure that we were all flying on the same datum.
Any message received was rapidly de-coded and passed to the navigator or the pilot although it was more common that only the station identification would be transmitted, (no message). It did not do to miss anything like a recall though, and to find that you were the only one over the target and getting a great deal of attention.
On occasions I would be required to release a flare over the sea for assessment of the wind drift. It was released down the flare chute and ignited after entering the water and then the rear gunner kept his sights on it to read off the drift angle.
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whilst the navigator did the timing and his sums which was very crude by modern standards but the results were a very useful check against the Met. forecast which with the best will in the world was often well out and navigators needed everything they could get to keep us on track. Pete was forever beavering away with his rulers, dividers and computer to cross check everything and did not rely on any one specific facility. The best I could do for his were radio bearings from the UK using the direction finder equipment.
Unfortunately that became suspect as we got deeper and deeper into enemy airspace. The Germans sent out false signals on the same frequency to confuse things and the continental broadcasting stations were suspect as well due to them being made on linked geographically located transmitters. [underlined] The same as we did for UK broadcasts. [/underlined] It was impossible to get bearings on that network. One equipment that they found difficult to interfere with was 'GEE', which was our most important navigational aid up to a certain distance imposed by range and height. That was the 'Magic Box' which used Information from a number of special high frequency transmissions which were received and displayed on an oscillascope [sic] . When the information had been transcribed to some special lattice charts positions could be fixed with considerable accuracy, and from running fixes it was possible to assess wind speed and direction for the purpose of correcting headings. It did not do to stray far off track.
The flight engineer continually monitored the engines, and all the vital functions that kept us going including fuel flow and fuel remaining as well as transferring fuel from the smaller tanks to keep the main one's topped up. There was very close co-operation between Mac and Paddy as Mac was meticulous in his handling of the engines.
The bomb-aimer/observer whose main function occupied very little time often spent time as co-pilot or assisted in map reading when conditions were favourable, so everyone had their job to do and a little bit more. It was team work all the way.
Positioning for mine dropping was meticulous. The Navy provided the charts and told us where they wanted them dropped, and the charts went back to the Navy.
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The mines went down in their specified area on their parachutes which softened the blow of them entering the water after which they submerged to do their evil business at a later date.
I was glad to see those go. Their explosive content of Torpex was far more devastating than that in our bombs; not that the outcome would be any different if we had a direct hit in the bomb bay!.
It all seemed too easy. We saw a little sparkling flak in the distance that someone had stirred up, possibly a flak ship.
Those were the blighters that could crop up anywhere so every sighted had to be logged so that some might be done about them later; if only to give instructions to avoid the area. The trouble was that it was easy for them to more from one anchorage to another before the next day!.
As we droned back to base I found it difficult to reconcile the fact that it really was me going through it all. It all seemed so unreal like a dream.
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I had moved on.
Someone else now had the refuelling job.
If ever I needed to call the W/T (morse) fixer service I knew what was at the other end of the facility and how they could help us.
I had worked in one of Bomber Command's transmitting stations at Honington, (mainly polishing the wretched floor), but as a qualified wireless operator I had often been allowed to plug into the transmitter side-tone as it squawked away and take down the transmission for practice.
Mostly of course at that time it was incomprehensible as it was in code, but now I had found out what it was all about being one of the recipients within a collective call sign.
There were facilities available on the shorter range R/T (radio telephone) service usually need directly by the pilot and although I had means of using it from my compartment it was very rarely necessary [sic] .
Apart from air to air and normal air to ground control there were some very useful services to be obtained such as the D/F (direction finder) cabins which I had also spent time in.
These were the strange tepee like wooden cabins stuck out in some field near the airfield with their double walls filled with fine shingle for protection against shot and shell and an aerial array sticking out of the top. I [sic] was from there that a highly experienced operator was able to give pilots a course to steer for base, or a bearing, and in dire emergency, assistance with a descent through cloud procedure.
I had spent more time in the teleprinter communication cabins and had done duty as the R/T operator in what was then called Flying Control as well as doing daily inspections on aircraft radio equipments.
I had time to reflect on what it all added up to as we droned steadily towards base. There was little else to do except listen out on the control frequency, load the colours of the day into the verey pistol and switch an the IFF (radar identification signal), make up the log etc as we approached the coast, descended and identified the flashing beacons that pin-pointed airfields and other geographical locations by their code. (I had even
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been part of the operating team on one of those at one time); until we identified Chedburgh's among the dozens that were winking through the night.
With navigation lights on and gunners still keeping a good look out for intruders we called the tower and got our joining instructions; joined the circuit, landed and taxied around to our dispersal.
The ground crew were waiting and marshalled us into position and finally when the chocks were in place everything was shut off and at last the dull roar that had been going on in our ears for hours finally subsided.
It took some time to adjust and we found that we still shouting at each other for a long time afterwards.
Apart from that and to get the tacky helmet off perhaps the most relief was gained by being able to slacken the lower straps of the parachute harness that if properly adjusted made life very uncomfortable, and then to have a good pee on a wheel and light a cigarette. What a blessed relief that was!. It became almost a ceremony!.
There were a few minutes to wait whilst the skipper had a few words with the crew chief to pass on any information relative to defects or malfunctions and then finally the crew bus arrived and we boarded on route to operations still drawing hungrily on our cigarettes, that as I recall, tasted pretty horrible at the time.
On arrival at the ops. room for debriefing there were excited exchanges with other crews all milling about after we checked in our parachutes. The room was still thick with tobacco smoke as the windows had remained closed since the briefing and would remain so until until [sic] the end of the de-briefing or to the time when all was quiet. The time when all aircraft had landed back at base or had been notified as landing elsewhere or endurance times had been reached. After that time aircraft that had failed to turn up were chalked up on the state board as FTR. (Failed to return).
We then spent a little more time answering questions put by the Intelligence Officers and their assistants as they probed for information, and completed combat reports as appropriate as they pushed more cigarette across the table.
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Finally came the specialist debrief when we handed in our logs and code books. Returning all equipment. Changing out of our flying clothing and at last making our way to the mess hall for our eggs and bacon, and to top it all off, a nice long walk back to our tin hut where others were already asleep or just tumbling into bed.
That is when it hit. When you were winding down. When it was all over and you felt completely drained. I know I did. Apart from anything else I was never very good at being up half of the night.
It might have been a routine trip for us but later as we found that [underlined] Eleven [/underlined] out [sic] 96 Stirlings had failed to return from the Mulheim raid and one of them had been from our Squadron. The casualty procedure was already under way and we had not even been there long enough to know the unfortunates concerned!.
That was the pattern of our lives. We usually reported to the flight office at 1400 hours the next afternoon whatever time we had landed, to see what was in store for us and a special effort was made for more than one reason.
If we had slept late and had to make a dash for it it [sic] was easy to miss lunch and we would have to go through to tea time before eating again. There was no other way of finding something edible unless one happened to find a mobile NAAFI wagon doing it's rounds. Even the so called 'sausage rolls' or the inevitable currant bun was welcome then. We very soon got around to keeping a tuck box of some sort to tide us over by hoarding some of our flying rations.
If there was no flying there was a serious attempt to be the first in the queue for supper. We always seemed to be hungry in those days. Or perhaps it was just me!
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On the 25th we were detailed for another mining job. This time in the Bay of Biscay, off the estuary the Geronde [sic] and in the approaches to the Atlantic U.boat bases.
Again it was hours of concentrated low flying over moonlit waters that could be so very, very deceptive. It placed a great deal of strain on Mac but that is where he seemed to be in his element and we were glad to get home again after a flight of 5 hours 45 minutes.
The mines had been placed with the same meticulous care as before and everyone seemed of the opinion that mining was 'a piece of cake' although not everyone was happy about spending so much time near the wave tops, especially as on one occasion Mac was close enough to cause the rear gunner to complain about the spray drenching his turret!.
There was some speculation about whether Mac was volunteering for mining but we never found out. What went on in the confines of the Flight Commanders office only ever translated itself into what went on the Battle Order and the Flight Authorisation Book.
That night others were not so lucky and another aircraft and crew from the Squadron failed to return.
We were all beginning to feel a little jaded by that time and we were hoping for some free time, if only to catch up on some sleep; but we had to wait for that.
[line of stars]
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We dragged ourselves down to the flight office in the afternoon hoping to hear the magic words "stand down", only to find that we were on the Battle Order again for another operation that night, and later on, in the briefing room, I was to experience a very strange feeling in my innards, somewhere between my heart and my stomach when the target was announced as Gelsenkirchen, in the Ruhr, or 'Happy Valley' as it was commonly dubbed by aircrew. It had to happen sometime!.
For Mac, it was already his fourth operation in five nights so it was not surprising that he was tight lipped about it. He knew what we were in for!.
For the rest of us it was to be our first time over the enemy coast to face all the perils that went with it. Since no-one would talk about it it [sic] had to be imagined although it not do to dwell on it.
I do know that as we approached the target that I was glad that I was not a pilot after all. How I would have reacted in those circumstances I am really not sure. Perhaps I would have coped but since my responsibilities towards the crew at that moment in time were limited I decided that on looking at that scene as we approached I would rather not know. I promptly retired to the protection of my armour plated seat. As if that made any difference!.
It did not seem possible that anything could fly through that unscathed. There were a lot of explosions and steel splinters out there but it soon occurred to me that the armour plating was only psychological protection. The others had a lot less protection so I went back to keeping a look-out and to hell with it.
As we started the bombing run the sight of the destruction being wrought upon a town by hundreds of tons of high explosive and incendiaries was bad enough but there was also evidence of life or death struggles going on around us as there had been on the run in. The searchlights probed and flak peppered the sky and through it all, flying more or less straight and level, Hoppy guided Mac to the aiming point chanting his left's, steadie's . and right a bit as the target slid up the sight wires.
In the initial stages of the approach the flak had been scattered as the guns went for individual aircraft but as the 'stream'
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Mac had laid down his own ground rules about what was expected of us when we were away from home shores.
In any case he strictly limited the use of the IFF. This was the device that sent out an identification signal to our radar stations, but which some people were known to use over enemy territory in an attempt to confuse the enemy radar. We most certainly did not!, and On/Off entries were made in both the signals and the nav. logs accordingly.
He would not permit the use of the infra-red rear facing fighter warning system which was just as well as we were to find out later that their fighter A.I. (airborne intercept) radar could home on it.
He was insistant [sic] that there should be the absolute minimum use of any radio equipment, and if it was not needed it was to be switched off. (He even used to switch off his R/T set unless there was a very good reason for having it on!.)
The ban even included navigational equipment if there was any chance of an emmission [sic] from it.
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Perhaps he knew something that we didn't but he was never one for explanations and since he was the boss what he said was never questioned. Not openly anyway!.
Like most pilots he carried a mini route map to help him keep orientated and the navigator was kept hard at it to keep us on track and on time as well as keeping in the middle of the stream rather than being a sitting duck waffling around on the fringe where we could be picked off by a roaming night fighter.
My duties had become very restricted by the limitations imposed by Mac. I could not even use the main transmitter without his permission and he was even reluctant to have it switched into the stand-by position which kept it warm and ready for use.
Only the main receiver plus it's associated direction finding equipment were available to me so I was not able to do much to assist in the navigation although there were plenty of other jobs to keep me occupied.
The results of people straying off track had already been obvious when sparkling exchanges of fire between aircraft were seen, or a sudden concentration of ack-ack and the probing fingers of a cone of searchlights and occasionally an orange ball of fire in the sky that would fall to earth and disintregate [sic] . Having no wish to be part of that scene it was 'softly softly catchee monkey'.
One job I often did was chucking leaflets out of the lower rear escape hatch but generally in the final stages of the bombing run I had another job that was another of Mac's specific requirements.
In order to take a photograph of the bomb strike a photo flash was released automatically down the flare chute and a barometric capsule activated it's 'chute and ignited it. Some photo flash!. It contained about 25lbs of magnesium mixture that produced a 3,000,000 candle power flash but the release mechanism of this thing had been known to fail with disastrous results. If it went off inside the chute or failed to clear the aircraft if it malfunctioned the results were as spectacular as getting a direct hit with an ack-ack shell.
It was usually assisted on it's way by a shove from me when I was not otherwise engaged. Just another safety measure that Mac had very quickly picked up from somewhere,
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and I imagine that the rest of the crew were somewhat relieved to hear the call "flash away---chute clear" call on the intercom before I went back to my other duties.
Once more we had run the gauntlet without problems and although the homeward journey was tedious we were eventually back over base and once more flopping into our beds an hour later when it was all over. Even then sleep did not come easily.
There were some more mines to be dropped in the Bay of Biscay on the 25th; again in the approaches to the Atlantic ports and U.boat bases and once more they went down bang on the button.
There was a special technique for accurate positioning but as usual Mac had his own variation. The brief was to transit at medium height and then down to the dropping height after a 'GEE' fix. Our way was to go down to the wave tops after the fix and then climb to dropping height after which we went down to the wave tops again to avoid being picked up by the Coastal radar stations.
It was not only the position in which they were dropped that was important but [underlined] how [/underlined] they were dropped. Too high and they could be out of position and possibly break up on impact. Too low and they were still likely to go up on impact by hitting the water before the 'chute deployed. Either of those results made the effort a waste of time....and there is no fun being blown up by your own mines!.
As soon as they were gone we were racing home again with the taps wide open to avoid the attentions of any prowling Ju.88's in the area….and then we climbed back up to above 2000ft. On that occasion our flight time was 5hrs 35mins.
By that time I was finding it difficult to reconcile our efforts with all the experiences that I had had on operational stations and of other lurid stories told by others of combats, fires, crashes, injuries and deaths. I knew it was not a myth and that it could and did happen so perhaps some people were just unlucky as the BBC news bulletins were regularly giving out that "XXXXX of our aircraft are missing". Just a cold statement of fact but often they were crewed by people we knew. The figure was frighteningly high on occasions, especially among the Stirling force, and there were not only operational losses. On the 2nd July two of the Squadron's aircraft collided in the Chedburgh
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circuit and crashed nearby with the loss of 15 lives. There was only one survivor from that tragic accident which included some ground crew getting some air experience.
We had a few days break before the next operation and like the I others I managed to catch up on some sleep and letter writing as well as sinking a few jars in the Mess but it was not all fun and games.
Hoppy and I took time off to go to Ely for a look around the Cathedral which we had so often seen from the air or the train and of course there were other activities laid on if there was no flying.
There was the often repeated talk about our conduct should we be unfortunate enough to become POW's and it was sometimes made all the more interesting when the talks were from people who had already escaped or evaded to make a home run. There talks on first aid and sea survival and how to make the most of all the equipment that was available to us if we got into trouble. There were not many idle moments but on those days we achieved some sort of normality. One could not be in the front line all the time, and it was too good to last. On the 3rd July we were on the Battle Order again to find that at briefing targets at Cologne were detailed so off we went again.
The defences were even more lively than I had ever seen before. There was evidence of a lot of fighter activity around the City and some very nasty sights as aircraft were hit in their vitals. There must have been some desperate situations as people fought for their lives if they had not already been blasted into eternity. How we went through that inferno I will never know and we were very relieved when we came out into the clear again and were heading for home, still keeping a good look-out for a long time.
It took time after slipping between the sheets before that scene finally faded from the mind. The brain needed time to wind down allowing the need for sleep to take over.
There were [underlined] seven [/underlined] Stirlings lost that time, again about 10% of the Stirling force among the total losses for the operation. It did not bear thinking about for too long and it was rarely the subject of conversation. At that rate according to the law of averages it would not be long before our number came up but
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people normally kept such thoughts to themselves, or shared their fears with their Chaplains.
For me, I soon gave up the struggle of concience [sic] . If people were getting killed or maimed on both side fighting for God and country then any rational person was bound to have doubts at some time. Possibly most people, like me, tried to push such thoughts to the back of the mind and just concentrated on eliminating the enemy, trusting that a forgiving God would understand.
I suppose it was a sort of psychological con. trick that one played on one's self.
It couldn't happen to us!!!!!
[line of stars]
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On one break between operations and sleeping there was flying practice of the kind that I found the most-enjoyable.
Fighter affiliation was the one exercise that involved us all except the navigator. He could get his head out of the 'office' and enjoy the fun. It allowed Mac to demonstrate his skill by causing more than a few Thunderbolt, Hurricane and Spitfire pilots to have to work very hard to get a bead on us, with a very good chance of getting them in our sights first, which Mac insisted was the object of the exercise.
It required complete team work between gunners and pilot and they had a fine old time giving their running commentaries and instructions which were interpreted by Mac into evasive action. The inter-comm was alive. A team of acrobats could not have put a routine together any better as we skidded and banked and slithered this way and that way to the frustration of the fighter pilots.
My place was in the Astro-dome as usual looking for any attacks that the gunners were not concentrating on....just in case!. I never had the opportunity to get into the turrets. The only way that I was ever going to do that was if one of the gunners became a casualty and although I was not over anxious for that experience I still had to keep in practice.
It was inevitable that Mac would get the opportunity to show off to our American friends one day.
We had recently had a liaison visit from USAAF crews and we had shown off our aeroplane only to be left smarting from some tactless remarks about our 'pop-guns' and the lack of them in certain parts, and "where did we stow the pool table", etc, etc. Certainly the fusulage [sic] of the Stirling was big enough for one, but they were more subdued when we told them that we could carry some three times the weight of bombs that they could!. We kept quiet about the fact that they could fly more than twice as high as we could, and very often did.
On one particular occasion we had just completed our exercise and the fighter was orbitting [sic] out of range somewhere when a B.17. (Flying Fortress), came stooging in looking for all the world like a porcupine with guns sticking out of everywhere.
We were a little above him so Mac shoved the nose down, piled on the power to build up the speed quickly, then stopped and
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'feathered'; (turned the propellor blades edge on to the slip stream) both outboard engines before coming up alongside him. After a little hand waving came the big surprise. We then slid up, over the top of him, came down the other side, then underneath and back into the original position before waiving [sic] goodbye to the astonished, and possibly alarmed B.17. pilot and then peeling off like a fighter. All that on two engines!!!!. Very good for morale!.
It has to be said that although the Stirling could not get to a decent altitude it could be thrown about in a very lively fashion and Mac's handling of it had to be experienced to be believed. We might have done some strange things at times and he threatened on several occasions that he would loop it but one thing I do not ever remember him doing was a heavy landing of the sort that some people seemed to make a habit of.
One measure of the quality of successive landings could always be taken from what was known as 'creep' marks on the tyres and wheels.
When a tyre was fitted on one of those enormous wheels a line was painted across wheel rim and tyre so that after a number of landings with the wheel being jerked into motion by the impact with the runway it was possible to see how far the tyre was creeping around the rim. It was only allowed to go so far otherwise the inner tube could distort and fail.
In most cases tyres needed re-fitting about every seven landings but I do know that our aircraft did not have a refitting as often as that.
As for looping, we never did, although we were never very far from it on the occasion when he did attempt it. He had several tries but the result was the same every time. We started running out of air-speed long before we got up to the top and he was obliged to roll out of it with dust, fluff and debris of all sorts floating about loosely in a brief spell of weightlessness. He gave it up after a while having calculated that he needed at least 300mph on the clock before the pull up to make sure of getting over the top but one thing he would not do was to push 'Willie' to that extent,
Someone else's aircraft maybe, but not ours!.
It goes without saying that such fun and games were never
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attempted without a lot of airspace under us. At least 7000ft. of it to make sure that to make sure of recovery if anything did go wrong, and I loved every minute of it.
On the 9th we were back to mining in the Frisian [sic] Islands this time, in the approaches to Wilhelmshaven and Bremerhaven. There was a lot of flak going up from the islands or ships but we had gone in on track fairly low and as soon as the mines had gone down we went again, skimming the wave tops and once more we skirted all the defences finally arriving back at base with no more problems other than just feeling tired even if it was one of the shorter trips.
Someone did mention to Mac that he was likely to slam into the side of a flak ship one night but he reckoned he would always jink around it before they could bring any guns to bear.
[line of stars]
Among the odd jobs that cropped up between operations were trips to pick up a crew or part of one that had diverted or pranged somewhere, or taking a crew to pick up an aeroplane after it had been repaired. Every day it was something different, and some nights as well with a mass exercise to test some procedure or just to keep the enemy guessing. Spoof exercises were boring but very worthwhile as it put the German defences on the alert only to find that the force had turned away half way across the North Sea.
Mac still went out of his way to practice low flying and I recall with shame the number of sailing boats all over the Broads that we capsized with our slipstream as we steamed along with about 200mph on the clock.
It seemed funny at the time anyway. Especially the poor bloke on a bike who was wobbling all over the place as he was looking over his shoulder at a massive Stirling at about 30ft bearing down on him, to be finally flung, bike and all, into the dyke.
None of it was authorised of course but Mac always used to say that if the flight authorisation book was annotated 'local flying' it looked suprisingly [sic] like 'low flying' and that is what he would be doing for as long as he could get away with it.
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On the 24th we were briefed for a raid on the docks and the U.Boat construction plants at Hamburg with a maximum effort being called for.
Every available aircraft was put on; many with 'scratch' crews drawn from the operations staff. This was one with a difference!. The briefing was long and detailed as we were going to drop 'Window' for the first time.
'Window' was the code name for the bundles of foil strips that were to be discharged from aircraft at a steady rate from a given position en route and as every aircraft in the force was contributing it was expected to cause such a smother of signals on the enemy radar that it would be quite impossible to track individual aircraft. It sounded like a good idea to me and I was quite content to spend a lot of time shoving that stuff down the flare chute if it was going to keep us out of trouble.
It did work and losses were cut considerably despite the fact that three of the Stirling force failed to return out of a total of 791 aircraft dispatched. Nine others were also missing.
It was a fairly long flight of 6 hours 55 mins. but was without incident until we were over base on return. Someone ahead of us had done a 'swinger' and blocked the runway so we were diverted to Mildenhall and it was a strange bed for the night for us. The arrangements for diverted crews were a bit rough and ready. After debriefing we were given bedding and then had to hump it, with all of our other gear, around the camp, through the main gate to the pre-war airmens married quarters which were being used as barracks, and we finally flopped into hastily made beds in the kitchen of one of them, dead beat. I'm sure we could have slept the clock around but it was not to be.
We were hauled out of our beds at mid-day by the RAF Police as there was a panic to get back to base. We had no time to have a drink or a meal or clean our teeth or wash or shave. It was a mad scramble to get out to the aircraft as quickly as possible after returning the bedding. That basically is what caused my problem. It was not until we had got airborne that I realised that in the 'flap' I had left my flight bag in the billet and that was
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serious. Among the contents of that bag were secret code books but Mac was adament [sic] when I asked for a turn round. His comment was simply "hard luck". so when I reported the loss on return to base the cat really was among the pigeons.
It was a long time before the enquiry was concluded.
I could have shortened the period, and certainly Mac was soon wishing he had turned-back but he would not take me over later in his car, or lend it to me (not that I had a driving licence), so we had to put up with a Squadron Leader chasing us all around for statements. It must have been time consuming and frustrating for him when we kept disappearing into the protection of the briefing room which were 'off-limits' to him.
The bag was eventually recovered from where I said it was. It was in one of the cupboards in the kitchen where we spent the night. (I had put it there for safety!), and later I got a formal reprimand for my sins. It did not make a lot of difference in the long run.
[line of stars]
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Nevertheless, I was feeling very apprehensive about the outcome of the oversight as we set course for base, air testing the aircraft on the way, and once the loss was reported I was issued with a new kit before we dashed off to try and get a few hours more sleep and a clean up. There was not much time to spare as we were on the Battle Order again. Hence the panic to get us back!.
Even then none of us felt particularly wide awake as we dragged ourselves into the briefing room once more. This time to be briefed for a raid on the Krupps complex at Essen.
Essen was considered to be one of the hottest targets in the Ruhr, being right in the middle with some fairly formidable defences to work our way through.
It was a case of running the gauntlet for a long time with a big of a wiggle here and there to dodge the ack-ack and the searchlights that someone else had stirred up but nevertheless, around Essen itself it was pretty fearsome.
Somehow we got through it and were homeward bound just wanting our beds but it was not to be. Routine W/T (Wireless Telegraphy-morse) broadcasts from Group HQ confirmed that the weather had indeed taken a turn for the worse, as we had been warned about at briefing.
Fog was forming all over East Anglia and we did not have a lot of reserve fuel. We had carried a maximum bomb load instead so someone at Group HQ planning must have been keeping his fingers crossed. The problem was that there were a lot of pilots wanting to get on the ground quickly as the low swirling fog was thickening up rapidly.
The countryside was covered in almost 100% cotton wool with church spires and masts sticking up through it and it did not make it easy to find a runway underneath it.
Our diversion was to Waterbeach and by the time we arrived on the scene it was going full blast. Aircraft were milling around over the top burning up precious fuel and others who had been called in had made missed approaches and rejoined those circling so when we were called in without too much delay Mac pulled out all the stops and made it first time on the BABS (Blind Approach Beam System), much to the relief of all concerned.
There was a lot of nail biting and it did not improve matters
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when we actually passed over one flaming wreck on the final approach. We had made it but some others holding off near the coast ran out of fuel and had to abandon with the inevitable loss of life due to parachute failures, crash landings and drownings.
At least we were home and dry once more even if it was going to be another cold and somewhat damp bed for the night, which was more than could be said for some poor blokes. Nothing at all was heard from another six Stirlings, Three of then from our Squadron. There was another large gap in the ranks that would need filling!.
The weather had cleared up by mid-morning and we were hauled out of our beds again feeling more dead than alive, with another panic to get back to base as we were on the Battle Order yet again!.
I must confess that at the time I felt that we were really pushing our luck.
"Willie' did not come up to scratch as we airtested it on the way back. We had actually taken off with what would normally have been an unacceptable 'mag' drop being unladen but it really did not make a lot of difference so we handed it over to the ground crew to sort out and once again we went through the same procedure as before. Grabbing some sleep, cleaning ourselves up etc. but when it came to briefing time 'W' still had not become serviceable despite Mac's rantings and ravings. He and Paddy had spent quite a lot of time out at the dispersal with their sleeves rolled up. We were allocated EF492 which someone else had air tested.
It finally resolved itself as the operation was cancelled almost immediately after the briefing. That was one time I was very relieved when the 'op. scrubbed' message came through considering the diabolical weather that had been forecast.
Despite the extra time that was available 'W' still failed to give satisfactory engine responses even after they changed all the plugs, ignition leads and magneto's on the troublesome engine so we were still down for EF492 when we were briefed on the following day for Hamburg yet again.
'Windowing' was the routine once more starting long before we entered the flak and fighter belt.
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The only break in that routine was when the flare was loaded as we once again approached the target in the midst of the docklands complex.
There was a lot of chatter and excitement from those up front as we got nearer. I went forward to join Pete who had virtually abandoned his charts about fifty miles from the city. There was absolutely no doubt where the target was. No spoof target fire could have possibly looked like that.
There was a damn great fire up ahead that, obliterated any aiming point so we jostled ourselves into the stream and Hoppy aimed for the middle.
The scene was almost beyond description, with a carpet of fires delineated by the waterways and streets with bursting bombs and other erupting areas of fire with photo flashes and flak tracers climbing lazily into the sky. Probing fingers of searchlights and cascading chandeliers of red and green Pyrotechnic markers.
It was an obsolutely [sic] apalling [sic] inferno down below us. It was sea of flame with smoke reaching up almost to our height to even penetrate the aircraft which bounced and bucked in the updraft.
I had never seen anything like it before and it was a long time before the flames faded into the distance as we left it all behind us. The rear gunner reckoned that he could still see them nearly 100 miles away and everyone was wondering what could have caused such a conflagration. We were to find out later that a combination of freak conditions had caused what was to be known as the 'firestorm’ but it was with some relief that we eventually arrived back at Chedburgh, into a hut now full of new people and to flop into our own untidy beds ready to sleep for a week.
[line of stars]
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We had another free day before the next operation was scheduled.
A day of rest and an opportunity to write to my parents, who, although they never showed their feelings in their letters about the family must have dreaded each day for what news it might bring them, knowing what I was doing. But the following day we were on the Battle Order once again.
We had a shock when we found that the target was Hamburg once more, and there seemed something sinister in going for the place so soon after the last attack that surely must have torn the heart out of the place.
EF433 was back in business as they had sorted it out at last and we had a rough time weaving in and out of a multi searchlight cone and concentrations of flak as we approached the target area. Once again it was a combination of Mac's skill in weaving about and a fair slice of luck. It was not surprising that our gunners were getting a bit 'twitchy' by this time, and so would I have been in their situation. One moment of slackening concentration on their part and we could easily be one of the 'flamers' we saw all too often so when Ralph blasted away at a shadow that swept across the top of us without warning the very fact that he identified it as a Halifax almost immediately was taken for granted. We learned later that Ralph's fire had been accurate enough to have wounded the Halifax engineer in the foot!. It was unfortunate but it really was a case of shoot first and ask questions afterwards. A split second hesitation and there was no second chance if it had been a roaming night fighter trying to drop something nasty on us. We had been warned about that possibility.
Worst things could happen in the 'stream' with hundreds of aircraft converging on one spot with a night visibility of 500 to 600 yds. at best. Collisions were always a possibilty [sic] despite the attempts to achieve separation in the planning, but if someone was out is his timing, and at the wrong height that was it. What the Halifax was doing at our height and mixed up with the Stirlings is anyone's guess. Pete was adament [sic] that we were on time but a total of six Stirlings were lost that night despite the protection of 'Window' and other methods that were being used to give us some cover.
The Special Duties Force had all sorts of tricks up their sleeve
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to confuse and jamb the German fighter control system including German speaking operators on board to imitate their controllers and transmit spurious instructions.
They played merry hell with the system causing Luftwaffe pilots to continuously change channels and in the general confusion they were soon forced to make some drastic changes and then the main force joined in as soon as they entered the fighter belt. Every aircraft transmitted noise on a selection of frequencies which overlapped and were manipulated in such a way as to produce a solid spread of noise across their operating band.
It caused a buzz of excitement when this was detailed at briefing but was Mac was still reluctant to have our main transmitter in use. It produced a typical comment, "It's all very well these clever sods deciding that we will do this and that and the other, but I'm not having a fighter home on our transmissions right up our chuff".
Nevertheless, I had my orders and I could appreciate the value of it. He was finally convinced when I asked him try to listen into the din that was going out on the airways. There was a solid spread of noise from hundreds of aircraft using a microphone in an engine housing feeding to the transmitter. It blotted out everything else so I was allowed to add my bit. Operation 'Tinsel' was good value as far as I was concerned.
Once more the journey was made over the North Sea which always looked so angry and inhospitable when there was sight of it. The very thought of finishing up in the 'oggin' filled me with dread but that was the way so many went following an emergency signal going out at frantic speed to the fixer service. If the sender was lucky it would be followed by a long transmission when the key was clamped down before he dived for his crash position and the transmission ceased when the inevitable occurred.
Everyone who heard those transmissions logged whatever they heard and a D/F bearing if they managed to get one although the transmission would be acknowledged smartly by the base operator for the benefit of all those that might be listening.
The sender would no longer be listening. He would have far more important things to occupy his mind; if he had been lucky!.
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It was not always easy to ditch copy-book style, with the tail down, along the bottom of the swell, exactly at the right speed, at night, and with the aircraft flying like a brick lavatory. Maybe without even a qualified pilot at the controls. But some made it just the same and the rescue services did the rest.
For us once more there were the dulcet tones of the WRAF in the control tower when Mac called for landing instructions, and eventually after all the paraphinalia [sic] had been attended to; to climb into a cold and untidy bed, for most of us, in the same state as we had got out of it!.
The next night we were off to Remchiede [sic] in the Ruhr and marking was carried out to the ultimate. Something different was being tried. There were route markers, turning point markers, target markers, back up markers and shifters, but it was not to Mac's liking. It might have helped to place more bombs in the right place but it also seemed to be an invitation to the night fighters to concentrate their efforts in a nicely defined corridor.
That was the night I did something that I only ever did the once. We were carrying a second pilot on his first operational trip. Paddy spent most of his time in the astro dome, the flare was loaded and there was no window to throw out so I was virtually 'spare'. I retired to my armour plated seat, receiver volume turned right up so that I would be alerted at the first signs of a transmission; and then I dozed off!. At that point in time I decided that if I was going to get killed I did not want to know about it.
It is not possible to go right off in such circumstances so I was still conscious of thumps, bounces and weaving sensations but we still sailed right through it all although eight other Stirling were not so lucky. Two of them from our Squadron!.
[line of stars]
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There was hardly time to get our breath back before we were at it again. We went through the old familiar routine and there were a few gasps when we found that the target was Hamburg once more.
In the meantime a story had gone around in respect of an NCO crew who had turned up for a briefing in their best uniforms, having told their commissioned captain in advance that they were refusing to go, but when they announced that fact to all and sundry that they really had had enough after their last rough trip there was one hell of a commotion. They had all been placed under close arrest and were stripped of their rank and aircrew insignia after which they finished up in the ‘glasshouse'. Subsequently, when they had completed their term they were employed in the Sgt's Mess of another operational station with the glaring signs of removed badges for all to see………and lesson to everyone!.
How much truth there was in that story is anyone's guess but it did show up the anomaly in the aircrew set up that everyone was well aware of.
Despite the fact that all aircrew were volunteers once you were in that was it. There was no going back and staying that you did not like it or you did not want to do it, on moral or any other grounds. You were stuck with it.
Failure or refusal to carry out your duty in the air was classified as LMF. (Lack of Moral Fibre) and led immediately to a Courts Martial. The action was swift although there was a subtle difference between that charge and 'cowardice in the face of the enemy'.
I am sure that a lot of people who were justifiably scared out of their wits still pressed on rather than give way and be labelled with that stigma. In many cases the condition was recognised by other crew members and the individual often 'rested' on medical. grounds which eventually sorted the chap out one way or the other.
In this particular case where there was more than one person involved it was much more serious and no doubt could have been construed as mutiny rather than LMF. It begs the question of how a similar problem would have been dealt with in either of the other services. I have a fairly good idea...but this was
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the Air Force way!!!!!!!.
The briefing was well under way and everyone did their little bit until it finally came to the Met. man's turn.
He commenced to put up a chart such as I had never seen before; or since.
It was smothered in the usual blue and-red symbols of high and low pressure systems. Warm fronts. Cold fronts. Occluded fronts, and the craziest pattern of isobars that looked as if they had been put on by a demented spider.
There was a buzz of anticipation as he finished pinning up his chart, then he turned around, coughed nervously and confessed that he had not got a clue.
What a brave chap!.
The announcement was greeted with good natured hoots, howls, and whistles accompanied by the stamping of feet until, he had an opportunity to explain that the situation was very complex and that it was impossible to draw up really accurate forecast. This was the best that he could do.
His forecast was absolutely grim. We were to expect anything and everything. There were no soft options.
He probably did not realise at the time that all the noise we had made was little more than a cover for the twinges we nearly all had in our guts.
His chart may have been a joke but the weather was not. There were umpteen layers of cloud with heaped up cumulous and dirty great Cumulo [sic] Nimbus embedded in the layers with the most incredible wind sheers in them that was a navigators nightmare quite apart from the fact that if you did happen to be unfortunate enough to blunder into the worst of that it was enough to tear your wings off with updrafts and downdrafts of around 100mph adjacent to each other!.
We encountered ice, snow, hail, rain, thunder and lightning and even that rare phenomenae [sic] 'St Elmo's fire' that lit up the aircraft with a silvery blue glow of discharged static electricity around all of it's extremeties [sic] including the propellors that were turned into enormous catherine wheels.
Mac fought the elements and that aeroplane for hours as it bucked, bounced, and groaned with every lurch. We couldn't get above it so there was only one way....onward!
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Hail about the size of marbles hammered us until we thought that every piece of perspex must give way under the onslaught but somehow we got through although we had to bomb under the parachute sky markers that the Pathfinders had been forced to drop above the diffused glow of the doomed city below us.
It must have been too much for some. It was a shocking night all round. For us as well as Hamburg. We lost thirty aircraft altogether and another 50 were badly damaged, without a doubt as much by the elements than by enemy action and on the whole it is not suprising [sic] that the bombing was scattered all over the place.
We were all utterly exhausted after that. None more so than Mac, and were very relieved to get back to base and flop into our beds again. We were very lucky. A lot of good blokes went to a more permanent resting place that night without achieving a lot on that ill fated mission.
There were some angry mutterings directed at the commanders who had made the decision to go out an such a night.
There is a story told of one Aussie pilot who was so incensed at the debriefing he insisted on phoning Group HQ and when he was connected fired a real Aussie broadside down the line. The story goes that when he had finished the person at the other end said "do you know who you are talking to?", "No" said our Aussie. "This is the C in C, Air Chief Marshall Harris" (short pause), the next question was from our Aussie friend, "do you knew who this is?" to which the C in C said "No". "Thank Christ far that" was the answer to that before the phone was promptly replaced!.
[underlined] Noel [/underlined]
Happy reading
[line]
and there are another 70 pages to ‘Water under the Bridge’ Part 1
[underlined] Alan [/underlined]
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On the lighter side there were a few evenings out together in Bury St Edmunds where someone had found a pub that was just right for us.
It was a back street 'spit and sawdust' place with the very apt name of 'The King William', and give us a common meeting place that we were otherwise denied as we were split between two Messes.
Mac used to get a small recreational petrol allowance for his car but it didn't go far. One or two sorties had proved fruitless as everywhere we went we seemed to be up to our armpits in aircrew and allied troops of all nations, and despite various reports about a certain pub having some beer we would be lucky to get in the door before they sold out. In others it was not unusual to get a watered pint. With war-time beer being limited to 2 1/2% alcohol to start with who wanted a watered pint! We most certainly didn't so once we found the 'King Willie' we kept very quiet about it.
The landlord and his wife had recently heard of a service bereavement in the family and when we turned up they virtually adopted us. We were treated like family and we could not have asked for more. In those days such a place that never ran out of beer, eggs and bacon, or time was the nearest thing to home. We probably spent more time in the private rooms than in the bar.
After 50 years that old `pub` no longer dispenses jars of ale. It has been converted into a private dwelling but the old pub sign boarding across the front that used to bear the name has been painted over, but it will always be the 'King Willie' as far as I am concerned.
I will always have a soft spot for that place and 'mine hosts'. There must have been times when Mac's elderly but mechanically perfect Triumph Dolomite was on auto pilot when we were on our way back from Bury after an excursion but it always did it without fuss even if it was grossly overloaded. Anyway, Mac was quite used to nursing a grossly overloaded machine and under the circumstances I never had any worries.
There was the consolation that of course if anything did go wrong; and one day it did when I was not with then, we would not have far to fall, and on occasions we were past caring.
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After a short break we were on the Battle Order again on the 10th August and that night we had a very close shave.
The targets were at Nuremburg, and everything was as normal as it could have been under such circumstances until we were in the final stages of the bombing run when Ralph suddenly snapped out "go port--go-go-go", and Mac threw the aircraft over without hesitation.
I searched around frantically to see what it was all about because I was as usual looking in the opposite direction to where Ralphs turret was pointing.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw a Lancaster no move than 100 feet above us, sliding diagonaly [sic] across, with a 'cookie'. 4000lb blast bomb just leaving it's bomb bay!.
That instant `jink' undoubtedly saved us as we actually felt the displacement of air buffet us as it passed within a few feet of us between the mainplane and tailplane....and then it was gone. So was the Lanc!
Whether we were late on target or the Lanc. was early, or why the Lanc. was at our height, or why the bomb aimer had not seen us goodness only knows. There were lots of theories put forward and Mac had a lot to say about it for a change.
Our own theory was that a new Lanc. crew had done a panic stricken dive to the target and were more intent on getting rid of their load and out of it, and we were well aware that such things did happen from the whispers that did the rounds.
Hoppy was more concerned that the manoeuvre had spoiled his bombing run and he had lost his initial aiming paint so all he could do was to dump the bombs into the inferno that was Nuremberg below us but we were still sweating over that incident for some time afterwards.
It certainly had the affect of increasing our vigilance in the future and we were not going to be caught out like that again if we could avoid it. Things were dangerous enough as it was without being 'bombed' by our own aircraft.
Sixteen aircraft failed to return that night and three of them were Stirlings out of the 119 Stirlings sent out!.
Despite the savage losses within the Stirling force we were
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off again on the 12th but from all around the briefing room there were sharp intakes of breath when we saw just how far the tapes stretched across the wall map, right down to Turin, Italy, and everyone knew immediately that it was going to be a 'hairy' one. Mainly because every Stirling crew member was only too well aware of just how high a Stirling would go. Even the Wellington and some of the 'oldies' could do better than us so we knew that there was no way we would be flying over the Alps...it had to be through them!. As the plan unfolded we soon learned that that was exactly what we were going to do. The bolt hole if in trouble was North Africa!. Our Stirlings were a standing joke in Bomber Command. Even WWI aircraft could get to greater altitudes. We were lucky in normal circumstances to get above 15,000ft fully loaded despite the fact that the Operations Order often called for heights that were unobtainable. There were occasions when we managed to 'claw' a bit more at the expense of high fuel consumption by using more revs and boost and with a bit of luck, climbing at a ridiculous 200 feet per minute with 5deg. of flap when it was possible to gain another 1000 to 1500ft before starting the run in to the target but it was not always a good idea as it reduced the airspeed at the most vulnerable time. It did of course produce an increase in airspeed in a nose down approach to the target but it was a 'swings and roundabout' situation. It was certainly a waste of time gaining height that way for any other reason as having achieved it it [sic] could not be held in level flight and would slowly sink back to it's own level like a waterlogged hippo. The net result was that we got the full treatment from both the medium and the heavy flak as well as being bombed by our own aircraft!. The die was cast and we were stuck with it and it seems appropriate to relate an incident as I recall it.
A New Zealand pilot of 214 Squadron received a replacement rebuilt machine and to his delight he found that it out-performed any other Stirling that he had ever flown and kept singing it's praises until the news got around and an investigation was started to try and find out all about this 'Super' Stirling.
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All sorts of people flew it and sure enough it went up to around 20,000ft feet just like a Lanc. and there was much scratching of heads. Then they brought the jigs in from the repair depot, (SEBRO), at Cambridge and the matter was solved. They found out that the tailplane was out of incidence, so they promptly put it back to the 'correct' specification and 'presto', it was back to what a Stirling should be.
It might have solved the technical problem but it did not help the pilot much. He was so peeved about that he refused to fly it until it was changed back and he was threatened with disciplinary action but it was overcome by allocating him another 'normal' aircraft so he had to fly that or face the consequences. My recollection of the final verdict is that the powers that be decided that an incorrectly rigged tailplane could cause a structural failure in flight and that was the last word as far as I am aware. Stirlings continued to be produced to the same specification and displayed the same problem right to the end of it's days, even when many were converted or built as Mk.lV and Mk.V transports that were subsequently to be found littered around airfields all over the world.
I think most of us at that time would have been prepared to have taken a chance if there had been a choice of the two evils and Mac summed it up in his own inimitable way. "Bloody stupid sods", but since there was no choice through the Alps it was.
At the other end of the spectrum there was another `rogue' aircraft that arrived on the Squadron after a rebuild but it must have had a very limited test flight prior to delivery. Rogue is hardly the word that it's crew called it after air testing It. It creaked and groaned. The wing tips fluttered and it could not be trimmed from a lop-sided attitude in flight. Despite the most careful handling it showed great reluctance to exceed 9,000ft and was finally landed very delicately as it seemed that it was about to fall apart. It still took another independent short air test to confirm it's condition before it was promptly grounded and handed back to engineering!.
Despite the problems with the aircraft and the conditions encountered in flying right down to the South of France, skirting around Switzerland and heading through the mountains the Fiat factory......
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in Turin received our calling card but Mac was not at all happy with the return journey.
We had used a lot of fuel as a result of the engine settings that he had insisted on as we had weaved in and out of the mountain tops and to make matters worse it seemed to be getting light much earlier than anticipated.
The planned route was given up in favour of a straight line course for home shores and in the improving light Mac went down to deck level to get under radar cover and to make sure that no-one could get underneath us.
There was little I could do. Radio communication was out of the question even if it had been needed. We were far to low for reeling out the trailing aerial without loosing it so I went into the front turret as all of the others up front concentrated on map reading and safety look-out.
We were scudding along and were about 30 to 40 miles South of Paris when Mac let out a yell, "all gunners stand-by.....open bomb doors". He had spotted something that looked like a good place to jettison the incendiary containers. That 'something' appeared to be a German troops early morning parade forming up in a barrack square and we blasted into the parade ground leaving a very nasty mess behind us from front and rear guns as well as the containers.
That got rid of a bit of weight and we continued to steam along until we came to the shores of the Normandy coast where we spotted what looked like another troop assembly for morning bathing which we blasted into as well leaving that area rather messed up as well.
It did seem as if Mac's apptitude [sic] for low level flying was paying off as we had no-one chasing us so we stayed down low until half way across the Channel by which time I had vacated the front turret then it was back up to height, IFF on for radar identification, and on to base.
Mac had his own reasons for imposing a discreet silence about that episode despite what might have been a considerable contribution to the war effort. As far as anyone else was concerned we had dumped the containers and fired off the ammunition in the Channel to lose weight but having run for home more or less in in a straight line we got it........
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in the neck for arriving home early, a little earlier than others. There was even an accusation that we might not have even been to Turin and Pete's charts were impounded, but the target photo proved that we had. What they thought we had been doing for 7hrs 25mins. I really do not know but it was not very pleasant until we were proved to be in the clear but our unauthorised activities were [underlined] never [/underlined] reported.
The relief of crossing home shores again on the return journey was always an anti-climax as there were many hidden dangers on the home run with most of the crew drained by the physical and mental concentration of picking a safe pasage [sic] through enemy defences.
It was too easy to relax too soon with the gunners fighting the overwhelming desire to close their eyes, and even up front it was just as easy to be lulled by the steady throb of carefully synchronised engines with the aircraft flying itself on auto-pilot, particularly during the dark hours.
It was not unknown for the occasional Luftwaffe fighter bomber to infiltrate the home going bomber screen [sic] with a chance of shooting one down or following it through the radar screen to his base to shoot him down when he was most vulnerable during the landing and to give the base a plastering as well.
There was one occasion that I thought Mac had gone barmy when we were homeward bound over the sea and he called me up to take over his seat whilst he went down the rear. The night was as black as a coal cellar otherwise I am quite sure that I would never have had that opportunity but I dread to think of what might have happened if we had been bounced.
Of course, Paddy, in the right hand seat was quite capable of flying the aircraft within certain limits should an emergency arise, that was part of the job. So could Hoppy and although I had done several hours in the Link trainer (Flight simulator) my own efforts were very limited. My best effort was when I had an outside horizon but I was not very good on instruments alone and with the hood down. Under those circumstances I invariably 'pranged' it by losing control so when on that occasion I sat there gingerly making adjustments to the controls; as I thought, Paddy said after a few minutes "easy isn't it?", and when I nodded he added, "especially on auto-pilot"!. Rotten
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swine, and I thought that I had been doing so well to keep it straight and level.
After that I just sat there until it was time to return to my radio compartment to take a routine broadcast. Then I knew why I had been afforded the privilege of a front seat.
There was Mac, comfortably seated on the Elsan toilet down the back end, smoking a cigar, seemingly without a care in the world. Skippers privilege; no-one else was allowed to smoke!.
After the last operation we learned that three Stirlings had failed to return and one of them was from our Squadron.
The briefing on the 16th was for the long haul down to Turin again but we had an engine pack up 1 1/2 hours out and we were forced to return. With obstacles like the Alps to contend with it was no time to invite trouble but it seemed a terrible thing to do to jettison about 1000 gallons of precious fuel over the bombing range at Thetford followed by the bombs. It all had to go to get the aircraft down to landing weight but not all of the bombs went down safe. They never did. If the arming links did not release from their clips the pins were pulled and they went down live.
I remember only too well the occasions when as an airman on the very range, looking after the flashing beacon that there were some hair raising incidents. I have always maintained that the safest place was the target area. Being 2000 yards from it was no guarantee that you would not get earth thrown in your face,.....even when the Lufwaffe [sic] had a go at knocking out the light. At least on those occasions it gave me a bit of fun then with the Bren gun!.
We were certainly more rested than those who had done the full round trip when we found out that there was another operation planned for the 17th.
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Excitement mounted when the Battle Order was posted calling for a maximum effort and every available aircraft and crew was on the board to start with although it was whittled down for various reasons as time went on. We were allocated a 2nd pilot as EF433 was still undergoing an engine change so we were down for EE945 but it seemed a struggle to get many serviceable.
There were gasps and whistles as the wall map was uncovered. The tapes went right out across Demark and jinked about all over the place before they ultimately took up a course for Berlin from a turning point on the German Baltic coast very close to the Polish border. That was the crafty bit. We had been going on that route with variations for some time but that time we were not going to Berlin but to some place by the name of PEENEMUNDE.
The briefing was lengthy and very detailed. We were going in at medium height in bright moonlight to attack an experimental radar establishment (so we were told) and there was an order of the day from the man himself, 'Bomber Harris' to the effect that we were expected to press home the attack with the utmost vigour, and that if we did not knock the place out the first time we would be going back again the next night to finish it off.
Apparently Peenemunde was very special and I did not like the sound of that any more than the rest of our brief.
The aiming point for our wave was the quarters of the technical staff with the intention of killing as many as possible and the other waves would deal with the research and manufacturing plant. There was a lot of quiet whistling through clenched teeth at that announcement. It had a particularly dirty feeling about it to set out to deliberately kill people although we were not so naive not to be aware that the type of bombing that we were engaged in invariably took it's toll of innocent civilians including women and children. Somehow this felt different.
The Pathfinder technique was something new too. We had a 'Master of Ceremony's', who would be flying around the target broadcasting target and marker information to keep the bombing concentrated in the right place. A very dodgy process at low level and under a lot of falling bombs so Mac had to keep his R/T set on whether he liked the idea or not.
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Despite the maximum effort called for all the Squadron could muster was four serviceable aircraft and in fact only a total of 54 Stirlings were committed so we were not the only unit having difficulty in keeping aircraft flying but we got off and were under way without any trouble.
It was a long trip taking a Northerly route across the North Sea with many feint turns to keep the enemy guessing until we eventually turned South to cross the Island of Rugen with the head of the stream pointing to Berlin but in that case using the island as a final navigational check point to line us up with Peenemunde.
In such a bright moonlight night dozens of aircraft could be seen lining up but the rear gunner spotted one that seemed to be lining Itself up on us and it was not one of ours!. He kept an eye on it until he was sure of it's intentions and then there was a sharp warning, "fighter low, corscrew [sic] starboard, go" and opened fire as he spoke.
There was a lot of firing from both gunners as banked and dived followed by a yell from the rear gunner "got him" as the would be attacker went diving earthwards with smoke and flame pouring from him.
We soon levelled out again with the target area now clearly lit up ahead by markers, exploding bombs and fires. The Flak was very light and the target stuck out like a 'sore thumb' although there was a little confusion about the precise aiming point. The MC had been a bit late in giving corrections to bomb upwind and to one side of the markers but Hoppy had already locked on to his target and it was too late to do anything about it once the button was pressed, He always maintained that he went for the correct target anyway as it was obvious that the markers were out of place but there was a lot happening around us and there was more excitement to come.
The bomb bay doors had just closed when Mac suddenly ordered "guns stand-by-fighter dead ahead" and I swung around in the astro-dome to see an Me.110 about 200 yds ahead going from left to right with the crew plainly silhouetted in the cockpit by the light of the moon.
In the time that it had taken me to turn around Mac had already
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rammed on full power, banking right and Hoppy was scrambling into his turret. Ralph was rapidly rotating forward but it was a forlorn hope that we might do something effective. There was no way a thirty tonner was going to produce the sort of urge [sic] that was necessary and we soon lost him as he went into the dark side. I don't suppose the German crew even saw us.
The intercom was a bit lively after that as we cleared the target area and finally headed for home. The fighters were showing signs of getting very busy and there was evidence of combats all around us so it was not surprising that Mac did his usual and to hell with orders to climb away from the target. I heard him explaining to our co-pilot that he did not think it was a good idea to reduce his airspeed to about 150mph in those conditions and our co-pilot was learning a few things too. It must have paid off for him anyway. He stayed with the Squadron to the end advancing from Sgt to Sqdn.Ldr. and with a DFC.!.
Mac did the very opposite to the briefed instructions by shoving the throttles right forward with the nose down and 'high-tailed' it out of there like a scalded cat and kept it going until we were down to about 2000ft which we maintained over Denmark before climbing again.
We got home without any more trouble. The rear gunner had his claim of a `kill' of a Do.217 confirmed by other sightings although it was never acknowledged in the record books and fortunately we didn't have to go there again. We had well and truly put the place out of business and the Yanks made sure that it was unlikely to recover.
It was long afterwards that we learned that the so called 'radar delelopements [sic] ' at Peenemunde were in fact the V1 and V2 rocket research and developement [sic] that had received top priority, but at a terrible cost.
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The raid had cost us 41 aircraft including one Mosquito over Berlin where a diversionary attack was-going in. Of the two Stirlings lost one was from our Squadron and we lost not only the 'A' Flight Commander and another 'freshman' pilot who was down as second pilot.
Altogether there were nearly 300 casualties of which 131 had a been consigned to watery graves; never to be found!.
Later on some more interesting facts emerged. Apparently the Luftwaffe had dispatched their night fighters to Berlin at first due to the Mosquito's stirring things up and in the excitement they had a fine old time shooting each other up; and down, before it became obvious that the main raid was-somewhere else. Then the fighters were diverted to the Peenemunde area and other units were alerted.
The net result was that when the whole flock descended to land, very short of fuel, on diversionary airfields it was every man for himself and quite a number were lost in mid-air collisions and taxying accidents.
One significant loss that could be attributed to that episode was that the senior General of the Peenemunde production staff was among the many casualties and production was put back sufficiently to gain time for the introduction of countermeasures when they did finally launch them.
[line of stars]
I was not sorry when we found ourselves free for a few days as we waited for the nights to get darker and for nearly 300 air-crew and 40 aircraft to be replaced; but it was only a few days.
On the 23rd August EF433 was back in business again and we were off once more. The target was Berlin; the 'Big City' as it was known to aircrew. It no longer gave us any cause for concern when the target was announced....we had been well and truly blooded, so off we went again although it was not without a spot of bother.
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It seemed that there were battles going on all around us with intense activity for a long time. There were 'flamers' going down in all directions and we were all keeping a very sharp look-out whilst Mac weaved about so that at times we could see below us but we were lucky again even when Mac had to take some very lively action to duck out of a searchlight cone that definitely had our number.
The pale blue high intensity radar controlled master light locked onto us first and then a number of others joined in and chased us around all around the sky.
We had seen that situation often enough to know that once you were trapped in that lot there would be a fighter not far away waiting to finish us off if the concentration of flak did not get us first; and the flak got [underlined] very [/underlined] concentrated.
That was no time to just 'corkscrew'. Throttles forward, fine pitch, nose down to increase speed and then Mac more or less played tag with them as they chased us but he used some very rapid changes of direction before they could reverse.
That night was perhaps the most desperate searchlight situation we had ever been in. On occasions the whole interior of the aircraft was illuminated as plain as day and it was like being a fly caught in a spiders web but eventually Mac's tactics paid off as we broke free. We were very glad to get home again after that.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that the relatively quiet earlier missions were a stroke of luck as we were now having to fight our way through almost every time. The odds in favour of us completing a tour were shortening considerably, and to make matters worse the flying time was getting longer. The last three ops. had all been over seven hours and Berlin was nearer eight, and 56 aircraft had been lost on that raid, 16 of them Stirlings!. The beds in our hut were getting new occupants before we even got to know the previous one's!.
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No-one seemed to be getting posted away or 'tour expired'. There was always someone from the 'committee of adjustment' gathering up the possessions of those who would have no further use for them unless they had been particularly lucky.
As far as we were concerned it was still not a subject of conversation although we were a little superstitious about the situation. Despite the fact that our beds were scattered about the hut none of us ever moved from the beds that we first flopped into so that we could be grouped together, although it would have got some of us away from draughty doors and windows.
We just stayed put as the occupants of the others changed regularly and I learned later that Mac and Pete had adopted exactly the same procedure!. Among the most recent casualties that brought things rather sharply into focus was the loss of another McDonald, (slightly different spelling), ex 214 Squadron, on the last operation. We had got to know him and his crew quite well as they were the most experienced, and we had wished them 'Good Luck' as they left the briefing room.
It was his 30th and final operation before being rested and it was a long time later that I learned that only his W/Op. had survived as a POW. Apparently, at the last moment, on leaving the briefing room, he had been offered the chance to stand down and finish his tour there and then but the crew voted to turn it down!. It did not help to reflect on the fact that when the Squadron had been formed there was a McDonald, a MacDonald and a Macdonald. One, Sgt MacDonald had already goes missing on the 25th July, so we were the only one left!.
As usual, despite the long trip the night before, we reported to the flight office in the early afternoon where we learned of the Squadron's loss, hoping as usual, that we would be 'stood down'. Some were but for Mac and I it was a different story.
For us there was a flight detail with some S/Ldr Staff Officer from Group HQ who for some reason wanted to demonstrate the 'corkscrew'.
I don't know why it was us. Perhaps Mac had volunteered again
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as we suspected he did an occasions, but as it only required a minimum crew of three for such details the others were sent off. There was no Battle Order on the board so they did not need a second telling. They were off like scalded cats!.
It was no real problem with two pilots up front so I was down as 'gunner' for the flight and there was a chance that we might learn something new although we had certainly done our share of 'corkscrewing'; and a bit more the previous night when Mac had got into an energetic but still smooth manoeuvre in such a way that it did not communicate the extent of the motion to the back-side. The evidence of that was that Pete, sitting in his darkened 'office' doing his sums, was only half aware of what was going on apart from the occasional interior illumination, came on the intercomm [sic] and nervously suggested to Mac that he "chuck it about a bit"!. That was a bit of a surprise to the rest of the crew. I knew that we were being 'chucked about,' quite a lot. How else was it that I was in my seat and often getting glimpses of the ground through the the [sic] Astro dome on [inserted] the [/inserted] [underlined] top [/inserted] of the aircraft.
When we got out to EF433 I was more concerned with the pre-flight checks of both mid-upper and rear gun turrets in case I had to make a dive for one of them in the event of an intruder chancing his luck, and then basically I was a passenger.
I was a little surprised to see Mac in the right hand seat as I took up my position on the flight deck between the two pilots as we started up and taxied out…..even then I was getting alarm signals in my sensitive parts as I was subjected to an G experience that was rare since flying with Mac.
The brakes squeeled [sic] and shrieked and the aircraft rocked and a lurched about until finally it was heaved off of the runway in about the clumsiest take-off I could ever remember and into a climbing turn that seemed to strain every rivet. And that was before we corkscrewed!.
After climbing to about 5000ft with the engines bellowing I was listening to this chap explaining to Mac how it should be done but it still caught me by suprise [sic] when he went into the most violent, wildest manoeuvre that I had ever thought possible. The wing tips must have flexed by about 6ft although I did not know for sure as I was brought to my knees by the 'G' forces
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one minute and was floating to the roof the next desperately trying to hang onto something to avoid being thrown around the cockpit and possibly finishing up in someone's laps. Even so I could not avoid noticing a purple tinge developing around Mac's neck that had nothing to do with 'G' forces. As it went on he was obviously getting very angry and not learning a lot!.
Eventually he got very emotional as he turned to the other pilot and the intercom [deleted] n [/deleted] fairly sizzled with an outburst that contained phrases like, "how dare you treat my aeroplane like this" and "what the bloody hell do you think we were doing over Berlin last night" and "what the bloody hell do you think the gunners are supposed to be doing whilst all this is going on" and a lot more besides which is unprintable. An argument ensued, the outcome of which was that Mac finished by telling the other pilot to relinquish control by his "I have control....now sit back and you might bloody well learn something". I crept away somewhat embarrassed and took up my position in the mid-upper turret reporting in when I was established and I soon knew how Ralph felt as Mac put us through the same manoeuvres as we had done the night before, (and he was driving from the right hand seat), with no further comment from the visitor.
At least, being in a gunner situation for a change I learned the value of keeping my eyeballs in their sockets which is more than I would have done if the other chap had been driving!.
Having got that off of his chest we headed straight back to base and landed with the Squadron Leader still fuming at the indignity of being lambasted by a Flying Officer, so he stamped away from the aircraft with a flea in his ear!.
Mac left him to his own arrangements to get back to the flight office whilst we spent a long time looking around the aircraft for signs of sprung rivets and other signs of over stressing like wrinkled skin.
Mac was muttering darkly all the time about "ham fisted buggers" and other uncomplementary [sic] remarks that are unprintable.
He was more vocal than I had ever heard him and definitely not impressed that 'Sir' had not done as many ops as we had!.
No doubt the demonstration was well intentioned even if it was a case of 'teaching grandma to suck eggs'.
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On the 27th we were in the briefing room again to find that targets in Nurnburg [sic] were to receive our attention so off we went in the company of another 673 aircraft.
My recollections are that the flak was the worst I had ever seen so far. There seemed to be a solid wall of shell bursts in front of us as we closed in on the city, and 'flamers' were going down right left and centre.
At briefing it had been mentioned that the night fighters were likely to be repeating some new tactics that had already had some success; as far as they were concerned anyway.
It confirmed our suspicions that something different was going on.
Previously the fighters had kept clear of the ack-ack and waited until they saw someone in trouble before going in for the kill but they had started getting in among us and having a go at anything they saw regardless of the possibility of being hit by their own stuff. Between those operating those tactics and others using AI (Airborne Interception Radar) they were beginning to knock us down like clay pigeons.
The searchlight/flak/fighter combination was lethal under those conditions and between them accounted for the loss of 33 aircraft, 11 of them Stirlings from a force of 104. [underlined] Three [/underlined] of them were from our Squadron detail of seven that had ultimately got under way. The loss of nearly 50% really knocked the stuffing out of us. None of them had been with us for more than a few weeks and one of the pilots had flown with us as co-pilot recently.
At this point I was hoping that a spot of leave would help to prolong things but it was not be.
After a brief rest the next place to receive our attention was Munchen-Gladbach [sic] on the 30th and this one started off on the wrong foot.
All was well until start-up when the starboard outer starter motor stripped when engaged.
It was not unnatural that most of the crew immediately started planning the evenings entertainment to occupy a bonus night off as we knew that there was no spare aircraft. I must confess that I had no knowledge of the starting handle!.
There was no reason why a wireless operator should I suppose
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although it was in our own interests of survival that we should know quite a lot about everyone else's [inserted] job [/inserted] . But that was some starting handle!.
Nearly 20 feet long, shoved through a hole in the engine casing to engage it, and with a large double. crank at the bottom designed for two people to turn it.
With Paddy in the cockpit juggling with throttles and mixture controls, and Mac jumping up and down shouting unprintable words of encouragement to the owners of [underlined] four [/underlined] pairs of arms, mine included, we cranked that engine until at last it spluttered into life and then we all piled aboard and got under way.
We soon made up for lost time by taking a few short cuts to catch up the force as there was no way that we were going to be a loner over enemy territory but I doubt it very much if many aircraft had been started that way to go on ops.
We had a bit of a skirmish later as we approached the target. The rear end Mac hollered and fired as we jinked away from an Me.109 which spun away pouring smoke and flame although we did not see what finally happened to him. We were far to busy searching for others as it was obvious that the fighters were very active all around us. McIlroy was only credited with a possible for that engagement.
There was no doubt that our two gunners were really on the ball as once again they had fired first but others were not so lucky and for one reason or another six Stirlings failed to return.
[line of stars]
We were briefed for Berlin on the 31st although there was some doubt about W becoming serviceable although they were half way through the starter motor change. In the event it was not rectified in time and at the last minute we were allocated EF117, but Mac was very peeved about it. It had not even been air tested!.
We did not get very far in it before we found that the rear guns would not fire and then the intercom went dead on us.
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Mac was fuming and we pressed on for a while desperately trying to rectify the faults without any success but he decided that we would not waste the trip or the bombs as we turned away from the enemy coast and diverted to overfly a place that most people tried to keep clear of; Texel, in the Frisian Islands. They started firing as we approached so it was taps open, speed up with a bit of a weave on and Hoppy planted the bombs as close as he could to the batteries and the searchlights. Their effort was certainly reduced as we turned away so perhaps we had done a bit of damage in the process. It was counted as an operation as we had been over enemy territory but there was one a hell of a row as the brief was to dump the bombs in the sea or jettison them on the Thetford range.
In addition there were even accusations of possible sabotage and collusion from higher up until the faults were proven to have been electrical malfunctions that could not have been fixed in the air. Mac was furious about the whole business but it did not help. One can only speculate on what the outcome might have been if we had not been forced to 'abort' the mission. There were 16 Stirlings lost that night out of the 57 dispatched. One of them from our Squadron!.
The gaps around the mess tables were getting noticeable again and if the absence of any entries in my log book is anything to go by we were sent on leave whilst the Stirling Force was being put together again.
I do vaguely remember one leave that started with a fair old session at the King Willie and I must have forgotten where I was as we pulled out of Bury. St. Edmunds station. Apparently I had to be restrained from dispensing leaflets out of the window!. Despite my indiscretion I still managed to retain some of them.
There were a few mining operations undertaken by new crews whilst we were away and on our return we were to find that one new crew had arrived and had already been lost in that short period. It was not long before we were back in the briefing room again to find that the target was the Dunlop factory at Montlucon, Italy, but it was another washout. We never even left home shores.
An engine seized shortly after getting airborne and we were
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obliged to jettison bombs and fuel on the range before landing. We were in 'W' and it had only done a few hours local flying whilst we had been away but sleeve valve Hercules engines really made a thorough job of it when they seized, so of course Mac was hopping mad.
We ail got blamed for the various things that had gone wrong and a lot of accusations were flung around in the heat of the moment. The frustration was understandable as we all knew that he was driving himself, and us, as hard as he could to get the tour over as quickly as possible but eventually he calmed down and we renewed our efforts.
[line of stars]
It was during our last leave that Mcllroy spent a few days with me and the family as we had a welcome break from the East Anglian scene.
We walked miles over the Downs at the back of Worthing where I had spent all my earlier days, and past the spot where in 1940 I had gazed in awe at a shot down Heinkel 111. although it was an area now that was not so regularly visited by the German Air Force.
It had been different then, when the invasion was imminent although they had been forced by their losses and other commitments to limit their efforts in our direction.
I can still recall vividly the occasion when I found myself right under a scrap over Worthing, between three Spitfires and a Heinkel 111. that had dared to venture in the direction of London.
The Air raid siren had sounded and I had seen him going over very high, leaving vapour trails but he had obviously been forced to turn tail and he was in a shallow glide going very fast as he came over the hospital and the gas works. Then those Spits gave him a real hammering.
With hot empty cartridge cases and links cascading down all around me I had watched mesmerised as the top gunner had winged two of them, one going off East towards Shoreham staggering a bit and the other in the direction of Ford and Tangmere trailing smoke. Then the third one went in for the kill if the
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way that the guns suddenly went askew was anything to go by. That was it. He continued out to sea and plunged in about a mile off of the pier. He had put up a good fight but it had not done him much good.
Now the skies were relatively clear but that did not mean that the area was safe. There were elements of the Canadian Army en-camped in the area and they often imposed a threat to life and limb.
I was glad of McIlroy's company in a bar one evening when some of his countrymen who were somewhat 'tanked' up started making derisive remarks about Brylcream boys and a scrap was imminent.
It all looked very ugly for a while and of course those chaps had been trained to the peak of fighting efficiency and no doubt still had a bee in their bonnet about the Dieppe affair.
Just in time Mac defused the situation. He pushed me out of the way, took of his raincoat to reveal his Canada shoulder flashes, gunners brevet and stripes, and drawing himself up to his full height of 6ft plus asked who was going to be first. There were no takers and we moved to another bar to continue drinking in peace.
No doubt that lot had more than their share of fighting later on, on 'D' Day and after.
[line of stars]
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That was all behind us as we finished our leave and got back to the task of taking the fight to the enemy.
On the 16th we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation that turned out to be a very dodgy one.
There were the usual mutterings, quiet whistling through clenched teeth plus a few caustic comments from the assembly when we found that we were off to do some damage to a railway station and tunnel at Modane, a mountain pass between France and Italy. What caused most of the comment was the unusual method of attack. Modane was at the Northen [sic] end of the Tunnel-de-frejus, deep in the Alps!.
As it was in a valley, the floor of which was 3,467ft above sea level, with the tops of the valley at about 11.000ft and only three miles across the tops it was impossible (so they said), to approach the tunnel mouth direct due to the sheer rock face above it.
The plan was to approach from a valley at 90° to the tunnel mouth, plant the bombs in the valley wall to bring down a large amount of debris before doing a smart left hand turn into the main valley.
The task was a risky one, bearing in mind that it was at night. Anyone who failed to get it in one was to initiate the left turn and take the station and yards at Modane as the secondary target.
One way or the other it would make it difficult for the German military traffic that was plying between France and Italy through the remote pass.
Fortunately the Met got it right that time. The weather was perfect. It was beautiful moonlit night and we entered the mountain region between the peaks bang on track and worked our way through until the target area loomed up ahead. We rushed towards the rock face at around 200mph and Hoppy did his lefts and rights and steadies and then he goofed it!. !
What happened next caused my heart to miss a beat. Calm as you like as if he was on the bombing range Hoppy said "missed it-round again"!.
I think that is what upset Mac more than anything else as we banked over into the valley expecting him to give Hoppy some verbal about the secondary target but what came next caused
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my heart to miss a few more beats.
We were all alarmed to hear Mac say, 'that is just what we will do too, and get it right this time or you go out next, we are going back to the tunnel"!.
By now we had got to know Mac well enough to know that when he had set his mind on something there was very little that we could do about it. I got the distinct impression that I was riding a runaway roller-coaster as I braced myself in the isle [sic] between the pilots positions.
The horizon went haywire as we banked over into the initial turn and started to descend. We had not quite got to the station yards when we went into a tight 180deg. turn to head back underneath the rest of the force that was still hurling bombs all the way down the railway line.
I don't know how serious Mac was about chucking Hoppy out but he gave it to him straight, "no more messing about" as we charged at the tunnel mouth and when the "bombs away" call came we did not hang around to see the results although I don't see how we could have avoided hitting something. Our greatest concern was getting out of the situation.
All I could see was a kalidascope [sic] of nasty looking rocks as there was only seconds to make the turn, no room to turn back, no chance to climb with aircraft still coming in over the top of us. All we could do was wriggle and twist along the valley floor hoping to God we would not go the wrong way and find ourselves in a cul-de-sac.
It was very uncomfortable for a while as Pete and Hoppy had consulted their maps and assured Mac that all was well. And so it was as suddenly we came out into a wider valley and were able to climb.
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Obviously we had not done the exact reciprocal of our inbound route and it did not matter a lot as we all breathed a little easier until Mac let out a whoop with an "all gunners stand by" and we were all on the alert again. Then he told us what it was all about as the gunners reported "ready".
He throttled back and in rich mixture we were soon whispering along without even a flicker of flame from the exhausts, and then we all saw clearly what he had seen as we went into a turn. We were able to pick out dim convoy lights on a road halfway up the mountainside, so it seemed likely that it was the Southern end of the tunnel that we had just bombed. Mac said "if that is not a military convoy I will eat my socks" and followed it up almost immediately with a gentle turn onto a Northerly heading to within a few hundred yards of the mountainside. All gunners blazed away in turn and there was all hell let loose before we turned away.
The results were spectacular and certainly not quite what we had expected.
There were explosions, scattering lights, and liquid fire pouring down the mountainside with more explosions in the waterfall of fire and after about 20secs. we turned about and repeated the performance.
It was an appalling sight as obviously vehicles including fuel and ammunition trucks had been hit but turning away with most of our ammunition gone and somewhat shocked, we made our way home, low down across the tip of Switzerland and across France just as fast as we could.
Mac's orders were specific. Not a word about it, and he swore each one of us to absolute secrecy as we had not been ordered to do it, or whether we had done the right thing even though we might have contributed considerably to the war effort.
It was never reported and has remained under wraps until Mac can no longer answer for whatever damage was done. With more operations still to do if we were lucky it was best to forget the episode although some explanations were called for as our target photo showed a very messy tunnel mouth and the expenditure of several thousand rounds of ammunition was explained as an attempt to supress some ground fire in the valley. [underlined] And a ticking off for attacking in the wrong direction [/underlined] !!.
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I did not do another operation until the 3rd October as I went on the sick list for a few days.
I received an injury not from enemy action but from one of my own crew, although the outcome showed the sort of crew spirit that there was even if I had to be the 'dogs-body' to prove the point in respect of my own particular crew.
Macdonald and I had been into Bury St Edmunds to the King Willie for a couple of quiet drinks and on return we went to the Sgt's Mess where there was a dance in progress.
As soon as we entered the Mess we found ourselves in the middle of a group of people, Station Commander included, who were being treated to a drunken comedy act by Paddy who seemed to be doing his damndest [sic] to climb a wall by making repeated runs at it.
He must have been in the bar as soon as it had opened and obviously had had far more than his share.
The affair had just reached the stage where the Group Captain had already ordered the RAF Police to be brought in so Mac stepped in to sort things out his way. Exercising his right as 'Skipper' he ordered me to get Paddy out of the Mess and out of trouble. I wish he hadn't!.
With the assistance of another Flight Engineer from the Squadron Paddy was talked out of the building but we had not got very far when the other chap slipped and went down and a very confused Paddy decided that I was responsible.
I was still trying to hold him up but he turned on me and belted me one!, and I tumbled into an open trench.
I could have coped with that but grabbing a large paint drum half filled with solidified paint he heaved it at me and I remember nothing after it bounced off of my head.
I woke up in the sick bay the next morning with the great grandaddy of all headaches and adorned by large pieces of sticky plaster.
In the meantime wheels had been in motion as it had been decided that disciplinary action would be taken against Paddy for the rumpus that he had caused in the Mess. As far as my condition was concerned it was a different case so it looked as if Mac was going to have to do without his favourite engineer for a while if that reached it's logical conclusion…..until Mac did a deal with someone. That is, in addition to me!.
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He came to see me in the sick bay with a proposal that he said would satisfy all concerned.
The deal was that I would be charged with being responsible for the whole affair and as I was hardly in a state to argue I went along with it. The net result was-that Paddy was in the clear, I was fined five shillings (25p) for being 'drunk and disorderly', a scar on my forehead, and an entry on my documents as well as a few days off; but I had an opportunity to even the score sometime later.
Whilst I was on the sick list and grounded the crew did another two operations with a relief W/Op, going to Hanover on the 22nd and Mannheim on the 24th without incident. and each of those two nights I spent in the control tower biting my nails until they were back. One of our Squadron failed to return from the Hannover raid…..and it was nearly a turning point for me.
There was a limit on how long you could remain out of a crew without being, permanently replaced and the relief W/Op was sufficiently impressed with the rest of the crew to ask if he could stay with them. Mac must have pulled a few more strings and the MO signed me off despite the sticky plaster so I was back in the crew instead of becoming spare man.
The other chap had previous been spare because his crew had gone missing whilst he was sick so he went back to being spare.
Unfortunately, when he did get crewed up again the following month he was killed in a flying accident. That's fate! and it was being tempted far too often for my liking.
Eventually Mac did get around to thanking me in an embarrassed sort of way for my involvement but I think that when I weighed up the final outcome I was the one that was most thankful, so despite a sore head and some red ink remarks in the records, we just pressed on as if nothing had ever happened.
[line of stars]
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The operation we were briefed for on the 3rd October was for aircraft factory targets at Kassel and as 'W' had been unserviceable on air test we were allocated EE971. After air-testing that one Mac and Paddy agreed that 'it would do'. Not quite like our 'W' but they could accept it.
A few things had changed by that time. The Luftwaffe hit and run raids were almost a thing of the past as they were well and truly on the defensive and East Anglia now bristled with AA sites which very rarely permitted a raider to get very far.
We had got bold enough to assemble all the aircraft for the night's operation on the runway in front of the main camp area and in sight of the main road, and on this occasion there must have been as many as 28, possibly 30 aircraft lined up, and very impressive it looked too.
I have always thought that one lone raider bold enough (and lucky enough) to have got through the defences to shoot up that line would have done an awful lot of damage, but fortunately no-one ever did. The resultant mess would have wiped out half the camp and the Marquis of Cornwallis pub at the same time.
Nevertheless it was a great morale booster for the locals who were crowding up to the other side of the fence to watch procedings [sic] , many with pints of ale held aloft in salute. It did restrict activities a bit when many crew members were saying goodnight to their favourite WRAF under the mainplane, but the less said about that the better.
Off went both Squadrons in grand style and we were just approaching the coast outbound when the port outer packed up with a great deal of spluttering and backfiring so it didn't look as if we were going to get very far.
Mac and Paddy juggled with the engine controls but the engine steadfastly refused to do much more than 1000revs without protesting so they shut it down and feathered the prop.
By that time Mac was keen to get another op. under the belt and apart from calling me a 'jinx' he decided to 'press on'. We were not keen but he didn't ask us so we went all the way on three engines, bombed the target and headed home with Paddy biting his nails with concern at the high fuel consumption and the strain of the extra power being extracted from the other
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three engines. I do not think he would have put 'W' under so much strain but this one was not ours and that was that.
As soon as we cleared the enemy coast wee started to economise on fuel with a change of engine settings, firing off ammunition into the sea. Flares, incendiary containers and all sorts of stuff being dumped to lighten the load with Paddy getting more and more agitated as he endeavoured to work out our fuel state which was not made any easier by Mac's persistent nagging.
My request to make an emergency call was refused as was a further request to call the emergency services for the state of Tangmere, although we did change course in that direction. I was further refused permission to switch the IFF to the emergency code, in fact he was downright bloody minded.
Nevertheless, I was all ready to go straight into all my emergency procedures with IFF, radio and verey [sic] signals if the need arose, without permission, as we approached home shores.
We were just about overflying Tangmere when Paddy and Pete come up with the results of their combined calculations.
When I heard that on the intercomm [sic] I thought immediately, 'Tangmere, here we come', with one hour to base and one hour five minutes fuel, so we were not amused when Mac said, "what the hell are you worrying about then. Navigator, a direct course to base please".
A direct course for Chedburgh was made in defiance of standing orders that forbade us to overfly London and hoped to God that we would not lose too much height and find ourselves tangled up in the London balloon barrage.
It was bad enough when the banshee wailing of the balloon barrage warning came in on the radio. That in itself was a bit unnerving but we were all in Mac's hands and I was hoping that he would be prudent enough to settle for any airfield whilst we still had a limited reserve of fuel. And it was limited. Paddy had made it quite clear that he had calculated to the last drop of [underlined] usable [/underlined] fuel on the evidence of gauges that he was doubtful of. He could not do more other than protest further to Mac as we cleared the London area, in fact everyone protested that what we were doing was unnecessary, although perhaps not in such mild terms.
His only answer was to request that I open all of the fuel tank
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cocks on the bulkhead behind me and he started to rack the aircraft from side to side to drain every last drop into the main tanks.
That was enough for me. On went my 'chute and it would not have taken much more for me to be heading for the rear hatch which I had left open after jettisoning equipment over the sea earlier. It was just at that time that Paddy decided that he had definitely had enough. As far as he was concerned Mac had gone 'bonkers' and he was getting out whilst he still had a chance. He struggled out of his seat, clipped on his 'chute and had just got by Pete, and I was seriously. contemplating joining him when I received an order from Mac to "restrain him".
That upset any plans, so he was 'restrained', if that is what you would call tripping him up and sitting on him, although it was not for long as Mac had decided that we were serious and he agreed to go for the nearest airfield if Paddy would go back to his seat.
No sooner had he done so the port outer spluttered and died so they started up the port inner for the first time in hours and although it would not run at any speed without backfiring it was kept going as we desperately searched around for an airfield.
Mac was very busy struggling with the controls when one was sighted and we immediately headed for it. I fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could load and fire and when they were gone I fired off all the reds and then everything else in the rack, greens, yellows, star shells and even smoke puffs in the hope that the control staff would be suitably alerted to an emergency. Mac was far too busy to even use his radio and it was all very tense in the cockpit. I was half hoping that Mac would still give the order to abandon, and I was still ready, but instead he instructed Paddy to select wheels and flaps only when he asked for them and that's when the starboard outer spluttered and died. It was in those desperate moments that Paddy 'goofed' and we lost about five thousand feet rapidly after he feathered the starboard inner by mistake, and although he promptly rectified the error we were by that time descending like the proverbial brick lavatory. Not surprising as we were for a time flying; if you could call it that, on between one
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and one and a half engines.
I was back in the astro dome by that time as we aimed at the threshold of the runway at an alarming angle to keep the speed up. My legs and fingers were crossed as I looked hypnotically at where I was quite sure that we were going to make a large sized hole and then the nose came up …….."full flap" was Mac's breathless request over the intercomm [sic] and we were flaring out above the runway with the speed falling off as all power was taken off with another almost whispered request ...."wheels down" and then we floated whilst Mac held her off, to kiss the runway within seconds of the undercarriage 'green lights' coming on with warning horns blasting our ears.
Another perfect landing!!!! even if the approach had been a bit abnormal.
Mac established contact with the control tower to find that we were at Wratting Common, another Stirling base and we managed to stagger to the end of the runway and turn off before everything stopped with a splutter as we ran completely out of fuel!. We subsequently had to be towed away but not before we had managed to compose ourselves.
It was really an amazing piece of flying that had made the best out of a very bad decision that so easily could have ended in disaster…..and we all knew it.
Why else would Paddy come rushing past me towards the rear door, ashen faced, then jump out and spend a lot of time throwing up and kissing mother earth!
As for me. I stayed in the semi-darkness of the doorway until my colour came back and my knees stopped knocking before I ventured out...and I needed the ladder!. I don't think the others were much better.
After a few hours sleep we were back out to the aircraft which had been repaired and refuelled. The problem had only been burned out ignition leads which was something that Hercules engines quite often suffered from and we were soon on our way back to base still feeling as if we had experienced a very dream [sic] but we were still better off than some. Another five Stirlings failed to return that night.
Not another word was said about the incident. No apologies....nothing! Perhaps it was best left that way if we
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expected to continue as a crew…..and we did, although Mac was somewhat subdued afterwards -and was suffering from strained back and shoulder muscles for several days.
[line of stars]
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We had a few days break before we were detailed for another operation on the 8th. It was my birthday on the 9th so I planned a celebration if all went well but that night, as the 8th turned into the 9th we got the sort of party I could have done without. The main target was Hannover although-we were part of the secondary force within the main force with everyone heading for Bremen and at a certain position the main force turned towards Hannover leaving us virtually as decoys.
The fighters had been scrambled to intercept the track to Bremen and I was half way through a large bale of leaflets that I was dispensing out of the rear escape hatch when the rear gunner suddenly yelled "fighter--port quarter--corkscrew port--go" and over we went straight into evasive action as the fighter opened up. The rear gunner opened up at the same time and the interior of the aircraft was lit up by flashes as we were hit and bits and pieces were flying around in all directions. There was not a lot that I could do although I instinctively started to throw out leaflets as fast as I could without bothering to cut the string on some as I came up to the standing position to kick some bundles out. As I was to find out later, a good move. Mac was throwing the aircraft around all over the sky and the firing seemed to go on for a long time with smoke, flashes and a great deal of noise as something stung me in the face, and then it stopped as quickly as it had started. Immediately the rear gunner was back on intercom to report that his rear turret was damaged and had jammed solid when he had resorted to turning it manually.
He also reported a hell of a lot of debris from us had smothered the attacker before he had broken away suggesting that we had lost a few bits of aeroplane.
It was later on when we were piecing together details of the attack that we figured that it must have been my leaflets in the slip-stream, and he also reported that the fighter appeared to have two glowing tails; which is what I had also seen in a brief moment through the hatch.
There was a hell of a lot to do. We were in no doubt that we had collected a considerable amount of damage yet everyone checked in OK and unharmed which was a relief.
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I made my way back to the radio compartment to find Paddy curled up behind the armour plating of my seat which he had dived for after seeing me hopping about in the illumination of tracer that was flying about.
I asked him to check me over as there was a lot of wet and warm stuff running down my face and producing his torch very soon re-assured me that "it's hydraulic oil you bloody twit" before he was off down the back end to make some repairs.
Everyone was checking around thoroughly at that time but there were no fires or fuel leaks and all engines were turning without fuss. All other indications were normal….and we were still flying, complete with bomb load so we pressed on somewhat gingerly at that point in time.
There was another very good reason why I had dashed up front so rapidly after the action. Despite the fact that I had been standing on the edge of quite a large hole to dispense the leaflets, my 'chute had still been in it's stowage a long way from me; and I never ever did that again that's for sure!.
Everyone eased their parachutes in the stowages. Paddy put his on as he had to negotiate the open hatch which we had decided to leave open under the circumstances and as we continued to Bremen we checked and re-checked all our vital functions.
Paddy used a fire axe to clear the rear bulkhead and turret doors before the turret became operational again with a healthy short burst. But Mcllroy was in a very draughty situation as most of his perspex had gone and there were holes all around him, after which he made some first aid repairs to the hydraulic piping in the area of the position where the ventral turret would have been; if it had been fitted. First aid was the operative word; he used the medical first aid kit!. More to stop slippery oil sloshing about than anything else.
The intercomm [sic] was lively and as we had a freshman second pilot with us he was learning very fast. For a change Mac was not telling anyone to quit the chatter as he usually did so bit by bit everything was satisfactorily cross checked and it was reassuring to find that all the essentials were working despite the fact that there was a lot of internal damage: There were holes in the main bulkhead up front near my position and
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even some of the instruments in the cockpit had lost their glass. With everything giving the right responses it was no time to pull out of the stream and becoming a sitting duck for another enterprising night fighter so we stayed with it, bombed and stuck to the route for the return journey still regularly checking and cross checking.
I really thought that that was the one time Mac was going to have to use his "angle of dangle" equipment as he called it; to help him fly the aeroplane. It was in fact a weighted Scots doll suspended by a cord in line with his nose that he always set up for use. He always said that he could fly on that if all else failed but fortunately it was not needed and stayed up on the scuttle.
Eventually Paddy and I replaced the rear hatch and things returned to near normal but I could not help reflecting that I could have been a lot more effective with a pair of .303's sticking out of the bottom instead of dispensing a pile of paper which no doubt the German population used for the same purpose as we would have done in those days of paper shortage.
As it was, we had nothing protecting the underside and the Luftwaffe knew it well enough. After all, they had a fair sized scrap business going in recovering crashed Allied aircraft and re-cycling them into fighters for the defence of the Fatherland, and it was costing us dearly.
Although the attack on us had been from the rear so many losses of the period were being caused by something that for some reason or other our intelligence people did not know about, or if they did it was not made common knowledge.
It could have been that the Luftwaffe system was so effective that few, if any, aircrews ever got back to tell the tail [sic] .
They had developed a weapon along the lines of a British invention of WW1, the COW (Coventry Ordinance Works) gun, originally intended for shooting down airships.
They had put together a pair of 20mm cannon with periscope sights on an upward firing mounting in several types of aircraft, including the Me.110. and codenamed it 'Schrage Music' as part of their 'Battle Opera' control system.
With or without radar they were getting into the bomber stream, picking a target and positioning themselves underneath in the
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blind spot out of sight of the gunners, even to the point of following through a 'corkscrew' so that the gunners never got contact, or the Wireless Operator through his infra-red 'Fishpond' equipment, (if he had got it on) for that matter.
All they had to do was to keep up the shadowing until they got their aiming point 'spot on' then hit the button.
The aiming point was usually the starboard wing root where there was a concentration of fuel lines, fuel tanks, control lines and crew. It was very adjacent to the bombs, one engine, flares, oxygen bottles and other things that go bang in the night.
One short burst in that vital area was usually enough and the aircraft invariably exploded within seconds of the strike giving the occupants very little chance to escape. No wonder that we had seen-so many aircraft just explode and dissapear [sic] in a fireball.
It is on record that one of their night fighters fitted with the system was credited with [underlined] Five [/underlined] Lancasters in a 30 minute sortie so it was hardly suprising [sic] that there was very little feed back of intelligence information.
As we got nearer home we were very careful how we prepared the aircraft for landing. Fortunately the bomb doors had operated satisfactorily and Hoppy had made sure that there were no hangups. That was the last thing we wanted as a primed hang-up was a very sensitive beast.
Finally there was more to do before joining the circuit. Air pressures, hydraulic pressures and electrics were all normal. Mac did a mock landing procedure at height to test the responses at landing speed. There was no way that he was going to have the aircraft fall out of his hands at same vital stage of our final approach, but flaps, undercarriage and control services all gave the right reaction so it was on to base for a landing. Even then he was not entirely satisfied. Our first touchdown as a bumper to see if the green lights stayed an indicating that the undercarriage has locked down and to check that the tyres were not perforated.
Only then did we make an approach for a normal landing which was, as ever, as smooth as silk.
We gave ourselves a bit more time that morning to look around the aircraft after we had parked in dispersal and what we saw
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in the morning half-light made us gasp.
It did not seem possible that nothing had been seriously damaged yet there was hardly a square foot without a hole in it.
There were holes in the undercarriage doors, the flaps, bomb doors, control surfaces, engine cowlings and nicks out of the propellor blades. The rear turret had suffered most of all with 80% of the perspex gone and there were dozens of holes around the foot well.
A count showed that there were 96 groups of damage altogether but what brought me out in a cold sweat was to find a nice group of five holes through the rear step of the bomb bay where I had been sitting when the attack started. It was just as well that I had jumped up when I did or I would never have subsequently raised a family!.
I would not have been surprised if McIlroy had not been in a similar sweat. Not only was his turret a mess but his flying suit was nicked all over and ruined. There were tufts of fur sticking out under his arms and around his waist and even his flying boots had been chipped.
His turret doors had been ripped open like a tin can and the bulkhead doors had been badly holed as well. His parachute in it's stowage between the doors was later found to have quite a lot of lead embedded in it. When they opened it up it was like a colander and it is doubtful if it would have been much use if he had been forced to use its but he had not got a scratch on him!. I will never understand it.
As far as EF433 was concerned, although she had served us well she was done for. She just sort of sat there drooping and creaking so it was just as well that Mac had treated her gently. She was taken apart and sent to Cambridge for repair.
We learned later that when they stripped her down further and further they were still uncovering signs of damage including a cracked main spar, so she was very close to falling apart.
I have often wandered whether all that internal damage was battle damage or the result of the terrible handling she got on the corkscrew demonstration. I am incline [inserted] d [/inserted] to think the latter and it would not surprise me if that particular pilot had not ultimately torn the wings off of something.
However, the repair depot did their remarkable jig-saw puzzle
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repair job with so big an aircraft and there must here been sufficient of EF433 left for it to retain it's identity as it later went back to the Squadron after it had moved to Fairford. Eventually it was transferred to 1665 CU as OG-N until the following February when a mishap with a 'swinger' wrote her off at the end of the month.
In the meantime EF189 had been produced and painted up as the new 'W' so within the period of quiet that seemed to have descended on us that also received the attention that we had previous lavished on EF433. Stirling operations were slowing down a bit and few operations were undertaken. Rumours regarding our future were rife and Mac was very busy checking out new pilots as they came in to bring us up to strength. Several operations were scheduled but cancelled although there was still a bit of mining to do from time to time.
We did not mind a bit. The Bremen affair was not easy to forget and although our last flight in EF433 may not have been all that significant we had get quite attached to her. Some poor chaps had never got any further than their first trip and we had always considered ourselves very lucky that the attack on us had been made with small calibre ammunition. If we had been hit by cannon fire it would have been an entirely different matter.
[underlined] Thirteen years later I found out why there had been no cannon. [/underlined]
As an Air Traffic Controller at Amman in Jordan I was swapping yarns with an ex Luftwaffe pilot, then senior captain of the resident airline, Air Jordan, and an honourary [sic] member of our Mess, when the incident was recalled.
We had got so far with reconstructing the episode that we both went for our log books as the whole thing had reached the proportions of a gigantic 'line-shoot', Nevertheless, there were the details of date, time. and place to match those in my log book.
Apparently he had been a test pilot on jets and had been called in to try out the aircraft in operational conditions.
I don't know who was the most surprised but he had claimed us so badly damaged that we most likely finished up in the sea, and even if we hadn't then we must have had casualties on board. The burning question was "why only small calibre ammunition?",
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It transpired that he had used up all of his cannon ammunition in knocking down two other Stirlings already, so he would have been responsible for two of the three Stirlings lost an that raid. His name is not important in this narrative but it is significant that our combat report of the episode (which has never come to light) had put special emphasis an the aircraft with the fiery tails and it may well have been one of the first reports that identified jet night fighters to the intelligence people. Nothing: was ever mentioned about it so it may well have been kept quiet for good reasons.
Nevertheless, the Messerschmitt aircraft factories continued to be pounded regularly.
[line of stars]
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It was the 3rd of November before we had the opportunity to take our new 'W' on ops. We were briefed for mining in the Kattegat between occupied Denmark and neutral Sweden.
It should have been a 'doddle'. It was a lovely moonlit night and we had to overfly Denmark at medium height before going low level to the dropping area.
All went smoothly until just after the drop when we were engaged by a flak ship with a stream of sparkling tracers squirting at us which started Mac wriggling around all over the place with the taps wide open and down to the wave tops until we put him behind us. We were just beginning to breath easy again when there was a yell from the rear gunner as he spotted an Me.109 on our tail. We must have come in for some very special treatment as a loner crossing Denmark and it was as well that Mac had kept us as low as possible until the drop. Once we got back down there again that's just where we stayed as the intercom between the gunners and pilot got very lively.
It was the fighter affiliation stuff all over again as we slithered and twisted and turned, only this chap was not using a camera.
He sent several bursts after us but they all went wide as the gunners assessed the point at which he was coming into the right position for a deflection shot and then we side slipped and banked out of his sights once more.
We never fired a single shot as Mac had said only to let him have it when the gunners were absolutely sure of a hit so we played tag for a long time.
In the later stages we came to a rugged shore line and still the 109 could not get at us.
In and out and round and round we went across country where the landscape showed up in great detail. We could see people in gardens and lights blinked from friendly windows and open doors. We went around chimney stacks, over power lines and we must have given that enemy pilot a real run for his money until eventually he broke off and disappeared. He either did not care for the low level stuff or he was getting low on fuel but we were glad to see him go after a very hectic 30 minutes. We continued to stay low just in case he had a partner somewhere
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and we were still skudding along weaving about for some time before it was considered safe to gain some height and sort out the navigation.
It was hardly surprising that Pete had lost track of where we were. The number of tight 360° turns had been sufficient to upset both the magnetic and gyro compass's. We were too low for 'Gee' to be effective and I was still refused permission to break radio silence for a D/F fix so we staggered around somewhat blindly for a while trying to sort ourselves out.
At one time we saw an illuminated coastline some miles ahead which puzzled us a bit until the penny dropped...whoops..Sweden!. That gave us a clue as to which way we were going...the wrong way, so it was a smart about turn and back to low level again trying to stabilise the compasses as we picked up the Danish coastline again and crossed the country as quickly as possible before finding some higher cloud to hide in and set a rough course for home.
Pete still could not make a lot of his plot. 'G' was not helping a lot. D/F bearings that I was able to obtain from UK beacons only seemed to confuse the issue and when I looked over his shoulder at his chart it was a mass of hastily pencilled in headings and speeds until it looked like one of those kids dot puzzles that produced a picture when the dots were joined up. Only his picture looked like a bundle of loose knitting wool!.
All we could do was press on in a rough direction, picking our way in and out of convenient clouds whilst Pete gathered as much information as he could. It did not help much that Mac would not fly a steady course but even when he had satisfied himself that we were just off the Dutch coast Mac still had his doubts until Hoppy reckoned he had got a good visual pin-point. He estimated that we were over the Zuider Zee and would be able to confirm it when the Western side came into sight. Sure enough it did, but it was not the sort of confirmation he had been looking for!.
Just as we crossed the coastline, in and out of cloud at about 7,000ft, a number of searchlights switched on as one, in a perfect cone, smack on us, and it seemed several dozen ack-ack guns let loose at the same time.
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The salvo must have gone off about 50ft below us with the sound of gravel being sprayed all over us and we bounced up with Mac piling on the power, banking and balling [sic] "that's Dover you bloody fools".
There was all hell let loose as we wound into a corkscrew followed by the lights and a lot more flak. Mac was hollering "Darkie-Darkie" on the R/T to identify ourselves. I slammed on the IFF (radar identification) switch and fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could fire and reload the pistol and then as if by magic it all fizzled out.
The guns stopped firing, the lights wavered and flickered out and the violent evasive action slowed as Mac asked if everyone was OK. By the grace of God we were and then we immediately started checking around the aircraft which seemed to have taken a bit of a battering.
Despite the presence of several shrapnel holes everything seemed to be working satisfactorily so we set course for base with a lot of discussion as to how we had found ourselves over Dover.
The general opinion was that we must have done a zig-zag course right down the Danish, Dutch, Belgium and French coasts without interception. Perhaps our course had been so erratic that the German fighter controllers had just held back waiting for us to make a navigational error that would have put us within their grasp, or some other problem we had on board manifested itself and did the job for them.
As it was the Dover defences had done us far more damage and we were very thankful for either a slight error in the guns predictor or perhaps a little aiming off just in case we were a friendly aircraft with a spot of bother.
We would not have been the first RAF aircraft that the Dover guns had put on their score board though. They had to be very wary of unidentified aircraft. The Luftwaffe's equivilent [sic] of Farnborough; Rechlin, was known to have quite a comprehensive selection of airworthy Allied aircraft that they played all sorts of tricks with. In such circumstances it was more often a case of shooting first and asking questions afterwards and a risk we had to take if there was any doubt about the position at which the IFF was switched on.
During the final part of the flight back to base we had to go
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over the aircraft with a fine tooth comb to test everything before attempting a landing in the same way as we had done for our previous operation and it was a relief to find that everything worked and ended with a perfect final landing.
I have often wondered how many of the others felt as I did as we prepared for that final landing. Legs, fingers and toes crossed as we took up our crash positions, until we were safely on terra firma again.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we could keep up that sort of escapade without coming unstuck somewhere.
After we had taxied into dispersal and shut down, the ground crew seemed somewhat concerned as we clambered out. I distinctly remember one of them saying "oh no, not again. You chaps must have a guardian angel somewhere". I could appreciate the sentiment when we looked around the aircraft with them.
The underside was like a pepperpot with slivers of metal hanging loosely from everywhere yet nothing vital had been hit.
We did not fly it again as it was withdrawn for repair and subsequently relegated to the training role' as yet another 'W' was prepared for service.
We were very lucky that night. [underlined] Four other mine laying Stirlings failed to return. [/underlined] Mining was no milk run!.
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[underlined] Picture page. [/underlined]
Macdonalds crew
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We were reprieved after a decision was finally made to withdraw Stirlings from the main Bomber Force and start preparing them for another task.
620 was once of the first to go and crews that were close to the end of their tour were not being retained. That meant us...and it was a great relief when we were told. There was only one other crew made 'tour expired' with fewer operations than ourselves although they had originaly [sic] come from 214 Squadron when the Squadron had been formed.
Certainly it was a relief not to have to fly the two ops that I was short of for the full tour. I had already seen what happened to 'spare' people but it placed our crew in a unique position. We were the [underlined] only [/underlined] crew to have actually started and finished a 'tour' on the Squadron since it had come into being.
The credit really belongs to Mac of course but in that short time we had lost 17 aircraft on ops and 9 in accidents. [underlined] More than the whole Squadron establishment strength, plus six!. [/underlined]
Our gunners had accounted for two enemy fighters. We had carried seven 'freshmen' pilots to introduce them to ops and two of them had not survived Chedburgh.
We had lost 147 aircrew killed or missing of which 47 were known to have become POW's. It was a sad tally.
In the same period of time the Command had lost nearly 1000 bombers with their crews in an air war that showed little sign of abating.
The Squadron distinquished [sic] itself later by towing gliders and dropping parachute troops and supplies into the invasion of Europe, Arnham [sic] and the Rhine crossing, as well as numerous SAS and SOE operations into enemy occupied territory with some very severe casualties.
[line of stars]
We were more concerned with the present at that time. We celebrated with a wild night at the King Willie and a few more nights in the Mess as the strain began to fall away with the added bonus of some special leave.
On our return there were, a lot of new faces but we were more concerned with clearing the station and preparing for our next posting. There was trouble of a different sort on the horizon!.
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As soon as we had returned from leave, refreshed, we found ourselves; that is, the five NCO's lined up outside the flight office with Mac demanding an answer to a very delicate question. It was not very delicately put.
Apparently a certain WAAF who had been fairly liberal with her favours; to say the least, was beginning to show signs of motherhood, and since [underlined] some [/underlined] of us were known to have been in her company at times we were all suspect. Of course, it did not help her case a lot when she was only able to claim that it was one of the Macdonald crew!, and why that did not include Mac and Pete the two commissioned officers I do not know, but Mac's question was blunt and straight to the point. "Which one of you buggers was it", which rather stunned us and for a moment we just shuffled our feet as we studied each other.
I forget who stepped out first followed by another until all five of us had stepped forward. I know for certain that we had not all sampled those favours but a crew is a crew through thick and thin. 'All for one and one for all' and all that stuff. There was not much that could be done under those circumstances so whilst they were trying to pin it on someone else (and there were plenty of others), we were only too pleased to pack our bags and sneak off quietly to our new unit.
[line of stars]
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We had been posted to No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell as a complete crew, for instructional duties as strange as it may seem. The unit was just setting up to convert the Stirling Squadrons that were not moving out of the Command and Mac and Paddy went off to a Lancaster OTU in Yorkshire for a couple of weeks whilst the rest of us just familiarised ourselves with the Lancaster. The ground school was just getting going so we soon learned our way around. Apart from the Pilot and Engineer's speciality it was not difficult as most of the equipment was the same or similar and a nice little challenge to convert to a different type.
As soon as Mac and Paddy returned we flew intensively as a crew and within a matter of weeks we were into the training programme and open for business.
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Actually the unit was a bit of a hybrid. Part Operational Training Unit, part Conversion Unit and part Holding Unit for despite the savage losses the Command was still building up it's strength as fewer demands were being made in other theatres of the war, and the station was soon packed to the gills.
Crews started to come in from all over. The Stirling Conversion Units were still in the business of converting people from Wellingtons and then they came to us for changing to the Lancaster until the Stirling CU's were run down. After that they came direct from the Wellington OTU's as well as those Stirling Squadrons that sent detachments for conversion as their aircraft were being replaced by Lancasters.
We became very busy with the flow of people through the unit. Some of them knew the Lancaster better than we did as they were refreshing for their second tour, and very rarely for their a third. They had come off all manner of aircraft and had been 'resting' as we were now doing. There was a great deal of experience to draw on which I was only too willing to put to practical use. There did not appear to be any 'instructors' courses as such. You just threw yourself into it and you just turned out to be good, bad or indifferent at it. In all modesty, I seemed to cope satisfactorily.
After a few months Paddy got fed up with it and eventually got himself crewed up with a pilot of 115 Squadron that was converting and went back on ops. with him. Pete found himself in a spot of bother as a reult [sic] of a little over exuberance at a party and was given an option that he could not refuse....so he went off to a Mosquito Squadron at Downham Market, but not until most of the old crew, with the exception of Hoppy and Mac, attended my wedding in the March.
The bells of St.Mary's Broadwater, Worthing, were rung for the first time since the threat of invasion had silenced them in 1940. That was a traffic stopper if ever there was one and in the ensueing [sic] celebrations the rest of Macdonald's crew left it's mark on the local area. [underlined] I think the marks are still there!!. [/underlined]
I don't mind admitting that for the first time in my life I was smitten with the uncontrollable shakes when standing before the alter [sic] . Call it what you like, fear……………..
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apprehension, whatever, it got hold of me and I shook. My eldest brother, in navy uniform, survivor of numerous sea actions and two lost ships and my best man, came in close and propped me up. All that happened was that I transmitted my shakes to him and we both stood there like jellies and did not settle down until the ceremony was nearly over. Not a pretty sight!. Nevertheless, I married my childhood sweetheart despite the circumstances; something I never thought I would ever have the opportunity to do, and the marriage has stood the test of time.
Eventually Feltwell became so busy that we opened a non-flying ground school at Methwold a few miles away and having already been promoted to Flight Sergeant I got the job of setting up that part of the school for Wireless Operators.
Rather than lose my comfortable room in the pre-war Mess at Feltwell I cycled to and fro' daily and I am sure that it did me a lot of good as far as keeping fit was concerned. I enjoyed cycling anyway having been a founder member of the 'Worthing Wheelers' cycling club and a regular cyclist...even in my job.
To have to peddle a loaded tricycle from one end of Worthing to the other twice a day was quite an accomplishment which I had done for nearly two years and prior to that I had had a job with a builder and cycled 16 miles each way daily; so what was 5 miles.
Getting my bike out from the shed in Worthing where it had been tied up in the roof was no easy task. I have vague recollections of peddling half the distance from Worthing to Feltwell, including across London to save a few pence when some station staffs insisted on there being a ticket for the bike when it was placed in the guards van..to finally arrive in the rain.
The time passed and I only flew occasionaly [sic] to keep my hand in as momentous events occurred on the battle fronts that we, or at least I, felt at times that we were missing out on. I didn't push things though....I wasn't that daft!. There was enough going on at Feltwell and Methwold to keep me busy.
Even the odd operation turned up and that is how we lost a crew and our Chief Flying Instructor. He had opted for a mining job, got together a crew and it did not present any problem in arming up and self briefing. I'm glad he didn't pick me as his Wireless Operator. He took off at the appointed time and was seen clearing
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the immediate area, climbing, and shortly after he disappeared from view there was an almighty explosion as his load blew up and the aircraft disintregrated [sic] , scattering the landscape with a thousand pieces of man and machine. What a hell of a useless way to go for another seven young people. It was a sobering thought that it could have been any one of us that might have drawn the short straw for the privilege of making up the crew.
Life was anything but dull. When the Tannoy started blaring out one evening calling all sorts of people to report here there and everywhere a few of us went up to the airfield to see what it was all about.
It was quite a circus when three B.24's, (Liberators) charged in one after the other.
Apparently these three had not only lost their formation but had also lost their way to such an extent that they had been as much as 100 miles off track and an hour late in getting back to their base arriving at the time it was getting dark.
Just as they were getting into the circuit in a bit of a panic as they were not very experienced at night flying Flying Control yelled 'bandits' as there were Luftwaffe intruders suspected to be in the area, and promptly snuffed out the airfield lights.
[underlined] Panic stations!! [/underlined]
They had been given a course and distance to fly to Feltwell but bandits or no bandits they set off with all their navigation and anti-collision and formation lights on. The bandit scare was obviously false as they arrived in the Feltwell circuit looking like Christmas trees and firing verey signals all over the place. No self respecting Luftwaffe intruder would have passed up that invitation to do a bit of damage. As it happened, they did it to themselves.
The Feltwell controller told them to spread themselves out a bit for landing but they were not having any of that as it was dark by that time. There was no way they were going to lose each other having get that far so in they came, landing lights on. No. 1 got down and was told to go to the end of the runway and follow the 'follow me' illuminated van but got disorientated so slammed on the brakes to come to a juddering halt on the runway. No.2 piled right up the back of him, his props chewing at the……………………
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fusulage [sic] , and No.3, seeing what had happened flung his aircraft into a turn and belly flopped when the undercarriage collapsed. What a mess!, but they were lucky. There was not a single casualty although it took a lot of cleaning up.
We entertained the NCO's in our Mess afterwards and it was a source of amazement at the attitude those blokes had to the whole business. They were not in the least concerned that they had written off three aircraft but it was the manner in which they entertained us to a show that was straight off a Hollywood film set.
They were mostly unshaven, cigar chewing, gum chewing, with side arms and knives slung all around them who seemed hell bent on emulating the six gun cowboys of the wild west films and on the whole it was a lot of fun listening, to their wildly exagerated [sic] stories of 'combat over Germany' totally ignoring the fact that many of us had already done complete tours of night operations over enemy territory. They were not interested but it was better than going to the cinema. Most of them had been in the UK long enough to have sampled 'Limey' beer and were not slow in telling us what rubbish it was so we plied them with it until it was running out of their ears. In the end they weren't so tough. Most of than had to be put to bed!.
As time went by and crews continued to pour through the unit it was obvious to me that my time for moving on could be getting close so I started making the appropriate noises to ensure that I would get something different next time and would not have been surprised at anything that turned up. Nevertheless, there was one big surprise; my appointment to a commission which I had been quite convinced would have been turned down somewhere along the line.
When the appointment was promulgated I did not tell Dorothy but took a few days off having arranged to meet her in Oxted in Surrey, and on the way stopped off at Moss.Bros. in Covent Garden to get fitted out. It felt good. I went in as a Flt.Sgt. and came out an hour later as sprog Pilot Officer, no doubt looking like a tailors dummy, all bright and shining, including my cap, hot foot for Oxted.
Dorothy was not at the station so I set off across the field to meet her half way.
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When we did meet there were expressions of surprise and elation and in the excitement I threw my new, expensive cap into the air. That's how it became 'operational'. It landed in a cow cake and took a hell of a lot of cleaning; in between the laughter.
Later on we continued our journey to Worthing and I was suitably 'shown off' by my proud parents but it was a very odd situation when I met one of my old school pals who was a ground wireless operator.
He was one of those who I had always kept in touch with and had been one of the group at the garden gate on the day war had been declared. He had been totally brainwashed!. The poor bloke kept calling me 'Sir' and the only way I could break him of the habit was to get out of uniform to have a drink together without embarrassment on both sides.
Shortly after leave I found myself detailed for a short course at Fighter Command HQ, Bentley Priory, Stanmore.
There was about a dozen of us and we were told that the course was to train Wireless Operators in the use of R/T broadcasts and relay work of the type that the Pathfinder Force was developing. There was also a suggestion that after the training which was part of the Fighter Controllers course we would be assessed for our suitability for broadcasting airborne fighter control as well.
The first day was spent being shown all the fighter control systems as well as seeing them in practice in the famous fighter control/plotting operations rooms and then we were in business.
The next three days were highly amusing as we worked 'aircraft' from a mock control room with the plotters moving radar plots around the table to set up interceptions as the information from the filter room created the picture. It was the 'aircraft' that caused most of the fun. They were in fact Wall's ice cream tricycles with radar reflectors stuck to a pole on the side with low power battery operated transmitter/receivers in the body of the thing. The 'pilots' of the ice cream carts provided the motive power of course and wore the usual headset plus the restrictive..................
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headgear that pilots wore when they were practicing instrument flying.
As a result we could only see a compass and our feet whilst we were in a world of our own either peddling like the 'clappers' and making turns, or in the control room.
It was a highly amusing sight to see a couple of dozen demented ice cream carts cavorting blindly about a strangely marked out rugby pitch, and the occasional crunch as hunter and hunted came together in a perfect interception. Such crude simulation did not have the advantage of vertical seperation!!!!!. It was enlightening, interesting; and amusing but nothing ever came of it.
[line of stars]
It was getting increasingly difficult to get down to the South coast at that time. It was only by virtue of wearing uniform that I got through the security screen whether it was to Worthing or Oxted. There were troops jam-packed in every nook and cranny and there was hardly a bed to spare in any house or hotel. The streets and wooded areas were gigantic vehicle parks with acres of camouflage netting in some open areas disguising the enormous build up. Both my parents and my in-laws were billeting Commando's and the nights were filled with the rumbling of tanks, guns and other vehicles.
Once or twice whilst I was down that way the Luftwaffe had a go at night reconnaissance of the area but got a hot reception every time. During the day there were standing patrols of fighters that discouraged their attentions and I remember one that tried it one night that found himself facing a daunting barrage of fire that I would not like to have faced. Everything and the kitchen sink was thrown at him as he came through East to West at about 2000ft. Every piece of ack-ack, light and heavy, and hundreds of machine guns let loose from the hills, street corners and vehicle parks with a tremendous racket. It was just too dangerous to stay out in with shrapnel and spent rounds falling like rain. If that intruder got his picture and got back home that night then I reckon he was a very lucky chap.
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As we got towards the end of May it was impossible to meet my wife or get in touch with her. She was in the depths of Montgomer's [sic] HQ scheduling convoys down from the North into the Southern assembly areas although I did not know precicely [sic] what she was doing at the time. It was not until after the HQ had been disbanded that I learned about the restrictions that had been imposed. It was little wonder that I had not been able to get in touch when 'Q' Movements staff were under guard for days and were ever escorted to the toilet!.
[line of stars]
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Back at Feltwell the training programme slowed down and everyone was crewed up into a reserve Squadron. Orders of the day were published imposing all sorts of restrictions.
Crew members were on a two hour stand-by and not allowed off of the station. I was crewed with the remainder of the old crew as Pete and Paddy had already moved on and two others joined us. We regularly ground tested and air tested aircraft to operational standard although our efforts were not always successful. There were always problems with the wicked little 'Gremlins' that attached themselves to aeroplanes. 'Gremlins' were the imaginary demons that were blamed for the many problems that aircraft suffered from.
One of them had a real go at us one night before Paddy had left us. We had landed from a night flying detail and had hardly settled on the flare-path when Mac started giving Paddy a verbal broadside for not having fixed the slow running on the starboard outer engine as it had just cut out when he throttled back. With some surprise Paddy looked at his instrument panel, borrowed my signal lamp to light up the wing and calmly announced that there was no need to worry, it would not need fixing as it had just fallen off!.
That caused a bit of a stir in Flying Control when they were told on the R/T and then something else went wrong and we could no longer communicate with them. There was a lot of choice language from the whole crew and muttering from Mac about "cheap bloody meccano sets" and "it couldn't happen to a Stirling" and other appropriate caustic things as we taxied in.
Before we got to dispersal we were met by one of the controllers on a motor bike who signalled us to stop and then he climbed aboard to tell us to switch the blasted R/T set off. Then we knew why we could not hear the tower. We were stuck on transmit...and in the meantime they had evacuated all the female staff from the control room!!!. Nevertheless, it was quite a programme to get the maximum number of aircraft fully serviceable and operationally ready.
When the big day dawned....'D' Day, 6th June, I found out at breakfast as the majority of us did. The two hour stand-by was
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changed to a one hour and we waited with our ears glued to the radio for the minute by minute news of the events of that day. There was no doubt in our minds that this was the 'big one' that we had been waiting for.
It was incredible that nothing had leaked out although the aircraft had all been tested the previous day, and had been painted with white bands around the wings and the fusulage [sic] . In addition they had all been fuelled and bombed up the night before plus there were two more bomb loads stock piled in each dispersal. All we had to do was to sit around and wait for the signal to report for briefing and we would be off, so we sat around and waited and waited, with nothing to do except go out to dispersal from time to time to move aircraft a few feet as it was not good for them to be in one position for too long with a full load on.
As it happened we were not required. The Luftwaffe were caught napping and by the time they got themselves organised they were very much on the defence. The Allies committed so many aircraft that thousands and thousands of sorties were flown. Even the Bomber Command effort had to be flown on a race-track pattern in and out of the target area for safety and there was no room for us; fortunately!. After three days we were stood down and we went back to the training programme. The rest is now history.
Bomber losses were still heavy at times as the Command reverted to strategic bombing to disrupt enemy communications, supply and fuel resources and there was always the dread thought of the possibility of a repetition of the losses that we had suffered in the attack on Nuremburg the previous March. That had been an absolute disaster when [underlined] 95 [/underlined] of our aircraft were lost. Many of them were crews that had passed through our hands a short while before. It had been a reminder that we were not out of the woods yet and from time to time the Luftwaffe were still a force to be reckoned with.
With the invasion well under way my wife was posted to Newmarket as a result of her Surrey HQ being run down. That was a very convenient arrangement when a sympathetic C.O. arranged for me to be detached to Newmarket airfield as detachment commander for a couple of weeks. Very cosy…..our messes virtually backed
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on to one another!.
It was about that time that Macdonald got himself Courts Marshalled for unauthorised low flying….it had to happen some time. He was returning from an investiture at another airfield, including I believe for his own DFC, but landed on three engines and one bent propellor as a result of low flying over Thetford Forest, and it had taken a bit of explaining.
I was not with him at the time but I remember enough of the case to know the prosecution was badly prepared and could not produce the prop. or bits of tree or photographic evidence and the case was dismissed. I also recall that although Mac was in the left hand seat it was in fact in the hands of Mcllroy in the right hand seat. A piece of evidence that got overlooked, but he was still sailing close to the wind. It was probably similar doubtfull [sic] factors that caused him to prang his car with some of the others on board somewhere out in the Fens when the road did something unexpected. Only Mac was damaged and wore a patch over one eye for a time making him look like a pirate. What hurt him most of all was that in those days before the National Health Service, even in war-time, his accident was treated as self inflicted and he had to pay hospital fees. Even in the RAF hospital at Ely.
By the end of the year the work of the unit was almost complete. Reserves were being built up and replacements could be made by other conversion units so No.3. LFS. started running down with Methwold being cleared first. That kept me busy for a while dismantling all the systems that I had put in and returning stuff to stores, and in the meantime I was pulling strings to get the sort of posting that I wanted.
By the end of January 1945 nearly everything was cleared up and to my delight my posting came in for No.9 (Special Duties) Squadron, sister Squadron of the famous 617 (Dam Busters) Squadron which was more than I had dared to hope for.
Unfortunately a change in circumstances caused the postings staff at No.3. Group HQ. to have a re-think within 24hours of issuing the posting notice.
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My posting to No.9.Squadron was cancelled before I finished packing!.
Instead, after more days of delay I was crewed with some of the remaining chaps at Feltwell and posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall so it was back on ops. again to fill the gaps that were still decimating units.
'Gaps' was the operative word as in my period of 'rest' at Feltwell the Command had lost a mind boggling figure of around 2000 aircraft.
It would have been nice if the old crew had managed to get back together again but things did not normally work out that way. Pete was already half way through his tour on Mosquito's at Downham Market. Paddy was getting on with his second tour with 115 Squadron. The others had been crewed up and departed. Squadron Leader. F.C.Macdonald.DFC. had been appointed as Flight Commander of 622 Squadron; also at Mildenhall, and it was a whole new ball game.
I only had the opportunity of socialising with Mac once in the very short period that I was there. The hand of fate caught up with me at last.
Our first operation was the last that XV Squadron's new, all officer, all second tour, all ex instructor crew was to do and it was late June before I got back to Mildenhall again, mainly to thank the parachute section for packing my parachute correctly!.
By the most amazing coincidence when the WAAF in the parachute section went through the books to find the serial number of my 'chute it turned out that she had also been the packer!
The poor girl got a sloppy impulsive kiss and a donation to their social fund but when I went to look for Mac I could not find him. There was very little interest; no-one wanted to know as he was away somewhere and although I tried several different ways of communicating with him later I had no direct contact again until 1954.
My search eventually led me to a scruffy motor engineers workshop on the outskirts of Wisbech where he seemed to be both the proprietor and chief mechanic; there was no-one else!.
He was the same old Mac. Uncommicative [sic] and shabby, like the shabby old Triumph Dolomite that stood next to a shabby old
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caravan that appeared to be both his office and his home.
There was not much left of the old sparkle and fire in his eyes although at the time it might have had something to do with the fact that the mid afternoon refreshment served in a dirty cracked cup came from a whisky bottle rather than the tea pot, but he was just as dammed uncommunicative as ever. Never a word when a nod and a wink would do. About the only thing I can remember him saying was "I thought you had got the chop and I was going to write to your wife" but of course, he never had. He did confess to being a bit surprised that I was by that time a Flight Lieutenant and the Operations Wing Adjutant at Mareham but his comment was typical. "I never thought you had it in you". He never was complementary....just a dour Scot.
He really looked as if he could here done with some assistance but there was no way that I could do anything without offending him although I did find out that he had done another 15 ops. and had ditched a damaged Lanc. before his wings had been well and truly clipped.
Shortly after that meeting I was off to foreign parts and on my return to the area about three years later nothing had changed although shortly afterwards he did another disappearing act and it took many years to track him down again. The trail eventually led to Troon and then to Dunoon before it fizzled out once more and it was many more years before he surfaced again with the assistance of the RAF Association and the Mildenhall Register. He was in very poor circumstances in Glasgow where Paddy found him and there was every indication that he would rather not have been found. He was content to be a survivor and the past was over and done with; what he could remember of it at the ripe old age of 82!.
We had not been far out in our estimates in 1943. He must have been one of the oldest Squadron pilots in the Air Force at the time at the age of 38!.
He disappeared again for a short time but following the trail left by Paddy I made a visit to Glasgow and finally tracked him down in a home for the elderly but he was no longer the Macdonald we had known. I don't think he knew who I was. He died six years later!.
I have never regretted my 'choice' of the pilot in which I placed
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my trust and my life and those sentiments are shared by the surviving members of the crew. We look back on those days and wonder how we ever came out of it unscathed considering that in our subsequent flying after the war we nearly all had the experience of climbing out of 'bent' aeroplanes.
Pete flew in a civilian capacity with Freddie Laker as both Navigator and Flight Engineer. They were lucky to walk away from a wrecked aircraft on the Berlin Air Lift. Paddy walked away from a wrecked passenger Mk.V. Stirling in the Middle East and I climbed out of a Proctor upside down on Oakington's runway.
For the record, Mac, Pete, Paddy and Ralph were all awarded DFC's for their efforts, Mac and Pete with bars, but sadly we are no longer a complete crew.
For me, those years were the most traumatic of any life and I will never forget those occasions when we were so close to each other in that short period that seemed like a lifetime.
TO
"THE SKIPPER"
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THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
[underlined] OLD….BOLD PILOTS [/underlined]
Anon.
[page break]
IN MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[row of circles]
[page break]
[underlined] ACKNOWLEDGMENTS [/underlined]
To Michael.J.F.Boyer……. whose research and detail in his excellent books:- [underlined] Action Stations--Part-One [/underlined]
[underlined] and [/underlined]
[underlined] The [/underlined] [underlined] Stirling [/underlined] [underlined] Bomber [/underlined]
were valuable sources of information.
To Martin Middlebrook & Chris Everitt for research details made available in the [underlined] Bomber Command War Diaries [/underlined] .
To Jock Whitehouse & Spencer Adams whose energy and enthusiasm helped to correct the many inacuracies [sic] in my early drafts.
and
TO MY DEAR WIFE DOROTHY who was obliged to tolerate the many years of typing and interuption [sic] of more important matters.
not forgetting
THOSE CREW MEMBERS WHO ARE LONG GONE:
WITHOUT WHOSE SKILLS THIS STORY
[underlined] COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN TOLD!!. [/underlined]
[line of stars]
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[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
On the 3rd February 1945 seven aircrew were posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall, to form the crew of a Lancaster.
The pilot was Australian, the rear gunner was an American in the RAF. The navigator and mid-upper gunner were Scots and the remainder of the crew were from the counties of Sussex, Nottingham and Warwickshire.
They had all completed a previous tour of operations and had been resting for varying periods as instructors at No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell in Norfolk.
The school was closing down and as the staff were being dispersed one pilot had been given the option of forming his own crew prior to posting back to an operational Squadron. That is how we all came together.
Some of the new crew had flown together whilst at the school and the pilot and flight engineer had previously flown together on Manchesters and Lancasters in operational Squadrons.
The time had come for them to get back into the fray as the bombing campaign was being stepped up to an awesome number of aircraft being employed to deliver thousands of tons of bombs to the enemy as the war was rapidly drawing to a close.
The Third Reich was reeling from savage attacks from both East and West. Their Navy was just about bottled up and had lost most of their capital ships. Her Army was being lost in great chunks and the German Air Force was being severely restricted by fuel shortages and although they fought on desperately the final blows were not far off. Anyone with half an eye could see that; except Hitler. If he had not been so crazy he would have given in a long time before we had reached the critical stage, but since he would not, and the Allies would accept nothing but unconditional surrender, Germany and it's long suffering population had to bludgeoned into submission.
I was the Wireless operator/air gunner of the crew and we were part of that final effort although there was an awful lot of killing still going on in all theatres of the war.
At the time it seemed that we had a good chance of being in at the finish so on arrival at Mildenhall we got stuck into refresher training and emergency drills against the stop watch
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until it did not seem possible to trim any more time off of the procedures and the 'Skipper' was satisfied that we were now moulded into a crew and ready for anything.
For me it was quite an experience being back at Mildenhall again having been there as an 'erk' in 1941, and now I was back again as a commissioned officer and experienced crew member although I did not have a lot of time to dwell on the fact.
A lot of water had passed under the bridge and we were perhaps somewhat unique in that we were an all commissioned crew starting a second tour of operations.
That was a very rare combination and as I thought at the time we might make a name for ourselves.
HOW WRONG I WAS !!!!!!
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On the 7th of February we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation and subsequently the old familiar pattern of activity fell into place as we trooped into the briefing room.
The target was detailed as the oil refinery at Wanne Eikel, at the eastern end of the Ruhr industrial complex, which, suprisingly [sic] was still trying to produce something despite the hundreds of tons of bombs that had been dumped on and around it over the years.
Our job, within a force of 100 Lancasters of No.3.Bomber Group, was to try and put it out of business and further disrupt the already desperate fuel situation that was severely limiting the activities of the German War Machine.
As far as I was concerned it was going to be a change to be on a daylight raid. I figured that at last I would be able to see what was going on and that I might even get a chance to assist in doing something really useful from the astro dome. Even the prospect of flying higher and faster than I had done on my previous tour in Stirlings was something I was certainly looking forward to.
I had polished up my gunnery in the various turrets on the firing range including stoppage clearance although inwardly hoping that the occasion would never arise when I would have to put the practice into use as it would mean taking over from one of the other gunners who had become a casualty.
Even so, there was no way that I was going to be caught out in such an emergency----not when the end of my war was in sight!. After briefing and collection of all the usual paraphernalia we all trooped out to the airfield in the crew bus to get on with the pre-flight checks until the time came for us to start up and taxy out for take-off.
With the usual heart stopping lurch Lancaster ME434...coded LS(XV Squadron) D for 'Dog'; the 12th that had carried that identification, (not all Lancasters); took to the air as the end of the runway came into sight with everything straining to get up to a safe height with it's heavy load of bombs and fuel.
The load was around 2000 gallons of petrol with 1 x 4000lb blast bomb and 12 x 500 pounders. Not the maximum that a Lanc. could take but enough to require some delicacy-in handling.
4
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Everything was normal as we gained height and climbed on course following a route that took us over Newmarket where my wife was.
I was wondering what she was thinking as the thunder of up to 100 aircraft filled the air. I had only seen her the night before and had told her that I was going to be busy so she knew that something was going on.
We were soon changing course for a point on the South Coast near Beachy Head and as it came up on track my home town of Worthing was in sight, to the West as we crossed the coast with the sky clear and bright as we continued to climb to our operating height.
The rest of the force closed around us as we formed up into the usual 'gaggle' as we approached another turning point on time.
Unlike the USAAF, we did not fly in a tight defensive formation as the RAF preferred to present any attackers with a loose, weaving, inconsistent mass of aircraft with a less restrictive field of fire. The exception was underneath, which is why some of XV Squadron's aircraft that took up position at the bottom of the pack had been locally fitted with a pair of ventral guns to cover what would normally be a blind spot.
We were not one of those but a 'Gee-H' leader, carrying some special homing and bombing equipment with which to pin-point the target through cloud. The yellow bars on the tail fins identified us as such.
We crossed the French coast which was no longer as hostile as I had last encountered it and in fact it was an inspiring sight to look down from over 20,000ft in such brilliant conditions on an area that only a few months before had been wrested from German domination.
It all looked very peaceful down there but there was always that false impression of things outside the aircraft and one could easily be lulled into a false sense of security by it.
Despite the impression of a bright summers day out there and the warmth of the sun falling on my shoulders in the astro dome it was, nevertheless minus 12° out there.
It was uncomfortably hot for me so I discarded my 'Mae West' life jacket as we changed course once more to head across Belgium
5
[page break]
towards the Ruhr.
It soon became obvious that the bad weather that we had been warned about at briefing was not far ahead. In the distance a huge wall of angry black cloud appeared; from just about deck level right up to the heavens, stretching from North to South as far as-we could see.
It was a typical squall line associated with frontal conditions and the nearer we got to it the more obvious it was that the Met. people had underestimated it's severity.
The formatiom [sic] leaders still did not break radio silence with instructions and as it was obvious there was no way around it we were soon doing what everyone else was doing as the force started spreading out with maximum climbing power until we plunged into it, in an attempt to get out of the top.
At 23,000ft we were still in it and ploughing on yet there were still no instructions to change our plans but with the first of the Ruhr defences ahead of us, and the aircraft icing up to the extent that she was getting very sluggish, Geoff Hammond, the pilot, was getting concerned that we could not possibly go much higher without the risk of losing control plus the chance of carburettor icing as well.
With the sun obscured it had turned very cold inside the aircraft as the heating system was fighting a losing battle and I thought that perhaps it was time that I put my life jacket back on. I thought better of it for the very reason that I would have to take my parachute harness off to do it but with the aircraft waffling around like a drunken duck it perhaps not the best time to do it.
We were all somewhat relieved when Geoff announced that we were turning back and descending to try and find better conditions although it was some time before there was even the slightest improvement.
We could not get out of cloud completely and the ice was still not clearing although it was no longer building up so we set course for our secondary target; Duisburg, from where we could have made a dash for clearer areas. However, Dave Howell, the navigator, although he was able to place us over the target area on radar, was not satisfied that he could pin point a target so we just kept on going and descending as the cloud started
6
[page break]
to thin into layers. As the conditions improved ice started to strip off and clatter about with a great deal of noise although it was no problem and certainly better than being loaded with half a ton of ice in the wrong places.
Even-the Lancaster had very limited de-icing equipment. It was only installed on the leading edges of the wings inboard of the inner engines, and therefore not all that effective. It was policy to increase the-bomb carrying capacity by reducing such [underlined] unneccessary [/underlined] [sic] frills.!!!!!.
It seemed that it was going to be an abortive sortie and that we would be taking our bombs back home and dumping them on the range but after a short conference on the intercomm [sic] Geoff decided that our best bet would be to go back to Krefeld in a final attempt to plant the bombs on the enemy side of the 'bomb line' so we turned around again and headed East for Krefeld.
We were still in and out of cloud at about 8,500ft by the time our new target came up by which time Dave and Jim Murphy the bomb-aimer had decided on a target reference and between them the bombs were dropped in one salvo.
As soon as they had gone we started into a port turn to make for home when Jim reported that the bomb doors would not close, probably due to icing…..; [underlined] when it happened!!!! [/underlined]
The aircraft gave a violent lurch and being in the astro dome I was horrified to see the starboard wing just rear up as if it was going to wrap itself around us.
With my heart in my mouth I went scrambling towards my parachute stowage but before I got there I was brought to my knees alongside the radio compartment as the aircraft rolled right over and the next few moments were rather desperate.
We went into a spin; which way up I shall never know, but to the accompaniment of the sound track from some old aviation film we, were descending at an alarming rate as Geoff yelled "prepare to abandon" on the intercomm [sic] although no-one really needed telling. The trouble was that there was little that we could do about it.
Geoff and Des Cook the flight engineer were fighting the controls together with linked arms as the altimeter unwound rapidly but the spin had locked everyone into their respective positions.
Dave and I were both desperately trying to get to our side by
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side parachute stowages without much success and although our heads were probably only a couple of feet apart I swear that our eyeballs; out on stalks-must have nearly touched.
It has often been said that when one is faced with death one's whole life flashes before you but I do not recall any such images.
The only thing that flashed into my brain-box was "Dear God; this is it-I hope it doesn't hurt too much", and then suddenly the aircraft righted, or at least stopped spinning and we were released from the centrifugal forces that had kept us locked allowing us to get the 'chutes out of the racks as at the same time the order came from Geoff to "abandon...abandon...abandon”. Reaction to that order was automatic after the amount of time that we had spent practising the procedure in the previous three days.
Helmets with oxygen and intercomm [sic] connections were torn off. Dave and I grabbed our parachute packs on the run and slammed them onto our chest clips by the time Jim Murphy had jettisoned the front hatch and had virtually gone out with. Dave went next, feet first and I followed so closely behind, head first, that there could not have been a foot between us.
Archie Macintosh, the mid-upper gunner, was hot on my heels even though he had had to negotiate the main spar to get up front and then the way was clear for Des.
Des had already released Geoff's sutton harness and removed his helmet and connections as well as his own whilst Geoff was still struggling with the controls and he was ready to go the same way as the rest of us.
We had all thumped Geoff's arm as we passed so he got another thump from Des prior to his departure after which Geoff was able to make a dash for the exit before the aircraft went out of control again. As usual, the rear gunner had made his own arrangements by rotating on the beam and jettisoning the turret doors then throwing himself out backwards.
From the word 'go' there was a lot to be done and it says a great deal for a well practiced drill because we figured out afterwards that we were all out in 12 secs. flat, and not suprisingly [sic] , even faster than we had achieved in practice only the day before when Geoff had insisted that we do it again and
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again until he was satisfied.
It was with the same mechanical process that I counted to ten before I pulled the rip cord although I have to confess that I cheated a bit. It was more like 2,4,6,8,10 and after I had done it my heart was in my mouth as nothing seemed to happen.
I had felt some urgency to get the 'chute open as quickly as possible as we had been in cloud all the time and I had no idea of our height at the time of going out. I was just hoping that it would open before I dived into something solid; like the side of a house before it did.
I had made sure that I had put the 'chute pack on with the 'D' ring under my right hand which had been on it from the time I had clipped up. I had heard too many stories of people who had gone out in a panic only to be found later at the bottom of a hole with the right hand side of the pack half torn away by bleeding fingers; yet as sure as I was that I had done everything correctly it seemed like a lifetime before anything happened.
There was a violent jolt and I was swinging under a rustling canopy, still in cloud and preparing rapidly for a heavy landing. For a brief moment there was a tremendous sense of relief as I found myself looking down at the 'D' ring clutched in my right hand. Then the thought struck me that I had better hang onto it as there was a five shilling fine for opening a parachute; but only by mistake. What a bloody silly thought!...so I tossed it away smartly just before I broke cloud.
I estimated that I was about 1500ft and on looking around I found that I was much too close to a turbulent river for my liking, especially as I was a poor swimmer and I had no life jacket on, so I started hauling on the shroud lines to do something about it. With not a lot of time to spare I concentrated on the landing.
I was agreeably suprised [sic] that crossing hands on the lines and pulling them in opposite directions worked like the instructors said it would and with a little more heaving and hauling I soon got a fair idea of where I was going to land in an open field!.
I need not have worried about going into the river as a strong wind was carrying me away from it but if it was not bad enough that landing by parachute was the equivilent [sic] to the rate of
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descent of jumping off of a 12ft wall I seemed to be doing about 30mph on the level so I was not keen to get a busted leg at that stage.
When I was just a few feet above the ground I turned the release buckle to unlock the harness and a fraction of a second before touching terra firma I banged the release buckle and Presto!. I came out of the harness, into a forward roll over the shoulder and hip and immediately up on my feet to grab the lower lines of the canopy and collapse it. It was a classic landing-I was down safely and I could only hope at the time that the others had been as successful.
I had seen no sign of them during the descent but I was to find out all about that later. The most important thing was-where the blazes was I?. The time was 3.30pm and as we had crossed and re-crossed the 'bomb line' there was every chance that I might be on the Allied side.
The terrain gave no indication of where I was and there was not the activity that one would expect of a battlefield area but with those thoughts running around inside my head I gathered up my parachute and shoved it under the base of a tree among some roots as I decided to get away from the immediate area.
[line of stars]
10
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Continuation of “Water under the Bridge – Part II. by A.T.GAMBLE.
I could faintly hear shouts and whistles coming from one area so I scrambled off on my hands and knees in the opposite direction into an area of 4ft nursury [sic] pines towards a road that I had seen on the way down. By the time I got there the shouts and whistles had become considerably louder.
Within a few seconds of reaching the edge of plantation the road was in sight but I stayed under cover until I spotted a Jeep coming along displaying the American white circle with a star in so with great relief I broke cover, stood up and waived [sic] . I immediately regretted it.
The chap standing up front next to the driver let loose with a sub-machine gun so I promptly went to ground again.
I just had time to notice that his uniform, although a sort of blue, was not quite the familiar RAF colour and pattern, Then I knew which side of the line I was on; the wrong side. !!
I was only half aware of the sounds of ZZZtz’s as lead cut into the area around me as I did a reasonable imitation of a rabbit on my hands and knees heading for the middle of the trees wondering how the blazes I was going to get out of this situation, until l was finally forced to stop, exhusted.
I buried my identity card which I should not have been carrying anyway, plus two £1 notes, and drew my pistol which had been tucked in my tunic, cocked it and laid down trying to be very, very small.
A siren was wailing in the distance and the shouts and whistles got even louder with sounds of more local movement that was just audible above the hammering of my heart.
I did not know what to expect but what happened was very sudden. A heavy boot came down on my gun hand. The pistol went off and I was hauled to my feet facing the business end of a nasty looking machine pistol and about half a dozen grinning chaps of my own age; in Luftwaffe blue!.
There were some others behind me and one of them relieved me of my Smith & Wesson .38 and with my hands now free it seemed the most logical thing to do was to put them well above my head. With as cheerful a grin as I could muster I said "good afternoon", to which the bloke behind the pistol said, "gooten abend, fur sie das krieg ist fertig". (good afternoon, for you the war is finished) and although my German was not good enough
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to interpret, the inference in the manner in which it was said was sufficient. I was without any doubt a Prisoner of War!.
In the middle of the group, with a prod and a push I was ushered to a large house, past a battery of heavy looking anti-aircraft guns and the thought struck me that they might have been responsible for my present predicament as there was no doubt in my mind that it was ack-ack that had got us, but I didn't ask. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of an affirmative reply as they already seemed pretty smug about the whole business.
I was led into the house, and up the stairs from the baronial hall of heavy oak panelling and flying staircase and into a room being used as an office.
An officer behind a huge antique desk greeted me with a broad grin, so with very little to lose I gave him a parade ground salute which he smartly returned. So far so good….but what was running around inside my head at the time was the irony that it was just my luck to have come down in the middle of the Luftwaffe flak unit that had shot us down!.
The proceedings that followed were all conducted in German and a lot of sign language apart from one question directed to the single ribbon on my tunic. It was only the 1939/43 star as it was then, but the officer pointed to it and enquired "DFC”?. Well, a DFC was about the equivalent of their Iron Cross, whatever class, and I thought it might influence the treatment so "ja” it was. As it happened it might as well have been a VC for all the difference it made.
Everything was turned out of my pockets. Collar studs were taken from out of my shirt. (They obviously knew that we often had special one's with compasses in them). Then the cufflinks, (they often had the same use). Then all of the buttons from my jacket and trousers. (Again some buttons could be used as a matching pair with one balanced on the other to produce a crude compass). Then the stitching that secured the tops of my flying boots was cut to deprive me of the tops as they were obviously aware that often money and maps were built into the layers of fleece and silk.
A polished metal mirror that I always kept in my left breast pocket was also removed before I was handed a piece of paper
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and pencil, and it was not difficult to understand the next request. Number, Rank, Name, although it was difficult to comply right away until I had secured my trousers with my tie.
Among my possessions now laying on the table was a nearly new pack of 20 cigarettes, so I indicated a request for one but the crafty blighters handed them round first leaving just one in the pack for me. Even then they did not light theirs. They probably pulled them to pieces later to see if there was anything other than tobacco in them. I knew there was not. I had only got them from the Mess bar the night before.
Now those in the escape and evasion pack that had gone down with my life jacket were an entirely different matter but it was no good bemoaning the loss of that stuff.
It seemed that the initial procedures were finished when the officer made a few calls on a field telephone after which I was ushered outside to take my place between two armed escorts on bicycles and with a boot up the backside and "Schnell" off we went with me at the trot.
I found out later that I had come down between Veirson and Alderkirk, about 10mls West of Krefeld but we were soon away from there as was persistently prodded and booted to keep me on the run which was no easy task in sloppy shoes which used to be flying boots, and trousers without adequate support but they seemed in a great hurry and obviously 'I was of no consequence.
There were regular encouraging shouts of "rouse" and "schnell" accompanied by more kicks in the rear so there was no alternative to keeping on the move.
What surprised me was the fact chat the area we went through was devoid of all civilian population. Villages, shops, farms and houses were deserted. There was no sign of life at all. Derelict filling stations had rusty 'Shell' signs hanging lop-sided. Shops with tatty Coca-Cola signs were all boarded up. It was more like a no-man's land that I jogged through with little evidence of all the troops that I expected to see considering how close to the front line that I was. It was even more surprising since in the early hours of the next morning one of the biggest offensive's of the war was launched by the Allies
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on the Northen [sic] battle front in an attempt to break through and reach the Rhine. They must have been known that something big was about to break.
The very fact that we did not achieve immediate success is a matter of history but with great armies lined up and about to be locked in battle less than 30mls to the West I can only assume that if there was any strength of German troops in the rear they were very well hidden. The only traffic that I saw was the occasional military vehicle travelling very slowly hugging the edge of the tracks through wooded areas.
I was just about done in when we finally arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Krefeld around dusk.
I was duly handed over and signed for at the guard room with my two escorts still showing signs of being in a hurry to get back to their relatively isolated unit before the RAF or the USAAF started chucking stuff at what was a prime target.
Perhaps they figured they would have more chance against our ground forces but whatever; they were off as fast as they could go with their hand generating flashlights whirring away.
My first impression of the place was the similarity between their buildings and our pre-war bases at home. It all looked so familiar that they might have been built to the same plans….perhaps they were!. Even the cell block behind the guard room was identical as was the exercise yard behind it, but I was not impressed when I was shown to my room.
In the cell was the same sort of wooden dais that served as a bed, (no comfort for the wrong doers), and of course no pillow or mattress. Just a single thin blanket.
It was not long after I had been locked in and I had taken stock of the situation that I realised that it was some time since I had eaten or had a drink, about eight hours actually, so I started making a fuss to attract the attention of a guard and demanding to be fed.
The sign language conveyed the message alright but the only reaction was a great deal of laughter and sign language from them which simply meant "you have had it mate"!.
I have no doubt it was due to a typical military process which ensured
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that there would be no issue of food to a prisoner until he came on ration strength in the morning!.
Everything that I had been provided with for such emergencies (had I been allowed to keep it) had gone down in my life jacket.
I finally went into an uncomfortable and restless sleep with visions of that egg and bacon that would have been waiting for me back at Mildenhall, and grumblings in the tummy. I was also very concerned at the sort of reaction that there would-be when the inevitable telegrams arrived. There was no way, that anyone back home would know what had happened to us. We would just be 'missing' until something was sorted out.
In the morning the routine was simple. An early visit to the ablutions under guard with no means or opportunity of washing, other than splashing a little water on the face and return to the cell to find that 'breakfast' had been served.
It had been placed on the floor outside the cell door. I could have eaten a horse, harness and all but all that 'breakfast' consisted of was one slice of sticky black bread with a smear of bright yellow grease on it and a mug of some brown stuff that they called coffee.
I did not dare laugh at their reference to "cafe' and brot und butter" as there was no was of knowing when I would get anything else particularly as my insides were already protesting at not being fed for nearly 24 hours. Nevertheless, I nibbled and sipped any way through it having never ever tasted anything quite like it before.
Had I gulped it down I have no doubt that I would not have kept it down for long. It was absolutely ghastly.
There was no activity at all until mid-day and after a visit to the ablutions a meal was provided on a small folding table in the passageway and I had company.
My companion was a young Luftwaffe airman of about 17 who spoke quite good English and although he could have been a plant I very much doubt it.
Over the meal which was about a handful of turnip stew. a tablespoon of sourcraut [sic] and a thin slice of black bread without any scrape, plus a mug of the brown stuff we managed to communicate sufficiently for him to tell me his story.
Apparently he had wanted to be a pilot but his eyes were not
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up to the standard required so he had become ground crew of some sort which he had been a bit peeved about. He was in the cooler for striking an officer and what's more he did not seem too worried.
I found it embarrassing when after he had made enquiries about the various insigna [sic] on my uniform and found that I was an officer. It was he who suggested that the scar on my forehead was a duelling scar so I want along with it. After that disclosure he jumped to his feet, clicking his heels and bobbing up and down in typical German fashion until I suggested that we had better get on with our food, what there was of it, before it got cold. Especially as we were using the same utensils...his!. Then we were locked up again and for my part still hungry.
I have often wondered how that lad got on. After all, striking an officer was, and still is a serious offence, especially on active service. He was probably sent to the Russian front in a penal battalion to fight for his beloved Furher [sic] . They might as well have shot him outright. Whilst I was having visions of egg and bacon I was disappointed when supper turned up. It was a mug of a different shade of brown stuff of indefinable flavour and so to bed. It was the same routine the next day and my insides were still trying to come to terms with the 'snacks' that arrived three times a day and even the Luftwaffe airman had disappeared but things livened up the next day.
There was a terrific rattle of light ack-ack when the airfield was straffed [sic] by USAF P.51's, (Mustangs). They did a hell of a good job from what I could see through a small peep-hole in the top corner of the window, only just accessible .by climbing on the bed stood on it's end.
There were quite a few fires and explosions and a hell of a racket from the defences but I was forced to abandon my grandstand view very quickly when lead started splattering all over the outside of the building. It was too close for comfort and the window finished up with a larger hole in it that it had had before causing a bit of a draught.
Archie Macintosh had been brought in the night before but apart from one brief meeting we had been unable to communicate as
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he had been put in a cell at the other end of the block and we were fed at different times.
I was beginning to get a bit fed up with my own company when on the afternoon of the 10th I had plenty of company.
The entire crew of a B.17. (Flying Fortress) were brought in and distributed among the cells so two of them joined me.
They were a bit suspicious at first but were soon convinced that I was genuine as I was sharing their discomfort. Despite the increase in numbers we were not provided with any more blankets and only a small increase in total food, although we were being fed in the cells at that stage. Fortunately my new cell mates had only recently been well fed back at their UK base and were quite willing to forego the "Kraut junk food" so I had my fill. I am sure they changed their minds about it later on.
At least there was someone to talk to relieve the utter boredom of my four walls and I must confess that I was astonished when I heard their story.
Apparently they had lost an engine and could not keep up with their formation so before the fighters could get at them they had just force landed, fired the aircraft and that was that.
I found it difficult to reconcile such an action with what we might have done in similar circumstances but their orders were not to risk lives at that stage for the sake of an aeroplane. There were plenty of them!. Even so I thought that it would not have been difficult to have done some hedgehopping to our own lines rather than finish up in the situation they now found themselves in.
The next day we were all mustered outside the Guardroom after our morning drink and with one guard per prisoner we set off to Dusseldorf by the process of alternatively walking or hitchhiking on military transport. Archie and I were at last able to compare notes.
He had gone out just behind me but had not been able to execute as neat a landing.
He had landed in some fairly tall pine trees and after he had finished crashing through branches he finished up swinging about 20 feet from the ground somewhat winded.
He had a lot to think about once he had recovered and certainly
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did not fancy getting a busted leg by releasing himself from that height, although that is what the Luftwaffe wanted him to do as soon as they arrived on the scene.
There was a lot of shouting and a few shots to give him encouragement so he eventually got a good swing going until he was able to grab the branch of another tree, release himself and clamber down. The rest was routine so that was two of us that were OK anyway.
As we plodded along we took in all that was revealed by the countryside and the signs of the desperate shortages in Germany were even more obvious.
All the things that made up the daily life back home that we took for granted; the butcher, the baker, people, transport and tradesmen were just not there. The area was desolate apart from the odd military vehicle that picked us up and saved our legs for a few miles.
It took a long time to cover the 16 miles by those means and there was no refreshment at all-not for us prisoners anyway!, but we duly arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Dusseldorf to be handed over and signed for as usual at the guard room.
Then our escorts came up with an extraordinary gesture that took us completely by surprise They came down the line and shook us all very politely by the hand, with of course the inevitable heel clicking, and then we were led away to our cells. There was four in mine, including Archie.
We were not fed or watered. Only water was available when it was possible to visit the toilets although the guards were very reluctant to let us use the wash basins--but we managed.
By that time I was used to being hungry and our American friends were getting aclimatized [sic] --but getting very vocal about it. It was a total waste of time, even when we were ushered outside at 4.30 the next morning.
Naturally we were hoping that we were going to be fed but all we got was a pack of three dry sandwiches, containing some garlic smelling sausage and being told that they had to last several days. Some only lasted a few minutes as about 20 of us were packed into a bus which took us to what was left of Dusseldorf station and whilst we were waiting around for something to happen we found that Jim was among us. That made three of us accounted
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for.
Jim's descent had been perfectly normal. There had been a reception committee waiting for him and he had gone straight to Dusseldorf where he had waited several days for something to happen. At last it had.
We spent all day on that train, and the next as it clanked and groaned it's way across country. It was a painfully slow journey, and sometimes we were shunted into sidings for long periods, and on others we were just held up by the signals.
The guards were touchy and there was one outside each of the compartments all the time. The only time we were allowed out into the corridor was for the occasional visit to the toilet, still under escort, and the facilities were a bit primitive to say the least.
Drinking water was limited and was only made available twice a day from a bucket with a ladle which we all had to use, so it was not surprising that we were getting thirsty, dirty and hungry. Three sandwiches do not go far---mine went on the first day and nothing else had turned up.
Sleeping was another big problem although we dozed quite a lot as there was-nothing else to do, but ten in a compartment brought it's own problems, especially at night. We took turns for a few hours at a time up on the luggage racks but without any heating on the train it did not take long for the body to get chilled right through so it was necessary to get back into the sweaty and rather smelly huddle of bodies to warm up again.
We had to disembark several times as the train went forward slowly on it's own over either weak or hurriedly laid sections of track or where unexploded or delayed action bombs were suspected and it was all very tedious.
The next night we stopped at one station to change the train crew, I think it was Siegen, and it was another of those rare occasions to get out of the compartment.
The German equivalent of the WVS were on the platform and the ladies of the tea urn were approached by our guards with a proposal to dispense some in our direction and with a great show of reluctance they eventually obliged.
Of course, we had to take it in turn to use the tin cups provided as we had nothing and the news was relayed that the hot drink
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was 'chocolate'. I saw some strange expressions from the others that were ahead of me in the queue when they got theirs and I don't suppose mine was any different when I got my measure.
As chocolate it was more like dirty washing up water and that the average German had long forgotten what chocolate really tasted like.
It was more like the sort of brew that you would get if you dissolved a Horlicks tablet in five gallons of hot water!.
It was welcome just the same and we dare not make any disparaging remarks about for fear of being deprived of it.
I was just wondering if I should finish my ration by washing in it when the air raid sirens started wailing and there was immediate panic everywhere as we set off for the shelters.
We were herded down some steps into caves which had been hewn out of the natural rock alongside the station and some of us helped the guards with their packs. Someone else 'accidentally' knocked over the abandoned drinks trolley in the general rush and we eventually finished up in a dimly lit shelter where we were pushed well to the back as bombs started crashing down outside causing the lights to flicker and dust to start filtering from the roof onto everyone. [The raid was short but the bombs were heavy one's and are thought to have been Mosquito's on a 'siren tour'].
The rest of the occupants of the shelter, mostly civilians including children were terrified and apart from one old bloke, stayed huddled up in the corners. He shuffled across to our group and peered at us through the shield of guards for a while until it dawned on him who we were and then he went frantic.
He lunged and spat, yelling "terror fleiger" doing his damnedest to get through to us but the guards closed ranks into a solid wall in front of us and he shoved off when the all clear sounded. The guard commander was taking no chances that any further demonstration might get out of hand and we left last!.
I doubt if they would have been so protective If they had known what we had been up to. It was some time later after we had re-embarked and were clanking along once more when they found out. First one went to his pack and then another, to find the cupboard bare. Even the: wine bottles were empty!.
They got very upset about it and there were all sorts of threats
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of punishment for stealing but we just laughed it off and it came to nothing.
Their rations were not all that good anyway but by that time we were past caring. I do not remember anyone saying that they did not like garlic sausage or black bread but in that situation you soon forget about any fads and fancies you might have had.
We finally arrived at Frankfurt on the morning of the 15th and I was surprised to see so such of the station still standing. It was not until I took a second look that I realised that the broken framework of the roof had no glass and the only solid thing seemed to be the platforms, and there was a lot of those missing.
It was even worse outside!.
The roads were just avenues between piles of rubble that had once been houses, shops and businesses. What a mess. I had seen some of Coventry after they had done some clearing up in the areas that had been devastated, and a great deal of London's East End but this lot was not in any way isolated. It spread as far as the eye could see. We had seen signs of it from the train as we were pulling in but when we were actually in it was obvious that anything still standing was little more than a blackened shell.
It was not surprising that the population were showing signs of hostility as we were herded out of the station and we were surrounded by the guards almost shoulder to shoulder. It was with some relief that we were all shoved into the relative safety of an old electric tram which eventually rattled and whined it's way up the hill in the direction of the infamous interrogation camp; Dulag Luft, at Ober-Orsal, the place that most of us knew about from the talks that we had from either repatriates or escapees. We had a pretty good idea of what to expect, and were prepared for it.
The tram ran out of line after about two miles and then we were on foot again until we reached the camp at about 2pm.
This time the guards did not shake hands when we were handed over. They were probably still sore about their stolen rations and were as anxious as we were to get a meal. Nevertheless, I was glad that it was policy for the Luftwaffe to look after Air Force prisoners. They seemed reasonable enough under the
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circumstances.
Perhaps they were being particularly nice now that the stuffing was being knocked out of them and although they would not have admitted it many of them must have known that the end was near.
We queued for a long time as forms were filled in and cross checked with other papers and then finally it was time to have our photographs taken.
Most of the staff seemed to be Luftwaffe aircrew who were either grounded by the shortage of fuel or were convalescing but either way they were not very good with a camera. They had been clicking away merrily for some time with the lens cap still on and a buzz passed down the line not to tell them until they got near the end. I was only a couple from the end and it gave me great satisfaction to point it out to them. Much to their embarrassment Everyone fell about hooting with laughter and there were a few derisory remarks made in German about the efficiency of the Luftwaffe. It did mean of course that we had to do it all over again which involved getting colder and hungrier but it was all part of the scheme of things that almost everyone was engaged in. Crudely put, it was 'goon baiting', and something that they failed to see the point of.
After hours of standing around and being herded to and fro' I was eventually ushered into a room that might easily have been one of our own flight offices. It was a cleverly laid out stage set that was a perfect replica using RAF furniture, carpets and fittings that had been captured and put to use. In addition there was even one of our own Marconi TR1154/55 radio equipments sitting on top of one of our filing cabinets with an RAF flying helmet, goggles and oxygen mask draped casually over an open drawer, plus a gunners Irvin fur flying jacket on the door hook to create the right effect. In addition there was a wall map with pins and tapes showing routes and other areas exactly the same as the one in our briefing room.
I could not help wondering how many of these stage sets they had got for the various aircrew categories both RAF and USAF but it was so obvious I was immediately on my guard.
When the officer, or the chap that was dressed as one spoke from behind the desk it was in perfect English, without any accent, that it might easily have been an interview by a flight
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commander on posting; except that he was in the wrong sort of uniform!.
He asked all sorts of questions relative to target and route, the call signs, equipment, and frequencies as well as the codes, all of which I refused to answer. I stuck to number, rank, and name.
After a while he pushed over a packet of Players cigarettes and then launched into some searching questions about the Bomber Codes that we used and even showed me some copies that they had obviously recovered from pranged aircraft. Naturally he wanted to know about the sequence of use and although I told him that it was a random sequence and just issued for an operation he really did not believe it, but it was true and so simple that it was unbelievable. As a result he was not convinced and suggested that as an officer I must know more than that (which I did of course), but it seemed that the best way was to act ignorant, and I doubt if they were ever able to decode anything from any one transmission. It was that simple yet very discreet.
He started off again about the target and why we had been around Krefeld but eventually got fed up asking the same questions over and over again, and getting a blank stare for an answer.
All the time he had been questioning me he had been referring to a folder on the desk in front of him and eventually with a sigh he held it up and showed me the front cover. As plain as the nose on your face the wording was '15 Squadron, Mildenhall'.
It had obviously been put together over the years from snippets of information plus a good deal of intelligence gathering through spies and the like and they may have managed to find sufficient evidence from the wreckage of 'D' Dog to tell them where we had come from. After all, 4ft lettering on each side of the fusulage [sic] would be enough. Nevertheless, he displayed a certain amount of smugness at the disclosure and when I said "well, if you know all that why do you persist in asking damn silly questions" he went one better. He said he knew Mildenhall quite well, and that included 'The Bird in Hand', which was a local favoured pub. Then he trotted out some more local knowledge and rounded it all off with the fact that I would be pleased
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to know that all the crew had been captured uninjured which was a great relief, although it was a sprat to catch a mackerel. He started off right away again about Bomber Codes. No way. Two could play that-game so it was back to number, rank, name again.
All the time the interrogation was going on, in addition to the guard by the door there were two electricians in white overalls working on a side wall putting in electrical conduit and I was doing my damndest to show more interest in what they were doing than my interrogator and especially the materials that they were working with.
The conduit seemed to be rolled up paper' tubing with a foil coating and a crimping tool rather like a large pair of pliers was being used to shape the curves and the corners.
The electricians looked at me with puzzled interest and I grinned back at them much to the consternation of the interrogator. It all seemed a bit daft to me. With Allied ground forces approaching the Rhine for the final big blow and their country being blasted to bits and their armies in the East and the West retreating from overwhelming forces. With death and destruction everywhere wasn't it typically German to be putting in electrical modifications?. I suppose they could have been wiring demolition charges just in case but surely they would not have bothered with conduit---or would they?.
I was dragged back from my meditations when asked to complete a small white card with personal details and when he saw my home address he asked how I managed to get across London with the mess that it was in with the VI's and V2's still a pouring down the question took me by surprise The damage from those weapons had been very isolated however devastating it might have been in the precise spot of impact. At the worst we had learned to live with the things even when one had taken the end off of the London hotel in which my wife and I had been staying and another had blown up a cow in a field just across the road from where we had been staying in Surrey but life went on just the same so I told him. "No trouble".
That was not good enough and he still persisted that London was in a terrible mess so I let his have it straight. I told his that I could still cross London any way I wanted. By taxi,
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bus, underground or on foot as I had done only three weeks previously...or stay in the city if it suited, and certainly a lot easier than he could get across Frankfurt from what I had seen of the place. That was it. End of interview! Could it have been that he had heard all that before and he was soon going to have to believe it?.
I was promptly dismissed and escorted to my 'private' room. It was three paces by one and a half most of which was taken up by a bed, and of course, the radiator!.
The window was shuttered and this type of room was commonly known as the sweat-box and considered by many to be the means of extracting information from people.
Although we had been told about this I am still more inclined to think that since the Germans were generally more advanced in their use of central heating systems than we were they were also inclined to overdo it a bit; even in those days.
I had been locked up for about an hour when the rattling of keys alerted me to the possibility of food arriving but no such luck.
When the door opened it was to admit a tubby, faded civilian, in a faded shapeless suit. He looked like something out of 'Scrooge'` in his cock-eyed steel rimmed glasses, and announced himself as a representative of the German Red Cross as he produced a foolscap sized questionnaire. We had been warned about this one too!.
Red Cross he might have been but the requirements of the questionnaire seemed to be bending the rules a bit and he seemed somewhat upset when I only entered the same basic details that had gone on the white card.
We had been warned that anyone who had been careless in their disclosures would be dealt with later and I was taking no chances.
It would not be the first time that 'Lord Haw-Haw' (William Joyce) had made use of such information and mentioned the names of people that had recently become guests of the Third Reich in his propaganda broadcasts.
Another significant factor was that William Joyce knew Worthing well enough to have made the most of it having been in lodgings just around the corner from home before the war. I was very
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careful.
The little grey man got quite angry and made dire threats about not getting any food if I did not co-operate. Big deal...that was nothing new. No food had past my lips for at least 36hours!. Not long after his departure clatterings at the door suggested food again but instead an elderly guard brought in a dirty metal bowl with some lukewarm water in it and a razor with a blade that had definitely seen better days. One thing was for sure, there was no way a desperate POW was likely to cut his throat with it!.
The rest of the equipment was a dirty damp towel and a piece of 'soap' more like pumice stone which had no intention of producing a lather. It made very little impression on my seven days growth of beard or the 'tide marks' on various parts of my anatomy that had not been exposed for the same amount of time.
I felt better for it anyway even though I still had no opportunity to clean my teeth and it was probably just as well that I had not got my steel mirror to assist in those ablutions. I would probably had a fit.
Some time after that the clatter at the door was followed by the same guard with my meal. Not very much and not very nice but even a dollop of turnip stew in a tin bowl was welcome at that time which was probably nearer 48hrs since my last bite of anything.
It did not take long to figure out the routine. There was a lever by the door which when turned allowed a piece of red painted angle iron to drop on the outside indicating that a visit to the toilet was required.
On my first visit I was going down the corridor and was horrified to see an ashen faced Flight Lieutenant, his arm in blood soaked bandages, just painfully stumbling along, using the wall for support, and I instinctively went to give assistance although he feebly protested that I would get into trouble. I did!.
I got a rifle butt smack between the shoulder blades and down I went. When I struggled to my feet the guard was screeching his head off about "sprachen verbotten" and "schnell" as I was prodded along to the ablutions where another chap was able to tell me about the set-up.
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Apparently the Flt.Lt. was the pilot of a Tempest which was a type fairly near to the battle scene and as they wanted information from him they were withholding medical treatment until they did. His arm was already gangrenous and he smelt awful but there was nothing I could do for him when came back out of the toilets. He had just managed to make a little more painful progress down the corridor and that episode most certainly put all of my problems to the background. I was definitely not amused at the procedings [sic] .
I spent the rest of the night doing what everyone else seemed to be doing. Making sure there was a signal bar going down every few minutes of the night just to annoy the guard. It did!.
On one occasion when he got around to me he was very angry and protested to some considerable length in his pigeon English that "alles ist pissen unt shitzen" so it seemed worth while going without sleep. It was too hot for sleeping anyway with the radiators pinging away.
At 5 o'clock they next morning, after a drink, an untidy collection of prisoners were assembled outside with the usual shouting and shoving and then we were marched the five miles down to Frankfurt station to await a train. The weather was cold and miserable, we were cold and hungry as we staggered along in no particular order and then I was thumped on the back by Des which cheered things up a bit. He had already found some of the others are although I did not feel much like walking it certainly helped to swap experiences and pass the time.
Des had a very good story try tell.
Despite the fact that in his haste he had only secured his 'chute by one side clip and had made a very dodgy descent with every chance of the canopy 'candleing' [sic] and dropping him like a stone he still made a reasonable landing without injury. What was more important, his landing was undetected so he made some very positive arrangements to evade capture.
For two days and nights he worked his way Westward and had made considerable progress towards the front line to the point of having to dodge German patrols and guards.
In the early hours of the second morning there was gunfire all around him and he even heard American voices in the distance when he got a bit too bold.
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He had already fooled a guard earlier by grunting "gooten morgan" after the guard had shown his presence by lighting a cigarette, then strolled by him whistling Lillie Marlene but shortly afterwards made a lot of noise by falling in a ditch and was challenged. There was no way that he could bluff his way out of that and he was promptly bundled off to the rear to spend the night in a village hall before being handed over to the Luftwaffe, so here he was after all that.
It was after mid-day before a train was finally shunted in by which time most of us were just about asleep on our feet but were eventually embarked with more pushing, shoving and shouting accompanied by the liberal use of rifle butts.
The guards must have thought we were all daft by the way we kept bursting into song from time to time. We did our best with that fine old marching song 'Colonel Bogey' which cheered us up considerably. The Air Force had it's own words to that particular piece so we managed to tell them just what we thought of them without them knowing it!.
We finally arrived at Wetzlar later in the day having recovered from our earlier exertions but we were very, very hungry.
When we disembarked we were once more jostled about until the whole party, about a hundred, were ready to move off.
Then Dave turned up, although why we had not bumped into him before was a bit puzzling. Des had already met him and lost him again but it appeared that he had been at the other end of the column and this was our first chance to mingle since we had left Frankfurt.
There was a great deal of chat and it seemed that Dave had been picked up even quicker than me. He had come down in the open and the German Air Force was there to welcome him with open arms. He had been a bit concerned that the reception committee gathering below him were going to use him for target practice and was relieved when he finally touched down and rapidly divested himself of his 'chute and harness before doing basically what I had done. There was no other choice!.
We were chatting away as we trugged up the hill away from the station and eventually the boundary wire of a camp came into view looking somewhat ominous on the skyline but before the front of the column got to the main gate there was a flurry
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of activity.
Suddenly there were a couple of shots and the sounds of whistles as half a dozen guards with dogs came rushing out of the gate and we all came to a halt as they broke though our ranks and raced around the perimeter wire.
They raced out of sight and there was a lot of shouting and dogs barking for a few minutes before another shot was heard and shortly afterwards the party came back dragging a body unceremoniously by the legs along the whole length of the column. The body was that of a young American Air Force Sergeant who had a leg and a body wound in addition to a neat hole in his forehead!.
We soon found out what it had all been about when we got into camp but not until we were fed; this time with a difference.
For a start it was a well run POW transit camp run by the Americans and it seemed to have everything. It was a long time since any of us had been in a dining hall like that one. As traumatic as our arrival had been food was still uppermost in the minds of most people.
Surrounded as we had been by drab ugliness for so long to find ourselves in a clean cheery place with larger than life Disney cartoons and other such characters painted everywhere I half expected to see a Coca-Cola dispenser in the corner but what was on the tables was mind boggling.
There was Spam, beans, sausages, potato, bacon, bread, biscuits, butter, cheese, tinned fruit, dried fruit, chocolate, you name it, it was all there. All the things that came in Red Cross parcels. There was real coffee with reconstituted milk with real sugar on tap, or tea, and we hardly needed a second telling to "get stuck in". It was magnificent.
I can't remember how long we sat there just stuffing ourselves like kids at a Christmas party but eventually when we had had enough we were off to the showers, to be told that an issue of clothing would be made when we had cleaned up and for a start there was a new towel and real soap.
We all needed a good scrubbing before we were all pink and glowing once more and all the gear we had been wearing had been well and truly soaped and trampled on before we went on to the clothing store where most of us needed a complete change to
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bring us up to a acceptable standard.
Like most aircrew I had gone into the bag with just the flying gear that was being worn at the time but like any clothing it was bound to suffer from being worn day and night in all conditions for ten days. Gunners were probably better off than most if they had managed to hang on to their furs, but being military equipment most of them had had it taken from them.
There were other things that came out of the Alladins [sic] cave.
In addition to new underclothes, socks, boots, shirt, a greatcoat and a blanket there were cigaretts [sic] , pipe and tobacco, razor, shaving brush and soap. Toothbrush and paste. A comb and what military folk called a ‘hussif’, (housewife or sewing kit) which was very useful for keeping things in repair and of course for putting buttons back on things.
It was nearly all American Red Cross clothing and the like, mostly olive drab kharki [sic] but that did not make it any less welcome.
The camp seemed to have lavish supplies of everything and the fact that there were no guards patrolling the perimeter suggested that the administration had been bribed with goods to keep it that way with only the towers manned. It was certainly not beyond the realms of possibility knowing the capacity of our American friends to organise such things.
We were soon off to the barrack blocks with arms full of 'goodies' and to finish drying off those items of clothing that we wanted to keep and it was there that I finally heard the full story of the lad that had just got himself killed.
Apparently the poor chap had become very depressed since his capture mainly because as a waist gunner in a B.17. (Flying Fortress) when his aircraft had been damaged, he had panicked and failed to help the ball turret gunner out of his position. (Gunners in this very cramped turret needed assistance to both get in and out) but he himself had baled out and his buddy had gone to his death in the crippled aircraft.
It was hardly surprising that it had affected him very badly and he had been threatening to do something drastic which he had eventually done by going over the wire.
He had had the usual shouted warning when he went over the trip wire but kept going and started to climb the fence. On the way
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over he was hit by the first shot but still struggled on until the next shot brought him down outside but still crawling. There was very little doubt about the third shot that we had heard. That had been a pistol.
Whether he had begged the guards or whether they had needed no encouragement no one seemed to know although he must have been in view from the opposite side of the compound. Either way he was very dead and it was very sad to think that another young life had been needlessly thrown away.
We were not all that happy about our introduction to the POW cage but however much we had been shaken by the episode creature comforts were still uppermost in our minds and I spent the rest of the day sorting myself out and puffing away on my new pipe.
It was just as well that we had got away from Wetzlar station when we had.
I had no sooner made up my bed and was contemplating the luxury of spending the night in it when a racket started in the town as it got a pasting from USAF Thunderbolts and we had a grandstand seat as bits of the town and the station went flying in all directions accompanied by shouts and cheers from the 'grandstand'.
Nevertheless, I did get that night's exhausted, dreamless sleep in a real bed and not troubled by hunger pains. It was sheer ecstacy [sic] and I must confess that I was no longer so worried about how my wife and my family must have been feeling about my disappearance. The way things were going I was confident of getting home in the not too distant future so it was just a case of surviving until that day.
After a leisurely and handsome meal the following morning, the 18th, the whole camp apart from the permanent staff assembled with all their personal possessions and with a Red Crass parcel between two prisoners we were herded; (we refused to march), down the hill.
The station was in a bit of a mess but we were packed into a train on a side line and then left there waiting for something to happen.
What we did not want to happen was for a return of the Thunderbolts to finish off the job that they had started the day before. We had noticed that the carriages had got large
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lettering--P O W in white along the top but there was a lot of muttering about the potential dangers from roving Allied train and tank busters.
An impromptu committee was soon formed from some of the more senior prisoners and it was decided to 'encourage' someone to move the train to a relatively safer place. A collection of cigarettes was quickly organised and for the sum of several hundred cigarettes the guards, station staff and train crew were bribed accordingly. We only moved a few hundred yards into another siding, but It was certainly safer than being in the station notwithstanding the fact that we had an anti aircraft flak car at the front and the rear of the train!
Once again we were packed into compartments, twelve at a time and once more we were obliged to adopt the same procedure as before. Up on the luggage racks for a period. Limited visits to the toilet. Limited drinking water and no distribution of food at all. Fortunately we had all fed well and with the contents of our Red Cross parcels we could last several days.
W were still clanking along on the 19th and perhaps it was just as well that the POW had been plastered along the top after all.
We were buzzed several times by Allied aircraft including one cheeky chap in a Thunderbolt who braved the fire from the flak cars to fly parallel to us waggling his wings and waving from his open cockpit. It was very encouraging even if a little foolhardy but it provided for some more light entertainment.
Although we could not open the windows or the doors we crowded as many as we could into the them [sic] all waving as hard as we could go which caused immediate reaction from the guard in the corridor.
In he came and pulled down the blinds and then the game started.
As soon as he left to pull down those in the next compartment up went ours with a clatter and back he came again. It did not last long---he gave up first!.
At one time we passed through some absolutely devastated areas including some marshalling yards that looked as if a giant had trampled through them.
On one occasion we were on one of the few complete through lines, and everywhere else was a mass of bomb craters, smashed rolling
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stock and rails that were twisted into the most fantastic shapes like so much spagetti [sic] .
Repairs of sorts were being carried out by what looked like Russian or Polish women in headscarves, quilted jackets, sacking and string boots and who were wielding long handled shovels. They looked such a sorry dejected bunch that we put up a cheer but the only response were vacant stares.
One of the most incredible sights among all the mess was that of a huge circle of locomotive sheds surrounding a turntable locomotive roundhouse like the spokes of a wheel which had copped a real packet.
There were several 100 ton loco's reared up on their ends and wrapped around each other like so many discarded Hornby model trains. I don't know where it was. It could have been Frankfurt as it was not far away and we could have come back in that direction, or Wurzburg, but the effectiveness of that yard had been reduced to zero, making it even more difficult to move things about, including us. It did not seem logical to take all that trouble with POW's who were a definite liability.
We found out later what it was all about!.
Apparently Hitler had ordered that all POW's were to be brought down into the area surrounding Birchtegarten [sic] to be used as hostages and I would not have given much for our chances with Hitler in residence backed up by his SS fanatics.
Fortunately Hitler did not get out of Berlin anyway and a lot of his Generals were only going through the motions of obeying orders.
It was a dodgy situation all round and several of his Generals had already come to a sticky end in the hands of the SS.
Meanwhile we were being transported with great difficulty and at one time we passed through a hilly wooded area, still deep in snow which made it all look like a Christmas card scene. It was probably in the Steigerwald area; but at the top of one climb, with the locomotive chuffing and clanking we noticed that there were numerous little sidings among the trees with tanker wagons by the dozen stowed in them. We were to remember those later!.
It was about that time when the young guard positioned in the corridor by our compartment got himself into serious trouble
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with his Oberfeldwebel.
He was armed with an old French rifle of 1914/1918 vintage and we had been working on him for some time about his chances of defending himself when our troops caught up with him considering the numerous automatic weapons that our front line troops were armed with.
He eventually took the bait after some disparaging remarks about his antique rifle and proceeded to show us what a good weapon g it was; by taking it to pieces!.
We had got to the point where one of us had the magazine, another had the rounds and the bolt, another the bayonet until his rifle parts had been well distributed among us and with the train going slow enough to make jumping possible, he was within seconds of being clouted when the NCO on his rounds could not see him in the corridor and burst in on us.
He was blue in the face, waiving his pistol about and of course, shouting.
The guard got a great grand-daddy of a dressing down as he stood stiff as a ramrod and then, sheepishly re-assembled his rifle as the bits were handed back.
After some shouting, with the assembled rifle at the high port the NCO, having said his piece stomped away to a fair bit of tittering from us which turned to laughter as the guard had the last word.
As soon as the NCO was out of earshot, he said, out of the corner of his mouth, "oxen scheissen", which needed no interpretation so we finished up having a damn good laugh with him. For him it probably ended alright but little did he know how close he had been to getting his head bashed in.
In the early hours of the 20th we arrived at a suburban station on the outskirts of Nuremberg. ‘Lagerwasser’ was a dreary little wooden platformed affair and immediately the old routine started. Shouting, shoving and pushing to keep us all grouped together in the darkness we eventually walked about three miles to the camp. Then we walked back again as they were not ready for us!. That episode caused a bit of an argument as we did not know how long we were going to have to wait and it was damn cold. In fact it was actually freezing and eventually we were allowed back into the relative warmth of the train but those negotiations
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cost us almost all the remainder of our precious cigarettes.
Eventually detrained again when it was light enough and we moved down the road in small parties, strung out, until we were well away from the station and with a lot more slow, slow, quick, quick, slow stuff we were all inside the camp at full light.
In the dark and confusion I had lost Archie but had picked up Jim again but the most important thing was that we were more or less in the same group, and that was the only satisfaction that we got out of entering a grim looking place that did not get any better as we took stock of our surroundings.
The board over the main gate said Stalag X111d, and what a dump it was after our experience at Wetzlar.
Apparently it had been recently cleared and was filling up again although at that time we had no idea where the previous inmates had gone. Wherever it was they appeared to have stripped the
place before leaving.
We were counted off, 150 to a barrack room which was actually a very largo hut. Barrack Nr.69 was no different from the others. The bunks were triple stacked and by the state of them most of the wooden slats; (no spring beds or mattresses in those places), had been used for fuel which was the only type of fuel available for the two empty stoves.
We found ourselves places to sleep; and that included the floor as very few of the top bunks could be used after the available slats had been re-distributed to make up as many of the lower bunks as possible. There was not much point in having more gaps than slats up top and doing a balancing act all night with good chance of crashing down on the chap below so everyone co-operated without any fuss.
It goes without saying that the floor was favourite at that time although later on the rats made a bit of a nuisance of themselves. We were obliged to secure our rations very carefully in something they had difficulty getting into.
Shortly after 'settling in' we were called to a room at the end of the hut for a check to be made on our identities by some of the permanent POW camp staff and I was amazed at being interrogated by our own people but these boys knew what it was all about.
They had been in the 'bag' a lot longer than us and knew all
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about 'ferrets' and 'moles'.
Some had come from Stalag Luft.3. in Upper Selesia [sic] and had had the most awful experiences marching through the countryside in the depths of the Winter leaving many of their comrades frozen solid on the road-sides where they had dropped through sickness, starvation and fatigue, many of them having been shot as stragglers.
As 'sproggs' we were very fortunate to have the benefit of their experience but I was suprised [sic] to see a map of Europe spread out on the table and to be asked if there was anything we had seen en route' that might be of any use to our advancing armies.
I got Archie called in and we gave them enough information on the fuel tanker wagons that we had seen up in the mountains for a plot to be put on the map. I still do not recall exactly where it was though.
It was heartening to think that somehow we were actually able to pass on that information and the tankers might go up in smoke. It was not beyond the realms of possibility.
There was a radio somewhere among us. There had to be as we got regular BBC news bulletins after we got settled in. But to imagine that there was a transmitter as well was mind boggling. It must have been a remarkable piece of equipment with it's numerous components concealed in all manner of things with wiring connections and aerial secreted in belts, braces and tin cans. It is worth bearing in mind that a lot of earlier Air Force prisoners were highly trained technicians who could build such equipment out of basics.
I was never privileged to see anything of it. That was the province of the veteran POW brigade and the fewer people that knew about it the better.
It was still freezing and we did not dare use any more bed slats to get fires going as there was always the chance that some might be needed to line a tunnel.
That was only a thought at the time but I found out later that there really was a tunnel linking us with the next compound.
Of course, the toilets were frozen although still in use, and other parts of the ablutions were also locked in deep freeze.
The only running water available was in the compound kitchen where it was used sparingly for producing hot drinks and later
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on some sort of food.
It is understandable that creature comforts were still our primary consideration in such primitive conditions so the first cup of 'hot stuff' that was dished up was very welcome even if many of us had to go to the end of the line and wait until the owner of a drinking utensil was prepared to lend it.
We had been in the camp several hours, when an air raid hit the city, starting with the wailing of sirens in the distance and then the camp sirens.
Then the roar of hundreds of B.24's, (Liberators) reverberated and shook everything as they came in from the South with mass formations glittering in the weak sunshine but they were surrounded by enemy fighters like a swarm of bees around a jam pot.
The fighters must just about have met them head on and they wheeled in and out of the formation. Flak peppered the sky and they still droned on as one fell out of the sky with flames pouring from it. Then the smoke markers and streams of bombs from the lead aircraft was followed by clouds of bombs from the rest of the formation with the most spine chilling whistling rushing sound as they descended followed by the steady roar of explosions they plastered the city in great swathes.
Some went wide, perhaps jettisoned as aircraft got into trouble, and the station that we had only recently vacated collected one or two!.
What was most vividly imprinted on my mind were the numbers of crippled aircraft falling out of the sky at one time. There must have been at least a dozen. Some breaking up, others on fire or exploding with bits and pieces raining down and all the time the continuous roar of the battle with the crackle of machine guns, the thud-thud of cannon mingling with the heavy crack of anti-aircraft guns. It was a savage battle.
There was an awful lot of killing going on up there as well as down below and there were a lot of parachutes too.
The luckier one's fell clear of the city, and I would not have given much for their chances if they had come down in it.
We added to our numbers by one that day and he did not go on the ration strength. He came right down in camp and was promptly hidden before the guards came out of their 'funk' holes where
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they invariably dived with their tin hats over their back-sides.
We learned later that the B.24's had come from Italy and were going though to UK bases, hence they had run into the defences instead of having to fight an extended battle right across the country.
The fires in the city burned all of the rest of the day with the occasional explosion of delayed action bombs which made it very difficult for the fire fighters as well as the inhabitants.
When that bit of excitement was over the rest of my day was spent sorting myself out. I was lucky enough to salvage an old tin can from a rubbish dump and as soon as it was cleaned and polished with sandy soil I was able to join the drinks queue a bit nearer the front.
I had also found a piece of barrel hoop that looked as if it might be turned into something useful so I started working on it. It took two days of hammering and grinding with stones and lumps of concrete before it eventually finished up as a combined cutting tool and shallow spoon to make me more independent.
Ever the optimist, there was never any need for a knife for a long time as most of the food we were getting was easily dealt with a spoon; or the fingers!.
The first night was cold and rough, but we managed to get through it, as usual, fully dressed, rolled up in a blanket and anything else that was available. Even wrapping paper and cardboard was useful; either as cover or to provide some sort of insulation underneath. It was a noisy night too as a few Mossie's turned up and stoked up the city with cookie's.
It did not take long to finish off the Red Cross parcels that we had left Wetzlar with and the food provided during the next few days was very basic.
The day usually started with the ersatz 'coffee', without milk or sugar of course. There was a slice of black bread at midday and the thickness varied according to the number of people sharing a loaf. Sometimes there was a pat of ersatz margarine about the size of a ten pence piece, or a bowl of vegetable stew was a luxurious alternative; if you had a bowl to put it in, otherwise it was handful. In the evening there was a mug of ersatz 'chocolate'. No milk or sugar of course, and that
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was the basic ration when there was no supplement from the Red Cross parcel.
The mid-day 'meal' was quite a performance as there was no mess hall. When the rations came in there was a whole crowd of 'observers' who followed it's progress to the cookhouse and the division and supply to the huts to ensure that there was no pilfering along the way. Considering that we were a mixed bunch of RAF and USAAF, Officers and NCO's it was all done quite amicably. The final division of the bread was usually done by the chap with the sharpest knife under the eagle eye of more 'observers'. He had to be very careful when it had to divided between nine or nineteen people!.
The next day brought another devastating attack on the city. Again they were B.24’s but this time coming from UK bases on their way back to Italy but the concentration was not the same.
They would have spent a lot longer running the gauntlet as attack after attack had been met and probably many losses had been incurred. This time we went for cover as a lot more bombs went very wide of the target and in our direction. They were not quite in the camp but when one or two holes erupted within a few hundred yards of the wire in open ground only the foolhardy would have stayed to watch.
The next day was just another cold and miserable day. The city banged and burned but there was no heat for us. Not that we expected it after what had happened just a few miles away.
It was well below freezing at night and Jim and I found it warmer to do what others were doing by just wrapping ourselves up together to utilise a bit of animal warmth. It was either that or freeze.
I shall never understand what rats found to scavenge for in that place but they were always busy at night and could often be heard in the vicinity. Perhaps they were cold and hungry too and were looking for a warm place but we very soon learned that it was not a good idea to take one's footwear off at night unless you wanted something gnawing at the toenails!.
On the 25th the city was still burning and another batch of prisoners came in. Some more huts were opened up and as we stood there looking for familiar faces among the new arrivals we found one. Lynn Clark, the rear gunner. We soon had him billeted in
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our hut and it was not long before his story came out. After the order to abandon came he had already managed to put his 'chute on and rotated his turret on the beam so all he had to do was jettison the doors and chuck himself out backwards. The snag was that his bulky flying boots got stuck between his seat and the guns as he had not depressed them sufficiently so he found himself hanging out of the back watching us go one by one underneath him and disappear into the cloud.
It was no time to mess about so he pulled the 'rip'; the 'chute deployed and yanked him straight out of his boots. It's a wonder that he didn't break his legs considering that it was all happening at speeds somewhere between 150 and 250 mph but he was lucky and made a good landing, albeit without any footwear!. Unfortunately he too was soon picked up after he had spent some time improvising some foot covering out of his parachute that had served him so well. Later on he was provided with some well worn second-hand boots but certainly better than lashings of parachute silk/nylon. Nevertheless, he had not seen Geoff either and we were beginning to wonder if he had been able to get away somehow and that what we had been told at Ober-Orsal was all 'bull'.
The city still continued to burn all the next day with the occasional crump of a delayed action bomb going off but the highlight of the day was the mid-day meal when real potatoes were dished up.
We knew they were real as there was still a great deal of earth attached to them that had not come off in the boiling. At least it showed that none of the goodness had been lost in the cooking!.
There was even a smear of evil smelling semi-liquid French cheese in lieu of the coal based margarine that in better days would have been condemned for human consumption....and possibly animal consumption!. But we eat it just the same!.
The RAF stoked up the city again that night with a few more 'cookies': Those 4000 pounders certainly did go off with a crump that shook the dust off of everything and that was from three to four miles away!.
Another day dawned and with it good news. A large consignment of Red Cross parcels had come in with more people and lots more
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rumours. Even the rumours were a heartening charge from the daily dose of 'bull' that we were getting from the OKW (German High Command) news bulletin which was always good for a laugh when it was read out by an English speaking guard. I wonder if he ever listened to the BBC London news broadcast.
Every evening now we were getting a summary of that compiled by our own sources, inclusive of information from new arrivals that were not being processed by Dulag Luft. There was a great deal of difference between the two bulletins.
We even got another blanket issued on the 28th so that at last we could manage to keep warm without going into a huddle at night but the most important issue was the distribution of four Red Cross parcels between [underlined] five [/underlined] people. There was a lot of good stuff in those....including cigarettes!. I don't think I was the only one going around puffing happily and blowing smoke all over the guards as if to say "that's real tobacco".
I got real satisfaction out of that as a couple of days before I had traded some soap for a couple of their's and an enamel spoon; but only once.
Theirs tasted like a mixture of dried oak leaves. old tea leaves and pulverised straw-perhaps they were, but like a lot of other things in Germany at the time it was ersatz, (substitute), and tasted like it.
The pattern of each day did not vary much. A bit of a thaw during the day allowed a little more water to come through although it all froze up solid again at night.
The food issue was still the same old rubbish but it was safest to eat it first and then top up with something from the parcel. It would have been so easy to have gone for one big blow out and be done with it and it exercised one's self control to the utmost. It did not always work!. Scrounging and bartering with the contents of the parcel was an occupation undertaken by some with the mental agility of the street trader but it was not for me. Some went around trading in such a way that they doubled their stock but I confess that I was one of those who helped them do it as my stock diminished. It takes all sorts and I soon packed it in when I found that I was being outsmarted. If we all had that sort of ability for success we would probably all be in the stock exchange.
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We did get a little light entertainment on the Ist March that also gave an insight into the plight of the Luftwaffe.
We had often noticed activity at an airfield a few miles away to the North East and on this particular day we observed a couple of FW.190's tail chasing which was the standard procedure for a fledgling to learn new tricks but it was obvious that it was a very inexperienced pilot that was doing the chasing by the way he teetered around every turn at about 3000ft not far from the camp.
We watched them for a while as they went through some very basic manoeuvres. The trainee wobbled around every turn very gingerly and after a short break they had another go. They went on to some more advanced stuff and at one point when the turns got tighter and tighter I think we must have all been willing the outcome when he wobbled and side slipped, wobbled some more and then lost it.
He stalled, flipped, and dived earthwards out of control and wallop, in he went with a plume of smoke to mark his grave.
A great cheer went up from the camp but the guards were most upset about it and we were confined to barracks for two hours. As far as we were concerned that was one FW.190 that would not have to be shot down so we indulged in a little community singing, bawling at the top of our voices everything from 'Abide with me'. 'Colonel Bogey' and 'Lillie Marlene' liberally sprinkled with RAF words, much to the bewilderment of the guards who had been stationed in the doorways of the huts.
On the 2nd March the day dawned much the same as any other until some more prisoners came in and as our compound had filled up the next one became active. We were soon at the wire making shouted enquiries about this that and the other when Geoff appeared; looking a bit pale but otherwise fit and well.
It transpired that he had made a reasonable descent but he also had landed slap into the arms of a reception committee although that did not explain his late arrival at Nuremberg, but that was soon explained.
He really was at Dulag Luft at the same time as us but he had been out of circulation for seven days after his interrogation.
It seemed that towards the end of the interrogation, when presented with the little white card and pencil he told the
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interrogator precisely what he could do with it...in Aussie terms,....sideways; so he got seven days solitary confinement for insulting a German Officer!.
According to Geoff, "Ve haff vays of delink vis you" is not so funny when you are the one being dealt with. But now we were all accounted for. Years later, as a solicitor, practising in Australia, I am sure that he was more careful in his selection of words in difficult circumstances.
As a matter of interest it was the small white card that triggered off the Red Cross reporting procedure that notified all and sundry that so and so was a POW so he could have saved himself a lot of trouble.
Between the 3rd and 7th there was not a lot going on. It did start to get a little warmer during daylight hours on occasions and it soon became neccessary [sic] to find ways and means of filling in the time.
There were a few scruffy packs of playing cards about but unless one was good at poker there was no point in taking a hand unless you were prepared to lose your shirt. The stakes were usually items in short supply and our American friends seemed to have the manopoly [sic] of the schools.
I was of the opinion that I had lived rough enough already to risk my meager [sic] stocks which had already suffered from my attempts at wheeling and dealing especially as I saw a few who got the bug and were going down the drain fast for promissory dollars or pounds in the form of I0U's to be redeamed [sic] later.
Draughts,(or checkers) was favourite with most people, using home made boards and pieces made from cardboard and soot from the still empty stoves to distinguish black from white and it did not take long for regular afternoon and evening classes to get going on all manner of subjects in one hour sessions. It certainly filled in the time with subjects as diverse as music, fishing, maths and agriculture.
I found considerable interest in the German classes which were given by a Flt.Lt. who I suspect was one of the Luft.3. boys and he was as interesting as he was fluent. It is highly probable that he had been partly educated in Germany before the war and apart from the introduction to the language he told us a great deal about their history, the people and their culture.
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There were rumours that he was a 'mole' or a 'stooge' but if he had been I am sure that we would have known about it and not tolerated him for long, but then we thrived on rumour at that time.
Later events were to prove his credibility but there was always a little suspicion about who was who so we generally stuck to people that we did know and bit by bit accepted others on recommendation and found oneself accepted. I even found a Flt.Lt. who came from my home town and who's home was no further to the West of my local pub than mine was to the East. He had been in Wg/Cdr. 'Willie' Tait's crew on 617 Squadron at one time and had helped to make a mess of the battleship Tirpitz before he too had run out of luck.
The days just went by with very little to mark one from another and although I had started keeping a diary using cigarette packs there is a long gap without note after the eighth as things became rather desperate.
The Red Cross supplies were running out. The bread allowance became less and less. At one time twenty two people shared a loaf and sometimes we only got one ancient hard tack biscuit instead.
The days and nights just blurred into each other and there was a general feeling of helplesness [sic] as we became weaker and weaker. People had got into the state where they were falling all over the place especially when going from the horizontal to the vertical. One had to be very careful to let the world stop spinning before attempting too much.
On the night of the 11th RAF Mosquito's made another noisy attack on the city but most of us were too far gone to get very excited. More than half the hut had gone down with the flu' and the limited supply of Asprin did very little in the way of relief. They were only dispensed to the most seriously ill who had complications and the only way was to try and keep warm relying on friends to bring a little nourishment as it became available.
Certain things happened during the period that I cannot put a date to but I know they happened.
Some Red Cross officials toured the camp and the Camp Commandant lost his dog.
The Commandant, in elderly silver grey haired Hauptman, always
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smartly dressed, used to walk around with his staff and his Dacshund [sic] until one day it disappeared around the corner of a hut on his own personal inspection for something to cock his leg up against; [underlined] and did not come back!. [/underlined]
He was very upset over the loss of his little 'Fritz' but he had underestimated the skill and determination of our cooks so our stew that day had a little more 'body' in it. I’m glad I did not know at the time!.
In the same period the civilian contractor who used to bring the rations in by horse and cart was distracted long enough for his horse to disappear in the same way as little Fritz and he made a terrible fuss. Not so much about the horse but the harness and the blanket!.
He eventually stopped hollering when the items were returned plus an additional blanket but there was a lot more fuss when the cart was towed back to the gate by hand and then a search party was sent in to find the horse. All they found were a few nasty bits and pieces down the toilet pit. Everything edible had gone into the pot and was stewed and diluted for several days before it ran out.
As a result of this latest escapade all starts of reprisals were threatened with Courts Martial for theft and with shooting; the lot....but it all fizzled out. It might have come to that if things had been normal but they were anything but normal.
Towards the end of the period I was getting over the worst of my ills and I eased myself from my bed in stages into the vertical position for my daily constitutional and tottered out of the hut.
I had not gone far when I started a nose bleed so I was staggering along, head back, my one and only handkerchief in use to stem the flow when there was a blinding flash, a searing pain in the back of the neck and the next thing that I remember was that I was face down In the dirt.
When I climbed to my feet blinking in pain with a few angry words welling up inside me I was facing a full blown inspecting party comprising of an SS General and his staff which included two giant sized troopers, one of whom had bopped me with his rifle butt.
I think it was astonishment that stopped what might have been
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some ungentlemanly language but was halted in my tracks when the Generals Adjutant or his ADC stepped forward and barked "you must salute a superior German officer".
I was in no condition to argue so he got his salute. It wasn't the parade ground sort though. It was a very sloppy afair [sic] in which two fingers were more prominent than the others and I was shoved out of the way whilst they continued their inspection. After that I staggered back to my bed feeling worse than when I had got up.
The days and nights continued to blurr [sic] into one another and then ran the 13th came the devastating news that President Roosevelt had died the day before and an impromptu memorial service was laid on.
It was difficult to take it in and the guards crowed a bit as if they had somehow been responsible and suggested that it could mean the end of the war without appreciating that that was not the way a democracy worked. It seemed such a tragedy that the great man had not survived long enough to see the end of the war than was obviously not far away.
The following day we were still feeling a bit numb but there were some rumours of parcels coming in that cheered us up a bit but it was very difficult to show a bold front when we were all so cold and hungry....but we tried.
It was not until the 15th that things showed real signs of improvement. The toilets at last came out of deep freeze and then some fuel came in so the boilers were stoked up for the first time in a long while. We had hot showers and made full use of the water that was available and washed some clothes.
Drying them was the problem so there were a lot of people just wearing a blanket for a while, not that anyone cared about that when Red Cross parcels were distributed. One between two!.
Apparently they had come in by truck the night before and during the day some more arrived. Thank God for the Red Cross. What sort of a shape we would have been in without them I dread to think and at the time few people, including myself had any idea of the vast operation that the International Red Cross had going.
The RAF had another go at the city on the night of the 16th yet despite it all some more fuel came in and there was more hot water for a while to continue the cleaning up process. The
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place was turned into a laundry, and like most laundries things got 'lost' but no-one cared much. The most important thing was that we could clean up and that there had been no sign of lice. On the 17th there was another surprise. I suppose it had something to do with the recent inspections that some of our deficiencies were being made up. We were issued with new enamelled spoons and bowls and by way of payment the city got another pounding during the night.
It was followed by some excitement the following day when long columns of prisoners arrived at the main gate. They had all come from Wetzlar...new POW's and the old permanent staff as they evacuated the place and brought all of their accumulated stores that they could manage.
It seemed as if Nuremberg was becoming an assembly point for POW's but it was getting very difficult to absorb the numbers. It did not seem possible that any more could be crammed into the place, but somehow they were.
There were over 200 in our hut by that time and all of the top bunks had to be brought into use by re-distributing the bed boards plus the clever use of all sorts of materials such as string, strips of fabric, and cardboard plaited and replaited and finally criss-crossed to serve as webbing. It was suprisingly [sic] strong especially as some of it had a centre core of fine wire that had been stripped after some of the lighting had been re-routed!.
The new arrivals had brought a large quantity of food parcels so there was a generous issue which led to a bit of a party later in the evening which was rounded off with some community singing. It was all going quite noisely [sic] until the sirens started to wail and the lights went out as another raid fell on the city.
The days started flying by as things improved; especially the weather. There was no longer that bite in the air that seemed to cut right through you, made worse by the fact that you were not getting adequate food.
The showers were no longer permanently frozen so when there was water it was at least possible to have a drink or to have a wash.
Rumours were rife but usually the jungle telegraph managed to
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pick up something from the outside and one rumour of even more food parcels coming in raised our spirits some more. So did the sound of heavy gunfire in the distance on the 25th. That really was a good sign.
There were some French parcels distributed on the 25th but most of us thought that the contents were very inferior although welcome. It was hardly likely that they could have been anything else considering the conditions that the French had been living in for years. They were the bulk version similar to the British ones we got sometimes and were divided between 13 men or went straight to the cookhouse.
The American pack was the most favoured as it was based on the 'K' rations that were liberally distributed to their troops, and were made up of several packs about the size of a 200 cigarette pack. They came in three variations. Breakfast, dinner and supper, and were complete with cigaretts [sic] , matches, can opener and that most civilised item; toilet paper!. Nevertheless, the Americans were not all that keen on them. Too much Spam and coffee powder!. They should be so lucky!.
I got to wondering if the German POW's in our hands got Red Cross parcels and what they would to like. Not that they would need them as desperately as we did, but at that stage of the war with transportation in Germany at breaking point food supplies were probably worse than they had been for years and everyone suffered accordingly.
We were more keen to get out of the wretched place but with the end so near there was no point in trying all the normal escape methods. We had in fact been told by our own administration not to do anything risky. It was only a matter of time.
There was a lot more speculation when definite news reached us that 30,000 food parcels had somehow arrived by train which was possibly just as well as not even basic rations had come in for days. Supplies had been very spasmodic since the dog and the horse had disappeared.
Even more important was the news that Allied forces were less than 100 miles from Nuremberg but what put a slight damper on that was that we received instructions to prepare for a long march so with an issue of parcels was advice on how we should
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turn the contents into 'marching rations'. There being a limit on how much we could carry.
The veterans soon passed the ward around and everyone was soon busy, and trying to avoid the temptation to have what POW's referred to as a 'bash'. A real feast. It was not practicable. The idea was to process as much as we could into convenient and lightweight food. Everything other than the tinned goods had to be considered. Tinned food was to be consumed first but the biscuit, fruit, (raisins and prunes), peanut butter. powdered milk, flaked chocolate, coffee and sugar was all to be pounded together with as little moisture as possible so that when it dried out it could be cut into bars about the size of Mars bars and then wrapped in anything suitable. It made good sense and on the basis of one bar per meal, three times a day there was more nourishment in that than we had been coping with for same time.
Then there was the problem of carrying it all along with blankets and other personal bits and pieces. Trying to carry a parcel as some people seemed prepared to do would have been back breaking so I set myself the task of making a rucksack from the lining of my US. army greatcoat with the aid of my 'hussif'. I put a lot of time in on that and as far as I was concerned it was a masterpiece and copies were being made by others.
It had padded shoulder straps, waist straps, draw string, blanket roll straps on top and other ties on the bottom. I washed and darned my socks ready for the off but I was not in all that much of a hurry. My mind was concentrated on other things.
Every night I dreamed of a shoot out down the road so that we could all get out and go home. But it was not to be.
The 28th came and even more prisoners arrived and were squeezed in. Tents were put up on the spare ground between the huts and the latest news was that armoured forces were only 70 miles from us. So near, and yet so far!.
The longer we hang about the nearer our forces got to us and in the meantime it was just a case of hanging on to our marching rations and eating up any surpluses from regular issues of parcels which everyone was getting. No other food was coming in.
On the 29th more prisoners were squeezed it somehow The place
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was bulging at the seams.
Some of them had come from an Army camp at Hammelburg, 170km. North West of Nuremberg and same very interesting stories came out of that lot.
Apparently an American armoured column had blasted through the German lines with the express intention of releasing the prisoners of Hammelburg but it had all gone disastrously wrong. Although some had been released the Germans reacted very quickly to block their escape route to a safe area and there was all hell let loose. A lot of casualties had occurred and some of the escapees found safety back in their barracks but the Germans took more prisoners and only remnants of the raiding force got back to our lines. So the story went although it seemed too far fetched to be credible.
Each time the story was told it became more and more lurid until we treated it as what the Americans would call "scuttlebuck' or we would call 'bull' despite the protestations of "on my Mother's life' etc.
Eventually it turned out that basically the story was true although officially not a lot was said about it but it did tie up with an OKW news bulletin that a couple of days previous had reported an American armoured column approaching Wursburg was counter attacked and had suffered very badly. Certainly some of the new prisoners had been taken on that raid so it was not all 'bull'.
April 1st brought more parcels and as by that time most of us had our marching rations set aside so we really did have a 'bash'.
With parcels had come another suprise [sic] in the form of even more prisoners. Thirty two members of the Serbian General Staff, also from Hammelburg!, although the normal compounds were by that time so chock-a-block that a temporary compound was set up with tents alongside ours. Then things changed dramatically.
The guards no longer patrolled the compound from the inside but only the outside of the perimeter fence which had been extended, so down came the trip wire and the inner fence which normally we were forbidden to approach at the risk of being shot. Even a stand-pipe was set up to provide then with running water so it was a free for all as ours was still limited. Of
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course there were protests from the guards as it seemed that just about everything was 'verboten'. They just could not understand why we would not obey the rules and it made them very angry.
The very fact that the internal fence on one side had come down saved us from the daily ‘apel' (role call) which had become an obsolute [sic] farce. The guards never got it right anyway.
If a head count did not produce the right answer they tried all sorts of methods but we had all sorts of ways of adding and subtracting people. What gave them most trouble we found was having more people than they should have done so then they would try an identity check which was a bit daft anyway. It always worked out simply because our own administration drew up the nominal rolls anyway. As long as it tallied they had been happy. Now they had given up the whole charade, and left it to us.
A strange phenomena occurred whilst I was attending an open air Easter Sunday religious service. Just at the end of the closing hymn and with many people kneeling in private prayer, there appeared, it seemed, just to the North and very high, an enormous V shaped cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky. I have no idea what caused it but many theories were put forward.
The most popular one was that it was a very high flying aircraft doing a photo recce' of the battlefield but we could see no sign of the aircraft itself. The cloud hung there a long time before dissipating like a cigarette smoke ring. To me. and others no doubt, it was another sign of hope, and so unusual that I just hoped that a little miracle would happen and that somehow we could just walk out of the main gate and go home, but no such luck. Such thoughts were becoming an obsession it seemed.
The next day we were warned to be ready to move out at 7am the following day so there was feverish activity to get everything prepared.
One of the veterans who had already had experience of one of these marches tipped me off that cigarettes, soap, and chocolate were the most useful currency for bartering with the guards and the German population and I had already observed that soap was being thrown away wholesale down the toilet pit.
There was so much of it, still packaged, under the twenty seater
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'thunderbox' that It was not difficult to recover several dozen unspoiled packages of soap. As much as I wanted to carry anyway. The following morning we were up bright and early and the dream came true as we started to evacuate on time.
It was just after eight o'clock when our compound started to file out of the gate and it was a wonderful feeling. Even the air smelt different.
In all there was about 9000 of us with several hundred guards, many with bicycles, and in a long snake column about four abreast we were on our way. Naturally there was a lot of speculation as to the prospects of getting away if and when the opportunity presented itself; it would not have been difficult but our own administration had thought of it first and issued orders that we were not to attempt any chancy breakaways as the escape committees had everything under control.
That order absolved the officers at any rate from their duty to resist and/or escape so there was nothing more to do but to go along with it however frustrating it was.
I knew what it was all about as we had filed through the gate when I saw the Flight Lieutenant who used to give the German lessons, in civilian clothes, and carrying a small suitcase tucked up very tightly in the middle of a group so I tried to keep my eye on him as it was very suspicious.
In the melee I never saw him go and I never saw him again but I'll bet he was home long before I was, with a great deal of information which would help the advancing Allies.
y
TO BE CONTINUED..........................
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One or more pages is missing.
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party went for cover.
There was no cover so everyone scattered as the parties started laying out the markings after the first burst of firing and by the time the Thunderbolts came back for a second pass we had been identified. It was too late for some though. Our casualties were one killed and two injured and for a long time after that everyone spent a lot of time looking over their shoulder. The casualties were sorted out by a small party that was left behind with a guard and the rest of us just ploughed on, and on, and on, and although most people had made some attempt to get fitter by walking around the compound for an hour or so a day we had not reckoned on doing mile after mile without a break.
It was not surprising that by mid afternoon there were lots of complaints about blisters and aching bodies but we were just prodded on by the equally disgruntled guards.
By late evening we were still going; albeit slower than when we had started and finally after it had got dark it started to rain. Nevertheless it was about 10pm before a break was finally called.
I was absolutely shattered as were most people and I took shelter under a railway wagon on the temporary railroad that had been laid at the side of the road and then gorged myself on a large can of stewed steak from my ‘heavy’ rations.
We were not allowed to rest for long. Before there was time for a nap and with the rain still coming down in buckets we were the move again but not before I had investigated the wagons with a view to hiding in one for a few days but found that they were all full of coal and had no covers so that was
that. Nevertheless, a liberal handful of fine ballast from the track into the axle grease boxes made sure that they would not move it very far without finding the odd problem.
Finally, soon after midnight the word came down the line to stop for the night and most of us just flopped where we were. We had done some 22mls, it was still pouring down and as there was very little cover not many had the energy to go any further to look for any.
All I did was to dispose of another can of something, curled up in my already wet blankets at the foot off a tree and went
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out like a light.
It was dawn then I woke, to a clear steamy morning and like most people I was soaked through. I had been sleeping in a puddle several inches deep which had accumulated from the steady downpour, and the prospects were not good until we saw signs of a cheery blaze a bit further up the line.
The whole column had virtually collapsed where they were when the halt had come and some more fortunate characters had been near a saw mill where there was a mountain of off-cuts which they used for shelter. That was until someone set fire to them!
It had of going nicely and it did not take long for us to take full advantage of the situation. The sight of hundreds of naked bodies dancing around getting warm and drying out their clothes whooping away like a tribe of Red Indians was more than the guards could cope with.
They tried very hard to put out the fire and get us to assist but it seemed that we were pulling in opposite directions, and they were losing the battle. We were stoking it up!.
They had not a hope in hell, not even after threatening to start shooting someone after loosing off a few into the air. Right from the start every one was marked by half-a-dozen prisoners and they would have been flat on their backs immediately they had pointed a rifle at anyone:
We kept the fire going as long as we could and most people got dried out and comfortable again as the enormous pile of glowing embers was reduced to little more than charcoal; then we were ready to leave!.
We understood that the mill owner was still going on about compensation as we left and how the poor old Hauptman dealt with it we would never know but he was looking very grim about it having wined and dined at the mill owners home for the night. Once we got ourselves sorted out and got going again we plodded on through the day for another 16mls before a halt was called for the night.
That time, to avoid a repetition of the previous night we were all to be billeted in large enclosed buildings such as churches, church halls, village halls, barns, etc. I was in a party of about 300 who were packed into a small village church around
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which they placed a guard. No doubt they had noticed a thinning of our ranks since the previous night but they would not let anyone out for any reason whatsoever.
It was not surprising that the place was defiled. I was not proud of the fact that someone had used the pulpit as toilet but it was the one place that no-one could sleep and they were lucky that the altar was respected.
The guards made a terrible fuss naturally and I was glad that I was not among the cleaning up party that was left behind, but that was the last time they bothered to confine us at night.
The main party had started to move out at about 9.30 and the pace was steady although slow before we got to Birching about mid-day to find a great deal of activity.
There were dumps of Red Cross parcels along the main street in front of the Town Hall and they were being distributed as we passed through...one each!. Even the guards were getting them but I suppose there was a good deal of sense in that, if only to keep them off our backs.
There were Red Cross trucks, (American and British Army types) and a couple of ambulances going up and down the column, and beyond, picking up stragglers and bringing them back to the fold. Some of them should have been to hospital and were really in poor shape but they had cleared all the hospitals of the walking wounded as well and everyone that could stand on two feet was having to hike it. The Red Cross took some of the worse cases further along the line of march so that they could rest up before we caught up with them.
Nothing else was provided and water had to be scavenged from where it was available in order to have a drink of something. I even got used to instant coffee being made up cold...it was wet!.
We moved off later in the afternoon and stopped for the night at Belingries where Jim and I found a warm corner in a stable where we spent all the next day and night before we were on the move again. I suppose we could not really complain about our conditions as there were two guards in the next stall sharing the same facilities and making the most of the contents of their food parcel.
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It must have been like a Christmas present for them the way they were going on and like us the only thing they had on their minds was survival, food and shelter. They were only Grade 3 troops and were looking for an end to all the discomfort and misery just as much as we were That's what made it all so damn silly!.
Things got better and better as we plodded into Bavaria. The countryside looked lush and green with well tended fields and the early signs of crops was heartening The weather was fine and most of the civilian population treated our progress kindly. We treated it like a Sunday School outing, waiving, smiling and cheering the population. No doubt they thought we were daft but we were not downhearted.
On rare occasions Allied aircraft flew along our line of march waggling their wings so it seemed that they were monitoring our progress.
Some of us eased out of the column from time to time to do a little trading and on one occasion I was able to add some fresh bread and garlic sausage to the stores of our little group comprising most of the crew and I occupied myself happily after being elected cook.
We picked another barn for the night and found a good supply of mauve dyed potatoes of the sort we had at home for animal feed. The farmer was a bit concerned when he found us with them. He made it quite clear that they were for 'swine' only and that it was a criminal offence to use them for human consumption. It was a continual source of amazement to me that whilst their country was being torn apart with the utmost disregard for human life and property there was still so much regard for common law but I suppose that they had been conditioned by years of shortages and regulations.
I had first noticed the tendency at Nuremberg when we did have fuel for the stove and we were toasting the black pumpernikal [sic] by sticking slices on the side of the store and in came a guard who became very angry when he saw what we were doing.
Toasting bread was ‘verboten’ by law as it destroyed the nutritional value of the bread and we were breaking the law!
As prisoners we were well aware that they could impose civil
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as well as military law if necessary. They had made the same threats for the same reason when we had our bonfire but as there was no time for that sort of nonsense there was precious little that they could do about it. In any case, a few gifts of cigaretts [sic], soon overcame the problem.
We finally got on the more again the next day about mid-day but by now we were doing little more than just strolling along enjoying the freedom and the weather. I had the opportunity of selling a spare blanket to a Polish farm worker for 6 eggs but he could not understand that we were mixed British, American and Commonwealth POW's. Nevertheless, there were a few more exchanges after a lot of sign language and I was better off by 30 Reichmarks which caused a spot of bother as the transactions had been witnessed by a straggling guard who wanted to confiscate the goods. Again it was 'verboten' to sell German military equipment. It was easily resolved. He got 10 marks and was told to "getten ze stuffed" so he wandered off somewhat bewildered.
There was a distribution of Belgian Red Cross parcels, and a large wedge from a round Bavarian loaf at one point and eventually we caught up with the main column again to find a comfy spot in another barn and a good night's sleep with a handsome meal tucked under the belt.
I suppose that now we had put a fair distance between us and the battle front there was no longer the urgency to force us along so we continued to stroll through open farm lands and cross a lot of main roads and the Danube; which was not blue. In fact it was quite mucky.
At one point shortly after crossing the river we crossed a bridge over a closed off section of either dual carriageway or autobahn and there was some interesting activity in the road through a deep cutting which had been closed off to traffic near Seiganburg.
To our amazement the road had been turned into a temporary airstrip with Focke-Wolf 190's lined up and being serviced under a great deal of cables and camouflage netting. I wondered how long it would be before our chaps identified it as camouflage and gave it a good pasting even though we did not see so much of them quite so often as we had previously.
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There was plenty of evidence that they were still busy not too far away though.
We continued to plod on past decorative Bavarian farm houses which, with their high pitched roofs and fancy gables looked very attractive. We were close enough to some of them to see into their fine big kitchens in pine and stainless steel where women in crisp pinafores seemed to be up to their arms in tubs and flour. We did not get more than a passing glance though. The guards were catered for with steaming hot canteens of soup and hunks of home made bread cut from big flat round loaves, supplemented by thick slices of farmhouse cheese. It is understandable that all we got were dirty looks!.
We found accomodation [sic] that night in a barn at Swienbach and once again contemplated the possibility of doing a runner but when we made enquiries we also found out why the column was thinning out!.
It appeared that our administration had been organising parties of 25, each with two guards, to do an about turn during the hours of darkness to find a route to our own lines.
How the selection was made I do not know but it was understandable that those who had been in the bag the longest had first choice and if anyone deserved priority it was them. It was also interesting to learn that the guards were being provided with safe conduct passes which would ensure that they would get preferential treatment when they were finally picked up.
We were still told not to go it alone as there would still be many pockets of fanatical resistance and it was just not worth the risk. Geoff had already tried it once and he had a close shave. He had only got a little way beyond the fringe on a daylight attempt when he was apprehended by a couple of trigger happy SS field police. He had been sent back with a warning, but there was a very good chance that those blokes did not send any of their own back to the line if there was any chance of them being deserters. A little on the spot summary punishment was likely to be meted out without having to justify the action. With our guards it was different. Things were so slack that on one occasion one of them sat on the roof and placed his rifle between us. I just could not
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resist the temptation when a hare appeared in the field and I grabbed his rifle that I had been eyeing anyway, quickly worked the bolt to 'put one up the spout', aimed and fired, but missed, so I hurriedly handed the gun back to it 's owner as the Oberfeldwebel came running up to see what the shooting was about. That turned out to be another big laugh. What else was he to think when he found the guard with a smoking rifle in his hands?. The guard must have figured that he would be in less trouble if he admitted to the use of his rifle for sporting purposes than to admit to allowing a POW to get the better of him so he got a good dressing down for wasting ammunition and I got a dirty look. It all helped to pass the time and keep up morale.
The next day we received the news that we were heading for a camp at Mooseburg but although we started off fairly early we soon got the message that Mooseburg was not ready for us. That immediately started the 'go-slow' process again.
At one time we were lounging around at the side of a track that led across the fields when we heard the skirl of pipes and from over a rise to one side of the main column came a small formation of Scots troops in full marching order with a piper in the lead. What a glorious sight they were with kilts swinging, brasses glittering. It looked damned silly to see half a dozen guards marching with them!.
The sight was enough to inspire some of us to drag ourselves to our feet as they converged on us. Some of us even saluted but they just ploughed on ignoring the Air Force rabble. Good luck to them. They were still going strong as they disappeared from view over another rise. Good luck to them. It looked good and it no doubt made them feel good but there was no doubt that they would be back behind barbed wire long before we were.
We just flopped a bit farther along the track and found ourselves a comfortable billet for another night of relative freedom.
The next day I got organised with another group for scavenging and the like.
Things had been going so well that like others I had already got through my marching rations and generally had lightened my load. No-one was hungry any more but I was approached with an offer that I could not refuse.
The offer was made by a Captain of the US. Infantry who wanted
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fourth to complete his team. The others were two American Air Force Sergeants so I left the crew to join his outfit. It was hard luck on the crew though-they lost their cook!.
The Captain was very interesting and enterprising character. It was his third time as POW, having escaped on two previous occasions, but this time he was no longer going to stick his neck out as there was a state-side ticket waiting for him as soon as he was out of his present situation. He was a very shrewd and tough bloke and it did not take us long to decide just how we were going to operate.
At the first opportunity we scavenged some bits and pieces from some farmyard pumping machinery and rebuilt a broken down 'dog-cart' on which we dumped all our kit and went into action immediately.
Two did the pulling whilst the other two went off scavenging. Within the first half day we had done so well at the butchers, bakers and farms a few km. each side of the column that to were soon re-trading among the others at a 'profit'. My carefully hoarded stock of soap was proving to be most useful currency although coffee and cigaretts [sic] were sill the most valuable.
It was too good to be true. We had not gone far with our cart getting piled higher and higher when the owner of the bit’s and pieces that the cart had been built from discovered they were missing. He rapidly caught up with us on a broken down horse and demanded the return of it.
There were more dire threats of punishment for stealing which of course never came to anything but it left us with having to carry, eat or trade the fruits of our transactions, and the two with the column just had to carry that much more. It was worth it though.
Part of the plan was that it was this pair that staked out a comfy site for four when we made camp and generally the scheme worked well.
The Red Cross trucks were still going to and fro’ but with a difference. They were coming from the South East, loaded, and discharging their loads at various places, loading up the sick and lame and actually [underlined] backtracking our route to the Allied lines [/underlined] to deliver them to safety before loading up again and refuelling for the return journey to us, mainly with ‘K’
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rations.
It still was a source of amazement that the Red Cross trucks were nearly all British or American types that had been re-painted accordingly, loaded, and transported from Italy through Switzerland with neutral drivers under the International Red Cross Organisation.
We were told that some 2000 of them had set out and split up near Munich, one column going in our direction and the other North Westerly to meet other POW's converging on us from the North.
If that produced a farcical situation then it was no more farcical than the latest method of communication that had been adopted between our administration and the rest of the Germans to keep us informed of what was going on.
A sort of HQ. unit had been set up by the more senior officers and their selected staffs who were up front and they never missed a chance to harass the guards....and that included their CO!.
Right from the outset the guards bicycles had come in for a lot of attention.
With monotonous regularity they had lost tyre valves, and chains. Tyres had been slashed until constant canabalisation [sic] of what was left had reduced the original number to only a couple of serviceable bikes, and we had reached the ideal solution where they no longer had a pump between them. We had!.
It was not suprising [sic] therefore, that the last bikes were allocated to the Commandant and his Adjutant....but on conditions imposed by us!.
It was agreed that if we had equal share of them there was a good chance that they would no longer be vandalized but the daftest thing of all was when our own Adjutant went up and down the line on one to pass information it still had a machine pistol on the handlebar clips!.
On the 6th we only moved a few km. and there were more food parcels distributed The awful French one's again but anything was welcome in the food line, if only for bartering.
One of the team and I slipped away one one occasion and crossed a railway line to a group of cottages where we made enquiries for eggs.
At one cottage we called at we were received by an obvious
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1914/18 veteran who was minus one leg but who was quite philosophical as we discussed the terms of the deal in a mixture of broken English and German and he seemed friendly enough. When the terms were agreed he shrugged his shoulders and indicated in the direction of the chicken house and then left us alone with two teen-age girls, possibly his grand-daughters, to collect the eggs.
He was either very trusting, or taking no chances and possibly very relieved to find the eggs were all we had helped ourselves to even offered to give them a four minute boil before we departed. Again, after the difficulties of conversation it was the shrugg [sic] of the shoulders and the well worn phrase, “you soldat-me soldat”.
These eggs went down very well with Spam, beans and fresh bread that someone else had aquired [sic] .
Every day brought the sound of gunfire and battle closer well as Allied aircraft sweeping over us on occasions as they plotted the movement of the long snake of people. There was no doubt that that is what they were doing as our identification process had not been needed for a long time.
That evening we were quite close to Mooseberg and we made camp in a sheltered part of a farm with beds of hay and camp fire was set up with bricks and ironmongery that we had accumulated.
As usual as soon we were all together I planned the menu around the spoils of the day, particularly as our team leader, Capt. Dunkleburg, (a good old American name), had just knocked over a plump farmyard hen.
I don't know if he had been a horseshoe throwing champion back home but he was adept at throwing a short length of wood up to twenty feet with deadly accuracy and he had brought the chicken down by catching it across the neck and it was ready for the pot in a few minutes.
After that it was my responsibility as I had been the team cook on joining, and had been able to make all sorts of dishes from anything that became available including nettles and turnip greens, wild berries and even watercress from the streams where most of our water was drawn from.
Everyone seemed to be happy with this arrangement and our chicken supper was simplicity itself. I must admit that I felt a little
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guilty when others drifted around our site sniffing the aroma like Bisto kids but it was a matter of survival, although I did feel a little sorry for those who could not cope with looking after themselves.
Lashings of coffee was consumed and dispensed to others who wanted to make use of our fire and we were off to sleep like babies.
The morning of the 17th started with a leisurly [sic] breakfast which was still in progress long after the time we had been told to be ready. Then the farmer and a guard arrived making a lot of fuss and accusing us of stealing again. I suspect that more than one chicken was missing but nevertheless we pleaded innocence. They threatened us with all sorts of consequences for our actions as we started to clear up bones, feathers and damp down our fire so they eventually called in the Hauptman.
When he arrived on the scene he let rip with a very good immitation [sic] of Hitler and as we took very little notice he worked himself up into a fine old state until he was just about purple with rage. We didn't understand much of it, but Dunkleburg did, and he knew what he was getting at before he got a little calmer and reverted to English. Then he gave us an ultimatum. He was going to count ten and then he was going to shoot someone if we did not get moving.
By that time the situation had got decidedly dodgy but we took our cue from Capt.D, and started to spread ourselves out as the count started.
Ien...drie...swie...by which time he was spluttering again and by the time he had got to ten he was clawing at his pistol holster which was a beautifully polished leather affair with a fancy-lanyard disapearing [sic] into it.
Capt.D. had gathered himself into a crouch like some old gun fighter from a Western, poised as if to try and beat him to the draw..although of course totally unarmed. The guards looked alarmed and backed off as the pistol was withdrawn seemingly in slow motion as Capt.D. prepared to charge.
On the other end of the lanyard appeared a fancy pearl handled ladies handbag model of a .22 which was pointed skywards and fired.
Putt, putt, putt, and everyone relaxed immediately and rolled
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about laughing as we carried on clearing up. The old boy's face was contorted in anger and embarrassment as he stomped away. I think that was the last I ever saw of him.
I imagine that as he was just about to hand us over he was getting the wind up and was going to have to do a lot of explaining about how he lost 2000 prisoners and half of his guards on the way from Nuremberg!. That is always presuming that anyone else was still worried about such things.
We finally reached the camp, Stalag V11a, Mooseburg, by mid-day and then began the process of sorting ourselves out. Eventually we had a hot shower and a meal of sorts and then sat around most of the afternoon whilst the administration figured out what to do with the 1700 strong RAF contingent now that we all been segregated. It was goodbye to all the friends we had made outside RAF circles so I was back with the crew again.
The time spent lounging around was not boring anyway. There were Yanks all over the sky around us, knocking hell out of anything anything [sic] that moved now that we were within the safety of the camp.
We had news that Prauge [sic] had fallen. The Yanks were reported to be only 20 mls from Berlin and the Russians virtually had the city surrounded, so what was there to worry about.
All we had to do was sit tight and survive and eventually we were given an area of huts for the night although they provided little more than just a roof over our heads.
The 19th started with a roll call, with promises of hot water and food which did not materialise. All that happened was that we got moved to another compound with huts in the same condition as those we had just vacated, lacking everything except the bed frames.
I got very fed up with the whole deal. My shaving gear was just about used up. Like others I had over two months growth of hair falling all over the place. My boots were falling off of my feet....they had not worn at all well. There was a long queue at a single tap and no ablutions. There was no heating and precious little fuel for cooking fires. The remaining bed boards were carefully guarded by those who had managed to get a few together. Issued rations were a couple of potatoes, a hunk of
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bread and some mouldy cheese. I went into a nasty fit of depression so I turned in to sleep it off.
The floor was the best place with the shortage of bed boards so it was a matter of just curling up in a corner wrapped up in anything to keep warm.
Over twelve hours sleep cleared the air a bit and the next day I felt a lot better. All the crew except Jim had got together again for parcels and food share out as for some reason Jim had gone in with another group but the waiting game was not improved by a change in the weather so any cooking or brewing up had to be done in the hut. At times it was like 'smokey Joe's'.
The change in the weather did not stop the air activity all around us but fortunately it was mostly ours. The Luftwaffe was rarely seen.
The next day was the same but supplies were improving a little and carefully hoarded stores were opened up. I got a replacement pair of boots; not new but at least the soles were not flapping and I was able to replenish the shaving gear.
The following day looked like being a repetition until an order came through to prepare to march again. The burning question was "where the hell can we go from here?.
The Russians were already through Poland into Czechoslovakia to the East and the North of us, and were coming up through Austria to the South and not all that far away. Even Italy was suggested although the only obvious way was back and perhaps that was not a bad idea as I was not partial to the idea of the Russians over-running us.
There had been lots of stories already concerning the Russian way of life and from what I had seen and heard of the Ruskie POW's on the far side of the camp there was no doubt that they were a strange lot.
Of course they had had it very rough and had no protection under the Geneva Convention as non-signatories which had a lot to do with it. They were very badly treated and their food rations were even worse than ours….and they had to work for it, officers and all.
As a result they had become a desperate band of brigands with little more than survival in their minds and they were up to
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all kinds of mischief.
Only the day before they had been bearing a coffin out of the camp for burial and the German gate guards made sure it was a corpse that went out. They plunged a bayonet through the flimsy coffin and the corpse screamed!. They had buried the original in the compound and although it might have been interesting to have got mixed up with them I don't think it would have been exactly pleasant.
We got back to using the bunks again after a load of rough boards had been dumped in the compound for the purpose of making them up although a number got sidetracked for fuel, mainly for brewing up.
Brewing up was something of a ritual and when fuel was short it was foolish to be extravagant with resources. The most economic were the tin can arrangements that had come down from Luft.3, although some copies had been made.
Usually mounted on a small board they consisted of hand wheel driving a metal fan in a perforated lower chamber with a fuel chamber on top. All driven with a string or bootlace drive. It sounds very crude but the gearing was such that it worked like the bellows of a forge furness [sic] . They were very economical and would burn anything from a handfull [sic] of twiggs [sic] to lumps of tar off of the road. There was always a great deal of whirring going on at brewing time. i
The owners of these masterpieces would usually brew up a can of water for others if a handfull [sic] of fuel was produced and it was amazing how bits of fire was transferred from one to the other rather than use a seperate [sic]match for each start up.
The 25th April dawned a beautiful day and there was considerable relief when we were told that we would not be marching after all as it could only be a few days before we would be free.
The sky was getting thick with aircraft at times, mostly ours, but the odd German Air Force fighter was seen invariably high tailing it for safety to their temporary landing strips, often trailing smoke, with a swarm of stars and stripes after them.
These were exciting times and the guns seemed even nearer as the excitement increased when we had a news flash that Augsburg, about 45mls to the West of us had fallen into our hands.
It seemed to us, and it proved to be the case, that it was a
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race between the Americans and the Russians as to where the gap would be closed, whatever may have been previously agreed. The thrust between us and Munich, and onward to where they finally did join forces did solve one very important point.
It prevented what might have been the fulfilment of Hitler's original plans to surround Birtchesgarten [sic] with his SS fanatics and at least 40,000 POW hostages for a fight to the finish.
Everything was going so well that we were no longer bothered about keeping a reserve of food or conserving fuel supplies. Part of Geoff's bed went into preparing lunch and some of mine went at supper time.
The 26th was another beautiful day. We had a bit of a surprise when a large party of guards marched through the camp to the boundary wire at the edge of the compound, then downed arms, cut the wire and rapidly filed through leaving their rifles behind. It is quite possible that they just went off to somewhere quiet and then sat down waiting to be picked up.
They got out of sight rapidly after I dashed out and picked up one of their rifles to send a couple of shots after them but I only fired over their heads.
That's all there was time for as our administration collected all of the rifles and took them back to camp HQ.
It was not long after that news came through that we were taking over the running of the camp and we were one more step nearer home.
A bread ration came up. The interior fences were torn down. Where the guards had cut the wire we strolled out into the open as if it was a Sunday afternoon along the prom. Along the river bank, chatting to a couple of pig-tailed giggling teenage fraulines and even picked up some firewood which had been our main purpose for going outside.
It was not long after our return that the PA system instructed us not to stray too far if we were outside and although there was a tremendous sense of freedom in doing so it really was not neccessary [sic] for obtaining fuel.
Warning notices, air raid shelters, fence posts and the like were all available to us by that time. It was a change not to hear the PA blasting out 'Achtung' and OKW rubbish but we were being kept informed almost hourly by
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relaying BBC and AFN programms [sic] .
There was an announcement that our documents and personal possesions [sic] were available for collection from the admin office if we wanted them.
After all that had gone on since 7th February I actually got back my mirror and cuff-links that had been confiscated but it would seem that someone had aquired [sic] a very nice white silk scarf that I had been wearing at the time. Perhaps it had been considered service property, which was fair game. I was just surprised that anything was returned under the circumstances.
News came later that Regensburg had fallen and our forces were encircling Munich, and although the weather turned very nasty in the night and the hut leaked like a seive [sic] no-one was concerned about such minor discomforts.
Even the, following day when there was no let up in the downpour we did not worry about it. Even the natural water supply was a luxury!, and a visit to the clothing store gave us the opportunity to change some more of our tatty clothes.
On the 29th P47 Thunderbolts buzzed the camp and then did a bit of straffing [sic] in the local area. Perhaps it was just as well that the cut wire had been repaired and we had been confined to camp until further notice!.
By 11 o'clock there were all the signs of a battle starting to the North so there was another good reason for staying under cover.
Geoff and I had taken cover under our hut and in fact I was brewing up whilst the battle was going on and one or two people who were foolish enough to still be wandering around were hit by stray bullets but fortunately not seriously.
By 11 o'clock the sounds of battle had gone right round the camp to the South of us, giving us a chance to venture outside.
There was still a lot going on almost on our doorstep. Some big guns were firing over the camp from the hills and shells could be heard rushing overhead followed by a 'crump' as they landed between us and the town.
Then one found it's mark when the church steeple and a sniper with it disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.
News in those conditions travelled as fast as a bush fire and
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we next heard that the senior Allied POW officer and the local German Commander had been out the previous evening under a white flag to confer with the American Commander, but the German was adamant in his response to the ultimatum. He refused to surrender the area without some sort of fight so that was why it had all started up again but it did not last long.
There seemed to be a bit of a lull and then on the top of the hill, along the ridge, dozens of tanks appeared and just took up position menacingly. About mid-day another party went up the hill under a white flag to parley once more and I can only assume that enough people had died to satisfy honour and to find terms on which to end the slaughter especially when faced with that threat.
By 1 o'clock all firing in and around the area ceased. The Stars and Stripes flew in the town and in the various compounds national flags of all kinds were flying.
Those flags had been hidden for a long time at great risk and at last they could be proudly displayed. As far as we were concerned it was all over, and we could look forward to going home.
We were nearly all bursting with excitement wondering what to expect when later on in the afternoon a convoy that was a sight to behold came in through the main gate.
The lead Jeep had a General saluting all over the place. Some said it was Patton as it was the US. 7th Army that had relieved us but there was so much going on with the bustle and the noise it was difficult to take everything in.
Behind the Jeep came a Sherman tank and a whole convoy of armed troops who toured the camp as we shouted and cheered, and cheered some more, and cried a bit too until we were just about drained of emotion.
The PA system belted out cheerful music and then the circus was in town.
Another convoy came in and news reel camera crews set themselves up as Red Cross trucks, ambulances, mobile hospital, mobile bakery, mobile laundry and trucks with mountains of goodies followed.
There was everything from chewing gum to fruit juices and even fresh fruit that some of us had not seen for months and in some,
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cases, years.
Everything was eventually set up in the central compound and we marvelled at quantity of the goods and the generosity with which it was all being dispensed. There was even a Padre' tossing packets of chewing gum into the crowd.
It was announced over the PA system that we could go outside again but only through the main gate, and then only after we had been processed by the general office and provided with a repatriated POW document. It was worth it, although at that particular time I found plenty to occupy myself in camp and did not venture out.
Although we thought that the fighting was over it started up again not far from our compound as dusk fell. No doubt some brave German still trying to defend his Fatherland but it did not last long.
We had already been warned not to try and make for home on our own as some had attempted. There were still some fanatical pockets of resistance in areas that had been encircled and had yet to be secured.
The most noise that night came from the Russian compound. Although they had had their share of all that was coming into camp they had been conditioned [deleted] but [/deleted] [inserted] to [/inserted] such hardships that they were still out for anything they could get and went on the rampage. They raided the camp bakery and having carted off all the bread and the flour that they could carry they finished up by smashing all of the equipment. It took some time to round them up and try to convince them that there was no need for it. It didn't work.
It all flared up again the following morning. They had their freedom, as we all did and got into town but it was not long before they were smashing the place up, pillaging and looting and generally being a damned nuisance until something happened that I though I would never see.
The limited number of Military Police in the area had to be backed up by deputies drawn from the POW ranks and included Officers and NCO's They were armed with the rifles that had been left behind by the departing guards and were needed to guard German shops, homes and the population against rape and downright vandalism.
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As one Welshman who was involved said to me at the time, "There's daft for you. Yesterday the Germans were our enemies and today we are protecting them from certain elements of our Allies". There's no answer to that but I think the Ruskies eventually got the message.
Some of the excitement had died down by the next day until the circus got going again.
The camp had another visit from some top brass and there were more news reel camera crews shooting just about everything in sight.
American Forces Air Mail blanks were distributed and collected again but that is one area where the Yanks did not get top marks. Mine never got home. Probably they were shipped to the States first and then they were dumped on the assumption that we would have got home first.
The mobile bakery was going full blast now that the camp bakery had been ruined but some of the veteran POW's were having problems with the fluffy white American bread. One chap was stuffing great lumps of the stuff into his mouth and complaining that the 'cake' did not fill him up like pumpernikal [sic] . There was plenty of everything else anyway and no doubt by the end of the day he would have tried everything that was on offer and like me, the pains in his tummy would be from eating too much!.
The camp PA system continued to broadcast AFN and BBC relays. The BBC gave news of 32,000 liberated POW's in the drive for Munich and that had to include us. That would be good news for the folks back home who would be getting the same news and were no doubt feeling very relieved that they would soon be hearing from their loved one's.
It was not all good news though. What the army found in places like Dachau, between us and Munich was a very different story, and the world was soon reeling in shock and horror at the scenes of the almost indescribable conditions that were found there.
By comparison our situation was a picnic.
Those that did venture into town could not be stopped entirely from a little 'souvenir' hunting.
They came back with bicycles, radios, weapons, motor bikes, and all manner of household goods but although it was a free
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for all I do not remember that it got too far out of control as it did at the time of the Ruskie's excursion.
One group near us came back from a hunting expedition with a deer that was soon given the treatment. It was barbicued [sic] on a spit over a pit that used to be an air raid shelter and there was everything that one could wish for.
It was open house and became a communal feast. People just contributed anything that they had. There were chickens, eggs, rabbits, ducks, fish, you name it. It was the biggest, most hilarious barbicue [sic] that I have ever been to or ever likely to go to, and of course some alcoholic beverage found it's way into the camp as well.
During the proceedings one American came back from visiting a nearby tank unit and he was absolutely plastered.
He was teetering all-over the place, hanging on to half a case of Champagne on his shoulder and every time he looked like capsizing and people went to help he he [sic] , fought them off. He was very protective of that 'champers'. Even when he fell into an old air raid shelter it could not be prized from him so we left him with a happy smile on his face. There was plenty more.
Although we were getting a little restless at the delay in moving us it was understandable....there was still a war going on!. But on May 3rd. parties started moving out and leaving their surplus goods behind and we spent a lot of time walking around the area inspecting the staggering amount of transport, troops and armour that we came across. We only had to show our identity slips and everywhere we went we got first class treatment with the utmost generosity, but there was the inevitable sad story to remind us that for some people the war was not yet over.
One of the tank crews was suffering from a traumatic experience, the memory of which was still fresh in their minds.
Apparently, when they had been confronted, not far from the camp, by armed school kids in cadet uniform they had tried to discourage them by firing over their heads but it had not been successful. The youngsters still showed defiance and continued firing. The tank crew had no choice but to fire on them for the benefit of their own infantry who were just behind them, and of course some of them had been injured before they gave up.
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In it's way it was very sad but it just showed that it was no picnic out there.
When the next piece of news came it was difficult to take it it [sic] in.
Berlin had fallen to the Russians and Hitler had killed himself in his Berlin bunker. The German High Command had collapsed and a cease fire was imminent.
The excitement reached a new high when that news had sunk in.
The call forward of people for evacuation was speeded up and those called were taking messages for us as well so I was looking forward to being home for my wife's birthday on the 8th, but the days were slipping by rapidly.
We were bathed and de-loused, (the first of many de-lousings) on the 6th for moving out on the 7th only to be frustrated by another deferment.
We were interviewed by an American female War Correspondent and were photographed charging around on bicyles [sic] and yet another frustrating day went by. Some people had got totally fed up by that time and were having a go on their own despite the regular warning being given. I played it safe and was rewarded on the 8th when our party was called forward.
All of the parties were of 28 people and Geoff was in charge of ours when we finally moved out at 5.30am. when we boarded a convoy of trucks, that set off for an ex Luftwaffe base at Straubing to the North of us.
It was a rough and dusty journey, but eventually we rolled into the place and again I was struck by the resemblance to our own pre-war airfields. I could have found my way around there as easily as Marham, Mildenhall or Stradishall but we did not have chance to go far. It was not worth it anyway as we were likely to be called forward at any time.
We were off-loaded on the road leading through the camp with the hangars dead ahead and told to stay put.
There was very little sign of damage so either the Luftwaffe had evacuated smartly or surrendered, but there we were, at the side of a tree lined avenue waiting….and …waiting!
Des and Lynn had been left behind at Mooseburg but they turned up in a later convoy and were not far from us as evening came. Still stuck on the road!.
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Fortunately the weather remained fine and although there was a NAAFI type building on the opposite side of the road none of us wanted to be confined. We had had enough of that.
We relieved the NAAFI place of a small stage about 8ft by 8ft and about a foot high which we set up between some trees. Several parachutes from the stores were used for bedding and a canopy and we had a neat little camp site that was the envy of many.
A metal grid was set up on some bricks to serve as a fireplace and we were able to dispense hot water and coffee to all and sundry as well as being a meeting point. I
We were just about to settle down for the night when the bomb shell came. Germany had capitulated…the war was over at last! As if there had not been enough excitement for one day.
There was still a little light left when there was a flurry of activity up at the airfield and troops were charging in that direction from all over. Curiosity got the better of us and no sooner had we got to edge of the airfield than a half dozen Ju.52's approached from the North East firing red verey signals
as they went into line astern for landing.
As soon as they had landed they were surrounded by armed troops and then the doors opened.
The occupants were mainly women and children, obviously families of Luftwaffe personnel being evacuated from Chechoslovakia [sic] out of the path of the advancing Russian forces. They looked very frightened as they were hustled away but I am sure that they would have been taken care of by the local population even if the military got different treatment.
We were not allowed to get too close but the airfield attracted us like a magnet and we soon found it to be a very busy place. No wonder they did not want us in the way.
There were mountains of stores dumped all around the perimeter.
There were dozens of Mustangs and Thunderbolts in another area and the remnants of dozens of German aircraft of all types piled up in another area.
Then came the next surprise when about twenty Me.109's and Fw.190's appeared in the circuit...all flying white streamers from their wingtips in the act of surrender. The sight of those brought just about everyone up to the airfield as they circled and landed, finally taxying into a neat line in front of the
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hangars.
The pilots hardly had time to switch off before the 'reception commitee' was up on the wing and the elegantly turned out pilots in their No.1. uniforms were unceremoniously whipped out of their cockpits, frisked and relieved of any Iron Crosses around their necks, and watches, binoculars, pistols and holsters were removed before they were lined up and marched away.
I suppose they did try to surrender with some dignity but they were not allowed to do so and neither was the next group that came in.
We had had the families, then the Staffel, and the next arrival was a Ju.52. carrying the unit commander and his staff. It included his female secretary, filing cabinets and all....plus...the pig!.
The latter was no doubt the product of the unit pig farm and an insurance against going hungry at a later date. So here was an almost complete unit apart from the poor old ground staff who were probably having to hike their way back from somewhere just inside the Chech [sic] border about 60 miles away.
The volume of gold braid on the senior officer did not save him from going the same way as the others, so he was bundled off one way, no doubt protesting about his rough handling....and the pig went the other. To the cookhouse!.
One of the last to land in the fading light was a Feisler Storch light communications and spotting plane and the pilot demonstrated it's capability by virtually stalling it into a very short landing run and …..plonk, stopped.
The pilot got out, like an entertainer in the circus, grinning, as if to say "who's a clever boy then", until a huge coloured American airman grabbed him by the collar and he was put through the mincer like the others.
We loved every minute of it and wandered back to our camp site very happily not expecting anything to climax that but the finale came shortly after daylight went completely.
The day was finished off with a giant pyrotechnic display that must have used up everything that could be mustered from all of the combined stores plus stuff from wrecked or surrendered aircraft.
The way some of the stuff had been put together to blast off
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some 200ft into the air must have made the excercise [sic] near lethal but I am sure that there was no shortage of the necessary explosive and technical skills to put on such a show at such short notice.
The night sky was filled with star shells and flares of all colours and enormous explosions for well over an hour before we retired to our communal bed with stars in our eyes, and hope for what the next day would bring.
When May 9th dawned we were up early, washed, shaved, breakfasted and the site tidied up in case anyone else wanted to make use of it after we had gone, all ready standing by long before 7.30 as we had been told to be.
About 8.30 a flock of DC3's (Dakota's to the RAF) started pouring in, landing and taxying into the park directly ahead of the road we were on.
We had seen these depart on the previous day and it was a well drilled procedure by which they took up position in five ranks of ten nose to tail so all we had to do was to was [sic] for the call forward. It did not come!. Instead, truckloads of GI's came rumbling into camp straight past us and out to the aircraft which taxied out as soon as loading was complete and away they went…..all 50 of them!
We did not know whether they were front line troops who were in need of a rest or even walking wounded but it got us a bit steamed up to think that someone seemed to be jumping the queue but we knew that they would be in again in the afternoon so we continued to wait impatiently.
By mid afternoon the flock were back again and after landing formed up with the same precision and then another convoy of Americans arrived, again going straight out to the airfield. Fortunately it was a smaller party and some of our groups ahead of us were called forward but leaving us still sweating it out.
There was nothing more to but to open up our site again and brouse [sic] around the rest of the camp to occupy the time.
There was another firework display but we could not work up much enthusiasm for it. All of our thoughts were concentrated on what might happen the next day.
Again we were on call to be with some of the first away so once more we prepared ourselves and then watched in dismay as another
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convoy came sweeping in and went straight out to the airfield. When the aircraft came in they were promptly loaded and were away again leaving us still stuck on the side of the road. There were some angry mutterings.
Eventually the group leaders had a conference to elect a spokesman who went forward to speak to the load masters and whether it was that that did the trick or whether it was the luck of the draw I would not know but all of the RAF roadside gipsies were moved up to the airfield for the afternoon shuttle.
In came the aircraft as before and as soon as they were parked each party was allocated a specific aeroplane from which they unloaded jerrycans of petrol and other stores which included 'K' rations from which we got an issue and then we boarded....at last.
Like a well oiled machine the 50 aircraft started up, rolled out in sections of ten, took off and in loose formation headed West at about 4000ft.
The precision of that operation made a lasting impression on me as it was shifting about 300 tons of fuel and suplies [sic] in and about 2800 people out each day. With over 40,000 repatriates to get out of the area it was understandable that it was going to take time however frustrated we might have felt at times.
We landed at an airfield near Rheims, France, and were trucked to a huge tented encampment in the grounds of some Chateaux. We got de-loused again, had a label tied on and were then provided with vouchers to exchange for cash, shown the accomodation [sic] and told to be ready by daylight next day..
To someone like myself who, had only been in the 'bag' a short time it was a short step back to reality but for those who had been behind the wire for years it was the start of a long period of adjustment.
The bright lights, the incessant broadcasting of AFN (American Forces Network) and the delights of the tented city with it's cafateria [sic] tents, beer tents, cinema, magazine stalls and one-arm bandits was a different world. Obviously American servicemen (and women) did not expect to be cut off from their home comforts just because they were fighting a war in foriegn [sic] parts, whether they were in our [sic] out of the line. i
Whilst I was having difficulty in deciding what to spend my
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money on…and a beer was one of the first things, others were very reluctant to spend at all. I found that those who had hoarded for years in order to survive could not easily break the habit but we all mucked in together until eventually we had had our share of everything that was going and then it was early to bed, a real one, in preparation for an early start on the next lap.
We were up at 5 o'clock the next morning, piled onto trucks and commenced another bumpy, noisy and tiring drive, seemingly in the wrong direction, to an airfield at Juvencourt, which I found out later was between Troyes and Chaumont. I did not hear any complaints. If everyone was like me they were too pre-occupied with their own thoughts at the prospect of getting home soon to be concerned about a such a journey. Even if it was about 100 miles!.
We expected to be going into another camp but there was great excitement when, on arrival, we found a flock of waiting Lancasters on the airfield and we loaded 25 to each aircraft ready for the off.
The Lancaster was not built for passengers so we were distributed all along the fusulage [sic] and my diary records that I was in one of 514 Squadron's aircraft, from Waterbeach, Pilot, Flying Officer Tasker. His W/Op turned out to be one of my old mates from training days, Tommy Gookie.
There was no opportunity for chat though. Anyone who who [sic] has ever flown in a Lanc. without a helmet will know just how noisy they were but it was a terrible racket when those four beautiful Merlins started up and we taxied out and took off, setting course in a bit of a gaggle, heading West. I did have the opportunity of a few minutes in the top turret but there was quite a queue for it.
I lapped it up but it was a bit nerve racking for some of those who's flying had been cut short when they had been flying 1939 vintage fighters and bombers. Those chaps were going to need quite a lot of rehabilitation that was for sure.
After about an hour's flying all the changes in engine note and attitude suggested that we were preparing for landing and after touching down and taxying in we scrambled out of the door to find ourselves on the tarmac at, of all places, Tangmere.
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Just 18 miles from my home town!. Then the inevitable occurred. First we had to go through a very rudimentary customs check and then we were deloused again. There was no way that anything illegal or catching was going to be allowed into the country but I was beginning to get a bit fed up with having a hose stuffed up trouser legs, sleeves, down the trouser front and back and in the hair dispensing clouds of strange smelling itchy powder. Then it was tea and sandwiches in the hanger served by WAAF's who for some reason seemed to treat us as if we were something from outer space. I did not realise it at the time but that is probably what we looked like.
For the next part of the programme we were bussed to Barnham railway station to board a train that was sitting in a siding, but not before I had attended to one most important matter.
I was sorely tempted to slip away but thought better of it. Instead, I dived into a phone box, called the operator, but before I could tell her that I wanted a reverse charge call she asked if I was a returning POW, so obviously I was not the first she had had on the line.
Having been assured that I was she said that there was no charge and got a number for me in Worthing. In a flash I was talking to a local Chemist who I had been in the Home Guard with. He took a message to my parents, just up the road and on the way met my father-in-law so the whole jungle telegraph got going to spread the news.
Quite a few used that phone but eventually the locomotive whistle brought them back on board and we were off.
The trip was a long one and at times very slow as we wound our way all round London making occasional stops at stations for the ladies of the WVS and the 'Sally Ann' to dispense tea and sandwiches, whatever the hour, until eventually, somewhere around midnight we arrived at the reception centre at RAF Cosford, near Wolverhampton.
The train ran right into the camp which had it's own internal railway system being a storage area and maintenance unit and we dissembarked [sic] almost directly into a well lit hangar.
There were lines and lines of tables creating avenues which were alphabetically indexed; and from then on it was every man for himself for a while.
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The first part of the process was an identification check. There were boxes of Records Office duplicate I.D. cards with photograph after which there were a few questions and once past that check we were back in the Air Force. Some who had not worn too well in the 'bag' took a bit longer but all were eventually filtered through perhaps after calling an officer to verify or a Doctor to advise on suitability for immediate clearance or a spot of R & R. (Rest .and Recuperation) first. Cosford also had a very large hospital so it was ideally suited.
After that we were provided with a temporary I.D. card and authorisation chits for this, that and the other. Leave warrant, ration card, advance of pay, clothes coupons, petrol coupons, cigarette and confectionary coupons…..all taking time as we worked our way down the line of tables until we were further directed towards another hangar which was a monster clothing store for an issue that would at least allow us to change out of the odds and ends that we had been wearing for so long. Half of mine by that time was American drab olive so it was back to blue.
The clothing issue was very basic. Airmans battle-dress and cap. Underclothes, socks and boots. Shirt, collar and tie.......separate of course, and nothing to hold them together, and finally a. piece of braid or a set of stripes appropriate to rank and..........the sewing kit!, plus a new kit bag to put surplus stuff into. Goodness knows what time it was before the process was complete and then we were off to a barrack block, a steaming hot bath and to bed.
We had been told that the Mess dining room was providing a 24 hour service and very few people overslept. We were up and about gathering everything together and I forget how many peices [sic] of braid and collars I sewed on for others before the need for breakfast was calling.
I felt a bit like a fish in a bowl wandering around the Officers Mess again among others dressed much the same as myself. The permanent staff were very helpful and the stewards could not do enough but there had to be a limit to how much one could eat in one go. There was only one thing on the minds of most people, and that was to get home as soon as possible. One of us had already gone. Jim only lived at Coventry and I was told
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that he had ordered a taxi and was off…..and to hell with the expense!.
Buses had been scheduled to run to Wolverhamptan [sic] for main line connections for those who were cleared to go and other nationalities, including Commonwealth personnel were being assembled to go to clearing depots that had been set up in various parts of the country to prepare them for repatriation. For me it was a quick call to Newmarket and I was on my way.
I must have got quite used to the scruffy character reflected in the shaving mirror without realising that there was a lot more of me that I had just taken for granted. When I first looked in a full length mirror it took some time to realise that the wild man from outer space was in fact me. If clothes maketh the man then I really looked like a rag-bag…..but a clean one!.
Clean I might have been but I had over three months head of unruly hair which was almost white from the liberal use of de-lousing powder that would not wash out. My ill fitting serge battle-dress had come straight from the stores and looked like it and although I could have delayed my departure to make myself more presentable I didn't. And I do not know anyone who did!, but as soon as I was back in the public eye it not surprising that I was getting some funny looks.
There were a few more to come before I finished my journey but one incident imprinted itself on my mind.
I have no idea where it was exactly but after changing trains and we got under way, I was lost in thought and the other person in the compartment; a member of the bowler hat and brolly brigade, went to some length to point out that it was a First Class compartment and that I appeared to have made a mistake.
Normally I would have treated it lightly but as his expression suggested that he had a nasty smell under his nose I'm afraid I was in no mood for that sort of nonsense. I cannot recall exactly what I said, but it certainly was not complimentary, I do remember that it was he that moved out and not me....after all, I did have a First Class ticket!
I finally arrived at Newmarket where it seemed that half my wife's HQ had turned out to greet me but why they were on the down-line platform when I arrived on the up-line platform I
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don't know and there was an awful lot of running about before we fell into each others arms. Then it was back to her office for a whirlwind of activity and excitement as a leave pass was arranged.
There was of course a very lively party in the evening before we finally retired to our room with some people that we had often stayed with on previous occasions. It was ironic that the lady of the house was the German wife of an old jockey of some repute.
Old "Willie" Warne had been the Kaisers jockey prior to the 1914/18 war and had been too late to get out of the country when that war started. The result was that he had been interned in Germany throughout the conflict. We had a lot to talk about!.
The following morning we were off to Worthing for a reunion with my parents and the rest of the family with the exception of two of my brothers who were still away in the forces.
My uniform and other clothes were waiting for me, all cleaned and pressed; although a little on the loose side and eventually, after lots more soaking in the bath most of the signs of the de-lousing powder disappeared. Nevertheless, a haircut was necessary, before I could get my cap on. The old barber that I had used for years nearly had a fit when he saw the state of my hair until I told him how it had got that way. That was the only free hair-cut I ever had out of him!. After that it more or less resumed it's natural colour and I was reconciled to a more civilised routine even though a touch of jaundice limited activities for a while. Something was bound to happen when the diet was undergoing that sort of change.
It was another twenty six years before I left the Air Force. I will never know why I was one of the lucky one's and it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I have thought that I have lived on borrowed time since those days.
If I had been a cat I would have run out of my nine lives a long time ago and I have always considered myself very fortunate to have enjoyed a longer period of relative peace than the older generation had experienced between two dreadful wars.
My youthful ambition to fly had been fullfilled [sic] ; even if it had been the hard and dangerous way. The war had finished and our country and our society seemed safe and secure at last.
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It had been achieved at the most dreadful cost in human lives and suffering. There were a lot of my old school friends and others that I would never see again.
Historians have since put forward many academic arguments on the conduct of the war as they have done throughout the years over long and bloody conflicts to try and prove points and discredit theories as well as personalities which is easy enough to do in hindsight.
The fact remains. Hitlers evil Third Reich was destroyed, and only just in time before the introduction of a new generation of weapons might have prolonged the war or even given Germany the chance of recovery. Then the pages of history would have been written somewhat differently and I doubt if todays armchair strategists would be in a position to express themselves quite so freely.
The overall number of casualties was appalling and the Royal Air Force had it's share as it wielded one of the most powerful and flexible weapons ever forged.
Bomber Command alone lost 47,293 aircrew killed or missing on operations over Europe, and another 8000 were killed in training and non-operational flights between 1939 and 1945.
A staggering 9000 bombers of all types were lost in the same period and at the peak of the air war 40% of Britains [sic] war production was concentrated in the manufacture of aircraft and supporting services.
Between them the Allied Air Forces devestated [sic] 70 cities and manufacturing centres severely curtailing production.
The Hamburg raids of 1943 disrupted U-boat building and caused the terrible fire-storm that resulted in more than 40,000 deaths. Altogether 3,600,000 homes were destroyed. 7,500,000,people were made homeless and there were 1,000,000 casualties caused by the bombing on the European front alone.
The costly raid on Peenemunde in the Baltic gave us breathing time to develope [sic] a defence against what could have been devestating [sic] damage from the V1's and V2's.
Sea and Air co-operation effectively swung the balance of the U.Boat war and a steady flow of war materials and food was assured from the vast resources of the USA.
The German Navy got bottled up and was no longer an effective
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force. The Luftwaffe was being depleted as their bomber force declined in favour of fighter production. Although in 1943 their production of fighters actually increased they were faced with the fact that experienced pilots cannot be produced, at the same rate as machines and the bombing was starving them of fuel.
Once Germany was forced onto the defensive as was Japan the writing was on the wall.
Towards the end of the war Germany had committed enormous quantities of some 20,000 anti-aircraft guns and vast quantities of ammunition to the defence of the Third Reich, tying up 1,000,000 troops and another 1,500,000 people in fire fighting, clearing up bomb damage and re-housing.
The destruction caused by Allied air raids affected German war production to such an extent that it was estimated by German sources that in 1943 alone, it cost, in terms of production, the [underlined] equivalent [/underlined] of 10,000 heavy guns and approximately 6000 heavy tanks. If the resources that those figures represent had reached the battle fronts the outcome of many a campaign might well have different.
Those figures are just some of the grim statistics on the balance sheet of a war that need not have happened if Hitler could have been prevented from embarking on his plans of world domination.
The overwhelming Allied air power was a major contribution which helped to reduce the casualty figures of the ground forces who eventually squeezed the discredited leaders of the German nation into surrender, giving Europe a chance to sort itself out and lay plans for a more peaceful future.
History will show that the transition into an uneasy 'peace' and the rebuilding of shattered countries and communities was not easily achieved but I am proud to have been part of it.
Alan.T.Gamble.
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"NIL DESPERANDUM”
[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
My war came to an end with Victory in Europe, when, after returning from German POW camp I was sent on leave to await further instructions.
For some time I expected to be called for duty in one of the areas of either Europe, the Middle East, India or the Far East where there was still a great deal of conflict going on, but it seemed that there were still plenty of people around to cope and it was many weeks before something was found for me to do.
I was content as long as my pay and allowances were being credited to my account, so I sat back waiting for something to happen and enjoyed being with the family again. My wife Dorothy was still in the Army and soon used up her leave entitlement to be home with me at Worthing although I managed several periods up at Newmarket where she was still stationed which was not too far away so I had a comfortable time rehabilitating myself until a telegram from the Air Ministry requested my presence at Whitehall to determine my future.
Meanwhile I had had plenty of time to contemplate both the past, present and the future. At least I still had a future of sorts which was a lot more than some of my old school friends whose short lives were about to be recorded on the memorial tablets.
My youthful past had been humdrum until joining the Royal Air Force and I could not see it getting any better by doing what so many were doing by getting `demobbed' and back into `civvy street' as soon as possible to pick up the threads of their previous occupation. Apart from anything else I was not even sure that I wanted to resume my previous occupation.
I had made the grade from the ranks to commissioned officer more by luck than anything else and despite some bad moments I had been introduced to a different sort of life; and it attracted me.
I had asked myself time and time again; should I throw it all away or capitalize on it? The answer always came out the same, whichever way I looked at the situation. I really had nothing to lose as I had very little to start with, so I approached the postings department at Air Ministry with an open mind and tongue in cheek.
I was kept waiting for a long time after I had presented myself, and bit by bit I progressed from the main reception to the clerks office then to an outer office until finally being called into the inner sanctum to be asked by a chap who simply asked what I would like to do.
It was such a surprise that I was barely able to splutter out "anything you like" and no doubt if I had not already given some thought to my future I could easily have blurted out "civvy street" and that would have been the road that I would have gone down. Nevertheless, my remark produced a contemplative "hm" and a lot of paper shuffling. I just looked at the ceiling and shuffled my feet!
The next question was "what about administrative work?" and I recall that my reply was something to the effect that "if that is what you would like me to do I will have a go" although my insides were churning. Me! administrative work! What the hell did I know about that, but the die was cast and I was sent off for a few more days leave to await further instructions, which took the form of a telegram instructing me to report to No. 47 Group. HQ, Hendon, for disposal.
I duly reported to the HQ which was in a group of huts, which is still there behind barbed wire in front of the Restaurant of the RAF Museum and by adopting the philosophy of leaving my destiny in someone else's hands the cards were shuffled once more. I was earmarked for administrative duties and sent home, once more to await further instructions.
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It was not long before, they arrived and then I was en route to Lyneham, in Wiltshire, all shiny, new and refreshed for the beginning of a new era.
[line of stars]
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[underlined] CHAPTER ONE [/underlined]
Lynham [sic] was a flying station of No. 47 Group, Transport Command so it made a change for me to be outside Bomber Command but I did not have a lot of time to contemplate the Yorks and Stirlings that were being flogged to and from many parts of the world. The arrival preliminaries were soon over and I found myself being employed as assistant to the Adjutant of 511 Squadron and was soon up to my ears in routine paper work, a lot of which was processing claims for campaign medals but it seemed an easy way to earn a crust for the ten days that I did the job and I learned a lot more about the running of, a unit like a flying Squadron which had not changed a lot since I had been a 'sprog' airman at Mildenhall in 1941 where I had started my first stint of admin in the orderly room. There was something else that had not changed. Stirlings being Stirlings, whatever the mark, could still get into an uncontrollable swing on take off and landing as I found out from the signals that were coming in reporting aircraft all the way down the route to India having swung and busted the undercarriage in some God forsaken place and I had not been flying a desk very long before one did the same thing at Lyneham which finished up careering into the operations block causing a number of casualties among ground staff.
It had previously entered my mind that if I could keep away from flying for a while it would not do me any harm but after that episode it did not seem to make any difference. I think that I would have been most upset at being pranged by a runaway Stirling whilst sitting at a desk; especially after successfully completing a tour in Bomber Command on them without damage to myself.
However, I was whisked out of that job overnight and flung straight into a properly established job in Station HQ. That of Station Assistant Adjutant although the job title of the appointment was a mis-nomer as far as I was concerned. It really was personnel administration and I inherited a staff of twenty headed by a Flight Sergeant Chief Clerk. All of a sudden I was an Admin Officer!
The reason for the sudden move requires a little explanation as I did not physically take over from the previous encumbant [sic] , a WAAF officer who apparently had got herself and the job into one hell of a mess and had been moved out smartly before things could get any worse. My brief from the Senior Admin Officer was to get stuck in and sort things out as quickly and as quietly as possible so I took over everything completely blind. Office, staff, ledgers, account books, cash and inventories. It was difficult to know just where to start so I familiarised myself first with the orderly room procedures and the staff who handled the details of some 2000 airmen and airwomen and then came the process of sorting my own office. It did not take long to find out that things were far worse than they appeared on the surface.
I started checking the inventories as I had signed for them subject to check and although some small one's were fairly easy but when it came to the bedding store, oh dear, oh dear. My heart missed a beat. It showed up a flaw in the system that been exploited for a long time by people quite prepared to make a few bob out of surplus blankets, only they were not surplus! Even in the stock room half blankets suitably folded had been counted as complete blankets to deceive the checkers for a long time. I had to have a long think about that one. There seemed no point in enquiries and chucking charges about. I had a feeling that it would bounce right back into my court. Quickly and quietly the boss had said, so I did it my way and worked at it steadily over a period of several weeks whilst dealing with other day to day matters.
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I had the station scoured for blankets that were being misused as curtains, table covers etc. and a few billet inspections with the aid of the Station Warrant Officer produced a considerable number that were in excess of entitlement and more than a few exchanges were made at the main stores until I was satisfied that the deficiencies had been reduced to a modest number that I could subsequently declare for write-off. War time methods of writing off losses were no longer in force so I was aiming for the minimum possible before asking for an independent check to be made with me in attendance. Such matters absorb a great deal of time and at the same time I introduced a completely new system of accounting for the issue, receipt„ storage and stock control of bedding without adding extra staff although there was a change of staff. The Corporal in charge of the bedding store! who I am sure was very pleased to go without a fuss. I found a place for him in the sanitary squad! In the long run quicker and quieter than the more formal way of doing things. I followed it up with a multi page paper on the subject, with recommendations for the changes that I had already made and submitted it through channels to Air Ministry, as I was sure that there were considerable savings to be made if my scheme was implemented officially. I can only assume that someone, somewhere along the line put his own name to it and nearly two years later an Air Ministry Order appeared almost word for word so it must have had some merit. It was still in force 40 years later!
I did get something out of though!. Nearly six months later after I had moved on and after an enquiry into the deficiencies that had been disclosed, a Board of Enquiry found me responsible for the losses and invited me to pay £5 toward the value of the losses. One learns the hard way and so it seemed that everyone was covering their backs, and they had to have their pound of flesh. £5 was a lot of money in 1945. About 25% of a weeks pay for a Flying Officer!
Had that backhander arrived whilst I had still been at Lyneham I might well have decided that Air Force Admin. was not for me but by then I was engaged in numerous other problems and learning to cope with them without compromising myself. It did not always work but I was getting better at it. In the meanwhile Dorothy had left the Army and was back with her parents in Worthing awaiting the arrival of an addition to the family.
Among other things that were under my jurisdiction were the issue of clothing coupons, tobacco and confectionery and petrol coupons and it did not take long to find out that the system of accounting for those items were far from satisfactory. Of course, they were all issued, or were supposed to have been issued according to entitlement as laid down in the relevant orders but I found it impossible to reconcile the stocks and book balances. I burned the midnight oil balancing, (or to be truthful, cooking them) until I had resolved the petrol and clothing coupons sufficiently to satisfy a snap audit which was always a possibility although obviously no such audit had been done for a long time.
In hindsight it would probably have been to my advantage to have asked for an independent audit when taking over, if it had occurred to me, but I was new to the business and without formal training it could still have gone against me in the same way as the blankets episode. I doubt that it would have gone against the departed WAAF officer who no doubt had left the service very smartly which was the normal practice for someone in her condition. There did not seem any point in making waves so in my ignorance I just pressed on.
The tobacco and confectionery coupons were a bit of a headache although I had not placed any priority on them but the first time I attended a Station Commanders conference the subject came up as the local and area NAAFI managers had apparently been tearing their hair out for some time as their monthly stocks were all being taken up in the first few days of the month and supplementary stocks were having to be put up to supply the demand for the rest of the month. I came directly into the firing line although my predecessor had previously been
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instructed to do something about it and of course the inevitable occurred. The finger was pointed at me with an instruction to "fix it ....and quickly". It did not take long to find an answer.
The blank coupons were initially issued by the NAAFI to units for distribution and generally coupons issued by one unit were valid at another and therein lay the problem. At Lyneham everyone other than the Officers and Sgt's messes seemed have about four times as many coupons as they should have but the work involved was not easy and I burned a lot of midnight oil personally setting up a system to get it right first time. I made all old coupons invalid as new coupons became valid from a certain date. They were all serial numbered and distributed to internal units and departments against nominal rolls There was no leeway or overlap. Any cases that would have previously been arbitrated by the Naafi staff were referred to me and only coupons bearing the Lyneham stamp were valid. All new arrivals got a new issue on surrender of their old one's with a limitation of only two weeks back issue. I did get it right first time!. The rot was stopped dead in it's tracks within the first few days of it's introduction. The Naafi managers were happy and despite the success of the operation that was the only area from which any compliment came and I was presented with an enormous box of chocolates for my wife with their compliments. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had some aptitude for the work that I had been thrown into and had so far I seemed to have done it a bit better than someone with formal training.
There were other matters that needed a nudge in the right direction from time to time to bring them into line but eventually all the serious problems had been attended to and I was able to relax slightly as the job ticked over as it should have done in the first place. I even managed a few more week-ends at home instead of working right through but at that time people were still revelling in the euphoria of the cessation of the war and there was a lot of partying going on, and that of course meant too much drinking as an outlet for pent up emotions. There was one rip-roaring party to which I invited my Petty Officer Naval brother, (with temporary promotion to Lieutenant. RN. For the occasion) and it was the great granddaddy of all binges. We were in a very sorry state the next morning when we went down to the flight office as I had arranged a trip in a York for him. He had never flown before, and it had been no trouble to lay it on although it was in a freighter on air test that we found ourselves in. No seats. Just a load of loose covers on the floor with a few straps to hang onto.
I suppose it's something you are trained for and you grow up with so it was second nature to me. My poor brother felt differently about it with the thunder of the engines, the unfamiliar smells and a skyline that would not stay in place, and neither would his stomach as he was obliged to make use of the paper bag supplied!
His final thoughts on the matter were that he would sooner take his chance in the bowels of a ship than fly or have to chuck himself out of an aeroplane if it got into trouble although I am sure that when he was later obliged to fly back to the UK on compassionate leave on the death of his daughter he had more things on his mind than his own personal discomfort.
Bit by bit I attacked all of the accumulated problems and new one's as they arose and life began to jogg [sic] along quite nicely. I was able to spend time studying the activities and the rules and regulations of the personnel department for which I was responsible, although it was run very efficiently by a Flight Sergeant Waaf. Even so, I began to take more notice of what I was invariably signing for. At that point in time I seemed to have been launched in a career in Admin so it seemed logical that I should learn all that I could about it.
It was too much to expect that I would be left to settle for long. In early Spring of 1946 I received the reward for my efforts when I was notified that I was posted to Holmsley South in the New Forest, Hampshire, for Admin duties, so a quick hand over followed a handshake from the C.O. and to my surprise a "well done" and I was ready to go. One of my
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first thoughts was that I would be a lot nearer Worthing and things seemed to be working in my favour especially as Holmsley was another Transport command station with a Stirling squadron. The prospects were good and I had no reason to make any preliminary enquiries so off I went and waved goodbye to Lyneham.
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[underlined] Chapter Two [/underlined]
I completed the arrival formalities by eventually arriving at the C.O's office and that's when I received a nasty shock to be told that he was very pleased to see me as a very special job had been reserved for me. I was to take charge of 50 German POW's who would be arriving by train [underlined] the following day [/underlined] and the Senior Admin Officer would tell me all about it!
He did. A dispersed Nissen hutted site had been allocated. Beds and bedding had been set aside at the stores and an inventory opened ready for my signature. Cooking facilities had also been arranged on site "so off you go and the best of luck and keep them out of my hair" was the brief.
[underlined] Dispersed [/underlined] was the operative word. Typical of war time airfields it was well spread out and I was to find that the site that I had been allocated was nearly two miles from the main camp area but I was thinking very hard about the prospects and wondering if my reputation had preceeded [sic] me as they must have decided at the last moment to appoint an officer in charge. I must confess too that I rather liked the idea of being a POW Camp Commandant which was the title that I gave myself. After my recent experiences as a POW in Germany it would be interesting to have the role's reversed.
Most of my first day was spent checking out the site and supplies. The electricity was on, the plumbing was working and coal had already been dumped on site but it was the `cooking facilities' that intrigued me. It was no more than an old soya boiler and a Spitfire packing case but I was not going to worry too much about that. One thing was for sure. At the very worst the conditions could never be described as rough by comparison with the way we had been treated as prisoners so after reading up the limited amount of information that been handed over to me and making a few arrangements for the reception of the POW's I settled in the Mess and turned in that night with a clear conscience. The next day could take care of itself!
I duly met the motley crowd at Brockenhurst railway station the following day without too much ceremony having mustered a couple of hefty, armed Service policemen to make an impression and there I was handed a package of `bumph' by one of the two RAF (aircrew) Warrant Officers who were going to be my total staff for the indefinite period that they were going to be with us. As soon as we got back to the main camp I was able to dispense with the policemen and the POW's did a lot of waiting about whilst I poured over the documents with the Senior Admin Officer (who really didn't want to know), but I was determined to keep him in the picture before being told once more "get on with it". By that time I had got the impression that as far as I was concerned I was on my own!.
The POW's were all ex Africa Corp and had been incarcerated in working camps in Canada. They had been well fed and documented and were in the pipeline for repatriation, and they knew it and the best part was that they were to be reminded regularly with the added threat that if any one of them absconded, or even attempted to, then the whole lot would be put back to the end of a very long list.
That solved a lot of my fears and it was with a much lighter heart that I paraded the lot, read the riot act through their senior NCO `interpreter' although most of them knew enough English to understand and then we were off to the site where I paraded them again and explained that it was to be their home until further notice. I also explained that any comforts that they might enjoy would be achieved mainly by their own efforts which soon put a stop to any complaints that they might have thought of voicing. There was the inevitable roll call and familiarisation of faces having formally introduced myself and then we got down to work setting things up.
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The next few days were hectic as I scrounged, scavenged and borrowed all the necessary equipment to make life tolerable and there was a lot of earth moving, hammering, sawing and considerable industry as the days went by. The kitchen and mess room layout was built from the Spitfire packing case and sited in a partitioned end of a hut adjacent to the ablutions block to make use of the plumbing, and the remainder of the hut was turned into sleeping quarters for the duty officer and the site office.
There were few restrictions. By the very nature of our staffing arrangements it was an open camp apart from morning and night roll calls with one of the Warrant Officers or myself on camp throughout each 24 hour period. The daily routine was soon established. I was allowed a small cash ration allowance to supplement the daily ration issue and the prisoners were allowed a small basic pay in script as they were not allowed real money. They spent their script in the small canteen that we set up and it's value was converted into real money under my control (more book-keeping), for purchases from the Naafi main distribution centre in Southampton.
I was also allowed to employ them on the station in a variety of trades that they were suitable for and give small pay increments accordingly, so it was not long before some of them were being employed as drivers, fitters, cooks and butchers, cleaners and baggage handlers with a pool of refuse collectors. My message to them was very simple. "Screw up a good job and you go straight to the garbage detail". (There was no extra pay for that job!)
A bout of very wet weather made life very difficult as the entrance to the site was uphill and impossible for motor transport so that supplies had to be man-handled in but in my travels I had spotted a considerable supply of used and new PSP, (Perforated Steel Planking) of the type that many war time hard standings and even temporary runways were built with which had been more or less abandoned by the Americans, who had used Holmsley for the invasion of Normandy so several tons were transported to the site in the next spell of good weather and we got cracking. There was a lot more earth moving as the surface was prepared and we worked it out as we went along. I got my shirt off too which raised a few eyebrows among the troops.
Like any other body of men there will always be those who will hang about on the fringe of activity trying to look as if they are busy. Germans are no different! But I felt that if I could demonstrate that I could work as well as any of them then I would be justified in putting my boot behind anyone who seemed reluctant to flex his muscles so we toiled like an army of ants the whole of one week-end when I was the duty officer. At the end of the day we straightened our backs with the satisfaction of having done a good job in record time with a firm driveway leading up to a level turning area at the top.
I had a few crates of beer brought in later on and had the additional satisfaction of being told by one of them that it was most unlikely that a German officer would have applied himself in the same way. By that time I had bathed and was back in uniform and once more and `The Commandant' was feeling rather pleased with himself, so the reply that came from me, almost without thinking was....."possibly, and you lost"! Touche!.
After that things began to tick along quite nicely which was just as well as I was beginning to be drawn more and more into the routine work of the station. Nevertheless, the POW's took up most of my time and I had to argue my way out of doing station duties like Orderly Officer on the grounds that I was spending every third night and every, third week-end in the POW compound. I was excused station duties...but not for long!
I had to take fairly swifty [sic] action on one occasion when I had a report from the civilian accountant officer who came to work on his scooter that he just passed one of our two tonner's being driven by one of my POW's on the Southampton road, and he did not appear to have a load! I was off like a shot on my recently aquired [sic] motor cycle and chased after him.
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I was flat out for several miles before I caught him up and flagged him down. The driver was the one that I thought he might be. He was reputed to have been a pre-war racing driver mechanic and it appeared that he had been doing some unauthorised tuning of the truck's V8 engine as well. His argument that he was road testing the vehicle cut no ice as he had no authorisation to do either that or his journey so it was about turn and back to camp with me tailing him. I think he knew what to expect when I had him on the mat. Like everyone else he knew that Southampton was not many miles down the road and my own view was that he was making a dash for freedom although there was no way I could prove it. For him it was the loss of his trade pay and on the back of the refuse lorry instead of driving it! They had been warned!.
My motor cycle was a great help to me and allowed me to get between camp and Worthing in less than two hours giving me much more time with my family especially as I would normally have caught an early Sunday evening train to get back. With the bike I was usually driving into the compound on the dot of eight o'clock on the Monday morning to be received by one of the Warrant Officers and the Feldweibel. The bike was then taken to be cleaned up as I changed and had breakfast before going through the reports and morning inspection. The bike was then taken to be cleaned as I changed and had breakfast, before going through the reports and my morning inspection. [sic]
I had learned enough about Germans to know that they understood and respected that sort of routine so there was some satisfaction in having the bike cleaned and polished, very often by the chap who I had suspended from driving after his misdemeanour but I was too trusting. I should have remembered that once you give a "creegie", (an abbreviation of the German word for POW); an inch, he would take a mile. We used to!
On one fine day I decided to take run to Bournemouth and on the spur of the moment took the head man with me on the pillion but we had barely done a couple of miles when the bike went into a violent, almost uncontrollable wriggle on a bend which resulted in us being thrown onto the verge, on the wrong side of the road, somewhat shaken, when the back wheel locked up!
When had got our breath back it did not take long to find the cause of the trouble. A loose back wheel which had caused the wheel to go out of alignment and the chain to jump the sprocket! That had also upset the brake control but it was soon put right and the outing was abandoned. There was some more sorting out to do. I was quite adament [sic] that wheel nuts do not loosen themselves and I had already decided that the bike would no longer be cleaned by a particular prisoner and the same person found that he never did get back driving, or for that matter on any other job that might have restored his trade pay. There were no direct accusations but I think everyone was aware just how close `Sir' had been to a very nasty prang. It was just one of the many problems to be sorted out where my charges were concerned and it was not unusual for the local village policeman to be hauling one of my `boys' back into the compound in the early hours of the morning having found him sneaking around the village. It was an open camp after all and my staff was not large enough for anything else. Neither would the administration consider giving me a guard patrol at night so all sorts of things were known to be going on after roll call and lights out and I was obliged to turn a blind eye to such goings on provided that nothing desperate occurred. It was impossible to stop the forces of nature and if some of the local lasses preferred the company of German prisoners then that was their affair.
Another problem concerning the motor-bike nearly deprived me of it when I received a letter from an H.P. company advising me that the machine was the subject of an H.P. agreement between them and a third party and as Dorothy had opened the letter at home it really caused a storm in a tea cup!. The bike was costing me about four months pay on an
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H.P. agreement with another company! In the end it was not difficult to sort out. I threatened to sue the dealer that I had got the bike from and told the first H.P. company that the bike theoretically belonged to another HP company and then let them sort it out so in the end the bike remained in my possession.
It very nearly got bent on another occasion when a group of about five of us who had motor-bikes, (including the medical officer), went out for an evening's tour of the local area which included a few stops for [underlined] light [/underlined] refreshment. Perhaps that was what caused a little excess speed as we swept into a bend, line astern, with the Doc. in the lead, but he couldn't quite make it round the bend. Off the road he went whilst the rest of us made our own arrangements to keep control and come to a stop as the Doc. disappeared up someone's garden path. When we had turned around and investigated there was the Doc. bike and all, extracting himself from a flower bed. There was no real damage done except for the loss of an area of skin from his knee and a hole in his best trousers.
The lady of the house had just come out to see what all the commotion was about and seeing a pranged person discharging a quantity of blood on her path asked if she should get a doctor and with great solemnity the Doc. said, “thank you madam, I am a Doctor but I would very much like a cup of tea", so we all got tea and patched him up althoughfor [sic] some reason we did not indulge in that sort of escapade again.
Our little camp matured and blossomed and I thought that it was enterprising of the inmates to have achieved some colour in the place when flower borders appeared. I put it down to the generosity of the locals until I had a telephone call from a retired Colonel living in a pleasant old Victorian house next to the compound. It didn't take long to find out from a visit and a couple of sherry's that as our our flower beds blossomed his had thinned out. Actually he was very reasonable about it for a man with a name like his. It was BASTARD, so I naturally pronounced it Bas-tard, to be put well and truly in my place when he insisted that it was BASTARD by name and BASTARD by nature; but his bark was worse than his bite.
It was all simply resolved by the return and replanting of most of his plants and by the allocation of a regular POW gardener to him for two half days a week. Couldn't be fairer than that! We benefited from the deal as there was no further need to raid his garden. We apparently just appropriated surplus plants from his greenhouse!
I had a few days leave after our first daughter was born only to find on return that there had been a near mutiny among the prisoners when someone had upset their comfortable routine.
I had made arrangements that whilst I was away the Duty Officer would include certain daily checks that would normally have been done only at week-ends when I was not there. It had all been resolved by the time I got back but it had resulted from the actions of one officer, himself an ex POW, deciding that they should have a taste of what he had been subjected to resulting in numerous restrictions, parades and roll calls. Nothing too drastic but quite unnecessary in the circumstances when they were safe in the knowledge that all they had to do was behave themselves and repatriation was certain. The net result was that they had refused to go to work until the status quo had been restored. Just to show them that they were not going to get it all their own way I imposed a fine of one week's pay for everyone although it really need not have happened. It subsequently turned out that the officer concerned had been in Stalag X111b and V11a with me and we continually bumped into each other at various units over the following years but that's another story.
One highlight was our camp concert. News had been filtering through of the closing down of the whole station so I thought we should do something special without thinking too much about what the implications were for me, like what, when, where? so after a tentative enquiry the repatriation authorities suggested that if it did happen then my lot might well be
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moved up the repatriation schedule rather than re-locate them. I thought it wise to leek [sic] this information to them to act as an incentive to good behaviour and it did not take long to get things going. I did very little except to beg, borrow and scrounge stuff for them, including instruments and did not even vet scripts or attend rehearsals. I left that to my two Warrant Officers. It would have been a useless exercise anyway.
When the show was finally presented, the CO. and other Senior officers who had been invited seemed to enjoy themselves anyway although I suspect that many of the jokes were at our expense. Nevertheless, they all laughed in the right places; as I did, even if we did not fully understand what was being said. It was an interesting experience and there were no repercussions although their [sic] was an air of excitement creeping into our daily lives as this particular element of the vanquished Africa Corp. considered the pending return to their homes, or what was left of them, and as for me. What next?
About that period I was in the Mess one lunch-time when a noisy visiting aircrew were attracting a great deal of attention in the foyer and my eyes lighted on one of them. None other than Macdonalds Flight Engineer of my Stirling days, 'Paddy' Martin, now in the rank of Fg.Off, but we only managed a few minutes chat before they were all boarding a crew coach with I suspect, a little more than just their lunch on board, going out to their aircraft which was a Mk.V. Stirling no less.
When we met up again umpteen years later he swore that we had never met on such an occasion; but then he also swore that he had never attended my wedding in 1944 until I produced a photograph to prove that he did. The last information that he could recall of me was that `Tommy' Gamble had got the "chop" early in 1945. Close--very close, but not quite.
One very interesting event took place just about that time. A Courts Martial came up. That of a case of alleged rape of a WAAF by an aircrew Warrant Officer, and I found myself sitting with the court as one of the officers under instruction. All part of the training scheme.
The WO had engaged the services of a K.C. barrister whilst the prosecution had produced a relatively inexperienced officer, not of the legal profession, who had just been detailed for the job and the case lasted two days during which time I studied the form very carefully as it customary for anyone to be detailed for such jobs; either for defence or prosecution and my only experience of court procedure was in my youth when I had appeared before the magistrates for some minor cycling offence and this was very different.
We were in fact treated to some of the finest court arguments that it has ever been my privilege to witness as the barrister ripped the evidence of the prosecution to shreds in the most expert fashion and the case was not proven. It made me feel very uncomfortable to think that one day I might be detailed for such a job and find myself in the same invidious position as that unfortunate prosecuting officer so at that point I made two resolutions. One, to keep my head down when they were looking for someone to make a fool of himself in a court room, and Two, to dissuade anyone from accepting my services should I be so detailed. Needless to say, after it was all wrapped up I think we were all rather pleased to put our medals back into storage.
I then became heavily involved in the arrangements for the Squadron's move to Lyneham and followed the normal procedure of working with the RTO (Military Rail Transport Office) to move the remainder of the personnel that were not flying or going by road but when I submitted my part of the planned move of the movement order to the Station Commander he was not impressed and instructed me to cancel them and arrange for a fleet of coaches so that the move could be accomplished, taking a third of the time and with the bonus that the Squadrons would be non-operational for only a very short period. It made sense and having cancelled the RTO arrangements they were no longer concerned so I duly hired the coaches through a Christchurch firm and all went well. Shortly after the aircraft departed the
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transport baggage train convoy followed and a silence descended as the airfield was closed to active flying.
In due course the bill arrived for several hundred pounds and I passed it through accounts for payment thinking no more about it until an irate Group Accountant Officer came on the phone demanding to know why we had not used the RTO for transport and who had arranged it all. My insides went into a turmoil of panic as I thought of the consequences and the effect that it would have on my already overstrained finances particularly after he said that it was all very irregular and that he would send the bill personally to me for payment. That's when I dug my heels in and pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was the Group Captain's (who was no longer in command); decision and I had only carried out his instructions then the line cooled a little when he said he ought to send it to him instead.
In hindsight I suspect that he felt that he had to make a fuss under the circumstances but I think I chewed my fingernails down to nothing whilst I waited for the outcome. Thankfully I never did hear any more.
Meanwhile there was the problem of the shrinking station. I had been absorbed into the station HQ for all manner of duties and then in a twinkling of an eye I was unit Adjutant with a Squadron Leader CO. With all that on my shoulders it was time to place the full responsibility for the POW's onto the WO's. The senior was placed in charge and as the camp medical centre had already been closed I re-opened it and transferred the prisoners to it from the dispersed site which was closed. As far as their conditions were concerned they were now positively luxurious with all that a complete medical centre had to offer including constant hot water and a superb kitchen. That got them off of my back whilst I tackled the deluge of responsibilities that came my way.
We soon compressed the unit administration into one HQ building as bit by bit activities closed down and brought their own problems and although certain posts were disestablished there were some that had to remain and most of them fell into my lap. Almost every day another crop of posting notices arrived and more people were on there way leaving behind various duties for which they had been responsible and the one quick way was to concentrate that responsibility into the hands of some-one who would discharge the final act to terminate the job. With only a few officers left and with myself being one of the nominated seven to stay I would go so far as to suggest that I got more than my share being the junior officer.
All non-public accounts were concentrated under one control; mine, and although the monies were at the bank by the time I had collected seven accounts to the value of several thousand pounds I was beginning to feel somewhat uneasy particularly as I was delving into the mysteries of double entry book-keeping. There was more burning the midnight oil to study to try and work it all out and I tried desperately to take it in my stride without admitting that I knew very little about it in the first place. Now what would a Secondary schoolboy trained as a carpenter and subsequently a Wireless Operator/Gunner know about such things? Fortunately there was only one active account and although they all had to be audited by the accountant officer monthly who certified the balances I must have done it correctly as there were never any problems.
It was inevitable that among the various hats I was wearing I became the M.T. officer but only as the nominal head of the section which was as usual ably run by an experienced senior NCO. But the Air Force had this thing that only a commissioned officer could take the can back for anything that went wrong and I barely had time to sign for everything that I had become responsible for as it was so most of it was done tounge [sic] in cheek and fingers crossed. I had already crossed that bridge when I was at Lyneham so it was nothing new.
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One of the jobs for early elimination was that of Entertainments Officer as it was not an on-going thing but then it occurred to me that one of the accounts that I was managing was the PSI fund which was particularly healthy. The PSI fund is the equivalent of a Regimental Fund which when all was finally wound up would have any balance transferred to Group accounts. But it could be used for financing other projects-provided that it was not drained and I could not think of anything better than the concentration of the best of our remaining local talents into a final farewell party. It didn't take long to find someone to mastermind the production side and I developed it into a two hour music hall programme with some very accomplished and enthusiastic people. The hall was laid out along the lines of a German beer cellar with barrels of free beer being dispensed by real German waiters (my POW's) in white aprons in the time honoured fashion with free food laid on as well.
Maybe I pushed my luck a little but as I was also in charge of the few remaining service policemen I issued instructions to keep it cool with further orders to the POW's to the effect that none of them were to fall down until they had completed their jobs as barmen, cleaners and general handymen. As far as I know none of them did but no doubt because I was so heavily involved I could not have seen to everything and towards the end I was not far from falling down myself. I do know that when I did my rounds in the morning everything was back in place and cleaned up. If there had been any bad behaviour or punch-ups there was no evidence of it and the cells were empty. All I had to do after that was pay the bills but that was one hell of a party'
As the unit continued to thin out even more business came my way including the dreaded inventories and by that time I had already received the outcome of the Lyneham enquiry so although I was a bit peeved about it I felt safe in the knowledge that having started up my POW inventory from scratch it was a model of correctness from the time I opened it up. Nevertheless I was more than peeved when I found that I was required to take over dozens of depleted inventories from departing people and transfer the stocks to one holding inventory.
A job like that can only be done with a mountain of vouchers and although I tried to get the hard pressed storemen to do it internally I found myself stuck with it but it involved a lot of work including stock taking before taking some of them over. I had learned my lesson!
Numerous problems arose of course. Like the occasion when a bicycle found in the village pond was brought in by the local policeman. Identified by it's [sic] serial number the books showed that it had already been written off so no more paperwork was required. It was consigned to the scrap dump which was yet another of my responsibilities.
Naturally there was a lot of useful scrap in the yard as well as the rubbish and it was my job to see that a contract was let to a local merchant whose outgoing loads had to be inspected and approved by me at the Guard room and the price agreed on a signed invoice which went to the accountant officer who subsequently collected the money. It was all done according to the regulations so it was with some surprise that on one of my tours of the airfield I investigated the contents of a large packing case in the area of the old bomb dump. I found that it contained a brand new, still sealed, Wright Cyclone aero engine with American markings that had obviously been left behind by the USAAF prior to `D' Day.
Perhaps it was too innocent but at that time it seemed that my biggest problem was how to get rid of it as it was definitely not on charge. It was a completely surplus item until enquiries through the supply people resolved it. You simply took such an item on charge by filling in the appropriate vouchers and once it's on the books that's it. You can then transfer it so Engine, Aero, Wright Cyclone, Mk. ?, serial no. ? Port, One, was dealt with and I thought that was the end of it. Within an hour of having it picked up and conveyed to stores the scrap contractor was knocking at my door. He claimed that he had `discovered' same, but had not said anything to me whilst he was looking for a home for it, which he had only just done.
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I have often wondered if [sic] would really have known-anything about it's departure as according to him he had found someone running a one man airline with a Dakota who could have done with a spare engine and £500 was the price he was going to put to me but it was too late. (and hard luck Freddie Laker!). I certainly could have made use of that sort of money at that time and I might have been tempted but as the RAF was still using Dakota's it no doubt found it's way into one of them at a later date. There was never such another lucrative opportunity but there was no time to cry over spilt milk either. I was up to my ears in stores vouchers and posting notices as I had become the Personnel Officer again as the unit got smaller by the day and we got nearer our dead-line date. Then the time came when the POW's were warned to be ready.
When the day finally came there was no ceremony. All the hand shaking had been done before they were paraded. There was just a quick salute and "goodbye and good luck". That was that. Some of them had been receiving mail via the Red Cross and they had had access to UK newspapers so they knew what to expect. Those who had lost touch with family for various reasons did not have a lot to celebrate knowing that they were going back to a land that had been ravaged by a war that had destroyed so much. I knew what it was like; I had seen it, so there was no cheering and I was glad to see the back of them. As they marched off there was one thought that struck me that the WO's had not mentioned; the radio that I had been permitted to purchase on their behalf had not been handed back and I had to account for it. It was "Halt, about turn" and it didn't take long to find it when I told them that it had to be returned, even if they missed their train. One of them had it under his greatcoat!!!
It didn't take long to clear up the paper work after they had left then it was nose to the grindstone again as the next major job had to be attended to. That was the disposal of all non-public assets, mainly PSI funded, that had already been collected and an inventory drawn up which I then had to dispose of by public auction for which I engaged a firm of auctioneers. In all the book value was just over a thousand pounds and shortly before the sale which had been advertised I had a visit from a retired Air Commodore representing the Bournmouth [sic] Branch of the Royal Air Force Association who was prepared to make a cash offer for the whole lot at half the book value. I managed to negotiate the addition of the auctioneers fee if it was acceptable. It seemed a good deal to me but when I put the idea to the Group Accountant he was horrified. Oh dear no! It was most irregular and the regulations stated quite plainly that it had to go to auction so despite considerable pleading and argument he had the final word. Whilst my sympathies were with the Air Commodore and the RAFA there was nothing I could do about except apologise to him and let the sale go ahead.
I did not attend the auction and was quite happy to leave it in the capable hands of the experts but subsequently when I got the proceeds, less commission and handling fees it did not amount to much more than £100 for the lot! I was hot foot down to their offices for explanation but it was all above board although the receipts showed that most items had been knocked down at quite ridiculously low prices but I did find out that a certain Air Commodore had been in attendance and he and his cronies had done most of the bidding. As far as I was concerned the RAFA had got the stuff much cheaper than they would have done by private sale although I had a sneaking feeling that a certain Group Accountant was not going to be very happy so I obtained a complete breakdown of the sale prices and the purchasers before I left their office. Just as well. When the Group Accountant did spot it it really did 'hit the fan'. The line was red hot as we discussed the pro's and cons and it was perhaps my suggestion that in hindsight we should have accepted the cash offer in the first place. That brought forth accusations of collusion and conspiracy. That did it. I was on a short fuse anyway flogging my guts out and with more than my fair share of responsibility and there he was, up in his ivory tower counting paper money so I let him have facts and figures, not forgetting to point out that I was after all a lowly GD(General Duties) Flying Officer doing my best in a job that
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I had received absolutely no training for. Then he simmered down, huffing and puffing, "it's still all very irregular". I began to get somewhat fed up with Admin duties that was for sure but had no option but to "press on".
Fortunately the unit accountant had been the Accountant Officer at Chedburgh when I was there in 1943 and only dealt with the day to day financial matters at Holmsley but knew enough of our experiences there at the time was very sympathetic and supportive and assured me that the Group A.O. was only making waves in case anything went seriously wrong and he got the blame for it so I learned a few more lessons about human nature. He was very helpful in many ways.
On one occasion he arrived at the office from Lyndhurst on his scooter and related the story of how he had just seen a pig clouted by a car down the road and how it had finished up head first in a ditch looking very dead. The driver had not stopped and obviously would not be reporting it as the bye-laws of the New Forest gave right of way to animals. But `headfirst' sounded good to me. I don't know if it was the 'creegie' still in me or just the thought of all that good meat going to waste but in no time at all I had a two ton truck and two kitchen hands with carving knives on board scorching down the road where we spotted the animal, still headfirst and no longer bleeding. Many people must have passed it and there no doubt in my mind that if it was left a great deal of fresh meat would go to waste even if the owner of the animal were to be found within the next few hours so we cruised pat [sic] the corpse and cruised back again keeping a good look-out in both directions. As we came up to it there was nothing in sight arid within a matter of seconds it was on board and we were off. It certainly supplemented our rations for a few days and I had no qualms about my action which were quite illegal and would have caused a few embarrassing headlines if the law had been tested.
Fortunately for me it never was.
The unit finally dwindled to three officers and a handful of airmen and we all finished up in a large house that had been the CO's official residence. I claimed an enormous room, en-suite, as I was the only one living in so I had a little luxury that compensated to a degree for the enormous amount of paperwork that was involved. Even moving has it's problems like decommissioning this that and the other, re-arranging the staff, and getting phones transferred as we no longer needed a switchboard. I was still doing about 16 hours a day to keep on top of the work so that I could have my week-ends free to get through to Worthing when a bombshell arrived in the form of a posting notice detaching me to Hereford, on an [underlined] Admin course!!!! [/underlined]
At the time I thought that perhaps my career was being advanced by that development so I didn't make a fuss although the duration of the course was three weeks. I [sic] would mean nearly a month without visiting home as it was too far on the bike and too expensive by train. My fellow officers thought it would do me good to take the course so I was off.
Perhaps I would have benefited from it if it had not been a course specifically designed for young aircrew officers to teach them the inner workings of the Air Force although at first I decided to go along with it. Within a few days I came to the conclusion that it was not for the likes of me who was actually doing such work. It seemed more of a disciplinary course to occupy idle hands and mine had been far from idle for a long time. I became more and more resentful as the days went by as I was shown how to use a rifle and a pistol and a Sten gun and engage in all manner of field craft including escape and evasion techniques which involved crawling around in long wet grass which at one point I strongly objected to only to be told that I might find the experience useful one day! What does one say to that? Matey, I've done it, and a fat lot of good it was when in the end I was surrounded and had a Schmeisser stuck up my nose. It didn't cut any ice. Then there was all the drill and parade procedures which were not entirely new to me either although I can understand the needs of some who for some reason didn't know one end of a rifle from the other and were
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somewhat unwilling to pull triggers and throw grenades. I wondered what they had been doing in their very limited careers!
The classroom work was mainly forms, forms and more forms and their use therof [sic] as well as stores procedures and of other things like how to write letters, command structure and a lot of other stuff that was old hat. By the end of the first week I was fuming I was not learning anything new and there was a lot of work piling up at Holmsley just waiting for me to deal with. Only the most essential would be dealt with by the others and I could visualise many hours of binding graft before I was likely to have broken the back of it.
I must confess that my attitude toward the course as we started the second week was not going unnoticed by the course commander who quite naturally took me aside to point out the error of my ways. That is when the real reason for the course was confirmed. Not only was it intended for surplus aircrew officers to find something for them to do but it definitely was a disciplinary course as well so I was being assessed accordingly--------and I was not doing very well! It seemed that we had gone back in time to "Yours is not to reason why etc" and I had had enough of that as an airman. For a start I wondered why I had been sent on such a course anyway so I promptly made a request to phone my parent Group HQ `P' Staff which brought forth howls of indignant protest. Despite the fact that I was normally in touch with the chap on an almost daily basis I was told in no uncertain terms that such lowly types as myself were not allowed to communicate direct with the higher echelons. It was only the prerogative of senior officers to the `top brass' and that is what I was on the course to learn about. As far as I was concerned it was utter nonsense and I had serious doubts regarding the background experience of this Flight Lieutenant of the A & SD (Admin & Special Duties) Branch who seemed unaware that the `top brass' were only people like ourselves holding staff appointments. Not only that, a lot of them were like myself of the GD (General Duties-Flying) Branch. Expected to do anything that was thrown at them------including flying!
Suitably chastised I was dismissed with threats of extra orderly officer duties and the inclusion of some appropriate remarks on my course and confidential report so I simmered down a bit as I waited for an opportunity to use his phone whilst he was out of his office a few days later. There all hell let loose when he suddenly burst in, very angry and rightfully indignant at the audacity etc, etc, at performing, in his eyes, an almost criminal act. Not that I was unduly worried as by that time I had already done what I set out to do and the threats went over my head.
Within four hours a signal arrived from Transport Command HQ. recalling me to my unit urgently and naturally I was called to his office immediately to have the signal waived under my nose. "Explain this!!!! So I did, in detail that he had not been prepared to listen to previously and I think he understood my action even if he could not approve of the manner in which I had dealt with it. As far as I was concerned I was off the damn silly course and I was on my way.
As soon as I returned to base I plunged into a mountain of paper work and after two days and nights of frenzied activity I came out on top ready for a long week-end at home.
During that burst of activity there was an unannounced staff visit from Group HQ and all the visitors could find was one junior officer slaving away, whilst the others were out hunting, shooting and fishing around the area and that put the cat among the pigeons. That and my absence for nearly two weeks seemed to solve the problem of the numerous delays that occurred in the closing down procedure. Hence a snap visit! And although I could only explain the absence of the others by saying they were on tours of inspection, when they did turn up there was a lot of muttering behind closed doors and I was only too happy to bury myself in paper again.
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A few more weeks went by until at last we were run right down to a C & M (Care & Maintenance) party. At last I had got my head above water and I could relax a little-----but not for long.
A telephone call from Group, followed by a posting notice gave me advance warning of my posting to Oakington in Cambridgeshire for --------Admin duties, to report in a few days time, but as far as I was concerned, not before I had another long week-end at home. After just thirty months I was a bit of a stranger at home, especially to the baby but I felt that something had to be sacrificed if there was any chance that I could make a career out of the Air Force. At least, I thought, Oakington is a well established station so I should slip into the same sort of job that I had done at Lyneham without any hassle. I had had enough challenges for a while-------but I had overlooked the fact that so had Lyneham been well established and what a mess that had been in. There was more to come.
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[underlined] CHAPTER THREE [/underlined]
The journey up to Oakington was nearly a disaster. After a few days at home I set off on the motor bike on a cold and frosty morning, Loaded to the hilt, wearing full flying kit over my uniform and greatcoat which included a bright yellow immersion suit and flying boots, helmet, goggles and gloves, looking like something from outer space but warm and well protected I had just cleared the London area when the front of a blizzard caught up with me and my speed was drastically reduced to a few miles an hour with my feet stuck out like out-riggers to prevent me sliding all over the place and in those conditions I pressed on until I got to Baldock.
By that time there was between three and four inches of virgin snow covering everything and every sensible traveller had got off of the road. There was very little other traffic so I ventured down the hill very slowly with my aching legs still propping up the bike and found myself gaining on the only other vehicle in sight which was a fairly high standing two ton truck, and I was desperately trying to slow down when suddenly the truck driver braked and slithered along fishtailing to a stop. I knew that my brakes were not going to stop me as I slid gently towards the back-end of the truck and when it quite obvious that the tailboard hinges were going to spread my face I took the only option open to me. I flipped the bike on it's side and went underneath. It was just as well the truck had a good ground clearance as I went right underneath the back axle and came out between the front and rear wheels with my tail in the gutter. The driver had obviously been completely unaware of the incident as within seconds of my coming to rest he started to move off, with my front wheel right underneath his rear wheel so I reached out and pushed on the truck wheel and the bike and I slid out just enough to avoid serious damage to the bike. The truck wheel just squashed over the front number plate and mudguard and then he was gone before I could get my breath back. There was not another vehicle in sight and the only other person around was an elderly lady, who might well have been the cause of the drivers urgent braking; who, observing the situation, was concerned enough to ask if I had had an accident!! What she thought I was doing there, laying in the gutter with a motor-bike I don't know but I think that I said something suitably facetious as she tottered off and I started to sort myself out.
I was very glad that I was wearing so much gear rather than having tried to pack it. I was not even bruised and apart from a slightly bent number plate and tip of the mudguard there was no other damage to the bike but it took a while before I recovered sufficiently to get going again getting more than a little concerned as it had started to snow quite heavily. However, with traffic clear roads I was able to make progress and eventually outran the weather front, coming out completely in the clear and completing the last ten miles completely free of snow. Oh, blessed relief…..until I ran out of petrol just in sight of the camp!! I had overlooked the fact that I had been using it up at a much higher rate than normal doing so many miles in low gears. Fortunately an Air Ministry Works Dept truck came along and with the aid of a length of rope I was gently towed the rest of the way. After an eight hour journey I had at made it to Oakington and I was only too glad to book into the Mess and leave the arrival formalities until the following day. A bath, a change of clothes and a meal and early to bed made all the difference.
I soon found that the job was to be the same as Lyneham and I was looking forward to free-wheeling for a while until I met the C.O. I could hardly believe my ears after the introduction. "Ah" he said, "you are the very man I have been waiting far. My Central Registry and internal communications are in a bit of a mess and I'm told that you the man to fix things. The last chap couldn't sort things out and I've got rid of him so off you go and get stuck in". Oh no........not again!
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The only consolation was that my previous efforts seem to have been recognised and that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to find a career in the Secretarial Branch ultimately as I always seemed to be sorting out jobs that Secretarial types had made a cock-up of; so off I went and "got stuck in". There was no-one to take over from so once again I started from scratch: At least there was not the panic to get things squared up and the routine work went smoothly enough whilst I conducted a searching enquiry into the main problem that I had been instructed to sort out.
At that time my own personal problems needed sorting out as well. Now that I was a family man the household at Worthing was getting a bit crowded particularly since Dorothy's brother-in-law had at last been de-mobbed after being abroad with the 8th Army for four years and there was family expected in that direction. I was frantically looking around for suitable accommodation and although official quarters for married personnel was beginning to come back on the scene the points system that determined one's entitlement suggested that it was going to be a long time before I qualified for one. I was just one of millions of people who were desperately trying to re-settle and in need of accommodation. The story was invariably the same when one enquired. "Sorry, no children" and it all added to the frustration.
Eventually I did find a place just to the North of Cambridge on the Huntingdon road and plans were made although I must confess that I did not tell Dorothy the exact arrangement of the accommodation. The kitchen was in the basement. The living room was on the ground floor. The bathroom was on the second floor and the bedroom on the third floor! I didn't dare, but I hired a car and drove down to Worthing in a clear gap in the weather pattern that the Met. Man assured me would last a couple of days.
Apart from the occasional sortie in the Flight pick-up van when I had been at Newmarket two years previously I had never taken a car on the public highway before but I don't think that I gave it a second thought. The family needed something picked up from near Leighton Buzzard `on the way' which created a fair sized `dog-leg' but did give me a few more miles to come to terms with my lack of experience, and it avoided London so somehow I made it to Worthing.
Travelling by car those days was generally a fairly slow business as there were few major roads that allowed high speed cruising and one just plodded on but there was no time to mess about as we loaded up the car the following morning and off we went, having arranged that the pram, fully loaded, was to follow by rail. There were tears on our departure and I think that perhaps the most ironic thing was the remark from my sister-in-law that there was no need to worry as "Alan was a good driver" and that we would be OK. I don't know what gave her that impression. Little did they know, but I had managed 200 miles without any problem......so what was another 140! The journey was not uneventful! That would have been too much to ask for.
The hire car had been a reluctant starter at the very outset but we had got as far as Kingston when in the dip under the railway by the station the engine packed up and so did the battery. Not the best place to fizzle out but eventually we were pulled clear and towed to a garage a little further up where I purchased a new battery and we were an our way again. The fact that the cost of the battery had to come off the hire fee did not please the hire firm when the car was returned but a compromise was eventually reached. The main thing was that we had taken up residence in a place of our own for the very first time and much to my surprise Dorothy accepted the arrangement of the flat although we soon made alternative plans to avoid going right to the top of the house to a cold bedroom as I had already installed a convertible settee in the living room. That was soon put to use.
The met. Man's forecast was absolutely spot on. The day after we arrived the weather that had been expected hit us with a vengeance when about a foot of snow fell. The basement back door was unusable with a drift of snow filling the door well right to the top and massive
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drifts along the road due to cross winds were up to six feet-high. Cars were already stuck. It was impossible to get the bike out from the bottom of the garden and a colleague who lived in the same building joined me in walking to camp across country. It was a long way and our situation was not improved when we came to the edge of the airfield and in making a direct approach to a gate he disappeared through the snow cover up to his neck in a ditch but we made it in the end. I'm glad it was him in the lead as he was nearly a foot taller than me. I would have completely disappeared!
We struggled back home in the late afternoon as life on the station virtually came to a standstill. There was no flying and with more snow forecast the whole airfield was blanketed although an energetic but useless snow clearing operation was initiated which at least kept us warm. There was a slight spell of thawing when some areas of the road went a bit slushy but then a `deep freeze' hit the whole area and everything was locked up solid. People got to and from work the best way they could. The main Cambridge to Huntingdon road was impassable due to buried frozen in vehicles. The C.O. issued an order of the day allowing any type of clothing to be worn to cope with the extreme weather and we just battled on from day to day. At home of course there was no central heating but fires just had to be kept going on the fuel supplies I had stocked up although it was difficult to get at and it was supplemented with anything else that was to hand but it thawed and froze alternatively for weeks before a general thaw finally set in and vehicles could be released from their icy cocoons, many totally ruined. The A604 (now the A14) was still difficult to negotiate through ridges and ruts of ice well into March.
Meanwhile I had had all the time I needed to complete my survey and draw up my plans accordingly. I placed a brief outline of my proposals before the C.O. and although he gave me cart-blanche to get on with an added word of warning such as "cock it up and you will follow the last chap" so I worked my way right through the plan once more to look for problems before drafting the final order. Meanwhile, I had collected two more responsibilities. The Post Office as Postmaster and that of Mess Secretary which meant that more of my precious time would be used up but the day came when the plan that I had circulated to all users was put into effect and on that day there was absolutely no problem with it's introduction. I had expected some hick-ups but it all worked like a charm.
I decentralised the Registry to cut down the appalling wasteful duplication of just about everything that was going in and out. That in itself was causing delays and was a self generated work load. New index cards and registers were brought into use and the system updated to ensure that files were booked back in as well as out! As daft as it may seem that had not been the case so files could wander around between people and departments and the Registry had no knowledge of the whereabouts of a file if it was not in it's cabinet. I have often wondered what 'mastermind' had set all that up in the first place as it certainly did not conform to the Manual of Office Administration. However, new index cards and registers were brought into use and when it got under way the staff had no difficulty in handling the new system so within days a few sub-registry's became redundant and number of active filing cabinets was reduced from twenty to four, all cross referenced to the old registry. The bumbling circulation of paper was at last reduced to manageable proportions. The C.O. spent less time than he had done previously handling his daily correspondence and when I found that too many people were now sitting around doing little more than making tea a quick establishment review reduced the number of Registry clerks from ten to four. It made my life a little easier too as long as I didn't collect too many other jobs on the strength of my success.
I was certain by this time that it could only do me good as far as my confidential report was concerned. I had already applied for and been granted two extentions [sic] of service that had taken me beyond my normal discharge date and that's, as far as I was concerned, was what it was all about if I was going to be noticed. Any ambitions that I had at that time were
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mainly concerned with holding on to a relatively well paid job as a lot of my school chums were not finding 'civvy street' all that easy. I had no other qualifications other that of cabinet maker/polisher, [underlined] lapsed, [/underlined] and wireless operator, almost lapsed, so I just hung on to what I had got.
Like a good many of my age group and background, politics were not my strong point but it was not long before there was an awareness. Some very odd things were happening. The first post-war elections had shaken a lot of people when our remarkable war-time leader's party had been rejected for a different administration with an overwhelming majority. It did not make sense to me but the daily routine had to go just the same although some very subtle changes were taking place. Naturally I was shielded from a lot of it by being in the Armed Forces but it was difficult not to notice what was going an as the main effort was being channelled into `Nationalisation'! That meant roads, rail, steel coal, electricity, road transport, health care and a lot more that was in the pipeline. It was one of the great bloodless revolutions of the age. It was of course jobs for the `boys', the party members, who were often elevated to manage their previous employers businesses for the benefit of the state. History will show whether it worked or not but a lot of new ideas were filtering into the Forces.
One of those was the formation of a Station Committee made up representatives of all ranks from all departments, elected by ballot and not by appointment, which was to sit weekly to air grievances, discuss working arrangements and conditions and in fact anything other than pay, appointments and promotion. The unit Commander chaired the committee but thank God he had the power of veto and most commanders voiced their indignation at having their time wasted with such nonsense. Like mine did when he was on his way to such a meeting at which I was to take the minutes. "Come on Gamble; lets get along to this bloody silly union meeting". What a funny way to run a military establishment. It was a complete turnaround from the normal well established command structure and had all the ingredients to undermine discipline. It did little more than waste time but I had the distinct feeling that the tail was beginning to wag the dog!
I ran into a union problem sooner than I expected when we had two steward posts in the Mess disestablished. The disestablishment notice came straight out of the blue and the Mess Manager and I agreed that we would could [sic] do without the two least useful members of the staff who were duly served notice. Immediately there was a great deal of protest about being contrary to trades union practice etc, and that their representatives would be taking up the policy of disestablishing jobs without union consultation as well as giving notice to people to terminate their employment without the same consultation.
I turned a blind eye to it all but within a few hours I had a trade union rep. From Cambridge breathing heavily in my ear and telling me that I couldn't do it. That was red rag to a bull so I dismissed him with a flea in his ear but it was not over. A few hours later a chap from an Air Ministry department for civil relations or something was on the phone telling me that I couldn't do it, and quoted chapter and verse from the newly drawn up trade union rule book so I had no choice but to bow to that although I insisted that I had it in writing. Meanwhile the two men were re-instated as we were forced to apply the last in first out rule. As far as I was concerned it still was not over. Two could play that game.
I got hold of a copy of the union rule book and studied it at great length with the Mess Manager before we took our next step. Within a few days two people got their cards by reason of incompetence. (They had had plenty of verbal warnings over a period of time, and a written one as soon as they had been re-employed)......and immediately afterwards the two men that we wanted to keep were re-instated. Of course, there were immediate screams of protest from the union officials so I invited them to a face to face confrontation with both the Mess Manager and myself where they used every argument they could accusing us of `collusion',
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`unfair treatment' and `victimisation', but what they couldn't say was that it was illegal. It was right out of their own rule book but I was never entirely comfortable about the incident but I was damned if I was going to be told who and who not I could employ in certain circumstances. I quickly briefed the C.O. in case of repercussions but nothing further came of it.
It was about that time another incredibly wasteful practice came to light more or less by accident.
We were continually being exhorted to use less stationary and in particular duplicating paper and I had already done quite a lot to reduce the consumption by the registry arrangements. I had followed it up by reducing the supply to sub units and at the same time allocating more to the central registry for printing on behalf of the sub units although every job had to be vetted by my chief clerk. That had helped but we were still going through our allocation rather quickly and as H.M. Stationary Office were not always prepared to meet supplementary demands WE had to do something about it. WE equals ME in those circumstances as it fell into my lap once more as unit commanders complained to the Senior Admin Officer that they were being starved of certain stationary items. It was just about that time that Bourne, on the Cambridge to St.Neots road, for-which we were the parent unit, was in the late stages of closing down so I went over to see if they had anything in the stationary line that would be of any use to us. What I found was an Alladins cave as the stationary store was opened for me!.
There was an assortment of exotic stuff like the pale blue embossed pre-war paper for the exclusive use of unit commanders. Beautifully bound ledgers, some indexed. Note books, log books and all kinds of stuff that must have accumulated over a long period. It was stuff that if you were to order any of it in the present conditions you would be very lucky to have got any of it without putting up a special case. I was bugg eyed and it did not take long to transfer that lot to a three tonner and convey it to Oakington. Our stationary cupboard had to be re-arranged with the assistance of most of my staff and re-stocked until it was virtually bulging at the seams... ...and I held the key and a newly drawn up stock book!!
I think that I know how it was all accumulated. The same half yearly demand must have gone in as regular as clockwork irrespective of stocks but times were changing and so were the figures that showed that the Air Force was using even more paper per flying hour than ever before but no-one could say Oakington was not doing it's bit although there were still some items that we were short of so I phoned H.M. Stationary Office and did a deal. I don't think such a thing had ever happened before. There was a lot of huffing and puffing and expressions of "highly irregular" but they went along with it. We sent them a large packing case of what I considered was surplus to our requirements in exchange for a supplementary issue of items we were in urgent need of and everyone was happy but I just wondered how often that sort of wastefulness had been repeated by the hundreds of other units up and down the country during the war when every commodity was so precious to us and had often cost lives to import the raw materials. It was mind boggling.
Bit by bit life became a little more regulated although it was never without it's share of excitement and on occasions I even managed to tour around various other parts of the station including the airfield and the aircraft; Dakota's no less! It was not long after the snow and ice cleared and things started to warm up that the unsettled conditions usually associated with the end of April brought some savage weather including the most violent thunderstorms that I have only ever seen on one other occasion since.
In the late morning the sky darkened by degrees until it became as black as night and the wind increased by the minute to the point where it started to howl with the most savage gusts.....and then the rain came! It slashed and swirled and in no time all the roads were like rivers as the drains overloaded and I stood in my office window at the front of the HQ
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building thinking how lucky I was that I was not out in it. Anyone with any sense had taken cover and as I contemplated the violence of the storm I was astonished to see the striped pole barrier in front of the Guard Room suddenly whip into the vertical, snap off like a matchstick and disappear over the building. It occurred to me that that would be a job I would have to see to when the storm abated when the little Austin Seven which was parked outside and had been rocking about as each gust hit it; suddenly flipped on it's side. Oh well, I thought that can wait too.......then the phone rang.
Above a great deal of noise on the line an almost hysterical WAAF in the Post Office blurted out "please come at once sir, the roof has blown off”. My first reaction was "S..." but I had no choice so out I went, splashing my way through about four inches of water and was soaked in a matter of seconds. The Post Office looked a sorry sight minus it's roof which lay, completely wrecked, not far away but the poor girls were more concerned with the fact that as they had just set up the counter for business the contents of their trays had been sucked up, following the roof, and had been deposited far and wide. I don't remember having any lunch that day.
The clerks gathered up all the rest of their Post Office stocks and set up a temporary post room in the WAAF quarters and then I locked the place up! That was a laugh. I felt that I had to do that as only a week before I had had new mortice locks fitted and the safe securely embedded in brickwork. All that and now the place was roofless!
Although the clerks had set up the post room just inside the WAAF quarters they initially used the laundry room for sorting out their stock. A few telephone calls got some search parties organised as well as a broadcast on the PA system and before long some very soggy money and postal orders started coming in. It was rinsed, dried and ironed much to the amusement of all concerned but the amazing thing was that when I called off the search there was only one ten shilling (50p) postal order missing. When the inspectors arrived from Cambridge GPO (General Post Office) towards the end of the day they were agreeably surprised that that was all they had to write off after seeing the state of the Post Office. We were all somewhat relieved at that. I made may report to the C.O. later and followed up with a load of repair work including the barrier pole in front of the Guard Room.
I thought that was enough for one day until I got home. Dorothy had had her share as well. The downpour had filled up a balcony outside a full length window of one of the other flats and she had spent a lot of time baling out the balcony to stop the flow into the room whilst the storm was raging. We were both very relieved when that day was over.
Eventually things settled down as the year wore on and we experienced a most beautiful summer. Life in Cambridge with it's wonderful buildings and activities made life very interesting. Even the baby indulged us by winning first prize in a baby competition but as far as the job was concerned with most of the problems ironed out it was almost boring, but a great opportunity to develope [sic] family life to the full. Again it was too good to last!
I was asked to report to Transport Command HQ at Teddington, Middlesex for a job I [sic] interview and I was sure that the business was opening up for me. Out of the four candidates for the job I was offered it and I accepted. It was in the "P" Staff (Personnel) dept of the HQ so before long I was wrapping up and making the necessary arrangements to move the family. Although Teddington was not too far away Dorothy felt that she did not want to be on her own and preferred to go back to Worthing with her parents; [underlined] particularly as we had just found out that there was another addition to the family on the way! [/underlined] In hindsight it was a pity that we gave up the flat. I'm sure that we could have coped but Teddington was also convenient for Worthing but we settled for that.
The C.O. gave me the opportunity of nominating a suitable relief so a friend who was the Operation Wing Adjutant was acceptable and so it was goodbye Oakington. Here we go again!
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One or more pages is missing, apparently pages 24 – 86
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EXTRACT FROM
[underlined] NIL DESPERANUM…… [/underlined] OR
IF YOU CAN’T TAKE A JOKE ………
[underlined] BY [/underlined]
[underlined] A. GAMBLE [/underlined]
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knock. Pay awards had for some time been based on a flat rate rather than a percentage increase and the differential between ranks had closed up considerably. I now found that a Warrant Officer aircrew was in fact was in fact better off than a Flight Lieutenant!, which did not make a lot of sense. My situation was not improved by the Wolsley's rather extravagant use of oil and petrol and it eventually ran a big-end on the A5 just North of Birmingham on the way home one week-end so I didn't make it. Fortunately I had relatives at West Bromwich so I was able to stay with them until I could pick the car up in sufficient time to get back Sunday evening. That made another nasty hole in the accounts!.
That little episode put paid to a few week-ends at home. There was no-one at that time living anywhere around or on route that I could share with so I was obliged to stay in the mess with others in a similar state, although we often filled up a car and toured into Wales for a day to fill in the time.
A friend kindly offered me the use of his motor bike to go home one week-end and although it was only a clapped out 250cc side valve BSA I thought it was worth a try. That was a laugh and a half.
I dressed up in a selection of flying gear that I had with me and I was off into the wide blue yonder. I mounted the thing and kicked it into life and the first thing that was obviously wrong was the throttle which had a mind of it's own. I was not the sort of chap who could tolerate sloppy machinery so a quick investigation soon found that the top of the carburettor needed screwing back on and with a few other adjustments I set off. Before I had got to the main gate I was obliged to totter down to the MT yard to have the tyres inflated by as much as 20lbs both front and rear and then I was under way. Even then I was not feeling too happy about the machine. There were unpleasant noises from the engine and the first few bends caused the most peculiar sensations so another pit stop to tighten the head and forks dampers was taken. They had been very very loose and being forks with dampers gives some indication of it's great age. I was still feeling my way with it when I had to put the brakes on rather briskly when the lights went against me in Wellington and the back wheel locked up throwing me into
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gutter. Another pit stop to adjust primary and main chains and brake linkage was necessary before I could head East again. I very nearly threw my hand in then but surprisingly I found myself jogging along quite comfortably at between 45 and 50 but with still an ear tuned to the knocking from the engine until a convenient garage came in sight and it seemed an appropriate time to stop as there were signs of overheating. This is a bit of an understatement as she was almost red hot 'pinging' with excess heat. Whilst it was cooling down I dipped the oil tank and couldn't find a level so it took nearly two pints to top it up, then it was cool enough to change the spark plug and reset the points before the final test. I had so far done about 60 miles in three hours and it was decision time as I gingerly started up and carefully took off once more.
After a few more miles all was well so I decided to go for broke and head for home at speeds between 50 and 60 and finally arrived at Marham some 7 hours after departure much to the surprise of the rest of the family.
The return journey on Sunday took less than 4 hours so at breakfast on Monday morning I was able to tell the owner of the bike that all was well and I hope he didn’t mind that I had found it necessary to make a few adjustments which he was quite happy about.
He did not seem quite so happy later on that evening when he came into the bar with plasters on his face and a bandage on his hand. Before I could [inserted] say [/inserted] anything he hurled at me "you and your bloody adjustments", but laughed as he said it before telling that me what it was all about. Apparently, being so used to the machine that he had allowed to get so sloppy and gutless he had attempted to drive off in his usual way but it reared up, tore across a rose bed and threw him in another one!. Nevertheless, he was very impressed with the way it performed when he had got used to it so when the word got around I finished up with a few more machines to tinker with to keep me occupied.
The fastest I ever did that journey one way was 30 minutes. In a Canberra!. I was being 'dined out' at Marham and the aircraft was laid on for me one Friday afternoon. The pilot was the co-pilot of my last 90 Squadron crew and he showed Shawbury a few thing…and me. It was the: first time I had
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ever done a 'rotation' take-off although I had seen one or two demonstrated....I think I left my stomach on the runway when shortly after the kick up the backside by the tremendous acceleration he pulled it up almost vertical like a rocket and kept going until we got to around 10,000ft before levelling out and setting course for Marham. I was very impressed with that for an old bomber man who was more used to 500ft a minute climb hanging on the props with everything shaking and thundering. The return journey was done on the Monday morning a little more gently in an Oxford.
By that time a second course was running and another friend who had been an instructor on the Marham training Squadron had joined the course on transfer. He lived at Feltwell and was prepared to divert through Marham for a share of the running costs so until the end of the course that eased the burden a bit but as the course was nearing it's end like everyone else I was concerned to know about my posting. There was nothing notified so I was still hoping for a return to Marham but when the course results were made known after the final exams I was not pleased. Never mind about Marham...what what about Egypt?.
There was no point in making a fuss, one just had to accept those things so most of my embarkation leave was taken up settling the family back in Worthing as there was no way that I would be getting quarters out there in the 61 days after my effective posting to the Middle East and they would be obliged to move after that anyway.
I sailed on the RAF troopship Empire Ken out of Southampton in the Summer of 1954 and there were times that I wished I had taken up one of the jobs that I had been offered in Shell distribution.
I was the only one that had got an overseas posting and apparently it was almost unheard of. Overseas units usually wanted controllers with a bit of experience behind them but there I was, posted to the main terminal for the Canal Zone; Fayed. The only consolation was that it would be more or less in the centre of things and not stuck half way up a Wadi.
I soon found my sea legs and how to cope with bar prices which in today's money was less than 5p a double but it was the heat that took a lot of handling. The ship had canvas ducting to
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direct air down to the lower troop decks but it was ghastly even then and the troops, including Waafs used to have to come up on deck in shifts for a breather but it was one of those situations that could only be enjoyed for that period of time. With temperatures well over 100deg. the minute you went down below you started oozing again and just had to wait for the next turn on deck. The ship had never been built for that sort of climate anyway otherwise it might have had a more sophisticated ventilation system. The Empire Ken was a German ship built in the Blomm and Voss yards at Hamburg which we had taken as part of the war reparations and was more suited to the Baltic or the North Sea. I had had enough of it by the time the journey was finished anyway. We stopped at Algiers and subsequently arrived at Port Said to exchange sweaty discomfort for smelly and sweaty discomfort. It took a bit of getting used to. After disembarkation and sorting out of paperwork I was on my way by bus down the canal road wondering if I would ever get used to it with persperation [sic] pouring off me from top to bottom and to experience the further delights of the dust, flies, heat and smells of the Land of the Pharoes [sic] . Two minutes of that and I was quite willing to let them have it back!. At last I understood why my father used to get so incenced [sic] about flies. He had done it all both in India and Egypt many years before. My main concern was that I was entering a new phase of my career with a difference; as a Branch Officer, ie, Air Traffic Control, and no longer General Duties(Aircrew) and a dogsbody for a multitude of other jobs. It had been my experience that it had always been very difficult to detail such Branch Officers for extra duties, especially when they were so often shift workers and there were many units that maintained a 24 hour Air Traffic Control service. Fayed was one of them!.
Some of the most serious of local troubles in the Canal Zone had simmered down a bit and it was a lot safer than it had been a year earlier with the political unrest, mainly caused by the fact that there were elements in Egypt that wanted us out and Egypt for the Egyptions [sic] . They were talking, we were talking with an eye on the security of our oil supplies and trade routes through the Suez Canal. It was obvious that we were not going to give that up without favourable agreements after what it
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had cost us during the war in terms of blood sweat and tears.
So there I was. Arrival one day and to work the next although it was three weeks before I went on a solo watch after 'on the job training'; testing and certification. It was relatively simple and so was the set up. It was all very crude and temporary and had not changed a lot since the war but surprisingly enough it all worked efficiently albeit with the need for considerable local knowledge which was to be expected.
Fayed was the terminal for the Canal Zone with fighter airfields and other units to the North and the South and operated 24 hours a day with four short range Transport Squadrons that went out on scheduled flights in all directions, calling at Khartoum, Aden, Habbanyia (Iraq), Cyprus, Malta etc, with staging posts in between. It was a busy place. Fayed even supplied the neccesary [sic] control for the Great Bitter Lake for any flying boat that happened to be coming through although those services were nominal. In addition it was a staging post for the long haul types on the routes to and from the Far East. Our facilities were limited to VHF (Very High Frequency) and HF (High Frequency) direction finders and radio beacons and the airfield lighting was all lashed up stuff that had been modified to signal an alarm if any part became disconnected which had become necessary to discourage the natives from stealing the wire for it's copper content. Another discouragement was an anti-aircraft searchlight and a Bren gun on the roof of the control tower!.
The domestic and technical sites were separated from the airfield by being totally ringed in barbed wire and the access tracks leading from the airfield had wheeled barbed wire fences drawn across from sunset to sunrise as aircraft went in and out. It needed a small army to man the wire as well as an armed, mobile lighting repair squad standing by.
Air Traffic Control staff manned our searchlight and the gun and the searchlight generator was run at all times during the hours of darkness and I recall the night we used them with a vengeance.
The look-out reported movement on the airfield but I could not see much more than moving shadows through the glasses so it was "searchlight on" and on it came with a sizzling crackle as the switch was thrown. I could still see only vague shapes
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about 300 yards out from the tower in the reflection of the intense reflecting blaze of light, the man on the gun had already cocked it so I gave the order to fire. He loosed off a complete clip [inserted] s [/inserted] after which things seemed to have changed a bit so everything was put back to stand-by as the mobile patrol was ready to go out through the wire.
They very soon reported that we now had a dead camel on the airfield although it was clear of the runway and the question was; what to do next?. The Air Traffic Control course had not covered situations like that!. A quick call to the duty Engineering Officer produced a bulldozer and a working party to bury the thing but the problem did not go away for a long time. Every night for the next week the wild dogs uncovered it, and every day we covered it up again until eventually nature took it's normal course and there was no longer a meal to be had for the scavengers.
Although Married Quarters were available I went on to a very long list so I just settled down to sweating it out. In more ways than one. The Control Tower did not have the luxury of air conditioning and at the height of the day it was stifling with a shade temperature well over 100deg. One of the great delights of the night shift was to be able to sit outside on the roof of the Met. Office at about 3 o'clock in the morning when the temperature was down to about 70deg!, but that only lasted for about an hour before the sun zoomed up over the horizon.
Just as I thought that I could concentrate on being an Air Traffic Controller I was appointed Station Fire Officer and no sooner than I had mastered that I got loaded with another job but it all helped to pass the time anyway. Somehow I found time to qualify as a Desert Rescue Land Rover driver and then I figured that was enough as I devoted any other spare time to photography and accumulated my own processing equipment and soon found that my services were in great demand as the local processing was ghastly.
The photo processing did not start until I moved out of tented accommodation which was three months of absolute misery. Trying to sleep in a tent during the heat of the day after a night shift was virtually impossible.
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The permanent accommodation was limited so it was into a tent first and then wait your turn but sand seemed to get into everything despite the cat-walks laid on the sand. The bed feet stood in the usual pools of paraffin in boot polish tins to stop the creepy crawlies from invading the bed and mosquito nets, were hung from the ridge. I don't think I ever slept more than three hours at a time in those conditions before waking up absolutely soaked in persperation [sic] . The only thing to do then was to get up and shower; not that that did much good.
The water tanks were on the roof of the ablution block so they heated up well during the course of the day and never really cooled down but the best time to get a cold shower was normally between 4 & 5 in the morning!.
At least it was a happy unit. The rest of the controllers and staff made the best of it. Some of the controllers I already knew as well as some of the aircrew who I had met previously either at Marham or other units. One delightful character was a Czech who had been war-time RAF and had returned to his homeland to reach the rank of Air Commodore in the Czech Air Force until the political climate of the country had forced him to leave it. As a result he had rejoined the RAF as an Air Traffic Controller and was back to Flying Officer!. Nevertheless we all got on well and I found that copying his routine provided some limited relief from the heat.
Having completed the first few hours of sleep it was off to the Officers Club on the edge of Lake Timsa by bus equipped among other things with a sheet. At least it was possible to emerse [sic] one's-self in water even if it was in the eighties, wrap up in a wet sheet in the shade of a rush 'basha' and achieve a few more hours sleep until the evaporation process was complete and the 'cooking' process started again. Then it was back to camp to get ready for the night shift again. That was just part of the routine. It was all that happened within the routine that made life interesting.
I had been there a few months when I had two aircraft inbound from the UK. One a Hastings, the other a Canberra and just before their arrival a violent dust storm blew up. These could happen at any time given certain conditions and rising sand can make flying very dodgy. I just managed to get the Canberra in before
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visibility dropped to near zero and then the VHF direction finder went on the blink so I had to pull out a few stops after suggesting an indefinite holding or a diversion to Cyprus. The pilot was not keen on either and finally opted for a non-standard let-down using the H/F direction finder co-operating with his Wireless Op. and pilot together. It worked and he got down just about the time that the pilot of the Canberra had worked his way though Ops. and came up to the control room to find out what had happened to his baggage aircraft!
There were very few people that could have fixed up that sort of thing and it was of course the one and only 'Black Mac-The China Bull', on his way to take over command of Habbanyia, (Iraq). When we came face to face in the control room he was his usual bad mannered self. His comment of "I might have bloody well known it" was no more than one would have expected from him. As if it was my fault that a sand storm had blown up!. Had it occurred to me from the details on the flight plan that it was him I would definitely diverted him to Cyprus!. As it happened he only refuelled and fed and was off again after I had gone off duty. I thought that would be the last I would see of him but I was wrong.
Then we had a very interesting fire. Some damn fool army signals bloke exploded a primus stove by using the wrong fuel when brewing up so off went the fire party supplimented [sic] by the Army fire service and between them threw enough water at the signals hut to put out the fire but a lot of it drained away down the conduits in which the whole of the zone's land lines were trunked and out went the lot.
I could not get to the scene as I was duty controller and as all our mains facilities had failed all the stops had to be pulled out again to keep things moving. Going on to standby battery operated equipment I handled Approach control as best I could with no D/F facilities and the Senior Controller handled local traffic from the cockpit of a Valetta aircraft sitting on the tarmac not far from the control tower. Fortunately the weather was fine and all worked well with co-operation of the pilots who were able to carry out visual procedures.
The outcome of the enquiry was typical. The Fire Service, and that meant me; got half of the blame for the failure of all
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the radio, teleprinter, telephone and land lines!.
I got all the blame as the result of another enquiry that had taken place at Marham after I had left and I was kindly sent a copy of the findings. Shortly after leaving they could not find a Secret file although I know of no reason why it had not been in the cabinet if it had not been booked out. After my experience with registries I had been punctilious with the Secret Registry that had been under my direct control as well as the handling of the Top Secret files that always went in and out of the Wingco's office under sealed cover, and as far I recall everything had been handed over according to the laid down procedures. Nevertheless they could not find the handing over certificate, (I wish I had kept a copy), and I had to take responsibilty [sic] for the loss. I was a bit peeved at that. I had not been asked to give evidence even though the certificate would have been in the files now under the control of the bloke I had handed over to it seemed that the only avenue left was to appeal. After some thought I decided just to acknowledge receipt of the findings but with a very strong protest. After all, they couldn't shoot me for it!.
By this time the political infiltration into service life had almost died out and most things had returned to near normal as far as there is any normality in the forces. One just pressed on but at times one's shoulders had to be very broad to carry the load and it helped to have a thick skin as well!. At least there was the satisfaction that it would not last for ever. A lot of control was being passed back to the Egyptians and customs officials were getting very busy at Port Said placing import and export duty on almost all personal goods plus insistance [sic] on area Air Traffic Control by their services with a suggestion of imposing the same controls at Fayed. So far they had not been given access to Fayed but when they were we were very likely to have been deprived of one of our most advantages 'perks'.
We had a weekly 'training flight' to Malta locally known as the Whisky run which picked up supplies from a bonded warehouse and Fayed then acted as distribution agent for other units. The net result of that was that, as an example, a bottle of Whisky was 8s. 6d. in old money in the Mess. 42 pencel and
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cheaper than the Naafi who were obliged to make some declaration and payment to the Egyptian Government.
As a result of my involvement with the fire service I requested a Fire Officers course in the UK which I thought would kill two birds with one stone. It did not work so I took my accumulated [underlined] local [/underlined] leave with an itinerary of a round robin tour of the Middle East and hopped on the Whisky run to Malta and thence BEA to the UK. returning by the same process. At least I had 10 days at home with the family and then the misery started all over again.
There was still little hope of Married quarters but I kept a very close eye on the comings and goings.
Among the names that appeared on the list was that of the chap who had been the Station Adjutant at Marham, just one position below me, stationed somewhere in the zone at a Maintenance Unit. We met up on one occasion at Ismalia as I did with a number of people who had been at Marham with me. At one time there seven of us at Fayed. I had even met up with a long lost cousin who was in the Army at another unit so in one way and another occupied myself as time went by. What it must have been for my army cousin before the war I dread to think. He was in the ranks then when a tour of overseas duty was five years without family or home leave. I don't think I could have even contemplated it, but then perhaps neither did he when he signed on. After pre-war service in the Middle East and also a survivor of the Dunkirk withdrawal he was certainly earning his pension the hard way.
Being a shift worker gave me the opportunity to get away from the place on numerous 'flying' visits. Trips to Khartoum and Cyprus were fairly easy to arrange and I planned to go further East sometime when the opportunity arose.
Another advantage of Fayed was that it was the centre of all entertainment schedules. All visiting shows started off in our open air theatre/cinema and they could be sure of a critical audience too. It was usually packed to capacity and I enjoyed some of the very best shows on the circuit and had the priviledge [sic] of meeting many of the stars of those days when they were entertained in the Mess. Many are still around today. There was Harry Secombe, Lena Horne, Arthur English, Tommy Trinder
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(who got himself lost out on Lake Timsa in a small sailing boat), Ted Ray, Terry Thomas, to name but a few and it was there that Tesse O'Shea got one of her biggest laughs ever. The stage really did collapse and Two Ton Tesse had to be dragged out from underneath, still laughing. On the other hand there were turns that were not received so well. If Fayed didn't like them they knew it but it would be unkind to mention names. They tried and some of them are no longer with us.
In due course the Egyptian Air Force took over some of the zone fighter bases having been trained by British instructors at other airfields near Cairo and I began to wonder what sort of fun and games those instructors must have had in the process if the sort of flying that they were doing was anything to go by.
They seemed to put a great deal of effort into their flying but there never seemed to be such practical value in it if the commotion that went on at their nearest airfield was anything to go by.
I was on duty on one occasion when it became obvious that they were expecting an aircraft when all the ground radio checks started and in due course we heard the pilot calling Almaza (near Cairo), for back bearings every two or three minutes until he was obviously about half way when he started calling his destination.
The result was dead silence as the pilot called again and again with mounting urgency in his voice. He seemed so desperate that I chipped in and offered assistance as my D/F operator had been passing me his bearings anyway. The offer was accepted although it took some time before he was able to identify who was calling him and the rest was simple. He was homed to overhead us, descended to a lower height with instructions to steer a given heading for a number of minutes and he would find his destination which he did and despite his frantic calls to his destination we never did hear their control. Not even when he asked for landing clearance or when he reported landed!.
What all the fuss was about I do not know. It was only a 70 mile flight and a few minutes in what we identified as a Meteor when he came overhead. The sky was 100% blue with the Suez canal right under his nose a few miles from his destination so I can
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only think that he was a bit worried at missing it and getting lost in the Sinai desert. Later on we had a liaison visit from some of their controllers who had in fact been trained by International Air Radio and they were not backward in boasting about all the sophisticated equipment that they had. It was met with a diplomatic h'm, no comment. It was a pity that they did not know how to use it!. A lot of their questions were directed to where our radar unit was, suggesting that we had hidden it prior to their visit. That was time for some discreet tapping on the side of the nose. Radar!, we should be so lucky. I found out later that before I had arrived there had been a small final approach radar for evaluation but it had moved on somewhere. Despite the fact that there was liaison it was only one way and we could not get a visit to their unit. They were very mysterious and conspirital [sic] . They said that their bases were secret and it was very difficult to keep a straight face at that. We had even built them!.
Eventually they worked up their fighter units to the North and South of us and one day they decided to do a mass formation flight of about 30 aircaft [sic] up and down the canal. I wish I had recorded that R/T pantomime somehow although I suppose they were ding [sic] their best with limited training and experience.
The two formations never did get together as one. There was total confusion about heights, and everyone tried to talk at the same time when at one time they found that the two sub formations were on a collision course at the same height and then it was "break, break, break", and every man for himself. It was absolute pandemonium. All that in bright blue skies without a cloud in sight and the line of the canal and the lakes to navigate by. It was something to think about!.
No doubt they improved later on with practice and experience but I have often wondered how the Russians got on with them when they decided to re-arm with Russian equipment and of course, Russian instructors as well. They could not have found it easy by any standards.
Another serious Air Traffic matter came to light purely by chance shortly after had [sic] been appointed as Deputy Senior Controller. A lot of our inbound flights from the UK were chartered company aircraft, although at Malta the company livery was painted out
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and the crew changed uniforms and aircraft call-signs to become RAF. All very clever!. So we had a selection of those, RAF Yorks, Beverly's, Viscounts etc, both inbound and outbound. They were normally cleared by Cairo Delta control from Alexandria, descending and transferred to us but I was a bit concerned when more than one pilot reckoned they should report a confliction after they had been transferred, and even more so when I asked what traffic information they had been given. The answer was always nil so for about a week I asked all pilots to complete a questionaire [sic] relative to the hand over procedure and when it was complete the results of my investigation went through the Senior Controller and Operations. It resulted in some discreet enquiries with the Egyptian Ministry of aviation and a liaison visit by the Senior Controller and some rapid changes in prcedure [sic] . Many a pilot complained subsequently about the extra Easterly drag from Alex. to Port Said under airways control before being cleared to descend on the final leg to us. Little did they know that previously they had been descending blindly across three air routes out of Cairo. Phew.!.
There was an interesting situation early one evening when dust storms blew up unexpectedly around Cairo. I was only aware of it by listening to the one-sided R/T conversation but it was obvious that Cairo's controllers were getting in a bit of a 'tizzy' and some BOAC pilots were getting angry. They did not seem to be able to get an accurate weather report or saisfactory [sic] holding instructions and there was mention of diverting to Nicosia until one ex RAF BOAC pilot remembered us and gave us a call. Having checked our weather he then requested diversion facilities which Operations approved he was on his way, followed by another and another until we had accepted six until Ops. said "enough" before we were swamped.
It was a lovely collection. Constellations. Super Connie's, DC4's and Argonauts of BOAC, Air India, Air Italia, and SAA came swooping in and discharged about 300 passengers into the passenger lounge. They were not too happy about being limited to the reception area with an obvious presence of Service Police but the pilots were pleased enough when they came up to the control later to file their flight plans when Cairo had cleared.
It was just as well that I had had time to look up the
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regulations for charging landing fees, a subject that had not received much attention on the ATC course. Nevertheless, we got it sorted out and charged the grand total of £300. I could not repeat what some of the pilots said about Cairo control but it seemed to be about the same standard as Niarobi [sic] was at that time from what I was told.
In similar circumstances about that time a BOAC pilot had stood off at Nairobi and had taken control from the air to let down five others and himself when the controllers had actually lost control of the situation. I thought our training had been a bit rough and ready but I suppose that the fact that most of our controllers were ex aircrew was in our favour. We had grown up with it whilst other emerging nations were just finding their feet.
I had been in Egypt about nine months before I was allocated Married Quarters. It was a hiring on the canal road close to the officers club, and then the process of calling forward the family started.
The day after it was allocated it was reallocated to the chap who was just below me on the list on the strength of two extra points he had claimed by virtue of detachments overseas from Marham. (Returning B.29's to America he claimed). No way; I knew those regulations inside out and it didn't count so the 'phone lines were red hot before that got sorted out. There was no way that I was going to lose the [underlined] last [/underlined] allocation in the zone by default, not to that chap. (He was the one that knocked me off the greasy pole at Marham). He was not amused.
Everything was eventually worked out for the transportation of my family except for the date and then there was a dock strike at home which put thing back for several more agonising weeks. Meanwhile the quarter was being officially sub-let to another officer who in fact spent the best part of three months in it before my family eventually arrived at Port Said on an Army troopship, the S.S. Lancashire from Liverpool. There was only one snag. When they were half way across the Med. I got posted!. I think someone was using his influence-and putting the boot in.
I was stunned as I was required go to Amman in Jordan as soon as possible. When I protested pointing out that my family were
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half way across the Med. the answer was that they could easily wait in transit in the zone until I was-settled or they could take the next troopship back to the UK!. I really was getting the treatment!. I did eventually get a few days deferment by virtue of going sick, to hold me over until they arrived.
That put paid to any idea I had of taking them all on a visit to Cairo and the Pyramids. I had waited a year for the opportunity and it had slipped through my fingers.
There was great excitement when I met my wife and two daughters at Port Said and after the arrival formalities were completed we boarded the bus for Fayid via Ismalia down the canal road to be dropped off at the bungalow which was complete with a native servant who understood practically no English but understood the requirement and had been recommended. He was a glossy black Sudanese resplendent in galabere and tarboosh and displayed a permanent broad smile. He was a treasure. The girls did not quite know what to make of him at first but he was efficient as was unobtrusive. He made it plain the kitchen was his domain and Madam was not allowed in it. That suited us alright as there was not a lot time to get used to paraffin cooker, lamps and even paraffin fridge.
Of course my wife did not know just how much time she had until we had all settled in and I asked her if she knew where Amman was. Of course she did; in Jordan, but it wiped the smile off of everyone's face, including Abdul when they were told that we were off there in less than a week. Abdul cheered up a bit when I gave him a full month's pay and a reference and he looked after us well whilst I was busy about arranging passage to Amman. Of couse [sic] , it was too much to ask that it would be straightforward.. First of all my wife said she didn't want to fly but since the only alternative was camel she did not have much choice. Then all the deep sea baggage had to be chased up with some urgency from Port Said and then Air Movements insisted that it all be repacked as the size of the boxes were in excess of Air Freight dimensions. It was a good thing that I knew a few people in the right places and a compromise was reached where it could stay as it was. We finally went on a mixed freighter passenger flight in a Valetta. The Gamble special only had one other airman passenger on board and had to go via
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Aquaba and in fact overflew Amman to another of our bases at Mafraq.
Prior to our departure signals had been going to and fro' asking when I would arrive and in answer to one inquiry one confirmed that suitable accommodation was available and eventually when all of our baggage and boxes were unloaded we were bussed to Amman, about 35 mls away to make another new home. On arrival and after refreshments I reported to the Adjutant.
I was optimistic about what had been provided for us but knowing my luck I was not really surprised either when contrary to my expectations I found there was absolutely nothing. True they knew I was coming, but not with a family. There were no quarters available or accomodation [sic] other than by private arrangement plus the fact that as it was Friday and it was a Bank Holiday week-end nothing could be done until Tuesday. I nearly went spare. What had all the rush been about, etc, so I went to see the Accountant Officer, changed some money, drew some more and decided that I would have the Bank Holiday off as well since I could claim three days in transit at the expense of the Air Force so off we went to a hotel in the city and we had a good weekend familiarising ourselves with the area and a new currency. All I had done on the day of arrival was sign in so on the first working day I reported in and started the arrival procedure. All went well until I reported to the Senior Controller who actually accused me of being absent without leave when he found out that I had arrived on Friday. He was under the impression that I should have reported to him in the first place as he could have put me to work. It is not the best way to start a new job with a flaming great row with the boss but a flaming great row there was.
Obviously they had coped despite the alledged [sic] shortage of staff because he had not even known when I was due to arrive and I could not have just slipped into the routine without some preliminary training and certification. No allowance was made for my domestic circumstances and then whilst I started to absorb the local set-up another bombshell arrived. Air Headquarters Middle East at Habbanyia having received confirmation of my arrival signalled to the effect that I should have reported to that HQ for posting as required as they wanted me down in
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the Persian Gulf, and I was instructed to proceed accordingly. Then I really did blow my top!.
I had already found alternative accomodation [sic] ; more or less in the native quarter on Jebel Hashiem as the hotel was straining the finances somewhat, but at least it-was convenient for the base and the girls were about to start school. In [sic] was still scouting around for something better. I was not in a very good mood by the time I had worked my way through the Adjutant, Senior Admin. Officer and Wing Cdr. Admin. to the Station Commander for a showdown. At least he was sympathetic enough to listen to my greivance [sic] which I followed up with threats of resigning my commission there and then. Pretty strong stuff but a lengthy signal to AHQ produced the desired answer and I was at last allowed to get down to work with a bit more security than I had had for a long time. I don't think I was ever forgiven though for stirring things up for a change instead of accepting what was thrown in my direction. I was beginning to wish that I had transferred to the Secretarial Branch after all if that was a fore-taste of what could be expected in the future. Little did I know.
I found Amman very interesting. It was a joint Military and Civil International Airport with control exercised by the RAF. That included a locally based RAF fighter Squadron with Venoms, communication aircraft and Search and Rescue helicopter. The Royal Jordanian Air Force with Vampires. RAF transit traffic, two resident civil airlines and scheduled BOAC Argonaughts from London to Barhrein [sic] via Beruit [sic] on Monday's returning later in the week. Somehow that seemed more civilised as the crew always brought UK Sunday newspapers in for us when they brought their flight plans in. We had three parking aprons. One civil, one Jordanian Air Force and one RAF. Our facilities were the basics that I had been used to at Fayed plus; the Radar!. The very one that had been at Fayed, had gone to Cyprus and thence to Amman. It was a non standard equipment for the RAF which had received little more than a mention on the ATC course and on which in due course all Amman controllers were to be locally trained. And before you could say 'Bingo' I was appointed the Station Fire Officer as well!.
Within a matter of weeks I had found a more desirable residence
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on Jebel Taj nearer the city and things started to settle down. We soon got used to the amplified sounds from the mezzine calling the faithful to prayer....at 6 am!. it was better than an alarm clock. One could not possibly have slept through it. Not even on a day off and as I was still shift working it was inconvenient at times. However, we were comfortable and happy in our new accomodation [sic] and there were English families living around us so we did not feel as cut off as we had been before.
The new landlord was a Palestinian originally from Haifa and he and his family were very kind. They all spoke very good English and helped us with learning enough Arabic to get by on the buses and in the shops. In fact it was too easy to get lazy in learning Arabic as most people could speak English. It was the second language in all the schools.
The camp swimming pool was one of our main attractions and it was situated near the control tower. In fact when on duty I could look down on it which made it a little frustrating on those steaming days when the temperature in the 'glasshouse' was well over 100deg. and the family had come in by bus to make the most of those cooling waters.
A lot of people had written home to the tourist departments of their town halls to get posters of their favourite sea-side resort so it was not long before Worthing was also advertised on the fence. A little bit of home and of course that usually designated one's favourite spot in the area around the pool.
It was quite a small pool so sessions had to be allocated to prevent overcrowding and it was not unusual for members of the Jordanian Royal family to be mixed up with the officers families. When King Hussein flew as he did often being a pilot in his own right he insisted on going through the motions like any other pilot. He climbed the steps and presented his own flight plan for approval. and he was of course very pro-British. His army was to a great extent British financed and controlled through General Glub. His air force was similarly controlled and they were very good too having had their basic training in the UK and then finished off locally on Harvards before jet training. His senior Air Force Officer was a seconded Wing Commander and in fact there were quite a lot of secondments
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both Army and Air Force. His stable of racing cars was looked after by an ex Flight Sergeant and several- of his ponies were stabled in our pony club and looked after by us. It all seemed an innocent and comfortable arrangement. It was not always quite so comfortable on occasions when certain factions in his own country and those of neighbouring states would rather that the strongly pro-British monarch was deposed. After all, Jordan was in a peculiar geographical position. The Hashimite [sic] Kingdom of Jordan had been carved out of what used to be Palestine and some of the old Palestine was now Isreal [sic] which had produced something like a million refugees who were virtually stateless persons. The mandate that the British had had for many years had been repealed by the United Nations due to pressure to create the new state of Isreal [sic] after the war. The Arab/Jew conflict had not neccesarily [sic] been made any less of a problem and it was all tied up with the American owned IPC (Iraqi Petroleum Company) oil pipeline between Haifa and the Persian Cuff that dominated military and political thinking. Not that the pipe-line had delivered oil for a long time, but we still had an interest in it.
The King had a very close shave on one occasion when he was returning from Damascus whilst I was on duty. The Wing Cdr. was with him in the Royal De Haviland Dove and they found that they had a couple of Syrian jets on their tail. They produced some very spectacular low flying by all accounts until they were able to make contact with us for back up from anything we had flying in Jordanian air space before they were safe. It was the sort of chance he had to take in those days, even when he only used to fly half-way down the pipe-line towards Bagdad to meet his cousin King Feisal of Iraq at an air-strip on the border. Neither used to file flight plans for that. Both of them used to keep in touch through their own private shortwave radio link.
It was obvious that the senior captain of one of the resident airlines was ex-Luftwaffe by the cut of his coat and the set of his cap. Only the insignia had changed and he was an honourary [sic] member of our Mess!. We swapped a few yarns which ultimately led to the production of our respective log books which confirmed that he was the bloke that had shot up our Stirling very badly
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in October 1943 when we were on our way into Bremen. Our conversation after that provided answers to questions that we both had. Yes, he was flying a jet. An early prototype Me262, and had been scrambled for evaluation, but why had we only received small calibre shots?. The answer to that was sobering. He had used up all his cannon shooting down two other Stirlings...and the records show that three Stirlings of the force had indeed been lost that night, two of them to his guns. I can only thank my lucky stars that he had not been using cannon on us that night!. It did explain the tails of fire we had seen from his back end too. He was somewhat surprised that we had not incurred casualties and that we had in fact returned to base after all the stuff that had flowed back from us after the engagement which had obviously been the leaflets I had thrown out in a great hurry, especially as he had claimed us so badly damaged that we must have finished up in the North Sea as there had been no other crash report.
I was still negotiating for other accommodation as official quarters were still a long way off but before either came up Dorothy had to be hospitalised. She could have gone to Habbanyia or Cyprus to either of the military hospitals but she opted for an operation to be done locally at the RAF's expense in the Italian Hospital in Amman so in she went.
It was all very different from one's normal concept of hospitalisation. It was a private hospital and she did have a private ward. The head surgeon was Italian and the staff were mainly Italian nuns with some Arab cleaning staff. Catering was not normally provided but on this occasion two meals a day were provided under the terms of the contract, mainly rice and eggs. There was only one nun who spoke very limited English and with her very limited Arabic it was a bit of a pantomime. Altogether it was hardly conducive to rapid recovery.
The occupant of another adjacent private ward, a Sheik, spent most of the daylight hours out on the flat roof outside her window with all the accompaniment of a scene from the Arabian Nights. I don't know what was wrong with him but he seemed to end a lot of time trying to cough his lungs up, not that it stopped him smoking his hooka [sic] pipe.
he was well looked after by several retainers who brought him
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various kinds of food, including great bunches of grapes with which he was fed and when this circus was added to by his personal musician with his one string fiddle it was enough to drive anyone mad. That and visiting times in the afternoon for those in the dormitory wards where the sounds and smells of on the spot cooking on primus stoves wafted up were enough to have her out of there as soon as the M.O. would allow, to continue her convalescence at home.
When she was fit enough we moved house again and the process of the final negotiations for the tenancy was yet another pantomime; never to be forgotten.
Some of the locals, particularly the Sheiks, had made a packet out of the British a few years earlier when room was needed for the expansion of the airfield and other areas that were needed for the building of the Married Quarters. I suppose it was just another way of putting money into the country really but it seemed. that the criteria for receiving payment of £1000 for any sort of building on the land purchased was that it should have a door. As a result there had been a brisk trade with carpenters fitting a door to just about anything, and those that could not afford it naturally borrowed the money from the Sheiks at a premium or were forced to sell their property to the Sheiks. One way or another they were the blokes that finished up getting most of the 'ackers' which they had reinvested in properties that they let to the military. It was the process of bargaining and negotiating with these chaps that created another scene out of Arabian Nights. One must understand that bargaining is a way of life out in those parts and that to do business it was common courtesy to respect the fact that when in Rome you do as the Romans do.
One did not do business through agents as such. The only agents were the multitude of small boys who were always wandering about looking for opportunities of exercising their light fingered efforts to pick up something for nothing. A word in the ear of one of those suggesting that you were interested and an appointment would be very quickly fixed up and he would get his reward of a few fils for his trouble from both parties.
It was not the first time that I had gone through the procedure but that particular occasion sticks in my mind. At the appointed
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time we presented ourselves at the flats and were escorted to a plain unfurnished room with just cushions and a low table and then the 'person' arrived resplendent in robes of gold on black over white, with jewelled belt and sash and jewelled knife scabbard plus the butt of a pistol showing from an equally elaborate holster, and greetings were exchanged. With that over he clapped his hands and the glasses of tea appeared and the performance was on. I had been asked to bring my wife with me by one of the boys who turned out to be one of the Sheiks sons who was also acting as interpreter but it was obvious that the request had come from the Sheik. I had already been warned about him. Now the scene was set and his number one wife squatted in the dirt on the other side of the road from the flat. Women did [inserted] not [/inserted] pay [sic] a particularly important part in the routine except to keep an eye on things. No.1 wife's responsibility was managing the household and the other junior wives. So she had taken up her position.
I don't know that Dorothy was particularly happy with the situation as she sat opposite that imposing figure with the classical hooked nose and piercing eyes of the Bedouin. Pleasantries were exchanged with the first glass of tea; revolting stuff to our standards, then the second glass came up and by this time Dorothy was squirming a bit as the Sheik was not slow in examining what he seemed to be part of the deal. He played a bit of footy footy and proceeded to pinch the fleshy parts of her arm that were exposed under her shawl which she was obliged to wear in such circumstances. Their own women were covered in black from head to toe as well as wearing a yashmak. Nevertheless he examined her as if she was a chicken in the market and she winced a bit but stuck it out until the third glass of tea arrived. That was the one you did not finish and it was time to talk business. It was the way things were done and we were obliged to go along with it for about half an hour until we gave him our promise of a decision before the sun had set. We had made the decision before we made our escape from him with the eagle eye. Dorothy did not care to become part of a Hareem as part of the deal or having him inspecting his property too often with an eye to another 'wife' so the message was passed. "No thank you" and we looked elsewhere.
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We eventually rented a flat not far from the camp main gate and I suppose it could be said that it good views. It looked down on the Hadj railway station on the famous line from Damascus through Amman to a point where it fizzled out way down South towards Aquaba. A line that Lawrence of Arabia had played havoc with many years before when the Turks had control of the area. It also looked down on the main Damascus/Amman road and the prison but at least it was convenient. The landlord was the local butcher an [sic] he eventually brought along a young married chap who we were only to willing to take on as 'bearer'. He had never worked anywhere by virtue of being caught up in the net of the homeless refugees in the North but he was willing and learned fast and took no liberties. He found local accomodation [sic] and moved his family for the first ever now that he had a job which allowed him to face the world with a little more dignity instead of being dependent upon United Nations hand-outs.
He was an Abdul and replaced another Abdul who was reputed to have worked for the British Army but we were glad to see the back of him and his dirty habits plus the fact that I had found him drying out his tobacco in the gas oven on one occasion with only one side burner lit to save gas!. His English was also punctuated by a great deal of barrack room language and his final efforts in the kitchen seemed to be designed to feed his family on our left overs made sure that there was plenty for all!. Now the catering was firmly back in Dorothy's hands and Abdul looked after the rest. He needed a bit of training but it was well worth it.
My cousin that had been in Egypt was now down in Aquaba and an arrangement with the Jordanian Air Force brought him up to to [sic] spend a Christmas with us and some time later we flew down to Aquaba in the Kings personal aircraft for a couple of weeks holiday and that was a very interesting period.
Our accommodation was a holiday bungalow on the sea shore that had belonged to General Peake who had given it to the RAF for recreational purposes. It gave me an opportunity of spending more time with my cousin who I had not seen all that often in the past and to visit our limited Air Traffic Control staff and the firemen who manned the landing strip on rotational basis
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from Amman resources. The landing area was just a rolled strip in the wadi that led down almost to the waters edge and even the control cabin was only the cockpit of a Dakota that had crashed there many years before. It was no more than just another link in the chain of landing grounds that served the Army garrison tasked with keeping the peace in the area which they had been trying to do for years.
The geography was historical and had become even-more important since the creation of the State of Isreal[sic] . The Gulf of Aquaba was only three miles wide at the head and the town of Eilat in Isreal [sic] sat on one corner and the border with Egypt only a little further down. Three miles down the other side was the border with Saudi Arabia so it was quite a crossroads.
I suppose it was just my misfortune that a couple of my firemen went on a sight seeing tour whilst I was there and were absent two days as a result of straying into Isreal [sic] . No big diplomatic incident really but the Army did have to exert a little diplomacy to get them back and they were both charged for contravening standing orders. Still, one could laugh off seven days C.C. (confined to camp) in that place; there were few places to go. Anyway, the army dealt with it and I got on with my holiday. I wanted no part of. The weather was supurb [sic] , the bunglalow [sic] was on the waters edge and there was no tide to speak of. Unfortunately the glass bottomed boat that usually provided interesting views of the coral reefs had been damaged and was awaiting repair so we were not able to enjoy that experience.
Some people relate to being on holiday with being able to sleep in late but it was very rare that we were able to do that with the fishermen out in the early morning. Their fishing was accompanied by a succession of bangs resounding across the water. Lazy fishing that; with sticks of dynamite!. Then they netted the stunned fish afterwards. The girls were warned to keep well out of the way when they were close to the shore as obviously they were not all that clever. The dynamite thrower in one boat only had one arm and the girls had learned earlier on in Amman that when told to do things like that it was for a very good reason and they had to react without question. On that previous occasion in Amman we had gone into town on a little shopping expedition and had just reached the main shopping area where
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there seemed to be a lot of people and suddenly the whole crowd erupted as shots rang out, followed by a lot of panic stricken people running in our direction. When I grabbed them and said "run" they did. Hot foot down the road, into the Hotel Continental where we stayed until things had gone quiet before taking a taxi back home. I understood later that day that an order had been issued on camp putting the city out of bounds but then I had not been into camp and knew nothing about the possibility of trouble.
We managed to enjoy ourselves though, just lazing about, swimming, playing board games, reading, listening to London on the short wave overseas service but generally resting up wondering what was going to happen next. Something always did!. One morning we were having coffee out in front of the bungalow when we noticed that a Royal Navy destroyer had dropped anchor about half a mile out and it was not long before a boat with four ratings and a Petty Officer was rowed ashore. They tied up just few yards from us and were loaded with some metal trunking that they started to chip paint from so I figured that they were defaulters given a dirty job to do. Hard luck on the Petty Officer!.
I would have left them to it but there was a geat [sic] deal of lower deck language that was enough to blister the paint off without the use of elbow grease so two little girls had to be hauled out of earshot whilst I ambled across and asked them if they would like some refreshment. They nearly fell over with shock but the P.O. jumped at the opportunity. Beer for him please, anything but beer for the others and what the blue blazes were we doing in such a God forsaken hole and where the hell was he anyway?. He was quite happy to sit in the shade and chat for some time whilst the others chipped away until a winking light from the ship signalled that it was time to return. It had made his day and in the time we had spent chatting I had found out that he knew my brother from his days at HMS Vernon, the torpedo establishment at Portsmouth. It's a small world.
Later on as darkness fell the ship was dressed overall with lights and was an imposing sight out in the Gulf as small craft pIied to and fro' with the garrison Commander and his party to a social function on board. I think they may have stayed
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most of the night if what happened to us is anything to go by.
We had been invited by some Arab neighbours to coffee, cakes and social chat and there had been no mention of conditions outside when darkness fell. We found out as soon as we got outside. Everything was blacked out by rising sand. Not the sort of sand storm with horizontal wind but the sort in which sand is just lifted straight up and deposited somewhere else. We could hardly see our hand in front of our face. If it had not been for our hosts being more familiar with the area I doubt if we could have negotiated the fifty yards between the houses.
We put the shutters up as soon as we got back but it was too late and it took ages to clear the heavy layer of sand that had been deposited over and inside everything which included the beds and the pantry. Just something else to put down to experience. We were well rested by the time we flew back to Amman in an RAF Valetta and as I knew the pilot from Fayed days he kindly circled the ancient and amazing city of Petra virtually hidden in the desert which we would otherwise never have seen, and then it was back to the old routine. Not a dull one by any means. Among my activities I had a taste of some limited radar control on which I was locally trained. I found the process fairly easy to pick up as this was a 'one man band' and the initial pick up was assisted by a built in direction finder system. To an ex aircrew wireless op. it was no problem. It did not take long to become proficient and as the only other qualified controller was leaving I finished up being in charge of the thing and training others, not without some dissapointments [sic] . The Senior Controller, an ex navigator, couldn't cope with it and neither could another, an ex pilot, but enough did become proficient to ensure that there were sufficient people to rotate. It was not all that comfortable stuck out in a metal box at the end of the runway.
That particular radar unit was the one that had done the rounds. At one time it had been at Nicosia before it had been transferred to Fayed and then Amman and the original operator had travelled with it but it could only provide a very limited service and as far as the RAF was concerned it was a 'one-off'. It gave me some useful experience anyway that I made use of later on.
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By that time we had given up the idea of getting back to Egypt for a holiday. Fayed was just about handed over to the Egyptians so we could not get a passage that way and since holidays had to be planned well ahead it didn't seem worth the effort to go the long way around via Cyprus so that was ruled out. Haifa or some similar place was considered before we found that it was again impossible to go direct particularly as we would need a second passport to visit Arab countries and Israel. The tension was very real out there at the time. Even the Naafi could not import any goods that may have been a product of Israel and postings to a place like Amman ruled out anyone of Jewish name or origin.
It was the only place that I had come across where a parade commander was to say "Roman Catholics may fall out" before prayers. That order was usually "Roman Catholics and Jews....". In the end we figured that we would do better just to make the most of our immediate surroundings but we never got to Beruit [sic] or Damascus. Every time we made plans for a long break between shifts or a week-end those places were declared out of bounds.
It did seem as if we were hemmed in although we were in regular contact with neighbouring countries. Even our daily radio checks gave us two way communication with Nicosia and strangely enough Lod in Israel. We thought nothing of it, or of giving bearings to any Israeli aircraft that called us but the Jordanian Air Ministry were very sensitive and suspicious about it so we had to discontinue any contact with Israel.
We had a very interesting experience one afternoon when we were having tea in the flat when there was a shivering shaking sensation. The tea in my cup rippled an [sic] I immediately recalled something that my father had mentioned about his time in India. If in doubt look at the ceiling light, and there it was swinging gently to and fro' and then I knew that what I had felt was an earthquake tremor Dorothy looked at me and asked "why did you kick my chair?" and then nearly fell out of hers when I told her to look at the swinging lamp and the significance of it. It was a very light tremour [sic] really and we understood later that the centre had been around Damascus but there had been no damage.
One real highlight of Amman was my flight in a Venom jet trainer.
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Since my first jet experience in a Canberra I had been itching to have another go. It was not difficult to arrange and away we went into the wide blue yonder. It was the most exhilarating experience. The sky was bright blue well laced with towering cumulus cloud and at 25,000ft I was in my element when control was handed to me in the side by side trainer as I went cloud hopping. I was in my element and I always knew that I had an aptitude for it. I performed all the standard manoeuvres successfully which rather surprised the pilot. Wireless Ops. don't do things like that!, but he changed his mind when I attempted a roll. Then my old problem of disorientation reared it's head again and he had to take control to prevent us hurtling earthwards out of control. He reckoned that with formal training I would have had no real difficulty in becoming a pilot but it was too late for me to change direction at that time.
Our flat overlooked the prison just beyond the main road and an incident there created a lasting impression on Dorothy. I could understand that if conditions in the prison were as crude as those in the hospital then a lot of people went hungry most of the time if family and friends did not bring in food regularly or the inmates had not got the money to pay for it but that's the way it worked. Prison out there was real punishment and the ultimate was to be publicly hung in the city's amptheatre [sic] which were other occasions when the city was out of bounds.
The incident really upset her when some noisy activity started as protests were voiced and then the whole thing escalated rapidly.
There were hundreds of prisoners milling around the courtyard and the guards manning the walls were reinforced by the army. What sparked it off I could not say but there was a sudden crackle of rifle fire and prisoners went down like nine-pins for several minutes. When it stopped the army entered the courtyard and hearded [sic] the frantic mob to one side as dozens of bodies were dragged away and she could no longer watch the scene of such callus [sic] slaughter. She had some very bad dreams for a long while after that.
At last a married quarter became available after some ten months of waiting and moving around and we moved into a very large
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converted hut which many years before had been the Education Section. The original lettering on the doors was still visable [sic] under fresh paintwork. A friend of mind remembers the building from when he was out there in 1937!. However, it was spacious, convenient and comfortable. Just a stone's throw from the Mess and almost overlooking the flat that we had just left. In addition to our own servant who successfully passed his medical we were allocated an official one, shared with another family, so life took on a whole new style.
Typical of course was the fact that very British fire places had been installed but the cooker was still the parafin [sic] job so took our rented gas one with us. The water heater was the most diabolical hazard that I had ever come across. It was oil fired; with a difference!. We had got used to parafin [sic] fridges and cookers so one took such things in one's stride. To fire up the boiler you turned on the fuel to drip onto a metal plate, then set light to it. By turning the fuel tap on and off the plate eventually got hot enough to explode the drips as they fell on the plate and then it could be adjusted to give a series of continuous explosions and presto!, hot water!. A damn dangerous device though and as fire officer I made sure that everyone was reminded regularly of it's dangers. At least it was more civilised than what we had been recently used to. In our first place on Jebel Hasheem we had a bath that had to be filled with buckets of water that had to be heated by other means and the drain hole was positioned above nothing more than a hole in the floor. It was alright until the bath slipped off of the supporting bricks and flooded the floor. Perhaps it was better that way as it slowed down the activities of the toads, whacking great spiders and scorpians [sic] that tended to investigate the invasion of what they considered to be their territory. In the last flat, although new, we had always had trouble with the drains. The worst part being that when there was a blockage in the system. When we flushed everything came up in the next door neighbours bath!. Small problem….well, to us anyway. When the sanitory [sic] people were called in they pin-pointed the problem of blockages right away. Apparently toilet paper should not be flushed into 2" drains!. The alternative was most unhygenic [sic] to European standards.
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Now it seemed that we were home and dry. There was a bit of a garden which was overgrown so after I set my photo dark-room up I got to work terracing the garden so that we were able to grow tomatoes and sweet corn within a matter of months. The trouble was that it disturbed the habitat of several dangerous species of snakes and other creepy crawlies of which there were plenty. One had to be forever on the alert for them, checking footwear and clothing, and particularly bedding.
One of the strangest creatures was the sand beetle. This chap was about 1/2 ins. long and lived in the sand with the entrance to it's complex protected by a trap door. It had the most incredible technique of building a hinged trap door which was a perfect watertight fit. To see this thing nip down it's hole and pull the trap door down after him was quite amazing.
Another insect that surprised us one evening when we were having drinks on the veranda were the fireflies. For a moment I thought that I had made the drinks a little too strong when little bright lights started jumping around the table but then a little more light was produced they turned out to be little flying insects with little light bulbs in their tails.
Lizards of between four and five inches were common and quite harmless. We had one or two resident one's that had been given names and at one time we had a Chameleon that I had found in the garden but it died on us. Probably due to the rapid changes of colour that was expected of it when we put it on a multi coloured carpet. The poor thing probably got into a state of utter confusion and died of a heart attack.
Tortoises were common and I have never seen so many in a natural habitat as there were around the old Roman city of Jarash, and Jarash it'self [sic] was another incredible place that was right out of biblical times. It had been uncovered in the preceeding [sic] 20 years and I swear that if you just stood there and listened you could hear the ghosts of the past all around and the sounds of chariot wheels on the old Roman roads that still bore the marks of those wheels.
We paid a visit to the Dead Sea and it was well worth the frightening drive. The native taxy driver seemed quite oblivious to his surroundings as we swept along high mountain unmade roads that twisted and turned with sometimes as much as a sheer 1500ft
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drop on one side into a moonscape like valley. Mix that up with the dust, the heat and five fractous [sic] kids as we were sharing the journey with another family, the driver with only one hand on the wheel and the radio blasting native music at 99 decibals [sic] and you have all the ingredients for a very exciting time. It was. Our route took us through Jericoh [sic] and close to the old courthouse, where according to the scriptures Christ was tried and sentenced, until we eventually got to the banks of the Dead Sea, over 500ft [underlined] below [/underlined] sea level and where I subsequently was flown down to in a Jordanian Air Force aircraft. A most interesting experience.
After the journey the sight of so much water was a great temptation and in we all went but within minutes we were in trouble. The adults knew that it was impossible to sink in that sea due to it's high salt content but no-one had told us that it was just like acid if you got it in the eyes. The kids thrashed around screaming in pain and it was just as well that we had a plentiful supply of water in bottles that we were able to pour over their faces until all was well again. After the initial discomfort we were all very careful as we experimented in the very dense water. It was quite incredible. Even just walking into it, before one was waist deep it was impossible to keep your feet on the bottom. You couldn't swim in it either. There was just not enough of the body in water to be able to go through the normal motions. Arms and legs just thrashed around in the air and it really was possible just to float in the sitting position with head and shoulders out of the water.
That was alright until we came out and there was no-where we could rinse off as most of our precious bottles of water had been used up. Within minutes we dried off and were covered in a layer of salt crystals and that was the way we set off back via a different route.
On the way we came across a place by the name of Salt. Just a nameplace where the road crossed a small tumbling stream so we made a stop there to wash off the salt and freshen up. There was an old rusted cannon and a lot of other ironmongery in the stream left from battles of long ago but we did not have a lot time to investigate further. A Jordanian soldier appeared and warned us off by the process of pointing his rifle at us
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so one does not argue in a situation like that. We did a bit more splashing about after I had put my camera way [sic] whilst the driver and the soldier communicated. Some folding money changed hands and we were on our way. The driver told us that the small wooden bridge was guarded because of it's strategic importance and I suspect that it had been guarded ever since General Allenby had passed that way during the first World War. Rather like the Allenby bridge across the River Jordan that we also visited on another occasion. That was still guarded so we did not think it worth while trying to obtain a bottle of water that we had planned to do. I suppose that if we had approached the soldiers with a fistful of notes we could have done it as that is what seemed to smooth the way generally if you wanted to get things done as a friend of mine found out when he imported a car from the UK!.
God knows how long the preliminaries had taken to even order it but in due course it arrived at Beruit [sic] after months of waiting.
Then came the business of getting it into Jordan. First of all he could not do it himself and pay the fees. That was much too easy. It had to be imported by a recognised import/export firm and then negotiations were started with the appropriate Government department although he was entitled to it's import without tax, under current diplomatic arrangements. So it laid at Beruit [sic] for many months as palms were greased until it duly arrived in Amman. Having accumulated more fees by that time there were even more to pay. Several more months of negotiations had followed as the documentation kept getting held up until fistfull [sic] of Dinars smothed [sic] the way and it was finally HIS car. Not that he was able to tax and insure it and drive it away. Despite the fact that it was new it had to go through all the mechanical checks that all vehicles were required to go through before being given a registration. It was a sort of MOT test but set annually, and annually got a different registration number which also meant a new set of plates. More Dinars changed hands at each of the four stages of testing, shuffling and mis-laying of papers, passing the papers to the department that made the plates, (right next door to the registration office), more mis-laid papers, and at last, when
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the plates were ready, the production of the insurance documents before those plates could be fixed and sealed by the department. Plus of course the final bakshees before he could actually take the car on the road. In all it took just over a year. He never took it for a second test. Things happened that forced him to subsequently drive it across the desert nearly 500 miles to Habbanyia where it was eventually taken to Basra under service arrangements and it came back to the UK on the Ark Royal minus wing mirrors, screen wipers, wheel trims, slightly dented and rusted. Fortunately there was enough documentation with it to ensure that it was not subject to import duty....provided that he kept it for a year!. At that point in time he would rather have got rid of it when he eventually got back to the UK himself but despite all the hassle he made full use of it. That was a car with a history.
I eventually got my opportunity to go further East. Just far enough. I was detailed to go to Habbanyia in Iraq for Courts Martial duties as a member of the Court. Anything except defence or prosecution, but it was not quite the 'perk' that I thought it was going to be.
After flying in I reported to the Adjutant who I knew and had a been the Signals Leader of 138 Squadron at Wyton and subsequently 90 Squadron at Marham, (at the same time as the chap who had fun with the car had been there); only to find that the President of the Court was none other than 'Black Mac' himself.
Being the junior member I was the 'scribe' and Mac was his same old self. His Adjutant was having as rough a time with him as I had had at Coningsby. Anyway, the case was over in a day and sentance [sic] was pronounced so I immediately set about putting some distance between Black Mac and myself.
It took three days with the flight priority that I had and more than one argument with the Senior Air Traffic Controller at Habbanyia who wanted to put me to work there. No way!. I wasn't there for that and it was a good thing that I knew a few people, not the least the Adjutant, who kept me on a four hour stand-by for a seat on an aircraft back to Amman. Apart from anything else I wanted to see Habbanyia, the RAF's jewel in the desert.
There was plenty of it with the old plateau airfield and the new one that had been laid out on the plain; the former being
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used for the training of the Iraqi Air Force. The relatively new base on the plain was surrounded by masses of buildings, three swimming pools, a profusion of lawns and gardens that turned the place into a glittering oasis. I walked miles and miles around that place and marvelled at the engineering that had made full use of the waters of the Euphrates and numerous artisan wells. There was even a large lodgement compound for the hundreds of native workers and their families who seemed to enjoy quite reasonable amenities, and eventually a seat became available and I was on my way back to Amman. I was to go back there again in due course.
Meanwhile it was back to work. I was duty controller and the airfield had been shut for a couple of hours one evening as no traffic had been notified when one of the ATC assistants phoned from the duty but to tell me that there was an aircraft overhead flashing it's lights. There was a rapid call out for duty crews and I was off to the control tower. The aircraft was still circling when I went on the air and asked the pilot to identify himself. It turned out to be an Eagle Airlines York freighter on his way to India which had been routed to us but the signals office still had nothing so he had to circle until we lit the place up, inspected the runway and alerted all the other services before we let him in. Then there were a few more surprises as the pilot and the navigator turned out to be ex 207 Squadron, Marham, who I had known there.
It did not take long to find out why they had arrived before the notification. They had actually been routed via Cyprus and Beruit [sic] but had done a short cut across the Med. and smack across Isreal [sic] . It might have seemed logical at the time but with no diplomatic clearance such an unauthorised route could have had unpleasant results from a trigger happy Ack-Ack gunner.
There was never a dull moment although some of the things that happened were quite serious.
Our helicopter with the Station Commander and Station Warrant Officer on board went down the line of the old Hadj railway of Lawrence of Arabia fame; to a point where it petered out about half way to Aquaba. For some reason or other the SWO, contrary to standing orders relative to the safe areas around a helicopter made the mistake of backing into the tail rotor,
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and a military funeral was the order of the day and a few months afterwards the helicopter pilot's wife who had shared our taxi to Gerash died of natural causes and there was more sadness in our tightly knit community.
There was a snippet of information from Habbanyia that did me the world of good when I heard of it and had a little 'chortle' at Black Mac's expense. He had given orders for an enormous banquet to be laid on. Typical, it had to be big!, but to lay that on for around a thousand people was no mean task. I definitely would not have cared to be in his Adjutants shoes about that time. As usual he had a hand in everything, including the menu and I can imagine the raised eyebrows when he decided that among the many courses served to two Kings, Ambassadors and dignatories [sic] from all over the Middle East was; maise!,(corn on the cob). That's what they feed the chickens on out there! but that was not the end of his indiscretions.
There was King Feisal of Iraq and his cousin King Husein [sic] of Jordan so it didn't help matters when he proposed a toast to King Feisal of Jordan!. I could just imagine the diplomatic huffing and puffing that went on. I had been on the mat in front of him often enough. I would like to have been a fly on the wall when he was on the mat in front of the C in C later.
In the political turmoil of the area we still managed to carry on with a small degree of normallity [sic] .
We managed a sports day with inter service competition between the RAF, the Army and the Jordanian services finishing up with a flying display from both Air Forces and on more than one occasion we closed the airfield to suit the Kings convenience by turning it into a motor racing circuit. That was a bit of fun on one occasion when he wanted to try out his latest Mercedes sports car. I can't remember the model but I do remember that it had gull wing doors. I even had the privilege of belting it around in company with the rest of his fleet.
It was a dreadful shock when we heard later that there had been a political uprising in Iraq, something that seemed to be spreading right through the Middle East, and as a result of that particular incident King Feisal of Iraq and most of the Royal family has been massacred, and a republic had been declared.
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There was definitely a rot setting in and there was no doubt that there was a lot of outside influence behind it all. You didn't have to be a genious [sic] to work out the fact that oil and a power politics was still the key to the whole business in Egypt, the Suez Canal, Jordan, Iraq and as it was to turn out later, Aden, the Persian Gulf and Iran and all points East. It seemed that that area of the British Empire's influence was crumbling around us.
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Nevertheless, Air Traffic Control was the job and there were few occasions when a shift did not produce something out of the ordinary.
It was all quiet one sultry afternoon when I heard a very faint 'May-Day' call on the common frequency and immediately responded but found it difficult to achieve satisfactory contact. The direction finder bearing showed the aircraft to be to the North of us and although it was possible to pick out a call-sign the rest of the message seemed to be in German. After giving courses to steer to reach us the aircraft's transmissions were getting louder and the pilot was calming down although it was obvious that his English was very limited, as was our German and then one of the assistants came to the rescue. I was not aware that he was a Channel Islander but he asked me to find out if the pilot 'parlies vous francious [sic] '?. That brought forth a stream of French so I put the assistant on the radio and it did not take long to find out what it was all about. At least he was steering the headings he had been given and was getting louder which was the most important thing but he turned out be a Swiss. in a light aircraft en. route from Cyprus to Bagdad but had encountered head winds, was lost and getting low on fuel. Certainly he had done the right thing by declaring an emergency over that inhospitable terrain that looked like the surface of the moon and getting into a bit of a panic that caused him to lapse into non-standard procedure. The rest was easy. He followed our instructions until he found us after which he was directed to the civilian reception area for the rest of the
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formalities. By the time he came over later to file a flight plan he had calmed down and able to communicate in good English and certainly happy enough that he had finished up with the RAF in Jordan instead of being lost in the mountains. Another satisfied customer even if we did extract a small landing fee from him.
I had to respond very rapidly to another emergency situation one evening shortly before our normal shut-down time. One of the Venoms was still airborne and the C.O. was on his way back from Aquaba in a Pembroke. The helicoptor [sic] pilot had just put his chopper away in the hangar almost opposite the control tower and had given me a wave as he started to walk off when the Venom pilot came on the air reporting his position and the fact that he had just flamed out and would be ejecting in five seconds ...4..3...2...1 and he was gone. There was a quick shout to the chopper pilot and hand signals to wind it up, another quick call on the radio to the C.O. who was on a different frequency almost overhead, to tell him that we had 'one down about 25 mls to the North East of us, please investigate...chopper on the way' and everything swung into action from there. Suffice to say that the downed pilot was back on the airfield within 30 minutes of his first call. Not bad going. The same 'downed' pilot was the one that subsequently took the first Harrier on a non-stop transatlantic flight to New York.
There was another occurance [sic] one late afternoon when a Valetta had a burst tyre and ran off of the runway to get well and truly bogged down but things like that were only slight hic-ups in a day's routine and I must admit that I was getting a lot more out of life than if I had continued to push paper around in the Secretarial Branch. Not that there wasn't any paperwork but it was different.
I had not been in Quarters on camp for very long and I had an off-duty morning closeted in my dark room when I heard the fire alarm faintly in the distance but with all the stuff I had in the trays I decided to ignore it. There was a highly qualified
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Flight/Sergeant RAF Regiment fireman on duty and quite capable of handling any situation without me. I found out what it had all been about when I went on duty for the afternoon shift and in hind-sight figured that it might have been better if I had turned out.
The fire had been in a ventilation canopy over the airmens mess kitchen right next to the school, so the firemen and police had cleared the school and were tackling the fire quite successfully until the Wg/Cdr. Admin turned up and instructed then to lay foam on the roof. They did as they were told and the resultant mess took days to clear up as the foam slid off into the school. My daughters were delighted at the fun and a few days off but the kitchens and the mess and the school were in a hell of a state. Ox blood based foam is very sticky stuff but I found a bit of a problem in writing up the fire report. First of all I was in trouble for not being there and then because foam had been used. I think it took three drafts of the report before the Wg/Cdr found it acceptable to pass on without laying the blame for the mess at anyone's door.
Following the report were his own recommendation that I, as fire officer should be on the phone so a phone was installed,(not that it would be any good if I was in the control tower or off camp as anyone else was entitled to be when off duty, but that caused another storm in a tea cup.
Some time later I got the bill for the telephone installation and was hot foot down to see the Wg/Cdr. As far as he was concerned I had the facility and I should pay for it but there was one quick way out of that. I insisted that as it was a strictly a service requirement on his own recommendation it should be restricted for incoming calls only and the Air Force could pay for it...and that was that. As far as I was concerned it was a matter of principle but I was beginning to wonder if other people had the same sort of hassle over almost everything. I certainly seemed to be getting more than my share anyway.
We had another unfortunate incident one night when an aircraft of the local air line inbound from Jedda lost an engine on final approach and piled in about three miles out. There were no other aircraft scheduled so with all the alarms going we were straight
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into the crash procedure and I jumped aboard one of the back up water tenders to get to the scene. It was a very rough ride but all we had to do was to head straight for the fire and by the time we got there the aircraft was well alight. The first rescue crews on the scene had put water spray on the exits where the passengers had been scrambling out virtually being pushed along by the crew and the last of them had just got out a few minutes before I got there and the fire finally beat the water and the foam and was rapidly consuming the aircraft.
Nevertheless, the crew were uninjured and there were no serious injuries among the passengers no doubt due to the fact that the the [sic] pilot had whipped the undercarriage up smartly and had done a successful belly flop in the lights of his landing lights. I found the rather shaken Captain who told me that at least everyone was out until there was some hysterical screaming from one of the native passengers who had been assembled in a group to one side and ultimately some-one conveyed the message that she had left her baby an the luggage rack…..too late!. The aircraft was melting down and there was nothing that could be done until things cooled off. Meanwhile we started loading the passengers into an RAF bus and ambulance as well as some of the back-up fire vehicles that were no longer needed and they set off back to the medical centre. My problem was that due to the terrain our radio to the tower was virtually useless and produced little more than buzzes and crackles so no-one on the airfield knew what was going on. I did something that was a bit hit and miss but it worked. I got the Rescue Landrover up to the highest point I could looking down on the airfield and broadcast the information and in addition I used the headlights to morse a message to the tower. They got both and the medical centre was ready to receive them and attend to the injured. Typical of the way they did things out there was one of the final acts. The pilot was promptly placed under arrest by the civil authority even though he was still in a state of shock. Out there you were often guilty until you could prove your innocence. It was the way things were done and one got used to things that would have been outrageous at home. It was very similar to the manner in which I saw the public treat a taxi driver in Amman city after he had knocked over
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a small boy in the main street. The taxi had come to a screeching stop after the lad had nipped in front of him and got clipped. A howling mob descended upon the taxi driver and hauled him out of the vehicle and pulled, punched and kicked him in the direction of the nearest police post whilst in the meantime the small boy, who had only been bumped and had rolled into the gutter, got up, dusted himself off and scurried down a side ally. No doubt the taxi driver got thumped for his part in the incident and it seemed that no-ne [sic] was particularly interested in a slightly grazed little boy!.
The unit library was a place that most people used and contributed to quite regularly but most books had become dog-eared and certain types, mainly 'whodunits' very often had their story line ruined by the attentions of a certain elderly lady.
The lady was an ex school mistress who had taught in the local missionary schools since the days of Queen Victoria if her appearance was anything to go by. She wore Victorian type clothing that elderly ladies of that era would have worn. Voluminous skirt and blouse with tweed jacket, the whole ensemble, half moon steel rimmed glasses and all, topped off by a white brolly. She lived locally although retired, and had stayed on, greatly respected by the local population and permitted the privilege of an honourary [sic]membership of our mess. That was how she came to use the library but the margins of nearly every book contained some comment, like an Agatha Christie Miss Marples, in her unmistakable shaky scrawl such as, 'now I know who it is', or 'so and so did it', or 'it cannot be……' or 'I knew it was' etc, etc. but she was a great character and after a spot of bother on one occasion with some of the locals when she needed rescuing from an excitable crowd she was heard giving them some suitable comment in arabic about their behaviour whilst still retaining her dignity.
At one point in the late summer we got the first rains of the season and a most wonderful sight met our eyes when we looked p down the hill from the bungalow. The whole hillside was covered in a solid carpet of crocus in all shades of mauve. They had
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just popped up, and by the end of the day they had all gone again. Surprising what a bit of moisture will do in that part of the world where it did not usually rain between March and September.
As the weather became cooler we decided to have a fire lit in the lounge one evening. Coal was available in the outside storage bin supplied on payment through the stores and very expensive. As it was a most unlikely commodity in that part of the world I asked the storeman how the devil we got it to find that apparently it was supplied under a local contract and came from South Africa by boat to Aquaba and then was brought up by camel train. Very precious stuff that!. However, Abdul was instructed to light a fire. I suppose I should have shown him how to do it the first time but it never occurred to me that he would never have seen coal before so when he queried the method he was told, paper and wood with the coal on top and the black rock will burn. So he did as he was told but he had experimented somewhat. He mixed the lot up with about a pint of parafin [sic] , set light to it outside and then brought it all in in a bucket. There was certainly some pandemonium when he came staggering in with a bucket of fire on the end of a pole!. The Station Fire Officer had visions of his quarters going up in smoke but we did eventually manage to transfer it to the fireplace where he sat watching it for a long time before being convinced that the black rock really did burn.
Their usual method of producing heat was by some parafin [sic] appliance or charcoal or even scrub wood which further diminished what timber there was on the sparse hillsides.
There was always plenty of social activity with dances, parties, horse riding, tennis, swimming gala's, motor racing etc, etc but I will always remember one particular function that we attended. A reception at the British Embassy was about the dullest affair that I have ever been to. The drinks were so watered that even if you asked for a straight Whisky you still couldn't taste it, or the Gin or the Brandy for that matter. One thing was for sure, no-one was likely to have more than was good for him and let the side down. What other foreign
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nationals from other Embassies thought about I wouldn't know but I imagine that giving a Russian a Vodka similarly diluted would have raised an eyebrow, and precious little else!. However, as is so often said, it was all part of life's rich tapestry.
As a part time untrained fire officer I was certainly getting my share of 'on the job training' from the experiences of attending some quite spectacular fires.
Shortly after having the phone put in I had a call-out and had no option but to turn out since the call came direct from the C.O. The first one was in the Souk (market), in the city, and I mustered the maximum that was available, leaving the bare minimum for the airfield so we set off with four vehicles and when we arrived the area was an inferno. The source of the fire was right in the centre where there was a great deal of timber used by a small factory producing boxes for fruit and vegetable packing and although the native population were very agitated not a lot seemed to be happening. The municipal fire services were no-where to be seen and as my F/Sgt was on leave the two corporals soon assessed the situation and started to deploy the vehicles whilst I went in search of a person of some authority and to find a source of water replenishment. I was unfortunate in both respects and when I returned to the scene it was obvious that we were in trouble. A hord [sic] of uncontrollable natives were helping out in their own way by manhandling one hose and had pulled the pump off of the jacks and the suction hose out of the water bowser to such an extent that there was water everywhere except where we wanted it. It was a fine old mess until I managed to find a policeman with stripes on his arm and asked him to muster sufficient troops to protect the operation whilst my firemen were instructed to recover everything, stop pumping and to stand-by until we had control. Not easy as some people were absolutely frantic as it appeared that at least four people had been caught in the blaze. As I saw it they would have been well and truly roasted by that time and my main concern was to stop the fire from spreading and we started to pump water again as far as our tankerage would allow although we had found a supply source of our own at an ice factory back along the road and started
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a shuttle and that kept things going.
In due course the municipal fire brigade arrived and positioned themselves on the downwind side of the fire…..and the best of luck, then the Jordanian Air Force arrived with their pump but no water tender but very soon packed up as their hoses were perished and leaking but it didn't matter much as they then ran out of petrol!. At least we were putting on water..until the King arrived!.
The police lost control of the crowd again, everyone was bowing and scraping. We lost control of the pump for a while and stopped pumping which upset the King a little when he came to watch progress but was satisfied that we had a water problem and as the fire was almost under control we might as well allow the centre to burn out unless the city fire services still required us. That being established we wrapped it up and set off home in convoy with a salute to the King and clapping from the locals....but we were minus one brass hose nozzle; which had been stolen!.
The next fire I attended some time later was to a cinema up on Jebel Ammman overlooking the city. That time we took the big fire tender with back-up pump and tanker. I went with the big Mk.V. and half a dozen firemen and air traffic control assistants but we did not have the best of drivers for a job like that. There were some very steep hills to negotiate and that particular model as fas [sic] I was concerned had some built in design faults. Not the least of which was it's hill climbing capability with a full load of water and foam compound plus a few people. In the excitement the driver did not react properly to the possibility of an extended hill climb when he should have selected auxiliary low gear at the bottom of the hill, but instead he stuffed it at the hill until he ran out of steam and then muffed a gear change. That was a recipe for disaster.
We started to roll back. Neither footbrake or handbrake would hold it and with the prospect of a nasty situation arising I hollered to all the men on the back to bale out, crashed the gear lever into a forward gear and wrenched the wheel out of the drivers grasp so that our downhill run was stopped by our back end ramming a low wall. I got some stick for it of course but I am convinced that it saved the day. It saved the troops
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but it bent the tender and the wall but at least we did take off again and got to the scene of the fire. Unfortunately the pump outlets had been damaged and we could only use it as a back-up water tender to our trailer pump that got to work immediately on arrival. The cinema was nearly gutted anyway and the shell of the building itself had prevented any spread of fire to surrounding buildings so there was little that we could do. The city fire services were spraying water on the side wall, aiming for one small window quite high up, with very little success until one local fireman climbed an extending ladder with his 1 1/2 inch hose to put water directly into the window. I didn't think it was good idea as it was all very close to overhead power lines and the like so I went inside through the foyer with the city fire chief to asses the possibility of taking our hoses in through that way and promptly retreated. The fire had got a good hold so I immediately withdrew all of our appliances out of the roadway from below the wall of the building to the space under the inside balcony. The main wall was as hot as the side of a brick kiln and all that cooling water in my estimation was likely to cause a blow-out and collapse the wall. Despite putting this suggestion to the fire chief that his man up the ladder was in considerable danger he left him up there whilst we concentrated on the fire at the base of the inside wall.
Of course, in retrospect there is always another way of dealing with a situation although my report emphasised the need to keep my firemen out of the danger of a collapsing wall so as usual I got 'stick' for it. That is what officers in charge were for!!.
That's what the recently appointed C.O. thought anyway as for some reason he did not have a lot of time for Air Traffic Controllers, even though we were all ex aircrew. To him we were 'rock-apes', a term of endearment usually reserved for the RAF Regiment. There was very little that any of us could do right according to him, so there was the usual enquiry and a lot more caustic comment thrown around. I was used to it by that time so it was all water off of a ducks back.
I was paying a number of liaison visits to the civil airport
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by that time as parts of the civil terminal building were being up-dated with an Air Traffic Control facility although it was very basic. Almost every time I went there the man in charge was comfortably dressed in pyjamas and rather like the Egyptians had very limited knowledge and even less experience but most of their questions were answered. We never saw them in our Air Traffic Control tower though. They always declined the invitation as apparently they monitored all of our radio channels anyway!.
I have very good reason to remember the occasion that the terminal was officially opened by King Hussien [sic] . I had an official invitation to attend with a place on the viewing balcony so of course I had my camera at the ready when the King advanced along the red carpet towards the entrance just below and a perfect shot was presented....then my lens hood fell off and landed at the feet of P.M. with a gentle tinkle. There was instant reaction. H.M. stepped back smartly, surrounded by his escort whilst about ten weapons were aimed straight at me. Phew!. Fortunately I was immediately recognised by the King as the chap he saw quite regularly in the control tower when he presented his flight plan and with a wave the procession carried on. One thing I did not expect was a soldier clattering up the steps to hand me back my lens hood with the compliments of the King. Alright to laugh at later but a bit tense at the time.
The political situation in Jordan seemed to changing in a way that was very similar to that which had caused Britain to give up their protective role in Egypt under the mandate given to us by the United Nations. We had been obliged to get out of Egypt and our troops had been withdrawn from the Canal Zone. Now the power struggle had centred on Jordan and King Hussien [sic] being pro. British was having a spot of bother keeping control of the situation and on one occasion when I paid a liaison visit to the civil 'Air Traffic Control Centre' I had an extraordinary proposal put to me. Although one had to be very careful not to discuss sensitive political matters a mention was made of Colonel Nasser who was the current 'fly in the ointment' in Egypt. It was suggested that if I could arrange for the British Government to put up £1,000,000 in gold Nasser could easily
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be put out of business!.
Having done my best to confirm that it was not a joke I lost no time in passing the message along a discreet channel which dealt with such things and naturally heard no more about it.
It was not long after that incident that I was on duty in the control tower and soon after we had opened up in the morning a great deal of activity was observed over at the civil terminal building as well as in the Jordanian Air Force dispersals. Through the binoculars I was able to determine the figure of General Glub, C in C of the Jordanian Forces, (and controller of the purse strings for the British money that kept that force going), in amongst a large crowd of military people.
It all looked very excitable and not the usual situation that one expected to see the General in so I immediately opened the line to our intelligence officer to give him a running commentary on the activities as far as I could see. One of the Jordanian Air Force's De Haviland Dove's was run up and then started taxying as the pilot called for take-off clearance whilst on the move. He would not give his destination although he advised that his flight was diplomatically cleared and he duly took off heading North. So was the General and his Lady as we found out later!. There had been a coup. Out went the General and the Jordanians controlled their own purse military purse strings. The results of that were soon very obvious as the supply of British money was cut off.
The British seconded personnel were OK for their pay as they were seconded from their respective forces but pay for Jordanian Forces soon became unreliable. So did the supply and re-supply of military stores. Their uniforms became tatty. Their boots were wearing out and we were to find out later that the troops were selling their equipment to make both ends meet although the shortage of one commodity did not come to light for some time.
It was after attending another fire that we were able to put two and two together. The fire was in one of the typical concrete blockhouse native dwellings out in the scrub and there was a hell of a bang one night when it erupted in smoke and flame. When we got there it was obvious that there was little need
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for our services. For myself I had long given up trying to put out fires. The priority was to save lives, stop the spread of fire and last of all saving of property. What we were faced with was a blackened ruptured mess that had been a home but with very little combustable [sic] material left but the worst part of, it was that there were half a dozen pink, bloated, naked bodies spread around it, plus one on what was left of the roof. We dowsed the place well and truly with water and the locals recovered the body but it was even more terrible to find that most of the casualties were women. They all had to be very carefully handled so we left the clearing up job to the Jordanians.
The subsequent Investigations showed that the explosion was caused by the careless handling of some high grade cordite, from some .303ins. cartridge cases complete with percussion caps, all in the same area. A recipe for disaster.
Apparently cartridges were being emptied and the bullets replaced making a nice little earner for someone. But it did mean that most soldiers probably had only one in five usable rounds for his rifle!. It was just part of the corruption that was beginning to undermine the once proud and efficient Jordan Arab Army. It was going into decline rapidly after it's finance had been cut off.
From that point on we found ourselves facing more and more restrictions in our daily life. NAAFI supplies became limited as certain items which were produced by firms having any connection with Isreal [sic] were banned imports. That included of course Jaffa orange juice that had gone all the way to the UK and back again to their next door neighbours but we coped. The NAAFI bottling plant stepped up production of orange and lemon drinks from essence that came from Cyprus. Well, so the management said!.
Nothing that happened surprised me any more. We had some very unusual flight plans signalled in one day which immediately aroused suspicion so Intelligence was advised. I decided to go out to the radar truck situated at the edge of the runway to get the closest possible view of these four 'Egyptian Air
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Lines DC.3's when they came in. They came charging into the circuit totally ignoring all Air Traffic instructions, did a low level circuit in a 'gaggle' and then crunched onto the runway. I was watching carefully from a small ventilator in the van as they slowed down at my end of the runway and they were quite a sight. In the first place they were not DC.3's. They were Russian Ilushan [sic] 14's and not in very good condition either. They were very tatty with lop-sided undercarriage suspensions and their general appearance was not improved by the rough flaking paintwork only partially covered Egyptian Air Force markings by crudely painted civilian registration letters.
I kept in touch with the control tower and all of our observations were passed to Intelligence and of course as they were ostensibly civil aircraft they went to the civilian terminal.
There was a great deal of activity on their arrival and there was a fleet of lorries awaiting them but the unloading process was difficult to follow even from the control tower, although I have no doubt there were many pairs of eyes on these from various vantage points as there must have been from the moment they touched down.
As soon as the unloading was complete they were requesting taxy clearance, destination not notified and no flight plans filed. All very suspicious.
All the information that we had been passing back had filtered through to the right people, possibly through the Embassy to the King but someone was very quick off the mark. Jordanian military police forces intercepted the convoy of trucks on the main road out of the airfield and the cargoes were found to be arms and ammunition looted from the huge depots in Egypt that we had left in the care of the Egyptians. It was obvious that something really dodgy was going on and subsequently some very rough justice was meted out. There were more public hangings in the city which was becoming quite a regular event.
The daily routine still went on but there was an air of apprehension creeping in. It was not unfounded. The next thing that happened was that families were warned to get ready for
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repatriation to the UK, and not very much time was given. There were lots of tears and frenzied packing until eventually the airlift by Hastings aircraft out of Cyprus began. Every day there were more goodbye's. Some people had to go by 'casevac' aircraft as the medical centre was emptied. Mothers and one day old babies were included until eventually it was the turn of the Gamble family. Abdul cried and beat his chest in anguish and when they had gone and the married quarter had to be prepared for handing back as I took up residence in single quarters. What an end that was to what had been initially descibed [sic] as an accompanied posting!. [inserted] I [/inserted] was not amused, but work had to go on just the same.
Living out privileges were withdrawn and everyone moved into camp as our activities became more and more restricted by local events. We were confined to camp for days at a time and mess life became a very hectic round with little else to do. Even the cinema only opened two or three nights a week with the difficulty of getting new films in. I managed to get Abdul taken on by the mess as a steward and he was only too glad to have a reasonably well paid job having moved his family into the area to work for me he had considerable overheads.
On one of the numerous occasions that the city had erupted once again in political termoil [sic] the C.O. sent for me to do a nice little job for him. I was to be a courier to take a message to the British Embassy, which was virtually under siege, and our communications were no longer as discreet as they might have been. I was to go in civilian clothes by taxi. My answer to that was "thanks a lot, do I have any options" to which the answer was "no". Thanks again, although I did wring one concession from him, I was allowed to draw a pistol, with a full chamber, which I kept in my hand, in my brief case, all the way there and back. There was no way I was going to be at the mercy of a howling frenzied mob without being able to do a bit of damage first. Right or wrong, that's the way I felt about the situation at the time. After all the tight spots I had been in in my life I reckoned I was owed a chance but it went off without any fuss and I breathed easy again.
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One evening about six weeks after the families had gone there was a strange atmosphere permeating the normal activities. The cinema was closed. The Sgt's mess bar, and ours, as well as the Naafi canteen were ordered to close early and everyone was warned to be ready for an early start the following day.
Few of us thought that it would be as early as it was though At 5am the sirens started wailing. The PA system was busy giving orders for everyone to report to their normal places of work by 6am, phones were ringing madly and the whole station got into gear very quickly. At 6am roll-calls were made and instructions were passed for everyone to get back to quarters, pack personal belongings and back to the messes for breakfast. Breakfast was tea coffee, toast and boiled eggs...taken on the run as it would finish at 7pm precicely [sic] after which we were to report back to our sections. At 7pm the PA system was announcing the almost unbelievable news that we were evacuating the station. Today!...just like that!. We were going to Mafraq which was a few miles to the North and we had 12 hours to do it in, and the PA system was going almost non-stop. There was no written distributed plan to work to. It was all done on the PA from Ops. and on the telephone. Motor transport was allocated to all sections who provided their own drivers. Those sections that had no drivers had them allocated with the vehicles and every qualified driver was pressed into service. Workshops were emptied. Vehicles were put together, and those that could not be put on the road were loaded on the backs of others or prepared for towing.
The direction finder vehicle that had been up on the hill without wheels for years was fitted with wheels and brought down. Fuel tankers were filled from the storage tanks and vehicles were filled to the brim. Aircraft tanks were topped up to maximum. A Meteor that had been under repair in the hangar was hastily prepared and in fact took off later with almost flat tyres and was wheels down all the way with the locks in just to be safe.
The messes, offices, stores, the Naafi, the library and armoury were emptied. The armoury in particular was cleared by the simple expedient of issueing [sic] arms to everyone to save transport space so we all finished up with a selection of rifles, pistols, Sten guns, Bren guns, you name it, and as much ammunition as we could
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carry. Work pressed on at an incredible rate. The only refreshment was what one managed to cobble up in the departments and sections…..lunch was not even mentioned, although we were told that meals would be available at Mafraq where a skeleton crew had always provided minimum facilities there as a relief landing ground; even before a new runway had been built on a new site.
Everything that was not bolted down was packed…and some things were unbolted, and as each section was ready to move it was off to the Guard Room where convoys of a minimum of ten vehicles were put together and dispatched by the Service Police. The Squadron Venoms were being flown out followed by the chopper as soon as the Squadron was gone. The fighter control unit that had always operated from a remote site was wrapped up and that was on it's way independantly [sic] as were the British Military personnel on secondment to the Jordanian Government. The RAF Regiment airfield defence units just packed up and went, Bofors guns and all, everyone armed to the teeth and in many cases parties left a certain amount of damage and disruption behind them. Handsfull [sic] of salt and sand did guns and engines considerable damage. The Jordanian Air Force Vampires had all their guns de-harmonised so that they were likely to spray lead all over the place instead of in a concentrated pattern and the Kings personal Tiger Moth was tipped up on it's nose busting it's prop.
The Station thinned out fast. Air Traffic Control, the fire services and the signals cabin were the last to wrap up but the dead-line was met although aircraft were still going in and out with very limited services which pilots were advised of and as we approached the dead-line we lost control of the airfield.
The last civilian aircraft was the BOAC Argonaught from U.K. to Bahrain and although the captain accepted the limitation he had to be sent around again as half a dozen vehicles of the Jordan Arab Army appeared on the airfield weaving about all over the runway and he was obliged to circle whilst we tried to keep them off. The pilot landed eventually under his own responsibility, disembarked and embarked his passengers in double quick time and was off again without a flight plan.
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Our last action was to signal the airfield's closure and change of operating authority before the signals cabin was dismantled and the Pembroke flew out with as many as could be piled in leaving the remaining Air Traffic staff (including me) and the fire services to go by road as soon as the keys were deposited in the Guard Room, so off we set with RAF Police Landrover in the rear. Amman was no longer an RAF base!!!.
Our new home was the new Mafraq airfield being built as part of the NATO plan. It was on the North side of the old oil pipeline on the main route from Damascus to Bagdad opposite the old Mafraq (Dawsons Field), but it was in no way complete.
At least it had a long new runway, some new buildings which had in fact been built as married quarters although there were no barracks as such. Needless to say, they were allocated as barracks even though they lacked lighting, running water or toilet facilities. In fact, water was a very scarce commodity as there was no bore hole, and no water tower so water had to be brought in by a dubious civilian source which could not even be used for cooking until a filtration system was devised. But all these problems were only part of the getting sorted out plan. Later on we found that as we were not far from the foothills of the mountains of southern Syria a water diviner was expected from the UK to pin-point a source. That was put on hold although it should not have been difficult considering that 20 miles to the East there was a large area of marshland and vegetation which was fed by the flood waters from the mountains and some of that found it's way through the middle of the airfield. They had built a large conduit under the runway to take it away in the rainy season!.
However, limited water there was and that was a start. At least once a day we could draw a ration for washing and shaving. Drainage was a different matter. There were no drains so we resorted to the desert encampment method of doing things and the shovels had been at work allready [sic] . Everyone got 'stuck in' and were working like beavers.
The Officers Mess had been set up in an area of bungalows. The Sgts Mess was similarly set up in a clutch of houses and the airmen spread around the incomplete estate. A large wooden building with a kitchen, which had originally been provided
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for the contractors workers was turned into the main mess hall.
As with our departure from Amman there were very few questions asked. Then we had been told to pack up and go. At Mafraq we were just allocated space and it was up to us to set it up. It says a lot for the character of the British serviceman in the way it was done. There was no lack of initiative.
Air Traffic Control had already been set up in a suitable place about half way down the runway in a desert mobile office and our old runway control van. Emergency short range radios took very little time to fit and aerials were promtly [sic] rigged by the signals section as was the direction finder and radar truck although it was only as a radio back-up and even the homing beacon was tied to the side of it on with a lash-up of a mast. As the ATC services were outside the main camp area and main power supply we had our own mobile generator.
The Royal Signals Corp who were [deleted] a [/deleted] our telephone people out there were frantically running lines between departments in the main compound, linking everything through a small PBX in the hub of the whole system, the Ops. room but had saved a lot of cable by actually using the runway lighting cables as phone lines to the ATC centre. There were no lighting units installed anyway just the cables. It would be back to the old parafin [sic] goose-neck flares for a flare-path.
The RAF Regiment were whacking in stakes and spreading coils of barbed wire by the ton to surround the main area of activity which did not include ATC. It was an isolated outpost, but armed to the teeth as was everyone else. Representations had already been made to the CO to turn us in a defensive compound surrounded by wire as we were going to have to maintain a 24 hour watch but we had been given a low priority on that.
Within the stores area was another fleet of vehicles including workshops which had [deleted] previously [/deleted] been part of the Egyptian stores depot that I had previously known nothing about and that played it's part later. Then there was a complete [inserted] mobile [/inserted] fighter control unit but it was not sited or deployed so there were a lot of people without jobs that ops deployed as manpower to wherever it was needed.
Work had been going on at a furious pace and a lot had been done before we arrived in the late evening. To uproot about
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1400 people with all their goods and chatels [sic] , equipment of all kinds, transport, arms andammunition [sic] , fuel, food and cooking facilities plus communications equipment, and set it all up again was quite an achievement and must have given the CO and his senior officers more than a few headaches in planning it in secret the night before.
Work that first day did not stop at five o'clock. It just continued until most things were in place and reported operational before the troops staggered back to the mess hall for soup and sandwiches before drawing bedding and making up beds to finally flop into them; exhausted. What a day it had been although it should be pointed out that it did not all happen on the first day. It was an on going thing and a matter of priorities.
There were two items of private transport parked in the officers mess area. One, the car that had caused a colleague so much trouble to get into the country, and the other, a neat little bright red MG.B. belonging to the Station Commander, or to be precise, his wife. Some months previously King Hussein had made a present of it to the CO. but no sooner that the Embassy heard of it they invoked Queens Rules and Regulations about the acceptance of gifts by serving officers and it was 'no can do'. I do not know who squared it all up, but the King took it back and then presented it to Mrs.C.O. There was no argument with that!.
After a few hours sleep the second day was a memorable one as far as some of us were concerned. There was no need to push anyone and after a quick breakfast the hustle and bustle started again. I had not even had time to go to the airfield for the day shift although we were down to six controllers by that time with postings out and no replacements and having left ATC problems to another controller I had hardly had time to check out the fire services deployment when a message direct from the CO was delivered. It required two controllers, six firemen, two radio mechanics and two other technical trades to muster with tool kits as appropriate, small kit, (essential personal belongings), plus one major fire tender, to return immediately to Amman to put the services back on the air again. It had not taken long for everything to fizzle out and the King had made
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a personal appeal to the Group Captain for assistance. I had no problem in nominating my No.2. A New Zealander, an ex POW like myself who would know how to take care of himself. I went with the fire tender and the others went by air arriving more or less at the same time. I had been delayed a few minutes before setting off as I transferred a couple of cases of Brandy from the Mess stocks to the fire tender…..just in case of emergencies!!!!.
My colleague had already taken stock of the situation and was waiting at the foot of Air Traffic Control when we arrived and we quickly sorted out a plan. A young Jordanian pilot was 'in control' in the tower and was doing his best with a verey pistol and a stock of cartridges which was about to run out as there had been a total breakdown of communications despite, as I had understood, that the civilian terminal facilities were all in place if needed. A bit of 'know how' would have helped, but civil aircraft were still scheduled and something had to be done so everyone went about their business. Within two hours everything was ticking over again. The main generators were started up. Power was back on, batteries were being charged, verey cartridge stocks were replaced by scavenging among the Jordanian Air Force aircraft, tuning had been carried out and crash and rescue services were operational, with limitations, although the Jordanian Air Force appliances would not join ours on the hard-standing but 'control' remained in the hands of the Jordanians. We flatly refused to have anything to do with it....it was their airfield and that was that.
By late afternoon our activities slowed down as intercomms [sic] and radio communications were all back on line so we waited around for something to happen.
Eventually we were rounded up and taken to a mess hail in the Jordanian Air force compound where we were fed. We certainly needed it. We had had nothing for ten hours other than perhaps a small share of a bar of chocolate that someone had thoughtfully put in his kit.
After that we were taken to our accommodation. I could hardly believe it was happening. The keys of two married quarters had been produced from the Guard Room. One was my old quarter and the other the Station Commander's.
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My colleague and I took rooms in my old quarter and we put the men in the CO's residence as it was the larger building but after a good look around we decided that there was plenty of room for all of us in the big house and that we would move in the following day. There was room for us at one end and for the men the other with the lounge designated as a common room. Our stock of drink was added to what we found in the main house. The CO had lived in it right up to the moment we had moved out and hence his wine stocks were still there in his store and side-board. It was an Alladins [sic] cave!. Exactly as he had left it. Nice of him. We promptly appointed one of the Corporals as barman with the responsibilty [sic] of keeping it all secure and out of bounds during the working day. That way we could make it last so after a couple of rounds on the CO we retired for the night.
I must confess that it did seem strange sleeping .in my old quarter again especially as there remained a memento of the previous occupants. A jig-saw puzzle that one of my girls had left was still on the top of a wardrobe!.
We had been warned to be ready for a pick-up at 7:30 the following morning for an 8 o'clock breakfast so we were all formed up in a mini parade when the transport arrived on the dot and were duly conveyed to the same mess hall, where we had had supper the night before.
Most of us were hanging on to the little bit of kit that we had taken with us and had added a few eating and drinking utensils along the way. The quarters were still as they had been left by the last occupant, as per inventory; down to the last pepper pot... but who cared!. There were two ex POW's who had been obliged to eat with the fingers before, and were not taking any more chances.
We had a good breakfast and at 8:30 we were asked to wait for instructions as there was a great deal of activity ouside [sic] and we did not have to wait long before we found out what we were going to do next.
The mess hall was totally encircled by armed troops standing shoulder to shoulder and an officer told us that we were to stay put until things were sorted out. We were under house arrest!.
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By mid-morning the sorting out had been done as we just sat around twiddling our thumbs until we were asked to assemble outside as we were going to the airfield...but not before being asked for the keys to the fire tender!. There was no point in arguing so I reluctantly handed them over and then we were escorted to the airfield where we waited a little longer before our Pembroke came in so we all piled in. The pilot, who happened to be the Group Captain did not bother to shut down the engines. It was certainly not built to carry that many so it was a bit of a squeeze and it was even more of a squeeze to get it off the runway too. We used every bit of it and every bit of power that was available. We used all of the runway and just lifted off with everything straining all the way to land at Mafraq a few minutes later with some very hot engines. So much for that little expedition!!.
The CO did not say a lot apart from suggesting that there would have to be an enquiry into the loss of my fire engine and I think [deleted] g [/deleted] my answer was something to the effect that it might as well be done by the same board that would do the enquiry into the loss of his airfield!, but it was only a formality really in order to get it struck off and replaced.
In the meantime things had really been going on apace at our new base. The barbed wire had been strengthened. Trenches and gun pits had been dug. Sand bags were piled up all over the place including the fuel dump, the aircraft dispersals and other vulnerable places....including Air Traffic Control. That was at least no longer stuck out on a limb but a whole new pattern of life had emerged.
The station was on Red Alert permanently which was a rare situation for peace-time. Everyone was still armed to the teeth and the Amman party had reclaimed their weapons from the armoury. On reflection it was as well that we had not been armed when we had gone back otherwise I am sure that it would have meant another enquiry into the loss of our weapons.
The old Mafraq desert airfield had been completely deserted and everyone was confined to the new camp area. Aircraft had been shuttling to and from Cyprus and Habbanyia. Essential supplies were coming in and non-essential personnel were being flown out as a lot of adjustment was taking place.
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Air Traffic Control was still being maintained on a 24 hour shift system so the few that had been doing the job were only too pleased to spread the job out a bit. We all had secondary duties to perform as well so we were kept busy.
The Army had opened the Post Office again and some mail was already beginning to filter through from the UK but we had been advised that outgoing mail was being censored at Nicosia so there would be delays in that direction.
I was desperate for news of my wife who had not been well prior to leaving Amman and had had a dreadful time going through Cyprus, Stansted and subsequently through Hendon before being able to catch the first train out of Victoria in the cold early dawn of an English winter. She had caught a chill. Her nerves were shot to pieces and it was just as well that she had opted to go back to her parents home in Worthing where she could be looked after much better than if she had gone to a transit camp at Blackpool which had been one of the options.
From her most recent letters it was obvious that she was still unwell and was not being helped by the disruption of the mail from our part of the world either.
All our goods and chatels [sic] which had been flown out of Amman was somewhere en-route so a lot of new clothing had to be purchased and it was not easy but somehow she was coping. For the girls it had all been quite an experience although even they were glad to settle down in the local school once more.
Our daily routine developed into something like normality once more. There was plenty of ammunition and we could spend as much time as we wanted on the range which had been quickly set up but in a very short space of time we set up our own on the airfield with aid of a borrowed bulldozer. I had qualified as a range safety officer at Mareham [sic] so we soon got clearance to do our own thing. The targets were of the tin and bottle kind and there is nothing like practice to improve marksmanship!.
One also learns considerable respect in the handling of firearms provided that the basic rules are observed, and they were. No fooling about. A gun should always be handled as if it was loaded so loading and unloading and cleaning, going on and off duty never produced one incident of mis-handling...fortunately!.
Aircraft continued to go in and out, and in most instances we
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had notification as soon as our communication with the outside world had been re-established. It was all radio and radio teleprinters of course so with all the coding and de-coding that was required the signals cabin was going flat out.
We were very surprised one morning we we [sic] went off-duty after a busy night with Hasting's coming and going to find that we had several heavy artillery peices [sic] already dug in, sandbagged and manned by the R. A. ready for use. The question was, against who?.
We were not left in doubt for very long. Within 24 hours of their arrival the news hit us that combined French and British forces had invaded Egypt and the Suez Canal Zone and then we were immediately on a war readyness [sic] state.
News was limited to the personal radios that many still had but the fresh restrictions under which we were then placed gave us more to worry about.
Diplomatic relations with other Arab countries were broken off and we could no longer use the air route across Syria to Cyprus and all traffic had to be routed via Habbanyia(Iraq) and Turkey. Isreal [sic] was at war with Egypt and Jordan. Iraq was making protests in respect of our presence and Cyprus was suffering some internal unrest from a regigious [sic] rebel. And we were sitting in the middle!.
That particular episode is but another chapter of history, so it might as well be left to the historians to write it down. All I was aware of at the time was that it was another fine mess I was in.
The daily routine went on but perhaps the biggest headache of all was the acute shortage of water. Tanks, water carriers and bowsers of every sort were pressed into service for storage. There were no laundry facilities and it soon became neccesary [sic] to institute bathing parades for about twenty people at a time to strip wash at a water bowser and then dunk clothes at the same time. It was not very well received by some of the more sensitive youngsters, many of them national servicemen but thank goodness the weather was still fairly warm with the odd shower from time to time. At least when it did rain Air Traffic Control had a plentiful supply with the benefit of the stream that ran under the runway. More than enough on one occasion after a really
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heavy downpour when a great deal of rubbish was carried along in the flood which blocked the grating and then diverted the stream over the runway!. A useful job for the fire services.
The rain did bring some other problem though as the airfield had been built right across an age old camel route from the North right down into Saudi Arabia. Camel trains naturally followed the water supply and took years to go each way with many young being born en-route.
The older animals knew the route instinctively and invariably travelled in the cool of the night with the herders fast asleep in the saddle but it played merry hell when they blundered into barbed wire and other things like an airfield across their path. There was a great deal of growling, bellowing and other noises that camels make as some of them got tangled up.
Some wire had been strung out earlier to divert them from their route but it was a waste of time. You only had to look at a camel to realise that going around it was very far from their minds. The easiest way was to remove it and thoroughly inspect the runway at night before it was. I think it save a lot in compensation too!.
I had one piece of good news anyway. The two cases of Brandy that I had diverted from the bar stocks were written off and did not get charged to my mess bill, the paperwork for which had all been brought from Amman. It would not have cost much anyway. At approximately 50p a bottle it would not have been more than £12 in total in those days!.
Since we had moved to Mafraq our rations had been fairly basic although with the air supply we had been topped up and were adequate for several weeks if we had been completely bottled up. Nevertheless. the NAAFI manager, who was a member of our mess and in fact shared a room with me, decided that he would do something really special for one week-end and set to work with some 'surplus' stocks to make an enormous pie. In a bath tub!.
In went four chickens, obtained locally, followed by several pounds of bacon. The contents of several tins of pork and sausage meat. Corned beef, spices, all suitably spiced and sloshed into the tub with several dozen halves of boiled eggs. The pastry took umpteen pounds of flour and fat to make the lining and
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the lid and when finally decorated was a near masterpiece as the 60lb. pie was hoisted into the oven.
After hours of cooking and cooling it was finally brought ceremoniously into the dining room with all the solemnity usually reserved for a royal haggis. It really did look good with it's pastry leaves and rosettes all glistening with the overall glazing. It cut beautifully and tasted gorgoeus [sic] . Certainly it seemed worth all the effort that had been put into it….until the following day!.
Some people said it was due to a richness that we had not been used to, others reckoned it was over indulgence but the medical officer decided that as the medical centre was inundated with officers going sick that perhaps the ingredients were not as fresh as they might have been. The local chickens were suspect even though they had been bought live. (You did not normally buy anything of that sort out there unless it was on the hoof or still clucking). So the MO had the last word and condemned it to be consigned to the fire. I thought it was a great shame. I had had a double portion and I was OK, and so was the NAAFI manager who took out a large chunk before disposal. And we still did not come to any harm. Need one say more!.
There was one weekly event that many people turned out to see. It was the 'train' that went through from Damascus to Bagdad a few miles from us, usually on the far side of the old Dawsons Field, only it was not on rails. It was a huge Mercedes locomotive/coach with a trailer coach like a gigantic silver caterpillar. It's wheels were between 7 and 8 feet in height with great balloon tyres that looked as if they had come off of a Stirling. With a crew of drivers, engineers, radio operators navigators and stewards it just bored majestically along like the proverbial ship of the desert in a plume of exhaust smoke and a cloud of sand. It really was an impressive sight as it went through. Unfortunately I was never in a position to photograph it as zoom and telephoto lenses were not so readily available as they are today.
After [sic] while the rigid restrictions were eased a little although we were required to wear uniform all the time. Everything to the West of us and that included the town of Zerqua was still out of bounds but we could go in small parties Eastwards to
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the marshes where there was some wildfowl and some remnants of an ancient civilisation.
Among them were the ruins of an old Bysantine [sic] town which still bore the marks of the progress of the Crusaders that had passed that way hundreds of years before. The most amazing thing was the size of the building blocks. Something like 4ft square and there was still a lot of it standing. Mostly it was being used as a shelter for camels which were being looked after by a motley collection of very ragged boys who surprised us by having a smattering of broken English. In fact they even looked a little European and I will say no more about that other than to note that the British had been in those parts for a long time!.
The method of construction was to remain a mystery as we could find no books on the subject in our limited library but generally it must have followed the same ancient techniques used by the Romans and the Pharoes [sic] , who seemed to be able to move huge quantities of stone with only crude equipment…..and a lot of expendable manpower. In one wall there was a door of solid stone 18ins. thick, some 4ft by 5ft hung by 3ins. pegs, hewn out of the solid, which was perfect fit and capable of being swung to and fro' in balance by a finger touch. Quite remarkable, and a welcome outing in a place like that provided some relief from our normal routine.
I took the opportunity to fly down to Aquaba on one accasion [sic] . The firemen down there were on detachment originally from Amman on a rotational basis and some of them had been there overlong. I had been badgering the CO. for a long time and eventually got clearance to go down and swap three of them over, as well as taking what mail there was. Mail had been very spasmodic as the lines of communication kept changing.
When we were in Egypt the run out of Fayid to Amman used to parachute the mail into Aquaba and aircraft landed infrequently. When Egypt packed up some went by sea and some went via Amman and then it all got held up until it went via Cyprus and Amman and then the routing was changed to Cyprus/Habbanyia/Mafraq with the inevitable delays. With only limited communications between Mafraq and Aquaba three firemen had a nice surprise when they found that they were being relieved. I tried to find my cousin but learned that he had already returned to the UK.
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At his age he was due to end his long service with the army and at last get the sand out of his shoes. I could understand how he felt after all the years he had spent in Mesopotamia [sic] before the war and he was no doubt relieved to get out of another of many tight spots including the evacuation from Dunkirk.
We had a very nice surprise one day when a couple of young English nurses in an old banger presented themselves at the main gate asking for shelter for the night.
They were en-route from the UK to India the hard way. Right across the continent, a hop from Turkey to Cyprus. Another to Beruit [sic] and Damascus, then following the route of the old Hadj railway to Zerkqa before setting off across the desert for Bagdad they found an out-post of the British Empire on their route so it changed their plans a little.
Room and board was found for them. They were fed and rested and their old banger, which was actually in better condition than it looked, was serviced by the MT. section who were only too pleased to have something different to do. After spending a couple of nights with us they were given a resounding send off and good luck to them. There was still some spirit of adventure left that was for sure. They were not the only women to undertake such a daunting journey.
When the families were being evacuated from Amman there was one lady who decided to drive the family car back to the UK. If they had had as much trouble in getting the car into the country as my colleague then there some logic in it, but she took two youngsters as well.
We heard that she had made it after many weeks on the road and her route had taken her out of Jordan into Syria. Then further on into Turkey, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany and Belgium before it became neccesary [sic] to cross the last ditch...the Channel!. Some journey. Nearly 3000 miles. Who said that women were the weaker sex.
We were still losing controllers without replacement. The next one to go was the same chap who had imported the car and the NAAFI manager was being posted back home as well so they went together. They filled up the car with their kit, fuel and supplies and they set off for the 500 mile plus journey to Habbanyia following the pipe-line towards Bagdad and Basra.
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The pipe-line was the best possible navigational feature for crossing the desert as there was no road then. Just the pipe-line and a string of desert air-strips that were generally American oil company manned with their own system of communication. All that for a pipe-line that had not pumped oil for years!.
My wife was continuing to have a rough time of it and for some reason was not getting all of my letters. Her nerves were still bad and she was having a lot of treatment whilst I was still stuck in that place. True, we had the facilities of mess life and the Squadron pilots who were not doing much flying had set themselves the task of starting up a cinema in a marquee. The RAF Film Service had fallen down on the job and nothing was coming in other than privately arranged 16mm films from Habbanyia and using the 16mm projectors that were supplied for training films we managed some form of entertainment. Our original 35mm equipment in our cinema had been left behind in Amman but we coped even though we had to stop the programme to change reels and it very often went out of synchronization...accompanied by hoots of laughter.
A games night in the mess on one occasion provided a little distraction but it was a night that I fear I became a little unpopular with the organisers, The Squadron pilots of course. It was a games night with a difference as it was turned into a gambling den despite the fact that normal mess rules forbad the playing of games for money. Anyway, our conditions were far from normal and I recall that the bank was holding it's own at most tables but the roulette wheel favoured me to the extent that I broke the bank. The first time was not so bad and after they had raised more funds I broke it again!. They said it was only for fun so I gave all my winning back and retired but I am sure that I would not have got my shirt back if I had lost it....but it was still a lot of fun despite the fact that the CO made some very disapproving remarks. He and I were not on very good terms by that time.
Our relationship had not been improved by another incident when I was Duty officer one night and one of the patrols called in to report that there were suspicious noises on one section of the perimeter according to the Guard Sgt, like tank track noises. I was just a link in the chain and passed the report on to OPs.
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centre. The CO decided to go out with the Guard Commander and found that it was only echoes from a generator exhaust and I got the stick for it. Still, I would have got a lot more if it had been a tank probing our defences and I had not reported it. As usual it was a 'no-win' situation for me.
We still did not know quite what to expect or from where. The Suez invasion was all but over. We had driven a wedge between the Egyptians and the Isrealies [sic] and they had agreed to pull back. Our troops were withdrawing and it was a very tricky situation not improved by the recriminations and world opinion on our role in the whole affair, and all was not quite what it seemed on the surface.
We had been warned that the odd Canberra might be making a dash for us from Cyprus but we had a bit of a shock to learn that on one occasion an RAF Canberra out on a high photographic recce' over Syria had something on his tail that he had not quite expected. A Syrian, (Russian made.), SAM 7 heat seeking missile!, and unfortunately it found him. As far as I recall one member of the crew was killed, the other was captured and was returned some time later when the situation had eased a bit. Not a lot was said about it.
Christmas 1956 came and a great time was had by all. The Officers and NCO's served the men in time honoured fashion. There was too much to drink and rationing was forgotten for that day. Unknown talents emerged with a station concert and a station song with many bawdy verses was produced along with one or two daft acts on stage. I am not sure what time lunch finished that afternoon but I reckoned we owed ourselves that.
My tour of duty, 2 1/2 years, was coming to an end and like most people I cherished the date which was bodly [sic] marked on my calender [sic] . In the old days it would have been "roll on that bloody boat" as the song goes although in the circumstances it was roll on any form of transport when I reported to the Adjutant for confirmation that the repatriation procedure would soon be be [sic] put in motion. I was devestated [sic] when I was told that I was being deferred as they could no longer afford to lose people without replacement. It did not take long to arrange for an appointment to see the CO only to be told that there was no appeal, the decision had been made although after we had been
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closeted for a while with some man to man talking and the production of some letters from my wife and her Doctors he accepted the fact that I might have a good case so he would see what he could do. He owed me that at least after one incident that ocurred [sic] between us that needs no airing so I was left sweating it out for a while.
Fortunately it did not take too long and I was soon involved in the paperwork to clear the unit, obtain an air priority and wait for another week before, I at last found myself on an aircraft for Habbanyia.
As soon as I got into the transit mess there was my colleague who had driven there in his car still trying to get it down to Basra but otherwise enjoying himself.
I found it very difficult to enjoy myself even when every day was virtually a holiday whilst I waited for a seat on an aircraft when I was so desperate to get home. My priority rating was still the basic, the bottom of the list!, so all I had to do was wait.
Fortunately I knew a lot of people at Habbanyia and was invited out quite a lot. I also saw a lot more of Habbanyia and on one occasion a party of us got together for a day trip to Bagdad.
That was a forty mile taxi journey each way across the desert as there did not appear to be a road and the return journey was of course done at night. I can only think that those drivers navigated by the various clumps of rocks that loomed up from time to time as there was nothing else to indicate which way to go except the stars.
In Bagdad we broused [sic] around, up the street of the goldsmiths, down the street of the silversmiths and up the street of the ivory carvers and in an about sampling the sights.
It was not possible to photograph all that I would have liked to as it seemed that the Iraqi army was guarding almost every street corner. Photographs had to be taken very discreetly after the first occasion that a threatening rifle was pointed in our direction, but it was a good day just the same.
I was still kicking my heels after a week without having been called forward so I buttonholed a Valetta captain that I had known at Fayid who was flying a freighter to Cyprus the following day and he agreed to take me as supernumarary [sic] crew. Air Movements
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staff agreed and I was out on the airfield, baggage, hangover and all by 7am, after very little sleep. I wish I had had the good sense to have abstained but it had all developed into another fairwell [sic] party and I don't think I have ever felt so bad before. I almost signed the pledge [underlined] again!. [/underlined]
The thunder of the take-off just about scrambled every nerve in the brain-box but that was only half of it. We were of course taking the roundabout route going North-West to cross the Turkish border then West over the mountains and the Valetta thundered it's way up to 16,000ft with the crew on oxygen, all except the supernumary [sic] crew member who did not have an oxygen mask so I cupped a spare outlet hose in my hands with it on full flow I gulped and and [sic] gulped until the hammering in my head became a little more bearable. I was very glad when we turned South and started letting down clear of the mountains on the last leg to Cyprus. What a blessed relief it was to touch down at Nicosia and sample that first cup of coffee in the transit lounge.
With thanks to the pilot for the completion of one more leg of the journey behind me I reported for documentation and when that was done found myself signing for a Smith & Wesson .38 with six rounds and a printed set of instructions before being transported to a hotel in a quiet area of Nicosia. Basically the istructions [sic] were to the effect that if I was out in public I had to be prepared to defend myself although the natives seemed friendly enough on the surface there was still an undercurrent of dissent. Most of the troops that had invaded Egypt who had used Cyprus as a jumping off point had been withdrawn and I certainly had no intention of going very far on my first day in Cyprus. I was in need of a lot of sleep.
The following day, fully refreshed, I was off to re-visit Nicosia city centre and I was dammed if I wanted to take a pistol stuck in my belt like some bandit as all my webbing had been packed away in my 'deep-sea' kit so I left it in my room.
I was wandering along quite happily taking in the sights down a main street when a car pulled up alonside [sic] with a screech of brakes and my immediate thought was...'whoops-here is trouble' and I turned quickly to asses [sic] the situation only to see a chap that I had known in Amman who said with some urgency "Tom Gamble,
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get in you bloody fool", so I did.
It turned out that I had been strolling down 'murder mile' where more than one bloke had bitten the dust in recent months. He was more concerned afterwards that I was not armed but who knows, perhaps it was because I was not that I did not become a target. He lived in a bungalow not far from the Hotel so that's where we finished up for tea, dinner and drinks on more than one occasion.
He was a useful chap to know being one of the Air Movements and despite the fact that I had been told that I would be called forward when a flight became available I didn't think a daily visit to Air Movements would do me any harm, if only to be sure that I-was not overlooked. Not that he could expedite my passage. That was determined by my priority and a long waiting list but we chatted about this that and the other and he told me there was a compound in the freight area with all the Amman baggage in it so we went to have a look. Under a large tarpaulin was a huge pile of boxes and on investigation we found all the Gamble's unmistakable boxes on the edge of the pile. I couldn't mistake those boxes. One of them had been my father-in-law's tool chest and another had belonged to an Uncle who I had never known, who had been killed in France during WW1. He had had it made in India so it was certainly well travelled. Anyway, they had already been there three months and whether he exercised his perogotive [sic] or not they were back in the UK two weeks later.
I had many a pleasant time with his family for odd meals and parties as well as a couple of runs out into the country and to the coastal resorts of Limosol [sic] and Lanarca as the days went by.
Despite the fact that I checked daily with Air Movements the answer was getting monotonous, "sorry, not today" was not what I wanted to hear and seriously thought of using the knowledge of my wife's condition to 'up' the priority although I had already sent a cable to her to let her know I was in Cyprus and still waiting when, at last, after a week I was told that I was allocated for the following day so all the paperwork was done. I sent another cable to say I would be on my way and duly reported with baggage, ready to go. I actually got as far as the steps to the aircraft when a Service Policeman came rushing
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up with an Air Movements Cpl and a harassed looking airman with a suitcase. Papers were waived and I was taken off of the manifest to go back into transit. The airman had compassionate grounds for getting home in a hurry and that's the way it worked. He had a higher priority than I did and unless you were very senior it was usually an officer who had to give way. It cost me another cable to say I was further delayed.
Air Movements confirmed that I would be away the following day and I think I went to bed that night with everything crossed but it all went according to plan. There was another emergency boarding but that time it did not effect me as my priority had gone up one as a result of the previous day's cancellation, so I was off at last in a chartered Eagle Air Lines Viking stopping; at Nice for refuelling and thence to Stansted and finally to Hendon for disposal. After that I was on my way to Worthing, home and family.
That was the end of my Middle East tour. All that packed into two years and seven months!. By that time it was the beginning of February 1957 and I was not thinking too much about my next appointment. I would know all about that when I reported to the Air Ministry within the customary 48 hours of my arrival in the UK. Family business was of the highest priority as it was obvious that Dorothy was far from well with a nervous disorder so before I reported to Air Ministry I got a letter from her doctor and was prepared for any problems that might arise.
I need not have worried. The Personnel Staff could not have been more sympathetic and sorted out a posting for one that was beyond any wildest dreams. Tangmere, just 18 miles from Worthing so off I went with two weeks dis-embarkation leave to sort things out.
It did not take long to get a small car and we visited Tangmere to take a look at what was to be our new home and to complete an application for Married Quarters which we were told, would be available soon and another visit to the Senior Controller soon put me in the picture. There was one small problem. It was another 24 hour shift working Air Traffic Control situation. Another of the many geographically placed units that provided an emergency service although that would not present much of
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a problem once I was in quarters. I was used to sleeping away from home....although that did not mean that I liked it.
The two weeks went very quickly but at least we made the most of it. We got out and about visiting family as part of the process of rehabilitating my wife until it was time to report for duty and once again after the arrival formalities I was up in the control tower ready to start local training to bring me up to the very high standard required on such a busy unit.
There were two resident Squadrons. One of Meteor night fighters and the other of Hunter day fighters and their activities ensured that Tangmere was not going to be dull. A controllers handling capability had to be brought up to being able to cope with up to eight aircraft at a time....and that was pushing it!. What took a little time to get used to was the fact that every time I was up in the tower I was looking down on an area of tarmac where only 12 years previously I had been de-loused on repatriation from a German POW camp, but it was the general atmosphere of the place that I found so fascinating. To me it was like being on hallowed ground and all rather pleasant after my recent experiences and somewhat comforting to find that I had served previously with three of the controllers.
Within a matter of weeks I was put to the final test required by the Senior Controller and was certificated for solo watchkeeping and bit by bit I was also creeping up the married quarters waiting list until one day I was allocated a quarter.
Unfortunately it all went sour the following day when I was told that it had been re-allocated to the Medical Officer!. It was not very well received at home although I was told that another would be allocated in a few days so I was reluctant to have made the protest that I could have done. My knowledge of the regulations told me that as a National Serviceman the M.O. did not qualify for quarters!, but it was politic to let it ride.
Within a matter of days I was allocated a quarter for the second time and there was considerable excitement in the family when they were told that we would be moving soon.
It was either the next day or the following one when I went on duty that I was told, yet again, that it was being re-allocated. I could not believe it. If I had done that sort
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of thing when I had been looking after quarters at Coningsby I think I would have been lynched but that time I did not take it laying down. It did not take long to find out that it had been allocated to the new O.C Flying Wing, (my boss, two steps up) on ex officio grounds, meaning that the quarter goes with the post irrespective of the waiting list. That was the regulation and as such it was acceptable, apart from the fact that the out going Wing Commander was still occupying a Quarter!. As far as I was concerned that was not on and if I was go home and tell Dorothy once more that we were further delayed the next thing that I would be doing was resigning my commission. I had just about had enough too but after more consideration than I would have given most problems I asked to see the Station Commander, Group Captain Hughie Edwards.VC, among many other decorations, and with tounge [sic] in cheek put my case as succinctly as I could. A change from my usual bull at a gate tactic. Out came the relevant order, in came the OC Admin, and the S/Ldr Admin and the Station Adjutant, the order was taken apart with a decision in my favour and apologies for the cock-up. After that it was my turn to apologise for having the temerity to make such a protest and it all ended up without anyone being upset and within a week we were in quarters. I can think of one or two CO's who would not have reached a similar decision whatever the regulations but enough said about that.
Before we moved our boxes had at last been delivered to Worthing and we didn't know whether to laugh or cry when they were opened up. Customs had already been through some of them and they had been badly repacked. Crockery, glass and ornaments had been broken. Clothes had gone mouldy and had to be thrown away. Linen that we thought was white when we packed it was a nice shade of brown as a result of a couple of pounds of Jordanian and Cypriot sand in each box a lot of which had filtered into the sewing machine box requiring a complete overhaul of that to avoid further damage. Nevertheless, most of it was usable. Just one of the snags of living out of a suitcase and boxes for years but we settled into our new home and a comfortable routine was soon established. The girls were soon back to school and there was continual family movement to and from Worthing as we picked up the threads of a more settled life and Dorothy's
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health began to improve. It really was turning out to be a very a happy unit too, and I had become the Station Fire Officer again!. It was suggested that I should go on the Fire Officers short course at one time but I cast that one aside. "No thanks, Iv'e[sic] had enough on the job experience" and left it at that. I didn't protest when the phone was put in though. Being out of my bed every fourth night I could cope with but I was trying to avoid being away from home any longer than that for a while.
It was shortly after we had settled into the routine that I heard the sequel to the Mafraq situation. Not a lot was mentioned by the media and I got most of the information from my correspondence with friends but apparently within a few weeks of my departure we abandoned the place. It was quite an operation. Again, everything was made mobile. Vehicles got armour plating and Bren gun mountings. Some 400 vehicles that had been in the Maintenance Unit were made ready and loaded with all the other stores, preparations for which were going on before I left as that many vehicles require a lot of batteries but the distilation [sic] plant did not have the capacity to produce the required amount of distilled water. Even at that point a decision had been made to use any sort of water and throw the batteries away after a short life. All had been put together in a very large convoy of 600 vehicles were fuelled and provisioned for the 500 mile journey, armed to the teeth still, the aircraft were flown out so off they set off with air cover and air supply all the way to Habbanyia.
Quite an experience for a 'peace-time' operation. There was no real problem and eventually it all finished up at Basra for shipment.
I eventually heard from the chap who had had all the problem with his car. It did eventually get to Basra and subsequently back to the UK, as deck cargo on the Ark Royal, very scratched and bent with a lot of bits missing. There was a car with a history!,.
One of the biggest surprises that I got one day was a bill from the accounts department; for1s & 7d, (7 1/2 pence in today's money) for 'barrack damages' on the occasion of leaving my quarter in Amman. It was for the deficiency of one wash basin plug!. Absolutlely [sic] incredible after all the millions of pounds that
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the evacuations had cost the Government. And I get a bill for 7 1/2 pence!. When I approached the Accountant Officer with a suggestion that it ought to have been written off he was adament [sic] . It had to be cleared from the books and although it cost me more than 7 1/2 p in stamp duty I paid it by cheque just to make a point. How bloody silly!.
Secondary duties were always coming the way of Air Traffic Controllers and one that fell in my lap was an audit of the bedding store inventory. I had a full briefing for that one and the appropriate Air Ministry Order thrust under my nose to reinforce the importance of checking thoroughly. It was the first time that I seen the order and it was almost word for word of the paper that I had put forward years previously so obviously it was an successful system. I wonder who got a pat on the back for that?. Certainly not me.
On one fine day up in the top tower doing airfield control with a few Hunters flashing around the circuit I knew by the clatter of footsteps on the stairs behind me that the party of .Air Cadets that I had was expecting were about to descent upon me and on turning to meet them was astonished to find that Peter Hobbs who had been the Navigator in the same crew as myself on Stirlings in 1943 was the officer in charge. I don't know who was the most surprised and for a while I was far too busy for any conversation although later on when it was quieter we really did get down to business. I picked him up later in the day to come home for tea and later for a drink in the Mess and we had a lot to chat about but the extraordinary thing was that when we met umpteen years later he had no recollections of the meeting at all, although at least he could remember coming to my wedding. That is more than Paddy Martin the Flight Engineer could!.
As we got into the Summer I had a feeling that all was going too well to last. In July I was dispatched to Shawbury for an eight week Radar course. Just as the kids school holidays were coming up. Nevertheless, I took some local accommodation at Wem and managed to live out for nearly a month. That gave everyone a change and a chance to tour new areas and a great deal of Wales as well. It actually made a very nice break for us all and although it was my second visit try Shawbury it was not to be my last.
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I passed out of that course with possibly the best mark that I had ever achieved despite it's intensity and in due course reported back to Tangmere for duty.
There was of course the usual period under instruction but I was certificated after ten days and back on watchkeeping duties with the ability to be rotated anywhere in the control system.
Ground Controlled Approach as the radar system was called was most satisfying and there were many occasions when I was required to pull out all the stops. It was very demanding but rewarding nevertheless. Some of the highlights of my experiences in GCA are firmly imprinted on my mind.
One occasion that I remember well, and I think my younger brother will as well, was when I was on stand-by on the end of the telephone at home and he was staying with us as he was also recovering from a nervous disorder following a matrimonial problem. I took him with me when I was called out.
The alerting system had already brought the equipment up from the stand-by mode to full power as we raced for the operations truck and I made contact with the tower as I slid into my seat. I put him on a spare headset and was pointing out the significant blobs on the radar screen and after that concentrated on the job in had [sic] , showing him the progress of the blob from time to time. The customer was a diverted Hastings from abroad and although our weather was bad elsewhere was even worse so with 600 yards visibility and a 200ft cloud base I got stuck into my very first operational talk-down. I had been on the other end often enough and knew that it was not easy to handle an aeroplane completely on instruments, boring into the murk, descending at around 130mph. That was probably why I always projected myself into the cockpit when doing talk-downs and felt as if I was virtually holding hands with the pilot and everything went smoothly. The pilot had a full instrument rating and the rest was up to me. When we came to the critical bit, just in the bottom of the cloud at half a mile from the runway threshold he was as steady as a rock, still doing around 120mph, in contact with the approach lights through the murk to the point of touch-down when I flicked the transmitter switch off to hear the pilot report "on the runway" as I turned to where my brother should have been to as I said "I'll open the door
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and you will see him go by"....he was not there. The strain had been too much. He was flat out on the floor and although he did not take long to recover he vowed that would never place himself in that siuation [sic] again and was very glad to get back to the house where a drop of the hard stuff restored him. I don't know if it was the shock treatment but he made good progress after that and got his feet firmly on the ground again.
Another visitor to the tower one day sent a few people into a panic as the sight of a policeman' uniform will often do. Even if you have done nothing wrong. Nothing you can remember anyway!. It was my wife's cousin, a local police patrol Sgt who was making a courtesy call, and in the course of our conversation he conveyed his Inspectors compliments. It had come out during a chat that he was none other than the chap who had been in the same hut as me in Stalag 11d, Nuremburg POW camp. It certainly was a small world!.
Our Senior Controller had a unique talent. He was in great demand to perform party tricks with cards and the like but his best performance was as a Hynotist [sic] .
Like most-people I was sceptical even when I saw people doing quite remarkable things, under the 'influence' I was still not convinced. Not until I was included in a group session. When the preliminary process of selection and conditioning had been done and I was told that my right arm was heavy and I could not lift it I said to myself "rubbish', I will show him. But I couln't [sic] , or my leg when we got round to that any more than I could stop the daft answers to questions coming out of any mouth when I tried not to say them. After that I was convinced and knew that people who were. getting drunk on a glass of, water, acting like chickens and other animals were not just part of the act. I submitted myself to several sessions and it was to be the same every time. He really did have control and was very good but the CO. put a stop to group sessions particularly if any of the pilots were involved. He reckoned that pilots were too vulnerable and did not want any talked into the ground!. Although it was most unlikely as one has to submit oneself to hypnosis it was perhaps a wise move.
We were getting into the Autumn of that year when I collected another secondary duty, that of taking charge of the Corporals
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Club, and on the face of it it seemed easy enough. Like a lot of other things that had come my way!. I soon found out that picking up the takings every morning, and checking the books and cash in hand and stock-taking once a week was a job that I could do without. The takings were very small. There seemed to be no more than half-a-dozen people making use of the place on any night and as far as I was concerned it hardly justified the services of two part time volunteer barmen and yours truly putting in two hours every week when over a hundred Corporals never even bothered to stick their noses in the place. That's the bit that peeved me most and I was 'piggy in the middle' again. For all that if anything that went wrong I was the fall guy.
A survey showed that for the year that it had been operating the takings had never reached what I would call reasonable proportions, albeit it was a non-profit making set-up, and the NAAFI manager confirmed that when the Cpl's bar had been run by them it had not needed any extra staff. That was enough for me and called a general meeting of the club with only two items on the agenda. One, "do you regularly make use of the club facilities;" and two, "would it make any difference to you if it was to revert to NAAFI management", The vote was a unanimous NO to each item and armed with the results of my survey and the minutes of the meeting I presented my case to the CO. When he realised that an officer was spending more time on Cpl's club business than most of the Cpls made of the facilities he agreed immediately to it's disbandment. He did make the observation though that as I had not appeared to be keen on taking the job anyway was my action the easy way out. A straight "yes" surficed [sic] !.
We were still making the most of Tangmere and the area, there was always something going on. On one occasion the Mess laid on a Battle of Britain garden party with invitations to all and sundry including of course many of the 'Few' who had fought from Tangmere. The invitation list was very impressive and I was awed by the prospect of being in such illustrious company. It was a schoolboy's dream come true.
Douglas Bader was there doing his usual stomping around and chatting with his old chums and gold braid seemed to be dripping
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everywhere. I spotted one of the 'Few', a Group Captain who had been my boss when I had been at Transport Command HQ. If ever I am asked about my most embarressing [sic] incident what happened next is certainly one of many.
I tried several times to catch his eye if only to make my presence known so when he eventually looked in my direction and approached I thought it would be an opportunity to make small talk for a while. He never seemed to notice although I had my hand stuck out to grasp his he went right by and gabbed the hand of an elderly steward who was behind me. As I looked in amazement at him pumping the arm of the steward he looked around at me and said "sorry Gamble, I couldn't let this bloke go, d 'you know, he was my batman in 1940". Then I understood and I knew that he had got his priorities right so I retired to the refreshment tent.
With the winter approaching the GCA became more and more important to our activities. On one occasion we had a flight of three Hunters of the Royal Netherlands Air Force notified but our weather deteriorated very quickly as they were on there way and when they did arrive they only had a very limited fit of frequencies which were already cluttered up by other traffic using Ford and Hayling Island. They were also quite low on fuel and on that day I think I created a precedence in Air Traffic Control by declaring an emergency 'Mayday' on the frequency requesting all other users to clear the channel. Needless to say it worked and with the GCA operator monitoring their progress they poured down from the overhead and landed without a hitch in what were still very poor conditions but a quite oblivious to the fact that the situation could have been much more serious. Another less successful incident was the talk-down of a diverted Valetta from overseas. His destination was below his limits and ours were marginal but three times I talked him down to the half mile decision point but he would not go that little bit further and overshot each time. After the third time he asked for a further diversion and was sent to Manston. I felt very sad about the end result of that. I know he was in the right place to make a touch-down but either he was sticking to the rules or he was lacking confidence in me. We will never know. The runway at Manston was icy, he braked and slid after
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landing, dipped a wing and pranged in a ball of fire and all of the crew were killed.
On another occasion I was on duty on a dirty Saturday morning in what was our published availability time for the Radar. We had not been warned of any traffic, the equipment was in the stand-by mode and I was in the crew van with my feet up sipping a cup of coffee when the tower controller came on the intercom. He only said two words, "urgent...in" and I was off to the operations vehicle with the mechanic at the double.
The mechanic started building up to full power as fast as was permissable [sic] as I contacted the tower to be told that we were taking on a Sea Vixen from Ford as there [sic] radar had just packed up as they were recovering aircraft from the Victorious in the Channel. The tower controller was positioning the aircraft into the pattern on time and bearings as my picture was filling in and I had already been told that he was short of fuel. Why the Fleet Air Arm had to fly to such tight limits I do not know but as soon as I had him in contact and he had changed to my frequency I asked him to confirm his fuel state and he quite calmly said "I can't overshoot if that's what you mean", so it was going to have to be a first timer.
I suppose my voice was calm enough, my directions accurate enough and his flying precise enough for him to ignore any limitations to make a perfect touch-down and then he promptly ran out of fuel on the runway as he was saying his 'thank you's'. I wonder though, if he was anything like me absolutely saturated in persperation [sic] !. All part of a day's work.
y
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Page 170 is missing
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Part of ‘Nil Desperandum’
Wyton 1962. Dot had become paralized [sic] from the waist down.
we were managing; just!.
After Dorothy had been in Addenbrooks for three weeks her condition had deteriorated further with almost no control over the lower part of her body as they carried out test after test whilst we continued our prayers in our own way. There was no time to spare to attend church for formal services. We were much too busy. Then the ultimate test came up on a new machine that Addenbrooks had just installed. Dorothy was the first person to have ever been strapped into it. Normal X-Rays had failed to show anything but that machine was the very latest. The patient was strapped to the bench which was set in double gymbals [sic] which rotated the body in every possible angle to a number of X-Ray cameras. The contraption looped, rolled and twisted and turned until she was dizzy but when they interpreted the results they did at least find the problem, which was all that they told me at the time apart from the fact that are operation was necessary and everything had been arranged for it to be done at The London Hospital in Whitechapel which specialised in neurosurgery so I managed some more time off to go with her in the ambulance to see her settled in. That is all I could do....and pray some more!.
The operation was scheduled for a week later and the surgeon wanted to see me first so I knew the time had come. I had to find out sometime but when I was told I was just about bowled over. When you are told that an operation has a fifty fifty chance of success you draw your own conclusions as I did but although Dorothy had been told the same I was given some more priviledged [sic] information. The 50/50 chance was that, one she would die, or two, she would be a cripple for the rest of her life.
I have made a few decisions in any life but to give approval for an operation that could have such consequences was perhaps the most difficult I have ever had to make. That was my Dorothy they were talking about. The little schoolgirl that I had known since I was seven and who had never subsequently questioned my career decisions and had always supported everything I had done. I hoped and prayed that I would not let her down.
As far as I was concerned at that time that the end of my service career. There was no way that I would be able to carry on, my
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work was suffering too much already; and I signed on the dotted line. Dorothy never knew about that 50/50 chance for years and neither did the family. I left everyone to draw their own conclusions and not everyone realised the seriousness of the situation, and never have. As for me I was back to work, looking after the kids and trusting in the Lord.
Eventually the operation took place, all eleven hours of it in the hands of a most celebrated surgeon and as it was a teaching hospital it was all recorded by colour cine' camera's under the eyes of dozens of students in the galleries. I found it very difficult to concentrate on work but eventually I phoned to find that she was out of surgery, confortable [sic] , stable and all the normal things that the nursing staff are trained to say but it was a couple of days before I could get down to see her.
To aovoid [sic] upsetting the system too much I could only visit between shifts without landing myself in more trouble by asking for more time off. She looked pale, she had had three blood transfusions during the operation which had been to the area of the inside and around the back of the spinal column between the shoulders to remove a tumor [sic] . A very delicate job, and touch and go.
It would be three weeks before we would know whether it had been successful and in the meantime she was told not to move a muscle or even think about it. Every movement she wanted to make had to be assisted. About the only thing she could more without assistance were her eyes and mouth. Not easy.
Whilst she was in that state she developed some side effects like a sort of bronchitis that had everone [sic] baffled although it eventually got sorted. That was one time that we were able to do something for the hospital, they had done so much for us and she was not the only one suffering from the same congestion in the bronchial tubes. They had tried everything and Dorothy suggested that one of Grandma's cures might help so they went along with it. Off they went to the fruit and veg. market on the opposite side of the road to the hospital to buy lemons and then produced Grandma's mixture. Hot pure lemon juice and honey!. Two doses and a cough and up came the offending obstruction with a great deal of relief. It went down to the
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path. lab immediately and funds were promptly allocated to buy more lemons and honey from the market and everone [sic] received the 'cure'. That made some considerable improvement in Dorothy's condition and she began to get stronger. Family visits were allowed, all except the baby and after two weeks, although she was not supposed to move, came the moment we had both been praying for. She reckoned she had been static long enough and had experimented a little. It may not seem a lot, but when I made my next visit she said to watch the foot end of the bed. The bed clothes rippled. She could wriggle the toes of both feet so that was a good sign but we could do no more than hold hands in our excitement. We coudn't [sic] even embrace due to all the dressing and padding around her but that was the beginning of her recovery.
Within a couple of days she had experimented a little more to find that she could move her legs and there was feeling in them, a fact that she was able to tell the surgeon on his rounds. He and his staff were excited too and she had the all-clear to try, very gently, other movements, in a closely controlled situation, and what she was able to do caused even more excitement. Of course, she was prodded, pricked and scraped to test all the reflexes that had previously packed up and all the right signs were there.
At the end of the third week she was allowed off of the bed into the vertical position and most people will know what that is like, even if they have only taken to their bed for a few days. After fighting the nausea and using a walking frame for a few days she decided to go solo. No walking frame crutches or sticks and she did the length of the ward from bed to bed with a lot of encouragement from everyone in the ward.
Day by day she improved, doing a little more each time and getting her sea legs. Her wound had healed well and she could do most things by herself including turning over in bed. Even her vericose [sic] veins had improved due to the bed rest and the end of another week she was transferred back to Addenbrooks Hospital on a stretcher by train with private compartment!.
After a further week the hospital authorities were making arrangements for her to be transferred to Huntingdon hospital which would make it easier to visit when, out of the blue they
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changed their mind. She could come home for convalescence!. The relief was indescribable. It was an emotional time for all of us, and I can barely recall what went on apart from the fact that I was totally overcame when the strain of the last few months manifested itself and I had to go and lie down in a darkened room for a while to wait for my brain to simmer down. Eventually I was able to get myself together and bit by bit we were able to tackle the daily routine once more and re-establish the family unit that had been so disrupted.
Every day brought improvement and by the time she had been home a month Dorothy had not only managed to walk comfortably with the pram and to a certain extent unaided, after another few weeks she even managed to ride a bicycle again. That was quite an achievement and when she went back to Whitechapel to see the surgeon he and his colleagues could hardly believe that it was possible and were justifiably highly delighted. Dorothy turned down an invitation to appear in person to back up the film for a presentation at a later date. It would have been very good for the moral of the team but we had more important things to attend to by then.
Fortunately the tumor [sic] had been non-malignant and was in a place of honour in a pickle jar and we were only too happy to say our 'thank you’s' to all the ward staff and doctors who had made it possible, including a letter to Peterborough hospital staff who had started it off. But who had really made it all possible!?.
By what stroke of fate was it that she went to Peterborough hospital on that day when a particular nurse was there. What caused the surgeon to express such surprise at the supple state of Dorothy's spine if it had not been the dedicated work of the Chiropractor, and what guided his hand in a most hazardous operation which they considered to be a near miracle?. Who knows. When we wrote to the faith healing organisation telling them of the outcome we received a most beautiful letter and so we went on from there.
Not everything was as it had been before. The bits that they had taken out of Dorothy's spinal column to get at the tumor [sic] had left her a little shorter than she had been. She had to walk fairly fast to maintain her balance and her ankles were
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turned over slightly inwards. Small things really and as time went on they became less and less of a problem.
For me it was back to the routine again to try and make up lost ground. No more time off, full shiftworking again including night shift although we had lost the emergency service requirement we manned for 24 hours to cover USAF traffic. All throughout those months of anquish [sic] there had been a lot going on that I had still been involved in. We had got rid of our museum piece of radar and taken the new equipment into service and were beginning to shake it down as we were developing new, safer and more sophisticated systems of traffic handling. In such an environment everything was ongoing as problems were confronted and solved almost daily. It all directly involved me one way or another as at the same time I was working my way through the system to refresh my proficiency certificates until it all finally settled down and was running efficiently. At least, during that period I had not collected any secondary duties like Fire Officer!. The only certification I lacked was that of supervisor and no doubt if I stayed there a little longer I would have made but before you could say "Christmas 1962" my next posting was notified. To Laarbruch, Germany, effective from the following February!. I was a bit peeved as I had regularly requested to be trained for area radar which would have widened my scope but at the same time limit the units at which I could serve but it didn't work out that way. I found it somewhat frustrating at times that whilst I was bouncing around like the proverbial yo-yo every 2 1/2 years (or less), there were people around me in different professions who had been in the area for ten years and more. They had done the rounds of Wyton, Upwood and Brampton, bought houses and raised families all in the one area. I should be so lucky!!!.
At least we had plenty of time to organise ourselves. I knew a few people out there so I set the wheels in motion for renting a some private accomodation [sic] to hold us for a while until quarters came up and finished with a place in the town of Goch, about eight miles from the airfield and where the RAF had some married quarters. The two eldest girls were going to have to go to boarding school at Hamm in the Ruhr which was not entirely to our liking but local military schools only went up to junior
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grades, after which it was off to boarding school, either in the UK or Germany. to. A very limited choice so Hamm it was.
After some careful planning we made the move as painlessly as possible. I went privately two weeks in advance with the car loaded up to the hilt almost 16 years to the day that I had baled out of a crippled Lancaster over that country.
The car really was loaded. I only had a little cockpit left that was not stuffed with something and it wallowed somewhat, but I was not rushing anywhere. A gentle jog would get me there if the suspension held out and I got perhaps the best advice that I could have had from A NAAFI manager who was returning to Gutersloh, on what to look out for when driving with UK number plates out there.
We were on the Harwich to Hook route so I had the advantage of following him for a while as I settled in to driving on the opposite side of the road. In the first large town that we came across the very thing happened that he warned me about.
The rule of the road is such that you give way to traffic on the right, therefore if you are on the left of any conflict between two vehicles you are in the wrong and penalised accordingly. Cut and dried in Dutch and German law. So if you are a Dutchman driving a beat up banger that needs a new engine, and replacement panels what do you do?. You bounce an English registered car that you know has got to have good insurance cover and that's what very nearly happened!.
A couple of youths in an old Merc. made a bee-line for me from my right hand side and I had to work very smartly on two occasions to brake and weave away from his obvious intentions. Then he must have got angry and tried it a third time but I got out it by jinking around the wrong side of a tram which he promptly collided with so I had no further problem with him. Trams in Holland have absolute right of way so he was the one to finish up having to do a lot of explaining and no doubt a hefty repair bill.
I was even more wary after that but there was no further trouble after waiving [sic] goodbye to my 'pathfinder' friend and in due course crossed into Germany at Nijmegen. The loaded car caused considerable amusement among the German customs officers. I don't think that they had seen a vehicle quite so well packed,
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roof rack and all. The only room for any cigarettes was on top of the blankets that covered everything up to the sill line, but they got the message when they realised that it was all mainly household goods and I was away again without any hassle.
I was relieved when I finally arrived at my destination and although I had planned the route very carefully I made sure that I stayed on track by calling at numerous bars on the way. That had resulted in an intake of several beers which caused the interval between stops to become shorter and shorter. At the last port of call, in a bar just off of the market square in Goch I tried out my well rehearsed little bit of German on the lady behind the bar "Bitte, vo ist drei unt vierzig Weeze Strasse"?. It must have sounded alright as I had already asked for an "eine kleiner beer, bitte", but she came out with a torrent of German and then was amazed to be told "langsam, ich sprechen kliene Deutsch" and that was almost the limit of my German. It didn't matter a lot. After a good laugh, another beer and a lot of arm waving I only had a few hundred yards to go and there was 53 Weeze Street, a tall terrace house that looked a little battered with other houses each side still shored up or boarded up with panels of wood and galvanised sheeting. It was no palace but it was going to have to do.
The landlady was a charming elderly lady, almost Victorian, who managed only a few words of English but magically produced a cup of tea and over that I found that her husband had been a merchant sea captain and had been lost at sea but all was quite friendly when I told her that I had been more fortunate after being shot down not so far from where we were sitting. After that I started to unload the car with the tool box being one of the first things and then places were found for everything with shelves, brackets, hooks and the like with her permission. I wanted it to be as homely as possible, and it certainly needed the personal touch. There was basically only two rooms and nothing that could be called a kitchen, only a long passage off of the living room. It had a wash basin and a cold tap and at the far end was the toilet....unscreened and frozen up anyway!.
I could have done a lot with emulsion paint but I did not have time for that. I worked on it with what I had in terms of covers,
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screens, tacks and nails, pictures and plaques and it soon looked considerably brighter which rather surprised Frau Van Cooke who had kept me supplied with tea and cakes throughout the unloading and conversion process. The last last [sic] thing to install were various electric and gas cooking appliances and it was all done. It would not be too much of a shock to the family on first sight at least and then I was off to Laarbruch to stay the night with friends who had been at Tangmere with us before going down to Wildenwrath for the homeward journey.
I had arranged to leave the car at Wildenwrath in the care of friends who had fixed me up with a flight to Northolt in a Pembroke and it all clicked into place. Later that day I trained to Huntingdon and home. So far so good and a couple of days later we gave up the quarter and travelled as a family to Manston via a night stop in London where several of the family had congregated from Worthing, and then by air direct to Wildenwrath. The air movements staff were somewhat surprised when; as a family we by-passed all the normal transportation facilities, but all I had to do was pick up the car and set off for our new home. It was not much but we were together and we made the best of it. Frau van Cooke was a little concerned as she had obviously mis-understood that we were five in family until the eldest girls were off to boarding school but after some adjustment to the rent she made another small room available and we were fairly comfortable. Fortunately the weather had turned a little warmer and the toilet had thawed but the thing that seemed to bother Frau van Cooke most was that as the rating system in Germany was based on a poll tax the appropriate authorities had to be informed of changes as they occurred. We overcame it as we did most things. The day after arrival I was reporting for duty. The girls were enrolled at the camp school temporarily before their places at Hamm had been confirmed and we were very soon into a routine. It was different though. It was a long time since we had lived in anything but an Air Force community and in it's way it was very interesting. We soon integrated into the local environment and we had no problems in adapting. Frau van Cooke and our neighbours were kind and helpful [sic] . The local garage housed the car overnight for a modest fee when I was not on duty rather than park it in the main road and we
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soon got used to the the [sic] German way of doing things. First and foremost, the cleanliness of the area in front of a building was the reponsibility [sic] of the occupant so it seemed that there was competition to be the smartest although they were very reluctant to allow grass to grow on the verges. They were all raked and scratched into patterns. Bicycles were ridden on the footpath but always according to the direction of the road traffic and the bicycle bell was mandatory. Cars could be parked in the roads but only in the direction of the traffic but not both sides of the road at the same time. It was a very practical arrangement. Parking was relative to the date and the house numbering. Odd dates on odd numbers and visa versa. Cars were not washed in the street on Sundays and neither was washing hung on the line. Sundays was a day for visiting the family in Sunday best clothes and for church. How much that routine has changed over the years I would not know but at that time it seemed to be a comfortable arrangement. Another practical method of designating where speed restrictions started and stopped was by applying the standard 50k limit at the signpost at the town limits on the way in and at the signpost on the way outwhich [sic] gave the name of the next town or village on route. Very simple, economical and effective.
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The town of Goch was a market town very close to the Dutch border and more or less on the line of what had been at one time the old Seigfried line. It had suffered badly from savage fighting when the big push was launched on the 8th February 1945, the day after I failed to return, when the Allies attempted to reach the Rhine all along the front. The Canadians had forced a passage by the most bloody hand to hand fighting along the very road in which we were living after they had taken Weeze and most of the houses still bore the marks of the battles as did many places in the town centre. The houses adjacent to us were not the only one's that were boarded up skeletons and the Town Hall was still pock-marked with scars from shell and morter [sic] splinters as well as anti-tank and canon fire but despite it all life went on as near normal as one would have expected at home.
The attic rooms above us were not part of our let but we investigated at one time and I immediately regretted it as it upset the girls. The flimsy doors at the bottom and the top of the narrow winding stairs were both splintered with bullet holes and the walls were well and truly peppered with holes and some very nasty stains which obviously would not wash off. The attic itself was no better and there were still remnents [sic] of uniform scattered about and it would appear that nothing had been done other than to clear the casualties of the battle. It was not difficult to imagine the desperate and bloody fighting that had gone on in that place and we only ever went up there that one time.
Despite it all, the Germans had built a memorial to a British officer who had been appointed as Town Major to manage the civilian administration which was standard procedure after the battle had passed through. It was neccessary [sic] to get public facilities running properly as soon as possible and tie up the minimum number of fighting personnel. His job was to help to get things going again as smoothly as possible and to that end he applied himself in such a way that he became highly respected by the locals for his ability to be hard working, fair and just. Unfortunately, it had to be a memorial plaque as, once the town was capable of running itself again he had rejoined his unit up at the front and had been killed in action. It was something to think about that their appreciation was so recorded which
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was more than could be said for some of the German military whose presence in the area still showed…but in a different way. In the town of Kevelaer, which was renowned for it's manufacture of religious artifacts, there was a tall wall alongside a church absolutely riddled with bullet holes where a large number of the population had been lined up and shot..by the SS!, as apparently the battle raged to and fro they had been evacuated several times for their own safety until finally they refused to be moved. They were prepared to stay and take their chance and after seeing that terrible sight I could understand that the population of some German towns were prepared to show their appreciation for their deliverance from the yoke of Nazizm [sic] .
Eventually the time came for the two eldest girls to start at Hamm when the new term started and they set off by train with others who they had met between terms. It seemed better that way and probably allowed them to settle a bit quicker...but they did not like it that was for sure. Boarding school discipline was not to their liking and the school buildings were a bit grim. They were converted SS barracks and most of the pupils were quite certain that the matron had been left behind by the SS when they evacuated all those years ago!, but they coped.
We went to Hamm whenever the opportunity arose. Week-ends when they were allowed out and half-term so we took them about as much as we could to places of interest but there was invariably tears when we were obliged to leave.
Fortunately the journey through to Hamm was only just over two hours but it was an interesting route whether by autobahn or the 'scenic' route. The autobahn route was right through the 'Happy Valley' Ruhr industrial complex that had received such a pounding from Bomber Command and still showed it and the scenic route to the North was through some very badly damaged towns, including Wanne Eikle when we diverted to have a look at the place. Nevertheless, it was surprising how quickly the economy was recovering. When we first arrived a great deal of our transport and services were provided from local resources under the reperations [sic] agreement but as industry recovered that was was coming to an end and British products were taking over.
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We had plenty of friends in and around Laarbruch and at other RAF units in the area. There were plenty of places to visit and Arnhem and Nigmegen [sic] were near enough for shopping expeditions
as well as paying our respects at the military cemetary's [sic] both at Arnhem and the Reichwald. Despite the fact that the camp had very comprehensive facilities we got out and about as much as we could. If we were going to be stationed in Germany we were going to see it, particularly when the eldest girls were home from Hamm or we visited then there. I remember once asking the technical F/Sgt in charge of the radar how he liked the place and was surprised to find that he did not think much of it but after a little more discussion found that he had not been outside the main gate since he had arrived!. Even by the end of his tour he had only been 'outside' twice and his wife not at all. It seemed a bit 'head in the sand' to me as most people we knew got about as much as possible.
There was one place we found, a little different from when I first encountered it, and that was the spot where I had landed safely in 1945 and nearly got shot by the side of the road. The house where I was first interrogated was as it was imprinted on my mind. Only 22 miles from Laarbruch. I even entertained the thought when I scouted around the area that I might recover two soggy one pound notes and my old I.D. card. Some hope!. The area of small nursery pines had grown to some 50 to 60 feet high and although I looked around the area I could find no sign of the whacking great hole that 'D' Dog would have made if that was where she came down. I never have found the crash site. It was years later that I made a serious attempt to find it but MOD Historical Records could not help other than to say that they had information that they could not disclose. Possibly a cover up for the fact that they knew nothing although they were interested to know where we baled out and why. 'D' Dog was the only aircraft Bomber Command lost that day and the crash site is still listed………………..
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as 'unknown'. That local tour was one of many that we made to places that were engraved on my memory and noted in my diary. At Krefeld I couldn't even find the airfield!. At Dusseldorf the old airfield had been swallowed up or otherwise expanded although the ghosts of the past were swirling around when I surveyed the area on more than one occasion from the terminal buildings.
At Frankfurt although I followed the road out towards Ober-Orsal I could find no sign of what had once been the infamous interrogation centre of Dulag-Luft. Throughout the next two and a half years there were not many areas that we did not visit as we ranged far and wide with the benefit duty free pre-paid petrol coupons that were more than enough for our requirements. Shortly after starting the daily routine of setting off for the airfield one morning I picked up a Warrant Officer who was heading the same way. He too had only just arrived and lived not far from us. He was the Technical Wing Adjutant and his son was destined for Hamm school the same as our girls. That was the start of a long and deep seated friendship of the sort that one rarely made in the service as most friendships were like the ripples made by a stone in a puddle. They tended to dissipate when one or the other moved on but we are still in touch after 35 years.
I was soon certificated and operational. The work at Laarbruch was slightly different although it was not a continuous 24 hour shift system that I had become used to but we kept a skeleton crew on standby outside normal working hours to fulfill [sic] the requirements of 2nd Tactical Air Force. The aircraft were Canberra bombers and the more modern delta wing Javelin night fighter. A touch of both Bomber Command and Fighter Command which made for some very interesting procedures. Other than that the rest of the set-up was fairly standard. The GCA radar was the same type that I had used at Tangmere and I was promptly placed in charge of it for it's operation proficiency which included checking out other controllers and to train to a high standard of re-positioning and setting up of the equipment when the runway in use was changed. The requirement was to do it within an hour which was a tall order considering that there was the operations trailer, the power supply trailer and rest
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caravan weighing in all about 40 tons to be moved with great care considering that it contained some quite delicate equipment and cost around £250,000!. Bend that little lot and someone's head would roll........mine!.
The route to Hamm took us down to the new bridge at Vesel, slightly up river from the remnants of the ends of the-old bridge that had been destroyed during the war in that hottest of all hotspots. It was from that very area that massive armies had gathered to force a crossing of the river and where Churchill had fired one of the first shots of the assault by pulling the lanyard of a very big gun and where the biggest Airborne landing of 22,000 men had been landed by glider and parachute on the East side of the town. A very historical place militarily and a slightly battered one having been given a terrible pounding by Bomber Command prior to the attack by ground forces. Nevertheless, a lot had been rebuilt and the new system had taken advantage of a lot of open space and vast quantities of rubble. We usually swept through and in a few miles had linked up with the autobahn.
I got my first taste of motorway driving out there when they were were [sic] still building the M1 in the UK although the southern end was usable I had not used it but it was like a battlefield. 90% of the autobahn traffic seemed to be VW Beetles and the like with a top speed of a little over 70mph, about the same as mine, but it was the way they were driven that put the wind up me.
There was no speed limit and drivers just hurled themselves along at maximum possible speed with foot flat on the floor all the time, come what may. Nose to tail, bit between the teeth, no leeway whatsoever and no margin for error, just going like the clappers all the time. I really felt as if I was back in the Battle of the Ruhr and found it decidedly uncomfortable. I don't think that there was ever one journey that we did that we didn't see the results of what appeared to be suicidal driving so I started to try and prove that the MT instructors at the base were not going to include me when they quoted the statistics of 90% of drivers [underlined] will [/underlined] have an accident whilst in Germany. [underlined] They were right though [/underlined] !. I came unstuck eventually. In the meantime I just battled on. On one occasion we had just cleared the Ruhr
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area on the autobahn heading for Hamm with particularly heavy traffic developing into two solid streams doing around 60 to 70mph and I felt concerned enough to do as I still do today under such circumstances....get into the 'slow' lane where there was at least room to duck onto the hard shoulder if there was trouble. I was suddenly aware that way ahead stop lights were coming on like strobing airfield approach lights and was immediately on the alert. I suppose other drivers concentrating on the vehicles directly in front were not aware that the stop lights were coming on were getting closer and closer and then as it was obvious to me what was going to happen I jinked out onto the hard shoulder. I must have done it with split second to spare as some 200 vehicles shunted each other with the screeching of brakes, bangs, thumps and the sound of tearing metal and breaking glass. It was followed immediately by the cries of the injured when all other noises had stopped.
No-one in our immediate area was badly hurt although there were numerous head injuries and the odd broken limb with a fair bit of blood splashed around so it was out with the first aid kit and to the rescue. Fortunately, in addition to the mandatory first aid kit I had for years kept a large package of war-time wound packs in the car and they came in very useful although I what some people thought when they found that they were British Military packs dated 1943 I couldn't say. They did the job despite the fact that in most cases the safety pin was rusted!. Small matter. I had found them in an abandoned store in a pill box at Oakington in 1947…..I was not the sort of a bloke to waste things!. They lasted many years. In that instance we were luckier than the majority and it took an hour and a half before the autobahn ahead was cleared sufficienty [sic] for us to proceed past piles of smashed up vehicles, and then we came to the root cause of the pile-up. Unbelievable!. There were [underlined] two [/underlined] white police cars mangled together more or less standing on end up against a bridge support. We subsequently learned that they had been heading the long snake of cars to keep the speed down but had been playing 'tag' and had obviously not-been very clever.
I felt at the time that 'someone' was definitely out to get me having so far escaped all other intentions of the Germans to eliminate me and it did not improve Dorothy's attitude to
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sitting in what was often classified as the suicide seat, ie, the passenger seat of a right hand drive vehicle being driven on the right hand side of the road. There was even more apprehension by the time that particular week-end was over. We had just got into Hamm and rounding a corner had to duck to miss the car ahead that had lurched around the corner, bounced off of one of the large concrete cylinder things that were liberaly [sic] sprinkled around their street corners and then finished up with the front wheels over a small garden wall. It was a British Forces registered vehicle also heading for Hamm school but no-one was hurt and the driver declared that he needed no assistance so we pressed on. Nevertheless it was a great weekend with the girls who enjoyed their visit to Munster zoo we thought no more about driving and it's associated problems until we were on the return journey.
I was gaining slightly on a VW Beetle but held back for a while as it was lurching about over both lanes in very light traffic. It was some time before I ventured alongside and was somewhat shocked to find that all of the windows were closed and steamed up and all four occupants were asleep, including the driver, hunched over the wheel. I gave the horn as much as I could for as long as I could to rouse everyone, making signs to wind down the windows until it was safe to pass and felt after that that I had done my good deed for the day as that bloke was very close to running off of the road. He would not have known much about it though as he was doing what most beetle drivers did. Foot still flat on the floor regardless.
As always there was continual movement of personnel, most people having settled into a 2 1/2 year tour. We had with us people that we had known at many units including Amman and Egypt as well as Mareham [sic] and Wyton so of course the usual thing was happening with the married quarter waiting list as we went up and down like a yo-yo. There was one movement that had occurred just before we arrived although would not have made any difference to our quarters list, that of the Station Commander whose Adjutant I had been at Marham but he had gone on with more promotion. After that apparently almost every move he made was with further promotion until he eventually retired as an Air Marshall with a Knighthood and a handsome string of awards and
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decorations including; GCB, KCB, CB, CBE, OBE, DSO, DFC, AFC, and I must confess that I am proud to have received a great deal of instruction from him in the three years that I was his Adjutant.
The eventual allocation of married quarters at Laabruch could not have come at a better time. 53 Weeze Strasse was not the most suitable of places but it had enabled us to recover our finances to the satisfaction of both the bank manager and our-selves, and I hope, Frau van Cooke, so we moved into our comfortable centrally heated house shortly before the winter set in and had a damn good house warming party to celebrate.
Everything sailed along quite happily despite the girls dislike of boarding school and our youngest was soon into her third year but we were outgrowing the little Ford Popular and it's three speed gear box was a bit tedious at times. It was time for a change and we considered all the options. In the end I ordered the new Ford Classic (tax free) from a firm in Chichester in Sussex with a part exchange deal and it was all done when we went back to the UK for a holiday covering the school term break.
That was going to be the car that would see me through for the maximum number of miles before another change became neccessary [sic] . I ran it in carefully and the engine was treated with all the right things to achieve longevity and when our leave was up it was fully prepared to do anything asked of it, nevertheless, no sooner than we were back into Holland on the way back one of the first things we came across was a car upside down in a ditch at the side of the road with arms and legs hanging out of broken windows. I only stopped for a quick look and decided that there was little I could do that would not involve and upset the family so I pressed on for about half a mile until I saw a house with the sign outside denoting that they had a phone, nipped in and asked them to telephone ambulance and police to get to the scene, and then continued my journey. I've sometimes thought that I might have been able to do more at the scene but the inside of the car was like a butchers shop with not a lot of hope for the occupants.
The Classic was soon re-registered with British Forces plates and as it was a new model it always attracted a great deal of interest wherever we went. There was usually a crowd around
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it wherever it was parked.
There was one place just over the border in Holland that we visited regularly. The village of Well was an interesting little place and one of it's most comfortable establishments was a little restaurant and bar on the side of the River Maas. 'Auntie' Nellie was mine host and she was a remarkable person. She was well known for her resistance work and had been responsible for numerous evaders to pass along another link in the chain back to the safety of their own lines. It had obviously needed someone like that who was handy to assist in the river crossing. The Maas was quite wide and fast flowing at that point and the nearby bridge was a war-time Bailey built especially to carry military traffic from Eindhoven; still carrying heavy traffic. Our free week-ends were often spent there for shopping and for refreshments in the restaurant, watching the barges chugging by with all manner of goods piled on them and the bargees washing, bicyles [sic] , dogs, or watching a UK football match on the tele. but there was a bit of a problem with that. The football commentary was usually in Dutch so a radio was set up alongside and we had a commentary in English for the same match that suited the Dutch, English and German patrons who all gravitated to that place. Great fun greatly assisted by good strong Dutch beer, or possibly something hotter and stronger on cold days.
We visited the area many years later and it had not changed much and one of the girls plus her own family visited many years after that and it was still pretty much the same. We had a lot of time for the Dutch people and found no difficulty in integrating. In fact, we could quite happily have taken up residence there.
Crossing the Dutch/German border just North of Goch a few months after getting the new car the windscreen disintegrated in my lap and of course being a new model not yet on sale on the continent it took a week before a Dutch Ford agent could fit another but that was nothing to what happened later. With a new car I thought that I had overcome the love/hate relationship that I had always had with motor vehicles, but I was always
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to be in trouble with them one way or another.
Something else cropped out that I was not overjoyed about. The 'cold war' that was the very reason that we were out there demanded emergency establishment manning in the event of going to 'Red Alert' and on that deployment I would have been immediately on my way to my war establishment post. To Gatow, Berlin!!!, right in the middle of the contested Russian Zone. Just my luck. I would much rather have been going in the opposite direction!, away from any conflict but due to it's security classification I had to keep that possibility under wraps.
Life was anything but dull. The job of Station Fire Officer landed in my lap again almost as soon as I moved into quarters although it was the usual arrangement. A senior fireman did the work and 'Sir' was the dogsbody who took the flak if anything went wrong but it still helped to know as much as possible about the job. I had learned the hard way but the crash/rescue element was always under the operational control of Air Traffic Control and I thought that having got that job it would be enough---wrong again!.
There was plenty to occupy my mind and my hands. There were liaison visits of all sorts on a two way basis. The local German and Dutch fire services were entertained and visa versa (but not both at the same time). At one time I had two Luftwaffe NCO's for several weeks to polish off their GCA training although their initial training had been with the Americans and we all used the same procedures. Even our GCA was of standard American design. All very interesting!. A very daft situation arose with them on one occasion as naturally they were billeted with us and it seemed natural for them to use their camera's. It is true that we did have one very secure area in the vicinity of the Canberra dispersals on the far side of the airfield but the Service Police were I think a little over security concious [sic] when they pounced on them in the domestic area and ripped the film out of the camera's. Typical. I did have a word with the senior policeman but it was a waste of time. He reckoned that he was not having Germans photographing our installations. Bloody daft!. They had built the station for us in the first place!
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My interest in photography had developed further to the extent that I joined the unit photographic club, a move that I was to regret later and although the facilities were a bit run down I was able to widen the scope of my activities in that field as I had sold all my processing gear back at Wyton when finances were taking a bit of a hammering. What happened next was just waiting to happen. The current Officer I/C (in-charge) was posted and they did not look very far for his replacement. There were no terms of reference so I was instructed to write my own for approval and then my brief was simple. "It's a mess, put it back on it's feet". I knew it was a mess, the trouble was that I had told too many people. In the main it was used by people for standard processing at a profit, and who were not very interested in cleaning up. It did not take long to find out that there was about twice the number of people booking out the keys as there was on the register so it was a matter of going back to 'square one' to lock the place up and out of bounds to all but a selected few who were formed into a committee until a new system was set up I had the place refurbished with all the enlargers overhauled by a local German photographic supplier, new black-outs and racking resulting in four good booths. Eventually we agreed the maximum number of people that we could have on the register, all old membership cards were invalidated and new cards issued against the subscription register which was to be renewed annually and 'bingo'. With new rules, a studio and lecture room we opened up and it flourished. One feature I introduced was processing on certain nights only and a weekly 'beginners night' series of talks for the benefit of those, schoolchildren, wives and all, who wanted to know the basics. I well remember my own first efforts when every other word the 'experts' said was 'double dutch' to me so I was determined that each of the four talks was pitched as low as possible and repeated every month. It worked well and it was popular.
As we went into the first Winter we were glad of the design of the married quarters. Airmen's and Officers were all built along the same lines albeit to a different standard. The typical concrete box built on top a cellar and around the plumbing. There was no piping showing inside or outside. The cellar was
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the utility area, with concrete wash tubs, floor drainage and other mod. cons. and a store room. It all looked rather like the inside of a submarine with huge pipes and turn cocks along the passage…..but there was no boiler!. Hot water was provided by a huge boiler system to the whole station along deep insulated piping on a communal basis, the only base in Germany to have such a system and it made everything very comfortable and convenient. Especially when an Officers wife went 'down below' to see how the plumber was getting on with a job only to find that he was sitting in one of the wash tubs, in the buff, happily blowing bubbles in oodles of hot water. Now that's what I call initiative and it caused a bit of a giggle when the story got around.
Later on our store room became the 'Den' where the girls and their friends congrgated [sic] to get away from the 'oldies' but at least they had their own space. Goodness knows how many there were down there at times after we got fed up answering the door and fixed up a string and a bell system through the outside grating.
Being a house of concrete the attic had a concrete floor as well and all the roof beams had built in hooks for what I assumed to be hammocks if ever they were needed as barracks providing a very useful sleeping area particularly if anyone was overwhelmed with visiting friends and relations from the UK.
As it happened we never were and although my father-in-law expressed an interest to visit us and take the opportunity do the tour of the WW1 battlefields he found it more than he could bring himself to do and could not set foot on German soil; and he never did. The memories of his brother being blasted into eternity at his side, and his own wounds were too strong for him ever to forget that episode in his life.
Before the winter was out we skated and tobogganed. Everyone enjoyed themselves in the light fluffy snow of the kind that one did not normally see back home until at last Spring broke through and work and play took over the scene again. The Winter was a bit hard although nowhere near as bad as the one to follow but a lot happened in between.
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One tour we put together for the early Summer holidays came unstuck. It was planned as a round robin right down through Central and Southern Germany, into Bavaria, Austria and Switzerland, France and back home over at-out ten days. It did not quite work out like that although we were making the most of it until it went wrong.
We went to Nuremburg and found the site of Stalag X111b but there were no huts left, only a police Guard Post and we were allowed to browse around. Then on to Stalag V11a Mooseburg and back to Munich for a night stop. The memory plays funny tricks though. Despite my notes I found it very difficult to locate some places and even when I did positively identify places from the notes they were sometimes unrecognisable. We had already found the same problem around the UK!. However, our navigation went a bit haywire down in Austria when we took a wrong road up in the mountains and instead of going into Switzerland we found ourselves back in Germany again. Not that it mattered much. All of the scenery was absolutely splendid and eventually we were into and out of France crossing the border into Germany again near Strasburg. We were ahead of our schedule so we decided that we would head for home rather than go for another night stop and were about ten miles South of Heidleburg when some idiot driver pulled a stunt that upset a few people; us included and so we finished up with a night stop anyway.
I was the tail ender of seven or eight vehicles in convoy doing near enough 70mph in the 'fast' lane with no traffic in the other lane when a light truck going like a bat out of hell came up behind making angry signals with his lights for us to get out of the way, which I did and then I resumed the tail end position. I did not stay behind him long as obviously no-one else was going to move over for him so he pulled out and went through on the wrong side. No doubt he had worked himself into a frenzy of agressive [sic] behaviour, (what is called road rage today is nothing new) and as soon as he got to the head of the column he did something quite unexpected. I could see the whole thing happening as if in slow motion as he literally hurled his vehicle across the bows of the leaders and them stood on the brakes. What happened next was anything but slow motion but long before
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anything happened directly I was on the brakes and everyone on board slid up against something solid before each and everyone of the cars shunted one another with a series of thuds until despite my heavy breaking we slammed into the one in front with such a wallop that it shot forward again into the one in front and our roof rack landed in the road between us. It was very fortunate that I was 'tall end charlie' as I am quite sure that we would have had one in the back of us as well.
After a quick check to see if we had any injuries, to be very relieved to find that only the eldest had had a scratch from a broken Coke bottle I dispatched her immediately to about fifty yards back along the centre section to start waving her white cardigan like mad, and got everyone else out onto the central reservation in case some damn fool back-ended us. It was not difficult to get out of as the impact had given us a 'droop snoot' and the doors had sprung with an overlap of some four inches. One could see at a glance that that we were not going anywhere in that car for a long time.
Checking on the vehicle in front and recovering the roof rack disclosed that the middle aged couple in the BMW that I had hit were badly shaken but otherwise unhurt although their car was quite badly damaged. The front end was bent, the back end was scrunched, the boot lid had sprung, and the exhaust had fallen off. They were both in tears though as the car was absolutely brand new, direct from the factory on delivery with only 22km on the clock but that was the least of my worries.
Between listening to their tales of woe, refixing the roof rack and repacking some of our spilled goods with a very watchfull [sic] eye on the traffic that was still hurtling by I still had time to take a few photographs before the police arrived and my daughter could retire from her rather exposed position to the relative safety of the central reservation where all the damaged cars had been pushed once the police were satisfied with explanations and that the exchanges of insurance details had been attended to. That's the way German traffic law worked; 'he who does the bumping does the paying', so you dealt with the one in front and the law is satisfied.
Breakdown vehicles appeared as if by magic but we had to wait a lot longer than most to get cleared as I, being a member of
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the military, had to be dealt with by the appropriate military authority, in that area, the U.S. Army, who could not have been more sympathetic and helpfull [sic] . The car was eventually winched onto a civilian break-down vehicle, (which I subsequently had to pay for) and off it went with us following up in a staff car to see it settled in a field full of other wrecks. Our surplus goods were left in the care of the driver of the breakdown-truck before we were finally deposited at the steps of a very nice Hotel in Heidelburg.
In normal circumstances we would have enjoyed that visit to the beautiful city of Heidelburg but not that time. We were just about broke. I had a Hotel bill to consider as well as the train fare back to base. I did not have a German bank account and there were limits that one could do then with a UK chequebook. Nevertheless, we dredged up every mark and phenig [sic] that we could, including the kid's pocket money but it didn't allow for a meal so we just had to picnic on the bits and pieces that we had recovered from the car and ultimately went to bed very tired if not a little hungry. It still took a long time before sleep came to me. Here I was again, virtually stranded in Germany wondering what was going to happen next. Every piece of the day’s action kept floating in frost of my eyes. Of all the damn silly things. All those occasions of war-time flying over enemy territory escaping injury by the skin of my teeth, to finish up in Germany with a pranged car and very nearly a damaged family as well.
I made myself a promise before I want to sleep, to never, ever again put myself or my family in such a situation again. There had to be a way to adjust one’s driving technique to reduce the risks, so I was going to have to swallow my pride. Meanwhile I had become one of 2nd TAF's motoring statistics having been told that nine out of ten drivers would have an accident I had scoffed at the idea...but they were not wrong.
The following day after paying our bill and buying tickets there was not much left in the kitty so it was rolls, butter, sausage and fizzy drinks bought locally for breakfast and for the journey, then we were off.
That part of the journey was a tour to remember for it's sheer
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beauty but I think that I was the only one to remember it in detail. The weather was perfect. The scenery along the Rhine was picture postcard stuff of vinyards [sic] and castles perched high up on hillsides especially the area around Koblenz was too good to miss particularly as I had run out of film and could not even afford to buy another. I kept waking the family up to look at, it but at that stage of the game they were not too impressed although I was out to make the most of it. To hell with the car, insurance would take care of that and the most important thing was that we were all together and all in one piece. That's all that mattered. We eventually arrived back at Goch, a colleague picked us up and that was the end of that holiday and touring for a while. There were letters to write and reports to make as we eventually settled down to life without a car. I tried to negotiate for the car to be transferred to Holland for repair as it was a new model not yet available in Germany although it was filtering onto the Dutch market but the agents for the UK insurers who were based in Hamburg would not entertain the idea and weeks went by as they deliberated. In the meantime my neighbour who had just bought a new car agreed to run it in by driving me down to Heidelburg to pick up all the stuff that we had been obliged to leave behind. It had all been prepared and packed and even lunch was provided for us. He and his Frau earned our gratitude and their remuneration for their thoughtfulness. It helped me overcome my dismay when I went to see the car sitting forlornly among the wrecks. It had already been vandalised, possibly on the assumtion [sic] that it would be a write-off. All the wheel trims and the front wheels had gone as well as the wing mirrors. The battery had gone and the petrol had been drained off all ten gallons of it as we had only just fuelled up for the home run. I had been relying on some of that to help us to do the 300 mile round trip but someone had beaten me to it. Of course no-one knew anything about it. The yard did not belong to the recovery chap and there were notices around in German disclaiming responsibility for any losses etc. It was to be expected!.
The months went by and were particularly frustrating. Having looked the car over carefully on that visit I figured that it ought to be classified as a write-off but the insurance company
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disagreed. I tried to get it taken to Cologne, the German manufacturing centre for Fords but eventually it was transferred to Mannheim for repair. I found out later that the front was completely cut off and replaced, something that would not be acceptable today but that was it and they had the last say. I was without it for six months and a lot of annoyance which did little for my blood pressure.
I busied myself in work of one sort and another. We did not go out of camp much and the girls had settled themselves into local employment so it was the photographic club that received most of my attention which was soon flourishing financially and with a lot of enthusiastic new members. So much so that Laarbruch was selected as the venue for the Command Photographic Competition. It all went well with the cooperation of the Education Flight and the fact that I won two awards had nothing to do with the fact that one of the judges had been my neighbour at Wyton. All entries were coded which was standard practice.
Air Traffic Control was more or less routine. By that time I was convinced that I had covered just about every aspect and I was still making it known annually, that I wanted area radar training for the future. Nevertheless, I had one experience which I thought might have influenced a decision but it didn't.
I was doing stand-by shift in the radar track after I had been informed of a large formation practice of aircraft from 2nd TAP units to the South-East of us and I had been monitoring their progress when I was asked to take control of an aircraft being flown by the C in C who wanted see how the formation was shaping up.
It was really difficult after taking him on. I found out from the formation Ieader the detail's of the altimeter setting and then working him on a different frequency did a perfect fighter interception placing him just above and 100yds behind the formation. He even asked if I was a Fighter Controller and was somewhat surprised to find that he was being controlled by an airfield radar. He did say "as good as any fighter control interception" but he didn't bother to find out who I was!.
Our GCA was not without it's troubles though. There was one
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expensive internal item absolutely vital to it's operation that was costing dollars to replace and contracts had-been let to produce them in the UK under licence but they didn't always last for the expected running time but at least we had replacements. Our headphones were a different matter. Some of then were the original issue with the radar unit and were always in need of repair which was common in almost every similar equipment in the RAF. I found that intolerable. Aircrew helmets and associated communications equipment cost hundreds of pounds to ensure absolute reliability and safety and I was sometimes sweating a bit when we were obliged to operate in marginal conditions with our own equipment that could fail at any time. I indented for new head-sets to be told that they were too expensive and were to be repaired locally. I made a fuss and some were taken away by Command signals workshops for repair but very few people knew that I had got something else up my sleeve.
My contacts with my opposite number in the Dutch Air Force at Vokel was very helpful in finding out that their Bell helicoptors [sic] used the same sort of headset and were replaceable under a NATO agreement. A liaison visit exchanged three of them but I kept that quiet. The only time they came out was when we were operating in marginal conditions; and I kept up the pressure for total replacement much to the annoyance of the technical staff particularly when the refurbished sets proved to be unreliable. Eventually, wondering how long it would take to get something done before the next winter set in I really put the cat among the pigeons. I did a 'Douglas Bader' and signalled 2nd TAF HQ that the radar was declared 'non operational-training in visual conditions only due to technical problems'. Phew!, that really did get things moving. I knew through the 'grapevine' that new UK produced headsets were becoming available and that the C in C of Coastal Command had authorised the local purchase of replacements for his radars...that was good enough for me and was part of my argument and I flatly refused to change the status of our radar until something similar was done. As with Douglas Bader the result was dramatic. Within a week all the stops had been pulled out and I received replacements direct from the manufacturers completely by passing the normal stores
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procedure. All I had to do was to pass the invoices back through stores to confirm that I had got them and turn in the old one's for write off. We were operational immediately but I got a hell of a lot of 'stick' for it. Bader might have got away with it but I didn't. I had upset too many people along the line by taking a short cut and there were no thanks for my achievment [sic] .
In the late summer I did another liaison visit that was most interesting; to our Fighter Control Centre at Udem....in the war-time bunker that the Luftwaffe had used to track our bomber streams and direct their fighters although of course it had been modified to our sytem [sic] . It was similar to our UK fighter Control Centres that I had been in although it just felt different but what was interesting was the fact that there were a lot of Luftwaffe personnel around as a new generation was being trained by us. It led to to [sic] another liaison visit later when a few of us went to a radar controlled Luftwaffe ack-ack unit somewhere towards Wesel. Now that was interesting; less than ten miles from where a similar unit had shot us down in 1945 and very enlightening.
The winter was nearly upon us when I eventually received notice that the car was ready for collection so off I went to Mannheim only to find that as far as I was concerned it was not. It was lacking all sorts of bits and some parts were still unpainted so I returned without it. There was an angry exchange of letters between myself and Hamburg and claims for costs until I was eventually told it was positively ready so off I went again. Then the s……hit the fan. Hardly anything more had been done and although I phoned the Hamburg office and got the OK to take it subject to a settlement the repairers would not release it until it was paid for. Oh boy oh boy!, what fun and games. More phoning, Hamburg making arrangements to transfer money via banks, a night stop for me and eventually it was released so off set for the 230 mile return journey, and not before time. It was a good job that I had fuelled to the brim as the weather did not look at all promising. I soon connected with the Autobahn and had not gone more than 30 miles when I ran into a snowstorm that turned into a blizzard, just what I wanted!, although it
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slowed things down considerably and the traffic thinned out as snow came down in about the heaviest fall I had ever encountered. It was very soon some two or three inches deep and going was getting difficult although mostly I was in virgin snow and still getting a grip. I pressed on nevertheless having in mind that it looked as if I was going to have to make another night stop somewhere but then found that in the confusion of the poor visibility in the ten lane junction near Frankfurt I had picked up the wrong lane and was on my way North-East, towards Wuppertal!. There was only one thing to do and that was backtrack. Although the snow had stopped leaving a depth of about 4ins. it would have been quite impossible to go across country so it was back 20 miles and then find my way through the network of the ten lane junction again until I was on track for Cologne once more. By that time it had got dark and I was somewhat relieved to be heading in the right direction at last and was working out my ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) when there was a hold up. It took some time for the traffic to creep forward and over the brow of a hill before I could see what had caused it all. There was a large articulated lorry on it's side blocking most of the carriageway and the police were only allowing one vehicle at a time down the hill past it as by now the snow had become impacted and it was a bit like an ice rink. When my turn came to make the descent I was amazed to find that the firemen and the 'wreckers' were actually cutting the lorry to pieces with blow torches to remove it in sections and was very relieved when I was finally in the clear again and heading for home. It took a total of twelve hours to do the journey. I had left in daylight and arrived with the dawn feeling hungry and very very tired. It was just "Hello, don't ask qestions [sic] and Goodnight”.
I finally came too, refreshed, reported that I was back and started the negotiations with Hamburg to restore the car to it's new state which I estimated would cost another £300 and they paid up in full. That was not the end of it though....
Winter soon descended with a vengance [sic] . It got cold and then colder. The bottom fell out of the thermometer and one morning, in common with many others I found the car locks frozen. Possibly
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like others I poured almost boiling water on in an attempt to unlock it but it froze as it hit the car and it was several days before the temperature went up a little to allow everything to release. then a great deal of the new paintwork came away with the defrosting!. I was very cross to say the least but I had it all renewed within the allowance that had been made by the insurance company. That still was not the end of it………but then the winter really set in.
Even the underground pipes froze in places and the works department produced a device that had not been used for years. It was a mobile motor driven generator producing a low voltage high amperage current that was attached to the fire hydrants and when the power was switched on it virtually heated the pipes up and they thawed. I had never seen anything like it before but at least the Fire service was kept in business. Even in the readiness areas the immersion heaters in the fire vehicles were needed to avoid freezing up. I put the fire dept to work to flood and freeze a fairly large depression of grassed area which produced an ice rink for several weeks. The centre of it was nearly two feet of solid ice and it was so cold that even the moat around Well castle in Holland was frozen to a depth of over two feet. Nevertheless we were still in business until it snowed again. We had been waiting for it and all the snow clearing machinery had been brought out and made ready but when it did start it made what I had been through when I brought the car back look like a little flurry. It snowed and snowed continually until there was a good ten to twelve inches over the whole airfield; and not the sort that would go away!.
With no flying possible we started to tackle it with everything we could muster to get the airfield clear. One machine had flame heaters for melting an icy surface, a hopper with finely graded sand with a worm feed which distributed the sand on the melted surface before it froze again. Result; a sandpaper type surface that was ideal for braking on at the upwind end of the runway. That's the way I figured it but everyone had different ideas particularly among those who had taken charge of the operation. It was attempted on snow, it was overworked and eventually it had a major breakdown. The various teams pushed and shoved snow all over the place with the snow ploughs and one crew even
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managed to put a twelve foot bank right in the runway threshold!. The equipment was the best with four wheel drive MAM diesel trucks with chains, and the blades could be swung either way for a left or a right cut, two splendid 'Snow-go’s' with flail intakes and plume blowers but the whole lot was being used piecemeal. Some ploughs had been used as bulldozers and a lot of snow was just being shifted from one place to another without opening up areas. After 24 hours of quite useless effort I stuck my neck out and produced a sketch plan of my own and there was very little argument. Obviously I couldn't make a bigger cock-up than had already been made and it was accepted. I assembled six ploughs in echelon with a half blade overlap followed by the two Snow-go’s and working on a plan to shift the snow [underlined] away [/underlined] from the taxyways [sic] we were off. It worked like a charm and mountains of snow was being cleared without blocking up other access points. At the end of the first cut I took the whole lot into a dispersal to swing the blades for the next run in the opposite direction when the CO turned up and 'suggested' that I would be better employed clearing snow instead of messing about changing the angle of the blades. He was not amused when I 'suggested' that "I was doing it my way" but really, there was no basis for any argument. I had already cleared half of a mile long taxyway [sic] in one sweep which was more than anyone else had done in the last 24 hours so with his permission I would like to carry on and prove a point, and perhaps he should judge my efforts by the result, particularly as others had not achieved much. How to get on and influence people!!!!, but I was cold and tired and past caring.
However, it did work as I expected and we were the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared 'open' despite the fact that after I had left a colleague in charge whilst I went for a meal on my return found that he had managed to put 200 tons of snow back where I had just cleared it from. At least I had justified my plan and we were invariably the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared clear after subsequent falls of snow. There was only one way to do it and I spent hours out on the airfield in -15 to-20 degrees. I followed it up with a written 'Snow Clearing Plan' with sketches and techniques to show how the basic plan could be adapted for any airfield and it turned up
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in print later. There were no thanks, just hard work and chilblains although there was a certain amount of satisfaction in having done something practical and useful. It was a relief when the deep freeze gave way to the first signs of Spring though and thoughts turned to planning the last holiday we were likely to get in that area. Before that happened an urgent problem put Dorothy into the Military Hospital at Vegberg near Rhiendalen for about ten days and we very nearly did not get the holiday but the planning was well advanced so we decided to go for it.
We had been fortunate in purchasing a slightly used but almost complete camping outfit so the destination was the Costa Brava in Spain. There were several dummy run exercises in the garden for putting up the tent until everyone knew what they had to do and the day came when all was assembled, loaded on the car and off we went.
Up to that point in time we had done no long distance travelling since the car had been repaired although there had been no problems. They started when we reached the area around Frankfurt when we were on long hill climbs when there were signs of overheating in the clutch and the most terrible noises from the gear box. With a little experimentation I found that the heat and the noise could be reduced by holding the highest gear for as long as possible which was not easy as the car was so heavily loaded. Eventually the decision was made after our first night stop at Frieburg that we would press on to the half way point at Geneva and that if it did not improve we would turn about. Strangely enough it was only lower gear hill climbs that produced the problem and in fact when we tried the odd run unloaded it was OK. We pressed on although I still had no idea what was causing it. I just wanted to be on holiday.
Actually we nearly abandoned it for other reasons. Dorothy did not like camping!. Not after our first night stop anyway. It was the way we had pitched the tent on a very slight slope in the semi-darkness and the natural movement in our sleep that found us up against the sides of the tent. That and the noises of the frogs at the lakeside did not exactly induce sleep.
Somehow we managed to retain some sense of humour even when in the early hours of the morning Dorothy had twisted herself up in her sleeping bag and I was awoken by gurgling noises and
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"get this b……zip out of my mouth"!!!!. That and the fact that it had started to rain heavily did not improve matters. It did not stop us moving out though. With a wet tent on top that then weighed twice as much as when we started!.
The next stop was Geneva where we were aiming for a camp site on the banks of Lake Lemon and it rained nearly all the way. What fun!. We had to put up a wet tent and I very nearly turned about at that point. Nevertheless, there was a pleasant little restaurant not far from the site and we indulged ourselves to the point of feeling a lot more comfortable by the time we turned in.
It had at least stopped raining but everywhere was clinging cold mist and these were the conditions when we packed up and moved out again, heading for Orange in the south of France where we were planning to stay with friends. We just ploughed on and on and on in those conditions through the Swiss mountains not seeing much more than the road is front of us until we got into France and the weather cleared up at last. We had a comfortable night stop in real beds and managed to get the tent up to dry out. We had arrived just in time for the May Day celebrations and had a great time dancing and drinking in the square on the fringe of the ampthitheatre [sic] . I think somehow that managed to bring us back to some sort of normallity [sic] .
Rested, well fed and with a dry tent packed off we went the following day heading for Spain and for a long time the weather was fine until shortly after we stopped for a break in Perpignan. Then it started to rain again. That was just what I wanted through the Pyrenees! and there was still a long way to go.
By the time we got to the border we were enjoying a full blown thunderstorm with lightning, thunder and lashing rain but the French customs just waived us on and we only made a short stop at the Spanish customs. Just long enough for the customs officer to determine that we were a British family on a camping holiday. That brought forth peals of laughter and he brought all his mates out to join in the fun. What's the Spanish for "blood silly British"??!!!!. We just laughed with them and pressed on but I was getting very very tired by that time and we had another good laugh before we finally stopped for the night.
Some time after we had left the border post we were being........
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followed by a German registered mini-bus and the damn fool driver made several dangerous attempts to overtake. Why he could not have been satisfied in following someone who was doing the 'pathfinding' for him I do not know so when we came to the edge of a town I thought that I would give him the opportunity to pass as I groped my way through a left and a right turn and several inches of water which almost obscured the line of the road. The mini-bus driver thought his chance had come as he surged past on what he thought was the road straight ahead and finished up along a shopping boulevard and came to a grinding halt mixed up with cafe’ tables and chairs!. He certainly paid for his impatience but enough was enough. If we got to Tossa-de-Mar that night we would still have put the tent up so with about 60 mls to go we decided that a comfortable night stop in a Hotel in Gerona would be a good idea. It was!. A meal, a drink and I crashed out.
The weather had cleared up by the morning and it was only about 30 mls to our destination through the winding roads of the area lined with carbuncled cork oaks. We were on site, tent up, and prepared to stay for at least ten days.
I think it was worth the effort. With a family of five I don't think we could have done it any other way even though there had been a few problems on our 1062 mile journey. We were not the only people ever to have had problems. One of our neighbours in the previous year had undertaken a motoring holiday to the North through Hamburg and on to Denmark and Sweden but had lost most of their baggage when their roof rack had seperated [sic] from the car and was very nearly pulped. There is no guarantee that all will go according to plan even with the more modern form of air transport to exciting places; not when several days may be lost sitting around an airport lounge or the hotel has been double booked. We had ten supurb [sic] days bathing, taking in the sights, and cruising around. The strange thing was that the car behaved itself so it didn't seem worth doing anything about. Perhaps one of the most interesting roads that we took was the coastal mountainous route from Tossa de Mar to San Feli'u. Only about twelve miles as the crow fly's but with most spectacular scenery and [underlined] 365 [/underlined] hairpin bends which actually doubled the road miles but it was interesting to say the least. We cruised the
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Costa Brava taking in the sights, eating and relaxing where it took our fancy, had a day in Barcelona and the scenic route through the Sierra de Montseny area to return stopping at numerous unspoiled villages where we were welcomed with open arms. Today there is always the tendency to want to dash from place to place along the new coastal motorway system and miss a great deal of the real Spain but we lapped it up. We even got used to the Spanish style of driving!. especially in the wrigly [sic] mountain areas. The locals had a tendency to maintain the maximum speed come what may, with the result that they approached blind corners at high speed, on the wrong side of the road, blasting away on the horn. The theory was that if there was no answering blast from anyone approaching from the opposite direction then it was safe to continue fast; and on the wrong side!!!. A bit dodgy nevertheless.
We have many recollections of that holiday, like the first time one of the girls took to the water in her new bikini only to find that as soon as it got wet it went transparent. A bit embarrassing for a sixteen year old, and we found that there were quite a few British on holiday there including one RAF couple who actually lived in Gogh. We made the most of it anyway and the day finally came when we had to be homeward bound.
The weather had generally improved and after getting back into France we took a different and very scenic route through the foothills of the Cevennes to Lyon and on to Bescancon and Belfort to finally pick up the motorway system northbound and home only making two stops en route. I was glad to get home. Being the only driver on a journey like that does impose a certain amount of strain but I was soon back to work and an opportunity to find out what had caused the heat and the noise but everything seemed OK until I checked the gear box oil level. Absolutely empty!!. I cross checked the detailed worksheet that the workshop had provided (in German of course) which showed that they had for some reason stripped both the engine and the gearbox and meticulously recorded every nut and bolt removed and/or replaced.....except the replacement of the gearbox oil. I think that possibly the only reason the gear box survived some 6000 miles without lubricant was because I had treated all the original lubricant with a propriety molybdenum after it's running
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in but to say I was annoyed is an understatement. It resulted in an absolutely stinking letter to the insurance company, who typically, would not accept the complaint without comment from the workshop.....and the workshop made every excuse in the book to avoid the issue. I gave it up in the end as I had just been notified of my next posting with nearly six months notice. Unheard of for me. I was going to Valley in North Wales so there was not much more time to finish our touring. We did the area towards Berlin to visit friends at Gutersloh who had visited us previously. That was the chap that had also been a POW with me, and at Wyton, and Marham, who had visited the Reichwald War Cemetery with me and whilst walking around was telling me how he was the only survivor of his crew when they had been shot down a year earlier than myself in a Halifax, near Krefeld. Naturally he wondered where his crew had been buried as we viewed some of the 5000 aircrew graves when he stopped with a gasp. There they were, all six of them in one row!!. Talk about "There but for the Grace of God go I"!. I retired to a respectful distance to allow him to compose himself. Whilst we were that way we visited the Mohne Dam and the Sorp and back at Laarbruch we visited Amsterdam and did the tourist thing by canal bus. We visited the amazing scenic park of De Efteling and another place in Holland which was an inland sort of water park. Probably the for-runner of Centre Parks, Bad Boekelo. Inland but just like the sea-side with fine sand and lots and lots of safe water fun. The first time we had come across the wave making machine but it will always stick in my mind for one incident. Everyone was lolling about and Dorothy was returning with some ice-cream with her sandles [sic] producing spurts of sand as she walked. Just as she approached a young Dutchmen in a reclining position who was inspecting the inside of a sandwitch [sic] , one of the spurts of sand left the toe of her sandles [sic] and joined the mustard, splat!!!. He looked up in amazement and then burst into laughter as we all did. So much the easier way of dealing with it and he shared our sandwiches!. We finally found the area of the windmills. There is only one area where they are plentiful and that is in the canal area east of Rotterdam. Kinderdyke. One of the few areas where national dress is often worn and very photogenic. About the last interesting event that I recall
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in Air Traffic Control matters was at the commencement of a flying excerise [sic] when our Javelins were sitting on the Operational Readiness platforms at the end of the runway hooked up to the Fighter Control network as we were so that we were able to listen out on the net but I was not prepared for what came out of the box…….. “Achtung……. Achtung……. XXXXXX(callsigns) shcramble [sic] ……shcramble [sic] ."…followed by the interception instructions. It was the first time the Luftwaffe controllers had been placed in the 'hot seat' and I must confess that it raised a few eyebrows among among [sic] a few of Bomber Harris's 'old lags" who formed about 50% of our controllers. As ironic as it was we had no option but to move with the times.
We were coming to the end of our visits to our favourite cafe at Nijmegen. A delightful family run establishment where no order was too much trouble for the somewhat rotund proprietor. We invariably topped off our shopping expeditions there and it was one place where I saw muscles [sic] served up as a meal on their own....in a large enamelled washing up bowl!. I like muscles [sic] but enough to fill a kit-bag in one go would be bit too much for me but one of the national dishes I believe. I wouldn't like to cope with that if any of then was a bit 'off'.
With plenty of time to sort things out and having been told that quarters would not be immediately available I managed to arrange a rental at Amlwych [sic] on the North side of Anglesey and our friends who were also posted to Valley more or less at the same tine arranged a rental in Holyhead. Of course there was packing to arrange. Goods in store in St.Ives to be transported to Amlwych [sic] , travel arrangements to be made etc, etc. The process was no longer a daunting prospect, we had done it often enough!, and eventually we cleared the station and we were on our way.
Dorothy and the girls went under service arrangements and flew from Wildenwrath on their way to Worthing and I set off with the car loaded to the hilt via the Hook and Harwich. It was an absolutely dreadful crossing in a Force 9 gale. People were being sick all over the place, and it was virtually impossible to sleep. All the berths had been booked and a good good [sic] many others and myself were making the best of deck chairs lashed to the decks. The usual seats and benches offered very little comfort as people were being thrown off of them all over the
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place and the bar and kitchens shut early as it was so difficult to cope with the pitching and the tossing. There were some very unhappy looking passengers around when we docked in the morning and I must confess that at times during the night it would not have worried me if we had foundered....I think I just wanted to die!. Nevertheless we started to dissembark [sic] and I was not in a hurry but one Army Officer who had obviously been well ahead of me had allowed his discomfort and his haste to get the better of him. It does not pay to get 'stroppy' with Custom Officials!.
He was standing by his car, tearing his hair out as they were removing absolutely everything from it which had been as loaded as mine. And I mean everything!. They had removed the seats, emptied every compartment and opened every package. It was strewn all around the car. I felt bad enough as it was so I declared every cigarette, gram of tobacco, and drop of booze and when they had deducted my allowance only asked for a nominal payment on the excess!: There was a little fuss over the car which I had already re-registered and re-placed the UK plates. They reckoned that I had jumped the gun but the documentation was all in order although there was some other documentation that was not quite right that at least we had a laugh about. I was bringing back our Budgie and [inserted] I [/inserted] had pinned it's import licence to the cage. Trouble was there was only half a licence, the other half was in the Budgie!. There was enough of to get by with and I was off to Worthing.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Water under the bridge
Description
An account of the resource
Part 1. "By the Seat of his Pants". Covers from Alan Gamble's years as a schoolboy in Worthing in the late 1930's, up to joining the RAF in 1943, where he trained as a wireless operator in Blackpool. He joined 620 Squadron, which was equipped mainly with Stirlings and based initially at Leicester East, then Chedburgh, before it moved to Fairford in 1944. He flew 29 bombing and mine laying sorties over Germany and elsewhere. At Fairford '620' also supported SOE and participated in the Horsa glider operation at Arnhem.
Part 2, "No Problem Sport".Covers Alan Gamble's short flying history over France in 1945 before being shot down, and his experiences as a POW in southern Germany and subsequent liberation. The manuscript of Part 2 appears to be complete except for one or more pages missing about two thirds of the way through. This is at the beginning or the end of a fragment bound by metal clips, and could easily have become detached as the outside pages of some fragments' in Part 3 were also lost. It is therefore possible that only one page is missing.
Part 3. "Nil Desperandum".Covers Alan Gamble's post war experiences up to about 1963. This has not been read.
The manuscript of Part 3 is missing pages 24-86, 120 and 170, the latter two being the outside pages of bound fragments. (Page numbering here has assisted in reconstruction).
Additional information about this item was kindly provided by the donor.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
A T Gamble
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Multipage printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BGambleATGambleATv1
Coverage
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
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--Suffolk
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
England--Wiltshire
England--Norfolk
Wales--Gwynedd
Wales--Porthmadog
England--Cumbria
England--Barrow-in-Furness
England--Oxfordshire
Germany
Germany--Krefeld
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--North Friesland Region
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Hamburg
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Turin
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
France
France--Modane
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Jordan
Jordan--Amman
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-06-13
1943-06-17
1943-06-22
1943-07-03
1943-07-24
1943-08-10
1943-08-12
1943-08-17
1943-08-27
1943-08-31
1943-10-03
1943-11-03
1945-01
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
214 Squadron
3 Group
620 Squadron
622 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
C-47
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Defiant
Do 217
Dominie
Dulag Luft
evading
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
gremlin
ground personnel
Halifax
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
meteorological officer
military discipline
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
petrol bowser
prisoner of war
Proctor
promotion
RAF Barrow in Furness
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Marham
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Turweston
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
service vehicle
Stirling
strafing
tractor
training
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/299/3456/PMcCredieJ1501.2.jpg
65b66e10d1346350936c2a2992ea9edb
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/299/3456/AMcCredieJ151012.1.mp3
9f439848621d77a4eaa9d17bf9ee984d
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
McCredie, John
John McCredie
J McCredie
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with John McCredie (1921 - 2016, 418236 Royal Australian Air Force), his log book and documents. He flew two operations as a pilot over France during training and was later posted to India.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by John McCredie and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-12
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
McCredie, J
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AP: So this interview for the International Bomber Command Centre’s Digital Archive is with John McCredie who was a pilot during the Second World War. The interview is taking place at John’s home in Hawthorn in Victoria. My name is Adam Purcell and it is the 12th of October 2015. So John we might start from the beginning. Can you tell me something of your early life growing up? [unclear] That sort of thing.
JM: Well I was born in Princes Hill. I should say that my military career was a bit frustrated by having a mother whose brother had been shot. Had his face shot away in World War One. And she didn’t want me to have anything to do with the military. So I went through school being unable to join the cadets. But on my eighteenth birthday I took the liberty of enrolling in the militia. My piece of resistance. I joined the Melbourne University Rifles. War broke out three weeks later. I did my first military camp at Mount Martha with the MUR. I did another camp at Mount Martha with the MUR in which I was promoted to sergeant and was sent on to an officer’s training course in the militia in Seymour in June I think, 1941. It was there that I ran into these fellas back from the Middle East who had rather a scorn for chockos getting commissions and I thought my God what has happened now is if I take a commission I will not be allowed to join the AIF. I can’t, in any case I’d been pressing my parents to join the air force for a long while. So, on my eighteenth birth I wrote from Seymour and demanded that I be allowed to enrol in the air force which seemed my way of avoiding the inability to transfer. I also, I think it’s a bit of history that everyone in my generation was pretty influenced by Kingsford Smith, Hinkler, Amy Johnson, The Centenary Air Race and then the Battle of Britain.
AP: Of course.
JM: So that flying seemed to be very much the way to finish the war. I got my parent’s permission. Got on the air force reserve — I think in August ’41. Came the Japanese and all service transfers were put at a stop. You weren’t allowed to transfer from the militia. And so I had the good luck of having my old battalion commander Colonel Ralph in charge of — Colonel Balfour I should say. Being in charge of a unit called, Lines of Communication, which dealt with inter-service transfers. So I went along to see the colonel and we had a chat about old days. And then I explained my dilemma. That I had qualified for a commission. I didn’t want to take it because I wanted to get into a voluntary service and I wanted to join the air force. And he said, ‘Well, you’ve just done a commando course at Wilson’s Promontory.’ Which I had. He said, ‘We’re enrolling the 6th Independent Company next month,’ I think he said, ‘And I can have you commissioned in that.’ And this was a Friday and I said, ‘Do you mind if I think of it over the weekend, Colonel?’ He said, ‘No. My boy.’ So I thought of it over the weekend. I didn’t really need to think. I’d got the idea at Wilson’s Promontory that if you took a commission in the commandos it tended to be considered a one way ticket. And I’d like to think that I had a return ticket. The possibility of a return ticket at least. And so I came back on the Monday and confirmed to him that I wanted to go into the air force. And that’s how I got transferred. I not only got transferred I got an accelerator transfer. So that I got in ahead of an old school mate who had agreed that we’d both joined up together and then had gone in ahead of me. So that was rather satisfactory. Anyway, I did my training. We all probably wanted to be fighter pilots but you had to show that aptitude and I don’t think I quite had it as a flyer. So I was put on twins and I went through training in Australia. Temora, and Point Cook. From there half of our course at Point Cook was transferred to England because there was a shortage of, supposed shortage of air crew in England and a shortage of aircraft in Australia. So that was all. I got to England. Spent three months enjoying myself rather than [laughs] I should say rather than doing nothing we spent time in Bournemouth, Whitley Bay, Brighton and then I was sent to a place called South Cerney for familiarisation. Did this on Oxfords. The same aircraft I’d flown in Australia. Had the good fortune and this is the vital thing in war — to have good fortune. I had an instructor who saw the crash coming before I did and dived. We just missed a crash at night in midair and that was a lesson in alertness. We did a night flying course at a place called Cranage where I met up with a lot of interesting people. A chap who’d been in the French Foreign Legion. Two Dutchmen. And a couple of people. An American I think. A strange way that Americans somehow got into the RAF. Anyway, after that I went to Harwell which was the Heavy Conversion Unit. Sorry. Not Heavy Conversion Unit. The OTU. And at this time of the war Churchill and Roosevelt had met at Casablanca and there this other question of supply and need came up because Churchill obviously went well briefed on what aircrews were doing nothing in England. And Roosevelt went well briefed on what aircraft didn’t have crews to fly them in the Indian theatre. So Harwell was turned into an OTU. More or less for sending people to the Far East. And it was my good fortune to be sent there at that time of the war because it was close to a one way ticket on Bomber Command in early 1944. So that is roughly the story of my relationship with Bomber Command. On, if you want to ask questions about that.
AP: Yeah. That’s alright. Well, I think we will definitely. It’s a nice overview of everything. This happened in my last interview too. I asked one question and ten minutes later he said, ‘And that’s how I got on a boat to come home.’ Like, well, we’re finished. Anyway, so yeah a little bit more detail I suppose. You were accepted in to the air force. You were still in the militia at this stage.
JM: Yeah.
AP: I think. Was there a time difference between saying, ‘Yeah you’re in the air force,’ and actually showing up at the ITS? Was there? Like how long did that take?
JM: Well, what happened was you applied for the air force which I did, I think in about, well it was after my eighteenth birthday. After my twentieth birthday which was on the 13th of August. They put you through a few tests like holding your breath under water or something and then made you breathe in and out. And did a couple of other things. Touch your toes perhaps. And then said, ‘Oh, you were on the air force reserve so you’ve got to do —’ and I was working in the National Bank at that time. So after I finished the officer’s training course which went for about two months I went back to the bank and then there would be this business of going in to a place on Flinders Street and learning the Morse code. What else? Aircraft recognition. Perhaps we, we were given something on that. Did they have link trainers there? I didn’t think they did. No they can’t have.
AP: So just your basic. Your basic. So you did that at sort of night school, sort of, sort of thing.
JM: Yes. Yes.
AP: Rather than, rather than they sent you something and you worked through it at home.
JM: No. No. I frankly forget how often. I think it was once a week.
AP: Something like that.
JM: I trotted in there and then I was called up again in the militia on the 7th of [pause] No. Sometime in November. And the bank fought too.
AP: Oh really.
JM: They said, ‘This man’s on the air force reserve. You can’t have him in the militia.’ And the militia insisted on having me and so I went back into camp and that was an interesting time because the MUR at that time was a polyglot unit taking in chaps AIF people and all that sort of thing. And I found myself having refused a commission they made me a wing sergeant major which was very funny. I had a little man as my orderly room corporal who later became my boss in the Department of Foreign Affairs.
AP: Connections.
JM: Such is life.
AP: Yeah.
JM: The – so that was a funny episode in my life.
AP: What, what memories, if any, do you have of your Initial Training School. So we’re talking air force now.
JM: Well we did all these things that some of which were of interest and some weren’t. I think we got sorted out into the sheep and the goats. Whoever were the goats I don’t know. You did these aptitude tests of various sorts. They somehow decided some people ought to be pilots. Some people ought to be air gunners. Some people ought to be wireless operators. Some people ought to be navigators. The eggheads seemed to get the navigation job. The [pause] I think most hoped to be a pilot ‘cause it’s, being a pilot is like being the driver of a car.
AP: Very much so.
JM: You’re the person who doesn’t have to worry about other people. The way that passengers might have to worry at the way you drive.
AP: Certain, certain control, control freak, you could say. Yeah [laughs] I understand. Where was your ITS. Was that at Somers?
JM: I went from Somers.
AP: Yeah.
JM: I did the ITS there. Oppy incidentally was my flight commander. He took us for drill. Oppy wasn’t considered a good class master but he was a good drill master.
AP: Oppy being the cyclist.
JM: [Procurement?] officer.
AP: Yes. That’s right. That’s what I thought.
JM: Later became a minister in the government in Canberra.
AP: Yeah.
JM: Again the oddities of coincidence — I once sold a car to him in Canberra [laughs] when I was on posting to somewhere. I advertised the car and Oppy came along and ‘opped into it.
AP: Alright. So you’re, I forget what you said, you were at Point Cook which was Service Flying Training School.
JM: Yes.
AP: I think. The other one was — where did you do your initial training?
JM: Elementary Flying Training.
AP: Yes.
JM: Was at Temora?
AP: Temora, that’s right. Temora, ah yes. Ok. I have to ask every pilot. Tell me about your first solo.
JM: What’s that?
AP: Tell me about your first solo.
JM: It took a long while. It took me ten hours and fifty minutes if I remember and a couple of my mates, Chumley and Ingalls, did it in about six hours. That frustrated me a bit. But before I went I can tell you a story that I think is of interest. I had an instructor called Lionel Watters and he’d been a Broken Hill coal miner. Led miner I suppose. He was a rough diamond I think you could say. A huge man and he was a very good flyer. He’d been an amateur flyer before the war and had taken to instructing. He wanted you to do things. He told you how to do them and came down like a ton of bricks if you didn’t do them properly. So we were doing stall turns on one occasion and well that story is one I’ll leave for a non-recordable [laughs] I’ll tell you another story however. That we were practicing emergency landings. What you do in a Tiger Moth for an emergency landing is select a nice field. The instructor turns the petrol off and says, ‘Now you go and show me how you’d land it.’ And before doing that he had said, ‘Now when you descend in gliding fashion the engine cools and every five hundred feet you should warm the engine.’ And so we’re about three thousand feet and he tells me, ‘Ok. Land it in that field, McCredie.’ So I start gliding and I glide and I glide and I glide and he said, ‘It’s rather cold up here today don’t you think McCredie?’ I said, ‘Oh not too bad.’ He said, [stress] ‘No. But your bloody engine’s feeling the cold.’ And he rammed the throttle on and flew away. And I suppose I can safely tell this tale about that he had a girlfriend nearby living on a farm and every day he’d like to convey a message to them that he was flying around. And this time he dove to about five feet [laughs] and that was the end of my lesson for the day.
AP: Beautiful. That’s, yeah there’s a number of stories of that sort of shenanigans, shall we say, in Tiger Moths.
JM: Yes. So from there my friends Chumley and Ingalls went on to singles and I went on to twins at Point Cook.
AP: Point Cook. So you’re flying Oxfords at Point Cook.
JM: Pardon?
AP: You were flying Oxfords at Point Cook you said or Ansons.
JM: Oxfords. Airspeed Oxfords.
AP: Airspeed Oxfords.
JM: Yes.
AP: What did you think of those after the Tiger Moth? What did you think of those after the Tiger?
JM: Well, no fun at all. We did make fun. From, from Point Cook we flew at satellites. The first two months were at Werribee, the third month was at Lyra, I think and the fourth month was at Little River. Now by the time we got to Little River we had become bored with Oxfords but we were sent on cross countrys’ and it became the norm when you were sent on a cross country to try a bit of low flying. So this is strictly illegal.
AP: Of course.
JM: Having been influenced by Watters and his girlfriend I had found a little driveway near, I think, a place called Lethbridge. It was very nice to drive along and frighten the occupants. And I was not alone in doing this and I was lucky enough not to be the one who came home with a bit of a tree in his undercarriage. Sticking out of the fuselage or something. But that was [pause] so we had — it’s funny how those training memories are not as evident as later memories.
AP: [They might?]
JM: I carry, I had a, you flew with a pair and I had this fella who I think was more inept than me as a pilot as my pair. And some of his landings were quite hair raising. But that poor fellow was killed in training in Europe sometime later. In England sometime later. And one can say that without being surprised he probably should have been scrubbed.
AP: That was actually going to be my next question. With all of these. Particularly with all of these antics going on. Low flying and mucking around because let’s face it you were twenty years old and you’ve got an aeroplane so you’re going to go and fly it. Were there accidents and things that you saw?
JM: Well that one of the person hitting the tree at Point Cook it’s the only one I remember in training. In Harwell somebody came in and crashed on landing. But, and certainly at Harwell we had these ancient aircraft because we were going to India, or most of us, we had one of the last two units flying Wellington 1Cs. Those going on to ops in Europe had the, went through OTUs on Wellington 10s which were very much upgraded and could fly at the proper height. But the 1C could only — well in icing conditions I did two what are called, what the [pause] two little flights over France which were called training flights. And on the second one we iced up. The aircraft couldn’t climb above eight thousand feet. My navigator, bless his heart, took us back over a place called [unclear]. And [unclear] happened to be quite heavily defended so we had the sound, I don’t know if as a small boy you ever ran along a picket fence with a stick making a noise.
AP: Many times. Many times.
JM: Yeah. So you know that noise. Well that’s exactly what it’s like listening to the flak hitting a canvas covered aircraft like the Wellington. And we came home with a couple of holes but fortunately they didn’t hit or injure somebody. But I did have another incident at Harwell where again it was luck. Because I’d given some cheek to my flight commander which he got back to me in briefing when he decided he’d take people through fire drill. He said, ‘McCredie. You tell us what you’d do in fire drill.’ And McCredie got up and stuttered and stammered. Anyway, he made me repeat the words after him. And there was the luck of the game because about not very long later I did have a fire and that meant landing on, calling, ‘Darkie. Darkie. Darkie. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday.’ And finding Silverstone answer and having to go down there at night on one engine which was, you know, was something. I had to bail my crew out. The same navigator who took me over [unclear] I found crouching behind me when I landed.
AP: Oh really.
JM: So when I caught up with him again and we were forming crews on Liberators in India and he wanted to join up with me I said, ‘I’m sorry Tom.’ But, but that was, I had similar luck again in, when we were in India. Things were a bit dicey. The Japs had got right up to the border. The second Imphal line which was the border with Burma. The Indian National Army which comprised deserters from the British forces in Singapore were with the Japanese. There was this fear in India that things could erupt internally in spite of Ghandi’s passive resistance thing with the influence of the Indian National Army. And the four Liberator squadrons were sent on this around India show of force. In formation over Madras, Nagpur, Bombay, Delhi, Calcutta. Just to show the natives what they would be up against if we decided to have some sort of armed resistance. So on the first of these I had what was called a runaway prop.
AP: Oh dear.
JM: And with a runaway prop you just can’t go on flying. You know the, you know the problem?
AP: It’s the pitch. The pitch changes and yeah —
JM: Yeah. So I had to fly around with four hours on three engines but I’d noticed all the emergency things you do when you have anything like an engine misfunction. I had the, I suppose you could say good luck to survive an assault on an armed boat and so on. That was on the 1st of January 1945. We’d bombed the bridge in Burma. We’d been told Japanese were supplying their forces by sea and if you come across any shipping it’s likely to be doing this. Attack it. So we had a rendevous at a place called Kalegauk Island after the raid on the bridge. And so I saw someone going in on this boat and I went in and followed him. The first chap got shot down and I lost an engine but I had this totally new experience of losing an engine and it, well it was the luck of the game. We moved quickly enough to [pause] we had a fire. My boys reported the fire to me and I boldly told them to put it out.
AP: Do something.
JM: That’s right. [laughs] it’s funny in the way. The thing that’s reported they don’t put it out until they were told to [laughs]
AP: Initiative boys. Initiative. Alright.
JM: Anyway. I’m sorry if that’s —
AP: No. Listen, it’s all, it’s all part of your story and that’s still very valuable to get anyway. I can, I can assure you. I’m sitting here rapt. So getting to the UK. I suppose you finished at Point Cook. You have your wings ceremony at Point Cook so you’ve got your wings.
JM: Yeah.
AP: At that point. Then you go to the UK. How do you get from A to B?
JM: Yes. We got on the Nieuw Amsterdam on the 6th of March 1943. We crossed to San Francisco. The Nieuw Amsterdam was, had brought troops back from the Middle East before picking us up and I must say those troops didn’t do a favour by the wildlife they brought into the bedding.
AP: Oh dear.
JM: So I was travelling with my friend Ingalls who was on singles, I mentioned earlier but he was going to Europe too. Both of said enough is enough. We slept on deck for the rest of that voyage. We, we had a commander called [pause] a troop commander called Major Crennan. He was the son, I believe of Archbishop Crennan who was a catholic prelate somewhere. And Crennan later became part of the Royal Commission into Petrov. Part of the council for it. I think. Which was interesting. But he had no idea of discipline and he thought it would be a good idea if air force trips needed to be exercised so he would order us to march around the decks in military order and this sort of thing and there’s always a minstrel associated with military units and we had a minstrel on board who wrote a little verse. And what I remember of the verse went something like, in part, went something like, “Oh tell me quick what lunatic, what fiend of devilish notion, marched us thrice like bloody mice around the bloody ocean.” And this was distributed in a pamphlet that they’d brought out on board the ship which had some very witty things in it. And Crennan, I must say, to do him justice stopped behaving like a bloody lunatic [laughs]
AP: So you got to San Francisco.
JM: We got to San Francisco. We then had this devious crossing of America by train from Oakland to a place called [pause] oh dear. The name is going to elude me. But somewhere in Connecticut. And this was an American army base. And the trip across had taught us a few lessons I suppose. Such as don’t leave watches in your tunic pocket which you hang up in a Pullman carriage overnight because the Pullman porters seem to have very adhesive fingers. We got taken for Austrians and told what good English we spoke. People still do.
AP: They do.
JM: In America I’m told. Yes. We read books and I remember being introduced to Ogden Nash. Have you ever read Ogden Nash?
AP: I’ve never read Ogden Nash but the name rings a bell somewhere.
JM: Yeah. Well, you should look up on the internet a ballad of Ogden Nash’s called “Four prominent bastards are we.” “Your banker, your broker, your Washington Joker.” Four prominent bastards.
AP: Fair enough.
JM: Poor fellow who got taken down by them ended up saying he was a self appointed bastard and he was out to get it back. So that was part of my education.
AP: On your way across the US.
JM: On my way across. Apart from, no it was interesting to see America for the first time in its vastness and its variety.
AP: You didn’t have a chance to go on leave at all during that trip or it was straight across and get going?
JM: Well I had the misfortune to develop a carbuncle on the back of my neck so I spent the ten days we were at — Miles Standish was the name of the station.
AP: Rings a bell.
JM: At Miles Standish. I spent ten days in hospital there and had to fight to get out to join me fellows on the Louis Pasteur which we used to cross the Atlantic. And so apart from my first night there at which we attended the American mess and saw them doing all their modern antics which they were into. Not rock but whatever the dancing style of the time was. A bit ahead of us. So they had women in the mess and that sort of thing. So that was interesting insight. In hospital I had the interesting experience of having fellows who were very much against the Roosevelt government alongside me. They were southerners who felt that Roosevelt didn’t represent them. And —
AP: Fairly, fairly eye opening for a twenty year old I imagine.
JM: Yeah. And the interesting thing was I remember this fella saying, ‘And you’ve never had a hamburger?’ And I said, ‘No.’ I said, ‘We eat meat pies in Australia.’ To which he replied, ‘What’s a [accent] meight pie?’ [laughs] So, so I had that experience of America that —
AP: Fair enough.
JM: Perhaps some of my fellows didn’t have. Then the crossing in the Pasteur was not luxury. Pasteur was shaped a bit like a canoe and it had latrines at each end. And the movement of the ship was like that. So that there would be an overflow from the latrines right through the mess decks. Mess deck comprising people in hammocks above tables. And our mess deck was right in the centre.
AP: That’s often the case.
JM: So we would be wading somewhat.
AP: So when was —
JM: And I won’t tell you what we were wading through.
AP: It was quite literally a mess deck.
JM: Yeah.
AP: Yeah. I suppose a fair few more people on there like more crowded conditions as well than crossing The Pacific.
JM: Yeah. Yeah.
AP: On that one as well.
JM: Yeah. So your hammocks your head lay between two pairs of feet. As people have probably told you.
AP: Lovely. And that took what a week or two weeks or something.
JM: Oh about five or six days.
AP: Five or six days.
JM: It was the height of the submarine campaign. Early ‘43. And we were on the alert and my friend Ingalls and I did regular eight hours on — four hours on, four hours off duty on the port. Rear port. Twelve pounder. So that was I thought I should have qualified for an Atlantic Star for it [laughs]
AP: That’s probably reasonable [laughs] What time of year was that?
JM: That was [pause] that was April.
AP: April. So that’s —
JM: Yeah.
AP: So it wasn’t too cold. It wasn’t like the middle of winter or anything so it wasn’t too —
JM: No. No.
AP: Too cold in the North Atlantic.
JM: No. But we saw a bit of the middle of winter in places like Utah. Yeah.
AP: Yeah. I imagine. Not much fun. So your ship would have come in Liverpool or Scotland or something like that.
JM: Liverpool.
AP: Liverpool.
JM: Yes. And then we did this trip to Bournemouth by train and I remember writing home to my parents. Remember I had just picked up the card I had sent a few days ago and I wrote and said when you make your post-war journey to England which they had planned or they’d hoped for I said do it in April because, “Oh to be in England now that April’s there.” Because a magnificent sight. You looked in wonder at scenes you’d never see in Australia of little villages tucked away behind green fields and church spires coming up. It was very exciting for a generation brought up on English literature.
AP: And that was, that funnily enough was going to be my next question. Your first impressions of England as a, presumably this is the first time you’d travelled overseas.
JM: Yes.
AP: So, so for a yeah a young bloke to be travelling.
JM: Yeah.
AP: In places that you’d only ever read about.
JM: No.
AP: That would have been —
JM: No. No.
AP: An experience, I imagine
JM: What I, my mother was a very keen reader and one of the books I had remembered reading was, “In Search of England,” by HV Morton if you’ve ever heard of it but that took you around all the memorable places in England. So, yeah. Brian Ingalls and I spent a lot time visiting some places on HV Morton’s recommendation.
AP: Excellent. So you were in Bournemouth for some time. I’ve heard, I’ve heard a fair bit about Bournemouth because pretty well every Australian went to either Bournemouth or Brighton.
JM: Yes.
AP: Depending on what time they went there. At some time that unit moved to Brighton.
JM: Yes.
AP: I can’t remember exactly when that was but impressions it sort of depends on when you arrived and how long you were there as to what happened but a lot of not much seems to have happened. It was a sort of holding point.
JM: Well yes you were wondering why you’d been sent to England. And we did odd parades. Church parades which one did one’s best to avoid. I remember we were put up at a place called Durley Dean which — strange memory but my first residence in England and Brian Ingalls and I, I remember from there visited Salisbury to see the cathedral. And we visited Oxford. And I can remember going to see the “Maid of the Mountains.” And a pianist called Solomon gave a concert which the only thing I remember about it was his name. But one, neither Brian nor I drank at that stage so we were more interested in — oh we went to a place called Poole. I remember that particularly because of our train trip home. We had two young girls in the train apartment with us and we’d got chatting with them on the way and the train, the train went into a tunnel. As we came out I looked at Ingalls doing exactly the thing that I was doing.
AP: Excellent. Subtle. No [laughs] Lovely. Did you, did you have any impression of wartime England? Like what was your first sort of thought?
JM: My favourite story is, again it was Ingalls, we were at Whitley Bay. We were spent to an RAF commando course and had a corporal trying to control these air crew. Australian aircrew. Which he wasn’t very, well he was cooperative. We would say, ‘Look corp, we’ll march in proper order of parade and you just take us to someplace where we won’t be seen and we’ll all have a smoke.’ And that was our commando course. But from Whitley Bay Ingalls and I went in to have a look at Newcastle. And I think it was a Sunday and we were looking in this window and there was a bun in the window. And it, we must have been looking longingly at it because this old lady came up to us and said, ‘You boys look hungry.’ We said, ‘You don’t do to well on air force ma’am.’ She said, ‘You come home with me.’ She took us home and boiled eggs for us and there was an egg rationing in England and she gave us her week’s ration of eggs. That’s a story I’ve never forgotten. So it, I also, we had family friends the sister of whom lived in a place called Cawsand in Cornwall and she ran a boarding house there. So when we had leave instead of joining the Ryder Scheme which a lot of people did I would go and visit her then. I’d get to know something of the Cornish people. Met this family that rejoiced in singing the [pause] what is it? The Cornish, Cornish Floral Dance. Is that it?
AP: Doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve been to Cornwall once but it was about —
JM: Yeah.
AP: About twenty years ago. So I was quite young.
JM: Cawsand was a delightful place. The bus doesn’t take you there. You have to walk across fields with your kit bag over your shoulder. To get there on one occasion I I had to stay in the Salvation Army place in Bristol and I have to say that was the most uncomfortable night I have ever had to stay in my life and that includes sleeping in bedbug chapoys in India. No. No. Very unpleasant.
AP: So you’ve, you’ve been sitting there at Bournemouth for a while. Travelling around.
JM: Yeah.
AP: Next step I guess, oh next step was —
JM: The next step we went to Whitley Bay.
AP: Whitley Bay. That’s right.
JM: And we were there when the Fokke Wolves shot up Bournemouth.
AP: Bournemouth.
JM: If you’ve heard about that tale.
AP: I’ve heard about it. I’m aware of it but if you know anything about it.
JM: Yes. Well —
AP: Sorry. You were at Bournemouth or you were at Whitley Bay? You were actually at Bournemouth did you say or were you at Whitley Bay?
JM: We were, we’d been sent from Bournemouth to Whitley Bay to do this commando course.
AP: Another one of those.
JM: We heard all about it when we got back.
AP: It’s another one of those lucky things
JM: Yes. So but from Whitley Bay we visited Edinburgh. That was lovely except it was still British double time. It was still daylight when you took the girl home —
AP: Yes [laughs]
JM: From the local dance.
AP: I have heard a number of people lamenting that fact. Yes.
JM: Yes. That must have been practically, we must have been there about June the 21st I think.
AP: The longest day. Yes.
JM: And then from Whitley Bay I don’t remember [pause] yes we did go back to Bournemouth because we learned about the air raid then. And then we were moved to Brighton and Brighton was a place that one was very easy to dodge church parade. We were put up at the Metropole Hotel which was right next to the Grand Hotel which was the hotel that Maggie Thatcher was in when the terrorists attack on it. And the Metropole was a sort of twin hotel. We were on the fifth floor and had to go up to five floors of stairs.
AP: Stairs [laughs]
JM: And it was a Victorian, a Victorian hotel without lifts if I remember rightly. But no, Bournemouth was an enjoyable experience because plenty of entertainment and I remember seeing, “No. No Nanette.” That’s the only thing. We got up to London on leave and I saw a lot of plays in London which were very [pause] of course and went to places that weren’t plays like seeing Phyllis Dixie who was the strip woman and who noticed it when you moved from the back row to the front rows after the interval. And then after that there was the — they were great, great times times in Brighton. One had got used to being in England by then and knew one’s way about. Church parade was easy to dodge because we marched from the Majestic to a church through with about seven changes of direction so every time the platoon or whatever it was, turned a corner, the last three would drop off and head for, head for somewhere to have a cup of awful wartime coffee. Which was preferable to listening to sermon.
AP: Excellent. Now acclimatisation I think you said was next.
JM: Hmmn?
AP: You said after, after you’d been to Brighton for a little while.
JM: Yes.
AP: Your next unit was Advanced Flying Unit I think.
JM: Well one took leave and I think we took leave in from Bournemouth and from Brighton because there was nothing to do. You might as well have a couple of days off.
AP: Any — apart from seeing plays and things in London what else did you, did you get up to there. General impressions of wartime London I think is what I’m interested in.
JM: Yes. Well I didn’t drink so I I was more interested in seeing what I could of the entertainment side. My friend, Newman, this was from OTU that Newman excelled himself. He went to a place called the Gremlin Club in London and they started playing a tune called, “You’ll never know.”Do you know the tune?
AP: I don’t know the tune. No.
JM: “You’ll never know just how much I love you. You’ll never know just how much I care.”
AP: Ah yes.
JM: And so on which Newman sang beautifully. And he got up and sang it at the Gremlin Club and sang it and was invited to come back anytime and perform for them [laughs] but I never had that distinction in my visits to London.
AP: Fair enough. Where was your next posting? Where was your next posting after?
JM: South Cerney, near Cirencester in Gloucestershire. And that was where I mentioned I had the good luck to have this New Zealand instructor who was so quick.
AP: Oh yes.
JM: That he saw what was coming in time. What else do I remember of that? We — I got into a bit of trouble for deciding to shoot up the flight club because the CO of the place had annoyed me once which was [laughs] I don’t know why I was so stupid when I was young but one does things. So I got put on a charge for that.
AP: But was that —
JM: It didn’t do me any good.
AP: So I imagine flying in wartime England there would have been aeroplanes everywhere.
JM: Well that was the problem, you see.
AP: Very congested. Yeah.
JM: South Cerney. Moreton in the Marsh. Other places all doing the same thing quite close to one another. All inexperienced pilots learning about the hazards of flying in England.
AP: It would have been a bit different as well when and I know from my own flying, you know, you’re doing navigation in Australia. You take off. There’s one town. And you, you know, you write that time down.
JM: Yeah.
AP: And then you fly and then the other town, the next town appears.
JM: Yeah.
AP: Whereas in England there’s a town there, and there’s one there and there’s one there and they all look the same.
JM: Yes.
AP: How was that to adjust too?
JM: Well, I [pause] yes I, you had your wireless contact of course which was only good when you were within five miles of base. It was not high frequency. So mostly you learned to identify the surroundings but the RAF had a wonderful TM. Have you heard about TM?
AP: I have heard of TM. Yes.
JM: So —
AP: Pilot Officer Prune.
JM: Every month it would come out and they would award the Most Highly Derogatory Order of the Irremovable Finger. The MHDO. If you’ve heard of that. I remember one of their stories of the CO of a training unit who was caught looking — had landed at the wrong airport and was caught looking at the notice board of the of the, in the officer’s mess to try and find out where it was. So he was awarded the MHDOIF.
AP: Yeah. It was not, not an unusual thing I imagine. Getting lost. I do —
JM: I don’t think I ever heard of anyone who did that. As I say I landed once at Silverstone purposefully.
AP: So you, when you went to OTU did you know before you got there that India was the ultimate destination or did it sort of happen after you got there?
JM: Well the funny thing is I, I went through life until five years ago when I read my letters home for the first time that I had written in May 1943 that we’d been given the option of volunteering to go to India and I had opted to do so. So I’d reassured my parents that being overseas didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fight the Japs. And I’d put my name down to do it. Now, for something like forty years they laboured under the illusion that I’d only found out when I got to Harwell. But that’s memory.
AP: So that, that letter was written before you got there.
JM: That letter was written in May 1943.
AP: And when did you —
JM: And I only read it about five years — my sister gave me my letters that I’d sent home.
AP: Fantastic. Ok and so then you went to OTU just after that was that. Was that the idea?
JM: I went to OTU in, I suppose, September ’43.
AP: Ok. So, so that, that was the process?
JM: Yeah.
AP: Ok. So you already knew when you got there.
JM: Yeah.
AP: So I suppose for you the OTU process for you would have been a bit different to the — let’s call it the standard.
JM: There was, there was no certainty.
AP: Of course not.
JM: That when you got to Harwell that one would go to, I think that was the point too. Because some of them were sent to a place called Melbourne, Yorkshire. On, I think, Halifaxes.
AP: Yorkshire probably was. Yes.
JM: From Harwell. Anyway, I went to India.
AP: How. What happened at OTU? What sort of training did you do on the ground? What sort of stuff?
JM: Well the flying was just getting familiar with operational flying conditions. Doing a lot night flying. Doing two nickels over France as I mentioned. Doing low level flying over water. Doing, I suppose, cross countrys’. I don’t just — but a lot of night flying. That was the emphasis. And then by this time I had found the delights of alcohol. So a typical night would be after supper we’d have a beer at the mess and then someone would say, ‘I think I’ll go along and see what is on at the New Inn.’ This was in Hampstead Norris which was a satellite of Harwell. So we’d trot along to the New Inn. And someone would say oh there’s a dance on so we’d find our way to a dance hall somewhere in the wilds of England. And so that, yeah I found myself deceived very badly by a beautiful English girl called Bridget Belinda Barnes. I remember it to this day because we had danced and I asked her for her name and she told me and I said, ‘That’s a mouthful.’ And she said, ‘Well my friends call me BB.’ I said, ‘Well do you mind if I just call you B?’ So we got on sportingly and then she got on a bus to go to Newbury where she lived. But she said, ‘You must come and see me tomorrow,’ and she gave me her address. And I thought this was terrific. To get to Newbury you had to bicycle so I got found of these English monstrosities that was, you know, to go push them on the level seemed like climbing a one in ten gradient. And the trip to Newbury is over the Berkshire downs. It was December. My gloves were quite inefficient so one would get down to the downhill business and put ones hands in ones pockets and go down. No hands. And then have to push up the next hill. So I got to Newbury which was about eight miles away and reported to the — and of all things Bridget Belinda Barnes had invited all her boyfriends to help in a bazaar [laughs]
AP: Very good. That was a long cold ride home.
JM: It was a long cold ride home. And I didn’t even go to the mess for a drink with my humiliation heart.
AP: Can’t trust them. So you said you started drinking by this stage. Was there anything particular that brought that on?
JM: I got sick of writing letters home, I thought, well someone told me that cider was a reasonable thing to drink if I didn’t like beer. And Gloucester is near Somerset. Full of Bulmer’s cider and so I went to the mess and drank cider. Pint of cider per pint of beer with my friends. And they wouldn’t come near me for days afterwards. It could have quite an explosive effect.
AP: Fair enough. Was that OTU?
JM: No that was at AFU.
AP: AFU. Right. Oh of course.
JM: Yeah. And so I I decided that beer couldn’t be as distasteful as that. And had no problems thereafter.
AP: It’s the English wartime beer. Did you, did you do the, I guess, familiar crewing up thing at OTU? Was that? How did that happen?
JM: I think, I think they were bestowed on us at OTU. In India we selected our crew and that’s where I came not to select my former navigator.
AP: That was. Yeah. So that’s I guess that’s a very significant difference from Bomber Command.
JM: Yeah.
AP: In a lot of cases. Obviously at OTU it’s I guess, you could say, it’s the tradition put you in a hangar and sort yourself out boys.
JM: Yeah.
AP: So ok but bestowed on you. That’s a bit different. Well we might as well go on to India while we’re here and enjoying having a chat. You’re at OTU. You finished the course. How did you get to India?
JM: Well we were sent to Blackpool awaiting a ship. And that was a piece of entertainment too. Yes. One used to go to the Blackpool tower of a night and you’d have a table there to which everyone had to supply a drink and by the time you became the last person probably propping the bar having to buy about a dozen drinks. But I hoped to meet some gorgeous woman there and don’t think I ever had any. No I never had any success that way but on my last night I decided I’d escort this damsel home and I suggested she might like to go into an air raid shelter with me and she said, ‘In there with you. You must be daft.’ [laughs] That was my last night in England [laughs]
AP: Fair enough.
JM: So the ship, this is where the ship to India. This is where my good friend Newman did the dirt on me. Because Newman at this time was a warrant officer and I was only a flight sergeant. And he should have been in charge of the mess deck but he somehow manoeuvred it so that I was put in charge of the mess deck. And the problem with that was that when you hit a storm in the Mediterranean if you were in charge of the mess deck you were responsible for its orderliness inspection time. And as half the occupants vomited during a storm in the Mediterranean I had the problem of ordering people to clean it up which nobody would accept my orders [laughs]
AP: Oh dear.
JM: No. No. But it did have its advantages. We travelled to India and there was a commando unit on the ship also which challenged us to a boxing match. And as nominations were being made for who’d represent the air force I was able to nominate my friend Clem Walker instead of me to undertake our appropriate weight. The opponent promptly laid Clem Walker out. So that was a bit bad. We got off the ship at Bombay. Learned that our air force issue uniforms — pipe stem trousers were just not worn by anyone in India so promptly re-equipped ourselves at our own expense. Found places like Worli where there’s wonderful swimming pools where we were allowed entry. And that was great fun. We were entertained, being non-commissioned by a very kindly group of people. I don’t know whether they were YWCA or who but they brought some little Anglo-Indian girls into the afternoon tea to meet us. This is one of these occasions of being unable to make contact. The shyness was on both sides I suppose. We’d have had this somewhat racial attitude. And the little girls would have been so hesitant and lacking in self confidence that it was just, just hopeless. But if you were officer class you had an opportunity I think to meet the upper class Indian women in a way that British non-commissioned people, British other ranks we were called, BORs, and you just never had the opportunity of meeting the more companionable I suppose, more self confident Indian females. So what else in Bombay did I see? There was a racecourse. I never went to the racecourse, but some of my friends would come home and say, ‘Oh you should have been.’ Edgar Britt just gave us a tip for all the races of these Australian jockeys. Edgar Britt and a fellow called Roberts. And another fellow called Scarlet there. All the races were fixed apparently because the jockeys knew who was going to win [laughs] yeah.
AP: So you flew Liberators operationally. Am I correct?
JM: Hmmn?
AP: You flew Liberators operationally.
JM: Yes. Well from Bombay we went across to Calcutta at the height of the Bengal famine. That was unbelievable. Stepping off the train in Worli. Step over bodies. There were beggars with Elephantiasis. Do you know what Elephantiasis is? Our mess was, in the open air and after things had been cleaned up you would see these old women come along picking through our rubbish picking bones. Just [pause] and India’s population then was about four million then. The population of the same subcontinent now is about a billion and a half. So imagine —
AP: My sister —
JM: What problems they have.
AP: My sister actually lives in India. She’s in New Delhi now.
JM: Who’s that?
AP: My sister.
JM: Yeah.
AP: And she, yeah, founded and runs an NGO to develop education in certain parts of India so yeah I hear stories like that quite, quite frequently. Yeah. I think it’s a very different world. So tell me what you first thought of the Liberator the first time you saw one.
JM: Well I first went on as a second pilot to a man called Joe Morphett who was a flight commander. It’s one thing that convinced me that I was lucky to be an NCO because when I got my own crew we all slept in the same basha together. We became absolutely a glued team. But Joe Morphett — I never saw him except when we flew. The same with the navigators of that crew. The navigator rather. And I think there was another officer in the crew. Never got to see them outside the aircraft and it just convinced me that NCO, all NCO crews were a good thing. But I did seven or eight ops with Joe. On the last one Joe had [pause] Joe was an interesting man. I learned afterwards researching things that he’d been a schoolteacher. He had a degree in engineering and he had given this — we had a CO on 355 Squadron a man called Dobson who was a no-hoper in my opinion. He was, again like Crannon, a man who liked to discipline people if they fell out of line. So he, we had two aircraft blow up on the squadron on landing and this was considered a shameful thing. We had a situation where he was only getting about four of the aircraft of the unit’s twelve aircraft — how many aircraft did we have on the squadron? We must have had sixteen aircraft I think. And twenty four crews. And we’d get about four or five up on an operation because the rest weren’t serviceable. And he decided to apply discipline. So this didn’t work. We had the squadron minstrel like the one on Crannon’s ship come out with a rhyme that went to the tune of “St Cecilia, the squadron is a shambles. There’s no ops any more. Eighteen NCO lined up outside the CO’s door. They’re handing out the 252s and reprimands galore. On 355 old Barney” and it went on. And Dobson disappeared for a while and Joe Morphett took over the squadron. And Joe got up and gave a pep talk to the whole squadron on what they should be doing. He said. ‘Your petrol consumption is dreadful. We are having aircraft land at other posts because they’ve run out of petrol on the way back. Now this is unacceptable. There are ways of flying when you come back from a target if you fly the right way you will use much less petrol. And the right way to fly is to fly on the step.’ And what, “On the step,” means is you start off at the target at ten thousand feet and you very gradually lose height at cruising speed so that by the time you are near home post you have minimised your fuel consumption at the appropriate cruising speed and are ready to land. And so that was that. The next op we fly out with Joe Morphett. We were flying. We were bombing a place called Maymyo which is a bit of a hill station on the Burma route. The Burma road route to Chonqing and on, in our briefing we’d been warned that Mount Victoria which I think is one of the higher peaks in Burma had to be avoided. Somehow, coming home, Joe said, ‘Jesus we’re going to fly in to a bloody mountain.’ And you have a thing called the gate on a Liberator. If you go through the gate you increase your flying speed and your power and Joe went through the gate to get over this place. So we get back over the Sundarbans which, the delta at the mouth of the Ganges Bhramaputra system and an engine goes. Quick as a flash I said, ‘Perhaps it’s a pump Joe,’ and I put on the emergency pump and the engine came good again. Then the rest of the engines went. I put on all the emergency posts. To cut a long story short Joe said, told the crew to abandon. Somewhere into Bengal by this time. And he said to me, ‘This goes for you too Mac.’ So I released myself and kept going. There I find a blockage. The wireless operator, my friend Ron Vine is there and there is someone in front of him who won’t move. So I went back to Joe and said, ‘Anything I can do to help, skip?’ He said, ‘Get out.’ [laughs] So I went back and by this time Vine had booted Melville, the flight engineer in the bum, and Melville had descended. Subsequently breaking his leg we learned. Vine and I got out at God knows what height because we were within very short walking distance of Joe’s crashed aircraft. The man who’d been so determined that people wouldn’t run out of [pause] it was one of those ironies that you. Anyway, that was, I did one more op at Phulbani and then was sent to HCU. Heavy Conversion Unit at Kolar which is near Bangalore. Lovely climate but not much else to recommend it. Bangalore’s an interesting town but, you know.
AP: So ok so you parachuted from an aircraft?
JM: Pardon?
AP: You jumped out of an aeroplane you said.
JM: Yes. Yes.
AP: Where did you land and how did you get back?
JM: Well yes, that’s interesting because Vine and I, of course, landed within feet of [pause] this was about 4 o’clock in the morning. Vine and I landed within sight of one another. Must have been moonlight because Joe had seen the mountain and it was the 1st of April of all dates. And so we found our way to the village. It was the second village from where we — we went to the first village nearest. We knew roughly where the aircraft would be. The first village we woke everybody up and finally found someone who was able to direct us, who knew where the aircraft had crashed. So we walked over about another four or five hundred yards of paddy. We got to the next place and there found Joe had been taken out of the aircraft by the local people. Put under a tree. A mango tree. I couldn’t eat mangos for years after that but there was Joe with a great triangular piece rolled back across his scalp and a great chunk taken out of his thigh and after painkillers so we found the medical kit from the aircraft and tried to inject morphine without much success. Anyway, Joe said take it out and finally we persuaded someone to go and get help. And so we —eventually help came at about I suppose about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. And on April the 1st in Bengal. That’s not very — May the 1st it was. May the 1st and that was that’s a hot season in Bengal and if you’re inland in Bengal you get the worst of things because you get the humidity and you get the continental heat before the monsoon hits it the heat becomes absolutely unbearable. But there it was [pause] I suppose it was by 3 o’clock we got help. Someone came with a wheeled the [unclear] which Joe was put on to and the medico was able to give him an injection which helped. And so we wheeled to, the squadron transport had somehow been invoked in the meantime. Or some military transport had been invoked and it was waiting for us about two miles along this track that we walked, behind Joe. The medico had bought some supplies for us because Vine and I had not taken food or drink from them. We were afraid. When you arrived in India you were warned never to eat anything or drink water because dysentery and cholera were such a threat. So we were absolutely parched. And the medico, Indian medico had brought along water and he brought some boiled eggs. Well I wouldn’t take even his water. I tried to eat the boiled, hardboiled egg. And have you ever tried to eat anything when you have no saliva?
AP: Very difficult. Yes.
JM: Anyway, we got to the end of this trail. Joe was to be put into the ambulance or whatever it was. He turns to the medico and says, ‘Can I bale out now doc?’ which I think is one of the wonderful heroic remarks.
AP: Indeed.
JM: So Joe Morphett was his name. He got the DFC in the Middle East and he got a bar too. His DFC on that occasion. And Vine and I were put into hospital with heat exhaustion. We came out in a few days. We were, Vine was a wireless operator. He’d been my W/op in Harwell actually. So we came out of that and then I did one more op with a man called John or Johns. WO Johns and I learned more about flying Liberators from him. Sorry Joe but I did. Than I did in eight ops with you. Anyway, after that we were posted to, or a few of us and my friends by that stage, you change friendships in the air force. You move, made new friends and Clem Walker who I’d given the job of representing us in boxing on the ship, and Butch Smith, a Londoner with a cockney accent and I were sent to HCU at Kolar where were we converted on to Liberators as captains in our own right. And it was there we chose our crews but I was a bit slow in getting around to a crew because I had to find a navigator and dodge the one I didn’t want to find. And I landed up with this Australian. A real rough diamond. Old Greg. He was considerably older than I was. He’d been on Wellingtons on air sea rescue in Madras for a while. And Greg reckoned he should have been first pilot but he got lined up with me as first pilot. So that, that was a bit tricky to start off with but we managed to find a modus vivendi eventually. He was a rough diamond as they say. My last meeting with Greg was in Calcutta. I was having a forty eight hour leave and learned he was about to depart for Australia on a banana boat having finished his own tour and I went to see him off. And he paid me a compliment of saying, ‘McCredie if it had been any other bastard I wouldn’t have stuck it out.’ [laughs]
AP: Fair enough.
JM: That was a funny relationship with Greg.
AP: Do, do any of your subsequent ops stand out in your memory at all? Any of your —
JM: Hmmn?
AP: Do any of your subsequent operations stand out?
JM: Well, the time, the time I was shot up stands out of course. I mentioned that earlier so we did long operations. Fifteen hours and forty five minutes took place. Called [unclear] on the isthmus of [unclear] . Quite a long way down. The name eludes me for a moment.
AP: That’s, that’s a lot longer than most Bomber Command operations.
JM: Hmmn?
AP: That’s a lot longer than most Bomber Command operations.
JM: Yes. Well —
AP: Fifteen hours.
JM: The Liberator was designed for that. We carried six thousand pounds [coughs] Pardon me. I’d better have a drink [pause] We carried six thousand pounds to this place. The Lancaster for instance had a maximum bomb load of twenty thousand pounds. The Liberator’s maximum bomb load was twelve thousand pounds. But where we, when we flew at six thousand we could have two bomb bay tanks of fuel.
AP: Bomb bay tanks. Yeah.
JM: In place of the bombs so that would carry us comfortably for a sixteen hour flight. But if you went with no bombs as some people did on reconnaissance. My friend, my CO, Killarney later became a Pathfinder in South East Asia and he did one flight, I believe of twenty one hours in a Liberator.
AP: Nuts.
JM: A reconnaissance flight but —
AP: When you’re, when you’re flying as a pilot for fifteen odd hours you pretty much can’t leave your seat can you?
JM: Yes. Well you have a co-pilot.
AP: Of course.
JM: So it, it’s when you’re young it seemed to me, for instance my logbook inferred that within three— or two days or three days I I did two flights to Bangkok from from Bengal which were both over thirteen hours. Taking off on each occasion in daylight and landing in daylight. You made up for the sleep in the afternoons. Indeed the siesta was the common practice and then somehow about 5 o’clock you’d head, if you weren’t flying the next you’d head for the mess.
AP: Very good. What was, what was a tour? How long was a tour in India?
JM: Three hundred hours.
AP: Three hundred hours. So it’s an hour’s based thing.
JM: Three hundred hours or a year’s service. A year on the squadron active service.
AP: Yeah. Go on.
JM: So, what — my two nickels counted as operational service. The seventy odd hours I did at Phulbani counted as operation service. So by the time I reached three hundred my crew was not finished. So Clem Walker and I and Butch all said we’ll fly on. It was that stage of the war and we didn’t see much to stop us flying. And so I ended up with three hundred and seventy odd hours.
AP: Of operational flying.
JM: Yes.
AP: Wow. So what happened at the end of your tour? What’s next?
JM: I was sent on to Transport Squadron. Clem Walker and I were sent on transports to New Delhi where we, 232 Squadron — it was 99 Squadron in Dhubalia which was where I did the bulk of my ops. I don’t think I mentioned that squadron. 232 was the transport squadron I flew on for six months and we did milk runs to Bombay, Colombo, Calcutta. I went to Pegu in Burma on one occasion. Cocos Island and then I did one trip back to Australia as a second pilot. When I went to the transport squadron I was a second pilot for a couple of months. That’s when I did the trip home to Australia.
AP: What aircraft was this?
JM: Hmmn?
AP: What aircraft? What aircraft?
JM: Liberators.
AP: Liberators as well. Yeah. Ok.
JM: So managed to get home to see my parents. And [pause] but Cocos Island was the first time you had to fly there you wondered if the navigator was on the ball because there was a point of no return. But we did a few trips there and my old squadron, 99 Squadron was posted there after the end of the Jap war because it was participating in the Javanese campaign. We were helping the Dutch get back into Indonesia so when I visited Cocos Island I’d meet up with old mates from the squadron. That wasn’t very good for the passengers on the way back the next day [laughs] But Cocos Island was interesting. Huge crabs would come on shore at night. But transport flying was something that I must say never appealed to me. You felt like you had a purpose when you went on a bombing raid but and you got back to base if you were lucky but if you —
AP: Did you, did you fly at all after the war? No. Not at all.
JM: No I went back to — I took up the government’s offer of a university education and I’d worked out that Australia was going to need a Foreign Service. My sister had written to me and said Dr Everett had introduced this. ‘You should try and qualify for it.’ I managed to get myself into an honours arts degree at the university and applied for the cadet course in my first year. Didn’t even get an interview. Applied for it again in my second year. And then I had the thought I would go and talk to my professor who — Professor Crawford had worked in the Foreign Service. He’d been First Secretary in Moscow during the war. And I went along and saw him and said I’m just wondering if it was a better idea to write and tell them I’ll apply again when I finished my degree. He said, ‘That’s a very good idea.’ So I, I’d laid the foundation for his giving me a good recommendation the next year and managed to get into the Foreign Service which was an infant service in those days.
AP: I guess, summing it all up, what were your thoughts on your wartime service. How did it affect you? How did it affect your subsequent life?
JM: It well the first year at university was very difficult because I had all sorts of unfulfilled ambitions such as I wanted to play football again. And I managed to get into the university blues which were the B grade amateur team in those days and got myself injured in a way that upset my studies for a while. And it was a very much a party year. First year back so I had a bit of trouble settling down and it wasn’t until I saw myself being on the brink of being thrown off the course that I could really get down to, and apply myself, full time, to study.
AP: Sure.
JM: Which was essential.
AP: I suppose that’s, that’s pretty well the end of my list of questions. So we’ve been talking for an hour and three quarters now, believe it or not. And that’s absolutely fine.
JM: I hope your ears haven’t suffered too much from the bashing.
AP: Oh my ears. No. Not at all. I mean I have been watching the clock but it’s, yeah, it’s gone. Gone very quickly so thank you for very much. Really.
JM: Well I hope that’s helpful anyway.
AP: I think it will be.
JM: What are you going to do with all this?
[recording paused]
AP: We’ll be able to fix it later. Alright. Carry on.
JM: Yes. Well as an after, this shouldn’t be an afterthought because my squadron commander on 99 Squadron Lucian Killarney was an outstanding man by any classification. His idea of running a squadron was that everybody had to work together. The first thing he did was bring the ground crew together to explain that he understood perfectly the conditions which were very difficult in the Bengal climate. He understood there were problems with catering. We couldn’t always get what we wanted, ‘But what every squadron needed was to have serviceable aircraft and that’s on you people on which we all depend. We can’t do our job without you.’ Now I’d like to pay this compliment to Killarney as a leader as so distinct from the man Dobson on 355 squadron. Killarney managed to get twelve aircraft in the air on almost every operation and he did that by leadership. By explaining and getting the ground crew onside and it’s been my privilege to see something of him after the war and to know that he ran his furniture company with the same diligence and consideration and the quality of his furniture reflects that.
AP: Excellent. Excellent.
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AMcCredieJ151012
Title
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Interview with John McCredie
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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01:45:19 audio recording
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending OH summary
Creator
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Adam Purcell
Date
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2015-10-12
Description
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John McCredie grew up in Australia and served in the Militia before he volunteered for the Royal Australian Air Force. He flew two operations as a pilot over France during training and was later posted to India. He later returned to Australia to continue his university education and went on to join the Australian Foreign Service
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Australia
Burma
Great Britain
India
India--Bengal
Victoria
Victoria--Mount Martha
Victoria
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1943
1945
99 Squadron
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-24
entertainment
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Harwell
RAF South Cerney
sanitation
training
Wellington
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1172/11741/ASouthwellBR160903.1.mp3
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Title
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Southwell, Brian Robert
B R Southwell
Description
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17 items. An oral history interview with Brian Robert Southwell (b. 1916, 402261 Royal Australian Air Force), his log books, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 148 and 178 Squadrons.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-09-03
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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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Southwell, BR
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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AP: This interview for the International Bomber Command Centre is with Brian Southwell. He was a pilot on Wellingtons and Liberators and numerous other aeroplanes post war. The interview is taking place at his brother Don’s house in St Ives in Sydney. It is the 3rd of September 2016 and my name is Adam Purcell. Brian, can we tell, can you, or let’s start if you tell me something about your early life growing up. School and first job and things like that.
BS: What I’d done early?
AP: Yeah. Tell me something about your life before flying.
BS: Well I was always interested in flying but at the time, at that time it was, the Depression was on and we had no money to go fiddling around, looking at aeroplanes [laughs] around the joint. So I had to, I had to sit back and get an office job and that. So I was just started off doing some accountancy which didn’t, which didn’t interest me at all. I went back to flying and I built that model aeroplane. The Moth. And while I was doing that I got to know a whole lot of de Havilland’s. You know the people out out at the factory there. And they were very helpful in getting me all the drawings and all sorts of things there to operate with. And I met all sorts of people that had, a lot of them had their own aeroplanes and I got very friendly with a man called Axel Von Goes. G O E S. His father was the Swedish consul in Sydney. I was chatting away to him there and he said, ‘I’ve got an aeroplane here,’ he said [laughs] he said, ‘It’s mine.’ And his was a little, a Leopard Moth. So he bought the, he had the sort of, the Leopard Moth there and he took, took the aeroplane up to barrel there and he landed on a racetrack over there. He made a little error on the place and knocked the tail on the fence and then smashed it all up. So he, he sold, sold the wreckage to de Havilland’s. The next thing, he appears he’s says, ‘I’ve got another aeroplane,’ I said, ‘Oh no.’ So he bought a Fairchild 24 that he got [unclear] with. And he decided he’d go to England to learn a particular skill. To do a course there. So I went down to England too with a ship with the Fairchild 24 and it fell off the sling there and headed out along the bloody ground. He got away alright there. He got to England alright, did his course there and he said, ‘I’ve sold the bloody Fairchild, he said, ‘I’ve sold it to a Dutch crew. A Dutchman.’ So he sold that to a Dutchman and still get him without an aeroplane. So he started off going back home via America. So he darted into a factory there and he ordered a bloody Stinson which he bought. That’s, that’s been going for quite a long, quite a long time and we used to get the aeroplane and we’d go to do all sorts of trips around. Yeah. Brisbane, Melbourne and all around, around New South Wales there. It was a beautiful little aeroplane. What does he jolly well do? [I’m with A&A [?] at this stage of the game he said, ‘Will you come up and do some checks with me on a Stinson.’ I said, ‘Well what have you done to the bloody thing?’ And what had he done. He’d put a new engine in it. A different engine in it. A 5-cylinder radial engine in it which ruined the whole bloody aeroplane. Poor old Axel. He went to Melbourne and he got married. He didn’t get any enthusiastic from his wife and children. So that was it. Yeah.
AP: So did Axel —
BS: Was that enough for you?
AP: Did Axel teach you to fly? Was it, did Axel teach you to fly and you flew with Axel? Is that the story? Brian. Did Axel teach you to fly?
BS: I did a lot of flying with him. He was unofficial. He wasn’t an instructor. But he’d aviate the thing around the place.
AP: So —
BS: I recollect he used to be a great enthusiast at stall turns. We took this Stinson over his house at Rose Bay. He had a house in Latimer Road, Rose Bay. Anyhow, we get up top there and were doing all the stall turns and what have you, around the place and the bloody engine stopped. So we [laughs] what did we have to do? We had to land on the golf course. You can see now all the people looking out of the flats [unclear] as we went gliding past with no propeller going. Oh dear. Oh dear.
AP: Very good. So, Brian where were you and what were you doing when you heard that war had been declared?
BS: What was that?
AP: Where were you and what were you doing when war had been declared?
BS: I can only just hear you.
AP: Sorry. Where were you and what were you doing when war was declared?
BS: Oh, when war was declared I was working in an office. I got out. It was pretty well into the start of the war. I was in the 22nd of July 1940.
AP: And so you, you went straight into the Air Force.
BS: Oh yeah. After, when I had to go up to Bradfield Park out at Lindfield here. And that was the ITS [Initial Training School] place. Then I had to go out to, out to Mascot, to 4 EFTS [Elementary Flight Training School] to learn to fly. And after I’d qualified on the Tiger Moth, I was sent off to 3 SFTS [Service Flying Training School] in Amberley in Queensland to fly an Avro Anson. That kept me going for a little while. I was sent home on leave and what have you and the next thing, I’m, I’m posted off to England on a bloody ship. No one recorded any of that around the place but I can assure you I was given, handed a ticket mind you. A first-class ticket to England. That took us bloody months and months. We were, we went to South Africa. Across to Fremantle. To South Africa. Went up to Puerto Rico. I had quite a look around there and we finished up getting over to England. That was an embarkation place where you decided what you were going to do. The sent us off to different, I was sent out to this ferrying. Crowded with the little aircraft. Not the Liberator.
AP: Can you tell me, Brian about your first solo?
BS: First solo. Yes. I remember the man’s name. The instructor was Mr Campbell. Mr Campbell that was running this out at, out at Mascot. All the training place there were mainly ex-civilian pilots and they were taken into the Air Force. They were made flight lieutenants and off they went. Yeah.
AP: And —
BS: More?
AP: What happened on your first solo?
BS: Oh, the first flight. I remember I took off on the one six area from the south there and I went down to the flying area training and [laughs] and had a little run around. Before I went old Campbell said, ‘Watch you don’t bloody well bend that bloody aeroplane.’ I said, ‘Alright, I won’t bend the bloody aeroplane for you.’ So I, 5 ASC I’d done the thing and it’s it didn’t took a very long flight. He was pleased to see me back I can assure you. Yeah. He died later on.
AP: So —
BS: There was a lot happened to those. He was somewhere over overseas and where you turned one engine and he turned it back into a, into a bloody hill. That was it. Yeah.
AP: Did you, did you see any accidents?
BS: What was that?
AP: Did you see any aircraft accidents during your flying?
BS: Accidents?
AP: Yeah. Particularly during your training.
BS: No. Only the, you know Liberators and what have you. There you saw the bloody Germans and what have you getting, getting all annoyed [laughs] Yeah. Because we were, we were operating a very [unclear] like up to a max number of about four in a flight you know. It made it a lot easier than the people in the Bomber Command who had ruddy dozens and dozens of bloody aeroplanes. Because we used to, we were in North Africa in a tented, tented camp shared with Americans. And the Americans fortunately supplied all the food which was, which was very good. And we used to, of a night time we used to go up the Adriatic Sea and you’d see the Mount Vesuvius as you went past there and you’d go right up to the top and you’d go up to the Danube. And you’d go about twenty miles down the Danube and you’d let all the fellows out. All the Yugoslavs. They were, they were quite interesting people except that they didn’t speak much bloody English. They did, they did what they could. Yeah.
AP: So, what did you think of wartime England?
BS: What did I?
AP: What did you think of England when you first got there?
BS: How’d I get there?
AP: What did you think of England when you first got there?
BS: Oh, I thought it was, it was excellent, yeah. I liked it very much because I had, I had a lot of relations over there. In Maidstone in Kent. And I used to visit him quite a lot on my leave. He was very popular with a lot of my crew because he owned a bloody brewery [laughs] . Fremlin’s Brewery. One other thing. English people were very good.
AP: Did you, did you see much effect of the war in England?
BS: I saw a few bombs around in London while I was there. But as I say I used to spend most of my time down at Maidstone in Kent. I kept away from the action of the aircraft. Because this person as I used to go to see in England her daughter is down in Melbourne. She’s still here. And the place in England it was absolutely fantastic with the aircraft people. And there was some people in the, who I used to go and stay with there at Maidstone he used to or she used to have people in for dinner. Anyhow, this particular night they brought in this flight lieutenant but he was actually First World War. So he sat back and told us all about what it was like as a controller and what have you in England. He said, he was up in the tower there. He had the green light, you know. The red light there to operate in. A noise came over and he said, ‘I’ll give this bloke the green light.’ So he gave the green light. This bloke came and landed. Unfortunately, he was a bloody German. A Focke Wulf 190. He thought [laughs] this is good. He goes along and then another German came around and there was three of them altogether they caught. All Germans. On the green light. Yeah.
AP: That’s, that’s incredible. Alright. So when you, you first get, got to England you would have gone to Bournemouth, I think.
BS: Bournemouth.
AP: Yeah.
BS: That’s right. There were places there. One was Bournemouth and the other was Brighton.
AP: Yeah.
BS: Yeah. Yeah.
AP: What did you do after you’d finished at those places?
BS: What did you say?
AP: Where did you go next after, after you’d just —
BS: I went on those trips to — out to the Middle East.
AP: Did you do an Operational Training Unit course in England?
BS: Did I what?
AP: Did you go to an OTU [Operational Training Unit] in England?
BS: What did you say?
AP: Did you go to an OTU in England?
BS: I think you’d better call [unclear]
AP: Ok. Alright. Let’s, you were talking about going to see your relative in Kent. What, what things did you do on leave?
BS: What would I do with the people in Kent? All sorts of people. They used, they used to take me to see, put on a bloody show. Show all the locals what the RAF were and what have you. Yeah.
AP: Did you [pause] ok. Tell me how you met your crew.
BS: Which?
AP: How did you meet your crew?
BS: They were just picked out. I didn’t any. I had two bloody gunners out there and [laughs] they were very nasty little fellows. They were interested in taking, escorted away from the establishment. Constantly, ‘Get away and don’t come back here.’ I took them back to Australia. Salmon. Ted Salmon and Mr Kipp. I forget the other one’s name. [unclear] No. I can’t remember the —
AP: Right. So you went to the Middle East.
BS: What’s that?
AP: What did you do in the Middle East?
BS: In Italy?
AP: In the Middle East. In the Middle East.
BS: Oh sorry. We used to operate out of Derna. That’s on the North African coast there. We were all living in tents and it wasn’t very comfortable I can assure you there. And we used to do bombing raids on Tripoli and Benghazi and on the ships and what have you. We knocked a few ships off the place. And Crete. We used to go give old Crete a bit of a, a bit of a rumbling over. I had the air forces, the Lord Trenchard, he came down to see us at the squadron and he said, ‘I’d like you to try and get rid of some of these [unclear] like Maleme at Crete. And he said we’ll have all goes on this. So, he was alright. About five bloody days we hopped down in at this place. You’ve never seen such fires in all your life. Yeah. It’s the question of you’re getting around getting this information because there’s so many other people have gone now that can tell you where all these things were and what have you.
AP: This is why I’m talking to you now Brian.
BS: Yeah.
AP: While you’re still here.
BS: Oh, I know. I belonged, when I, I retired in 1976 and I would join a lot of these historical societies and what have you there but they were more interested in writing books out themselves rather than about the people that were involved in those days. So —
AP: Can you, can you tell me something about when you were operating out of Libya?
BS: Out of where?
AP: I think you said Derna.
BS: Derna. Yeah.
AP: You said you were based in Derna.
BS: Yeah.
AP: What, what was that place like to live in?
BS: That was very interesting. Very, very old houses and that there and on your day off you could go down into the village. A lot of them were just as left you know. People living in there and they were quite, quite to do with, but what we used, of all places we needed the bloody Arabs and, but the Arabs were the American source of pistols. And the Americans used to get on a truck and go out in the desert and find one of these big Arab compounds and get themselves a nice Beretta or some other gun [laughs].
AP: What, what things did you do to, to keep yourself amused? What did you do to keep yourselves amused when you weren’t flying?
BS: When I was flying?
AP: No. When you were not flying what did you do in Derna?
BS: I used to go around. The man that ran, who was the managing director of the brewery. He was, he was a very friendly. He used to put me on to all sorts of people that he knew to put you on to about what goes on around the place.
AP: And, and what’s sorts of things were going on around the place? What sort of things did you go and do?
BS: Well, there wasn’t much out there to do other than to go to the pictures. But I never used to be interested in theatres. No.
AP: Alright. Were there, were there any superstitions or hoodoos on your squadron?
BS: Any hoodoos?
AP: Or superstitions or anything.
BS: No. No. No.
AP: No. No squadron lore. Oh, worth a try. Ok. Let’s talk about your operations for a little while. In, in the Middle East what sort of work were you doing? What sorts of targets were you bombing?
BS: Well we were doing all the bombing up in Tripoli and Benghazi and the shipping around the place. But we were also but I got, I was in hospital for a little while and I had to go with a couple of other blokes to fly with and they took me to see [unclear]
AP: What — ok. So, you were flying. What were you flying? Liberators or Wellingtons?
BS: Oh, sorry, I told you we went up to Belgrade. Belgrade. And —
AP: And what did you do at Belgrade?
BS: At Belgrade we had a look at the locals at low level. Because those Liberators you know had huge bloody engines. Four engines in them in there and when you came down low you used a lot of fuel and with the fuel there was a whole load of flames coming out of the bloody thing. Oh yes.
AP: And what, what other fun things did you get up to in aeroplanes?
BS: A couple of times around, a couple of trips. On one, one of the COs as a matter of fact. He said he’d like to go and have a good close look at Belgrade. He didn’t realise how close it was going to be [laughs] Because Belgrade’s got a lot of bridges around the place. Anyhow, we levelled out and it was all lit up. We were right on the bloody deck there and there was people running everywhere. We went flying up and away and then it was to Derna again. To get up to Derna was six hours and going back was six hours. And all, all these men from, the Yugoslavs and what have you they couldn’t speak much English around the place. They used to be parachuted out the back of the, back of the Liberator.
AP: So, you were dropping parachutists.
BS: Yeah.
AP: As well as bombs.
BS: Also, a whole lot of supplies they used to give them. All sorts of stuff for the locals to live, you know. There was gold and all. You name it, it was around.
AP: So, this was what you used to deliver with the Liberators.
BS: Yeah.
AP: Wow. Wow. So, what, what did you do next? Where did you go after that?
BS: Where did I — ?
AP: Where did you go after that?
BS: I went on, I went to do a flying school at the RAF school of flying. I was in an airfield for about a month on Airspeed Oxford aircraft. That was a very nice interlude. Resting. Yeah.
AP: Did you, did you, you were an instructor I believe.
BS: Oh yeah.
AP: Can you tell me something about that?
BS: It was quite interesting. The chief there, he called me in and told me this, ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I wish you could keep [unclear] a lot of people wanting to pay, to come for flying in the RAF.’ And he said, ‘The parachute girls are alright,’ what have you. ‘We’ll give them a ride.’ So I was appointed the overseer to the passengers.
AP: So, when —
BS: He’s dead now. Bill.
AP: When you were —
BS: When I got [pause ] I’m just trying to think there. I went to this flying school. What he said there was that the people who were a much higher rank than I was. I was a warrant officer at that time. So he said, ‘You’d better get yourself a commission.’ So I said, ‘That’s alright. Thank you very much.’ So he said, ‘Go in and see this place.’ I went down to a magnificent old house in 5 Group and listened to what I had to say. They had this magnificent big old table there with, magnificent carved chairs and what have you there and all these people asking me silly questions. And I think they thanked me very much for my interest and I said, ‘Thank you,’ and off I went out. A couple of days later the bloke said you’d better get down to bloody Melbourne and get yourself some uniforms, the officer’s uniform store. So, I went down to Melbourne — to London at least and went to a place in Saville Row of all places. I was in there for, I went a few times. I had to go in there to check out. Then I was, another day I had to go down to get a uniform, not a uniform, an overcoat. I wore it. A beautiful overcoat from Saville Row in London. Yeah.
AP: And that was part of your officer’s uniform?
BS: The real old-fashioned tailors and they were sitting up on top of a bloody chair and this little —
AP: What —
BS: I’m sorry if this is a little bit boring for you.
AP: That’s alright. I’m coming up with questions. Its ok. So, you’re in London. Right. At Saville Row and all that sort of thing. What, what did you think of wartime London?
BS: What was this?
AP: What did you think of wartime London?
BS: I can’t hear you.
AP: What did you think of London during the war?
BS: London itself?
AP: Yeah.
BS: Oh, I didn’t [unclear] impressed with it. Yeah.
AP: Was it —
BS: There was very opportunity to get around looking at all the sights around the place.
AP: And what sorts of things were you looking at in London?
BS: Have you seen Felicity’s little, did she show you that?
AP: I did. Yes. Very good. Alright. So, who were you instructing at Lichfield? Who were you teaching?
BS: That’s 27.
AP: Yeah.
BS: Lichfield. Staffordshire. Is that? Where the potteries were. All the potteries were around there.
AP: Can you tell me a story or two from Lichfield?
BS: Oh yes [laughs] I can. At Lichfield it was very interesting because there is a big cathedral church at Lichfield. It’s the only one in England with three, three spires on the thing. So, I had a friend, he was Warrant Officer Webb and he used to fly the Moth Minor. That was for recreation. He would go for a ride in the Moth Minor. So, he called me up and he said, ‘How about we go for a real run around in the Minor?’ So I said, ‘Alright. We’ll go running around in the bloody Minor.’ So away we go. Anyhow, he didn’t do much around there. He got right down on the spires. He was amongst the bloody spires there [laughs] And when we got back, we got back to the to the RAF station there and the CO was really jumping up and down, ‘What on earth were you annoying [laughs] annoying the bishop down,’ [laughs] He said, ‘You were flying down his spires.’ So anyway, we dined off that for a while.
AP: What was the —
BS: I’ve never been so close to a spire of a church in a Moth Minor.
AP: Can you, can you tell me about the pubs in England? The pubs. Did you go, you know when you were on time off, when you had time off did you go to the nearest pub to have a drink or something?
BS: I used to go, it took me a lot of time to get the train down to Maidstone in Kent. To my relatives there.
AP: Alright. So, what, what happened after Lichfield?
BS: When I finished up all my operations and what have you they said you were going to go, you were going home. I said well that’s very good. Off we go home. I get down to the bloody docks there and we were going to New York. Here we are sitting, sitting and there’s a bloody great Cunard liner. The Aquitania was there and it was full of American troops on the way home from Europe and what have you there. Crammed on that ship was sixteen thousand army people. Yeah. Sixteen thousand. I was very glad I was in the officer’s mess to get a decent feed. What else would you like to —
AP: So, you went, you went to New York on that boat.
BS: Oh sorry. That was another one. When we got to New York what was it? Oh, we found, they found out that the air attaché was an Air Marshall Williams and he was in the Pentagon. And they organised all these, these aeroplanes they’d bought, the only places we had for them was they organised a bloody crews for them. So, the snag was that you had to have an instrument rating to fly in America. So they had to find somebody to do this. So I get shoved off. I shove off to Chattanooga in Tennessee. To Smyrna, Tennessee. I was down there for a month to do all my training for the white card and what have you. That was it. I got my white card. Yeah.
AP: What, what sort of training did you have to do for the instrument training?
BS: The training out at Smyrna was absolutely excellent. First class. The visit to the Pentagon was a very interesting thing. It was a huge place.
AP: Tell me more about that. Can you tell me more about the Pentagon? Can you tell me more about the Pentagon?
BS: I’m not really sure but, Felicity and I think she seems to know more about me in those days these days.
AP: Right. So you did your instrument rating training in the US. What happened?
BS: Oh yeah.
AP: What happened then?
BS: Well, I was able to fly anywhere in the United States with my white card. With a Liberator. I could just trundle out, fill up the tank and off we’d go. That was it. Yeah.
AP: And, and so where did you go?
BS: Oh, I went to Kelly Field the place I went to. They were very good. The instructors at the place. They were a lot of ex-airline pilots and they were very good.
AP: And, and what did you then do with that instrument training?
BS: Around New York we were really feted. They treated us like bloody kings. It was quite a novelty, I think. The American there. Aircrew flying around New York. But after it was Pan American that would go with them around the place and they used to have special trips from Australia to New York. For a hundred and thirty-four dollars Sydney to New York. So, I would go there every time of the week. I wanted to. My sister, she was there for twenty eight years at the consulate there. Yeah.
AP: So then, after you did this training in, in the US then you flew to Australia. Can you tell me about that?
BS: After I’d finished the training thing I was a trainer. Up to Sacramento in California. Sacramento is the capital of California and I was told to take one of these great new aeroplanes which I did. Got the aeroplane. Off I trundled with this great monster and that was it. That was, then after I’d arrived back in Australia I got sent off down to Tocumwal. I knew some fellows in the air force and I sort of said, ‘Listen. There’s no future in joining the bloody Air Force.’ I got out of there very rapidly.
AP: Can you, can you tell me a little bit about flying across the Pacific? What was that like in a Liberator? The brand new aeroplane. What was it like to fly across the Pacific in a brand new aeroplane?
BS: Across the Pacific. Well it was quite, it was quite plain because we didn’t have all the things there are around now. Radios and what have you. I remember it took us, took us to go from Sacramento to Hickam Field in Honolulu there, it took us about twelve hours. Yeah.
AP: Can you tell me a story about that trip? Can you tell me a story about that trip? About that?
BS: No. Strange to say it was very uneventful. The four engines all went nicely. And I, [unclear] Amberley, Queensland. I remember getting back there about 5 o’clock in the afternoon. I was most relieved. The locals were alright. So I got down on the bloody deck and flew over Redcliffe. Ambled in. There was nought to do there. The customs were all, had all gone off for the night so had to come back the next night to do our customs check. Yeah.
AP: And how many hours were on that aeroplane when you arrived?
BS: Oh, I couldn’t tell you. [unclear] Maybe thirty something hours.
AP: And you did almost all of them. Pretty cool.
BS: Well, it was all a piece of cake sitting back in a nice bloody new aeroplane, you know.
AP: So, so what happened after that?
BS: Well I got sent down to Tocumwal. I was popular down there because all these people down at Tocumwal thought that they were going to America to pick up these aeroplanes.
AP: What, what did you do at Tocumwal?
BS: After that, after that I joined, joined the A&A [ANA?]
AP: And can you tell me some stories about that flying perhaps?
BS: Australia deteriorated in a lot of areas as regards to the RAAF.
AP: Sorry? Say again. What were you saying then? What were you saying then, Brian?
BS: What was I saying?
AP: What were you saying just then?
BS: What was I —
AP: What were you saying? Ok. Don’t worry. So could you tell me a story about A&A?
BS: A&A. Well it was quite interesting. I started off on a DC3 and a DC2. Very good flying. I was the first officer at the front there writing out books and everywhere you had bits of bloody paper to fill in around the joint. Yeah.
AP: And what —
BS: A&A unfortunately deteriorated rather more than some [unclear] to whatever [unclear] staff didn’t like us very much. That’s when I had the, they had that Convair that John was talking about down at Woollongong.
AP: And can you just, because we weren’t recording the conversation earlier can you tell me your story about the Convair and Sydney Harbour Bridge.
BS: Oh yeah. Well that was a remarkable aeroplane. The Convair. because you sit over the top at nine thousand feet there and all you’ve got to do is slam the wheels down and look out and see where the runway is and what have you. And you adjust the rest of the, the rest of the descending and you could go down from the Harbour Bridge down to [unclear] there. Very bloody quickly time. Yeah.
AP: So it was a very, a very manoeuvrable aeroplane.
BS: Oh yeah. There was a, there was a 340 [unclear] TAA [?] and so on.
AP: So you had a fairly varied flying career. I think there’s something like twenty-seven thousand hours in your book.
BS: Twenty. I finished with twenty-seven thousand and seven.
AP: And seven.
BS: Yeah.
AP: And what is, or how many different aeroplanes did you fly?
BS: What with, as a passenger, that was quite a bloody aeroplane so I managed to get wheedled into a little [unclear] and have a look in it.
AP: As a, as a pilot what is your favourite aeroplane?
BS: Oh sorry. As a pilot I only flew the, the Wellington I flew. That was another. Another bomber.
AP: What, what was your favourite aeroplane? What is your favourite aeroplane, Brian?
BS: The Liberator was my favourite there. You could really get around in that.
AP: I’m sorry. I did, I missed that. What was your favourite?
BS: The best one I used to fly around in was a little Stinson with my friend. The Swedish consul’s son.
AP: Very good. So, what, when did you retire did you say? When did you retire from flying?
BS: When did I — ?
AP: Retire. When did you retire? When did you stop flying?
BS: Oh sorry. Age sixty. ’96.
AP: And what did you do then after you retired?
BS: They very condescendingly gave me a private licence notice. I never ran it up. The only thing I’ve ever flown in, a chap offered a ride in his private aeroplane which frightened me no end. It was a bloody Rapide. A de Havilland Rapide.
AP: You told me a story before as well about Keith Smith.
BS: Who’s that?
AP: Did you tell, you told me a story about Keith Smith before.
BS: What’s the name?
AP: Keith Smith. You told me a story before about Keith Smith.
BS: Keith Smith.
AP: Keith Smith.
BS: Oh Sir Keith Smith. Yeah. I used to work in an office once. I used to go around and see old Sir Keith about is writing the cheques out and do all sorts of things there. I got friendly with him. He was a very nice man to talk to. And another fellow I used to talk to was Sir Hudson Fysh you know, from Qantas. He was another good fellow.
AP: What did you have to do with him?
BS: I used to carry him from Adelaide to Sydney on occasions.
AP: And you said you went flying with Keith Smith.
BS: I never flew with Sir Keith Smith. I only saw him in his office.
AP: Oh ok. Alright. Ok. Tell me your, your favourite flying story. Can you tell me your favourite flying story from your flying career?
BS: My flying what?
AP: Can you tell me your favourite story of your flying career.
BS: [unclear] No.
AP: No? [pause] Alright. How, Brian, how did you find, after Air Force how did you find readjusting to civilian life?
BS: It was very interesting Adam because as I say I was a bloody clerk you know sitting in the right hand seat of the aeroplane with bits of bloody paper and books and what have you. Do this. Do that.
AP: How, how did you find civilian life after air, the air force?
BS: [unclear]
AP: How did you find civilian life after the air force?
BS: The civilian flying was quite interesting. I used to, to fly to England with the RAF. They were very good at the OTUs.
AP: So, in, in what way were the RAF very good?
BS: Well I used to go to work at 9 o’clock in the morning. Had my breakfast. I waddled down to the flight and have a chat around the joint. Come along and so many people want to go flying today. If you could fill in. I’d say, ‘Alright. I’ll fill in. Give these people a bit of a run.’ We were going in a smaller aircraft than the Liberator. The Liberator they never ever took us to go flying with passengers in them. Around the place at all.
AP: What did you think of the Liberator as an aeroplane? What did you think of the Liberator?
BS: The RAF?
AP: Of the Liberator. What, what was your impression of the Liberator?
BS: Absolutely fantastic. I was very careful of those bloody big bits out the back though [laughs]. The rudders and things down there.
AP: And how, how easy was it to fly?
BS: Quite good. One thing, we didn’t have a lot of bombs in there. Very well. When you laid it up with six thousand pound bombs there.
AP: And were you ever involved in any crashes?
BS: No. Never any crashes. No.
AP: Were you involved in like the aftermath? Like investigating any crashes or something like that. There’s a, something in one of your logbooks I found which —
BS: We were going down to Melbourne. The little aerodrome down there. The little one for aircraft.
AP: Moorabbin.
BS: Err —
AP: Moorabbin.
BS: Moorabbin. Yeah.
AP: Yeah. So, there’s a, there are a few photos in one of your logbooks. It’s in an envelope and it says crash — Victor Hotel Charlie X-ray Delta. Higgins Field, Cape York. 5th of May 1945.
BS: Where’s that?
AP: This is in your logbook.
BS: Oh yeah.
AP: And there are some photos of that.
BS: Was it May?
AP: Yeah. May 1945. Yes.
BS: That was a very frightening thing.
AP: Can you tell me about it?
BS: Oh yeah. When we used to transfer from one crew to the other at Higgins Field. That’s the name of the aerodrome right at the top of the point there. So, these characters, they came roaring in and it was pelting with rain and what have you there. And they got caught. Caught out. They smashed the bloody thing as you see there. She was really a mess because there were bits, bits of people and bits of bloody freight and all sort of things they’d got on the joint. They brought a lot of material. Rolls of fabrics. The Tiger Moth. And in the crash they all came loose and they were rolling all over the joint. This big roll of fabric.
AP: And what was your involvement?
BS: [unclear] I went up there to have a look at the crash and I found a man with this RAF Tiger Moth. He said he’d take me up and have a look around which he did.
AP: So, you were, you were up at, where was it? You were up at Higgins Field at that time.
BS: Higgins Field. Yeah.
AP: So you were there when it happened? Brian, Brian. Were you there when the crash happened?
BS: Was I there? Yeah. I was. Yeah.
AP: Yeah. So —
BS: I was sitting with a crew waiting for the, to get an aeroplane to go flying again.
AP: And, and what happened after that?
BS: Well there was no action going there at all after all the people were dead.
AP: Yes. This is true. Can you, what was I going to [pause] yeah. So tell me, tell me the story of your caricature. I’m just looking at your logbook and I see a little caricature of you. A little, a little cartoon.
BS: Yeah.
AP: Can you tell me about that?
BS: The cartoon.
AP: Yeah.
BS: I don’t know who the artist was. That was in, sent up to Melbourne to go to London to get the cartoonist to get going but I never ever got a copy of that thing. I was going to get Felicity to copy that. It’s a beautiful head [laughs]
AP: Yeah. It is. It is. I guess we should, we should go back to the beginning. Can you tell me about your model aeroplane?
BS: The model aeroplane?
AP: Yeah.
BS: Well, I decided to make this bloody, this bloody model and I approached de Havilland down at Mascot and I told them what I wanted to do and what have you. And I said could I have some access to the drawings and the store. The store and what have you there. No problem at all they said. Which they did. They folded now. Folded up. The company have. de Havilland’s. They have a big museum in Salisbury. Near Hatfield in England.
AP: How, how long did the model take you to build?
BS: It took me eighteen months to make that model.
AP: Wow and —
BS: You know all these bloody ribs, you know. Bloody pages of them.
AP: And what happened then? What happened to it after that?
BS: Well, I was approached by the Australian Women’s Flying Club for an instructional thing. They wanted to use it and they said, ‘Yes we’ll look after it,’ the war and what have you, I never heard another bloody thing from them.
AP: Oh really. Not very nice.
BS: Yeah.
AP: There’s another photo in your logbook. This is logbook number three. It looks like it’s a Stinson or an Auster or something. It looks like it might be you standing next to someone.
BS: What’s that?
AP: There’s a, there’s a photo in your logbook. In 1946 I think.
BS: [unclear] Felicity here. She was looking at all these things and telling me and I haven’t a clue what she’s talking about.
AP: It looks like it’s a Stinson because there’s an entry that says Sydney, Old Bar, Coffs Harbour Casino, Brisbane and it’s in Victor Hotel Alpha Charlie Zulu.
BS: The which?
AP: Alpha Charlie Zulu. It’s a Stinson.
BS: Yeah. That was my friend Axel.
AP: Yeah. Can you tell me something of that flight?
BS: Well that aeroplane was a magnificent aeroplane but as I say I had to keep away from the A&A and CAA [?] The A&A, and they took a dim view if you went flying in other aircraft with other people.
AP: Why was that? Why? Why?
BS: It mentions in there about ACZ [?] does it?
AP: Yeah. There’s a photo of it. There’s a photo of you. And it must be you and Axel.
BS: Yeah. Yes.
AP: It looks pretty cool. Let’s have a flash through it. Now —
BS: He was, he was quite a character that bloke. I used to like him but a lot of people didn’t like him but I thought he was rather good. He was educated in England. Do you know where it is? Eton College.
AP: Eton College.
BS: Yeah. Eton College. Yeah.
AP: Something else I found in your logbook is a map of Tripoli. There’s a, there’s a map Brian, in your logbook, of Tripoli and it has anti-aircraft guns marked and it’s got a big red thing that says “Secret.” Do you know anything about that? Brian. There’s a map in your logbook of Tripoli.
BS: Is there?
AP: Yeah. What, can you tell why? Why is Tripoli important?
BS: Tripoli?
AP: Yeah.
BS: That’s the target. Target sheet that is. We were given those to sit there when you’ve got sitting there like a bloody idiot watching where the bombs go.
AP: And can you also tell me about — it looks like a Slovenian or a Polish nickel. It looks like it’s a Slovenian or a Polish nickel. It’s got a photo of Essen in it. Do you know? It’s in your logbook. You were telling me. You were telling me earlier.
BS: As I told you Felicity was looking at these things. She never told me about that. She doesn’t realise that I can’t bloody well see.
AP: It’s unfortunate. There’s also, that looks like it’s an Italian one. So, can you tell me about a nickel raid? What a nickel raid was?
BS: About what?
AP: What was a nickel operation?
BS: A nickel was leaflets.
AP: Yeah.
BS: Leaflets there.
AP: Can you tell me about that?
BS: You’ve seen one in there have you?
AP: Yeah. I have.
BS: As I told you when you opened the bomb doors all those things used to float around. Be all over the bloody place. That was it. A nickel. That was, that was a slang name for a [unclear] out of the cabin.
AP: Cool. What’s this? That’s another map of Tripoli. Alright. Well I think we’ve come to the end of my questions. So thank you very much. Thanks very much Brian.
BS: Thank you. I’m sorry [unclear]
AP: No. You’ve, you’ve told me some good stories so that’s really cool. So I’m going to turn the microphone off now and I’ll go and get Felicity. Ok.
BS: Thank you. Yeah. I’m very pleased to see that someone’s around that’s still around looking into what goes on years ago.
AP: I wouldn’t end. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Brian Robert Southwell
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Adam Purcell
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
2016-09-03
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ASouthwellBR160903, PSouthwellBR1601
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Format
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01:01:07 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Brian Robert Southwell was born in Sydney and lived during the Depression which saw him have to set aside his interest in aircraft in order to secure a steady wage with an office job. He spent eighteen months making a model aircraft with the support and practical help of the de Havilland aircraft company. He made friends with the son of the Swedish consul in Sydney who was an aircraft enthusiast and he was able to fly with him. When he was able to volunteer for the RAAF he began training as a pilot on Liberators. He was a member of a special squadron dropping supplies and partisans into occupied areas. He also took part in other bombing operations while stationed at RAF Derna in North Africa.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Michael Cheesbrough
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Australia
Libya
Libya--Darnah
New South Wales--Sydney
North Africa
Libya--Banghāzī
New South Wales
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1945-05-05
aircrew
B-24
Fw 190
Operational Training Unit
pilot
RAF Lichfield
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1416/32276/MLeavissED1818433-151116-250001.2.jpg
18d00ec8c6051ca496456c34359fe0a4
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1416/32276/MLeavissED1818433-151116-250002.2.jpg
89d6683e798cfc489fdf6029892f23ba
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
Leaviss, Ted
Edward Derek Leaviss
E D Leaviss
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-16
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Leaviss, ED
Description
An account of the resource
42 items. The collection concerns Warrant Officer Edward 'Ted' Derek Leaviss (1818433 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents memorabilia and photographs.
He flew three Operation Manna operations as an air gunner with 460 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Irene Leaviss and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined]OPERATION MANNA[/underlined]
For almost six long years Bomber Command took the war to Nazi Germany, helping to force the enemy on to the defensive and steadily weakening his powers of resistance. Towards the end, however, it was becoming clear that missions of a different type would be essential once hostilities ceased: in particular there would be tens of thousands of prisoners of war in urgent need of relief and repatriation.
Then by April 1945 it was apparent that a desperate situation had developed in the densely populated areas of the Nether1ands. The persecution of the Jews and the deportation of industrial workers, among other things, had been causing bitter hostility to the German occupation forces; in September 1944 the Dutch transport workers had gone on strike in the attempt to help the Allied forces during the Battle of Arnhem, and this had led to the Germans ordering an embargo on the movement of food to the urban areas; then during the hard winter fuel supplies too had virtually run out. Yet amid this situation the Germans were determined to hold on, not least because their V2 rocket offensive against London could be mounted only from the Dutch launch sites. So as the Allies advanced into the heart of Germany in March and April, cutting off the strong German forces based in the Netherlands, the great majority of the Dutch people faced starvation.
For some time before this Queen Wilhelmina, in London, had been leading urgent pleas for Allied help in avoiding "a major catastrophe", and the possibility of using Bomber Command's Lancasters to drop food supplies had been carefully examined. One thing, however, was certain. Flying by day at low speed and little more than treetop height they would be sitting ducks, and only if the Germans undertook not to open fire would the operation be remotely feasible. Such were the objections to doing any sort of a deal that not until 24 April, with the local situation now critical, did General Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander, feel able to force the issue by contacting the German commander and announcing his intentions to the Dutch people. There followed an interchange of messages in the attempt to ensure the bombers safe passage but when Allied and German delegations first met formally on the 28th none of the necessary guarantees was forthcoming. Air Commodore Geddes, who as Director of Operations and Plans, Headquarters 2nd Tactical Air Force, was to mastermind the operation, was full of foreboding.
Yet further delay was out of the question; stem warnings were given of the consequences should the Germans try to interfere; and on 29 April - amid understandable apprehension on the part of the crews - the first missions of Operation Manna were launched. After the dropping zones had been marked by 18 Mosquitos the first Lancasters delivered their loads, a total of 258 sorties being flown on that first day. The Germans responded sullenly but the anti-aircraft guns which were trained on the bombers and could so easily have shot them down remained silent; only the shaking of fists and the occasional burst of small arms fire marked their frustration. For the local inhabitants on the other hand, it was an unforgettable moment. As a Dutchman, then a young schoolboy, later wrote:
“We heard them coming, Each Lancaster opened its bomb doors and out came a cloud of bags like confetti. My father and lots of other grown-ups were sobbing like children. It may have been the sound of the engines, but it was probably because now they knew they would stay alive".
For the aircrew, sometimes flying as low as 100ft, the sight was unbelievable. People were going mad, screaming with delight; waving previously hidden flags, tablecloths, anything they could grab; rushing towards the sacks, some of which had burst, and eating the contents straight off the ground.
Over the next ten days Bomber Command doubled its daily effort, greatly extending its dropping zones, and the Flying Fortresses of the United States 8th Air Force shared the task in what they called Operation Chowhound. On 7 May the Germans surrendered, thus enabling land and sea supply to take over, and the next day the last drops took place. Altogether, despite bad weather having restricted them on several days, 33 RAF squadrons
[page break]
had carried out 3,191 sorties, delivering 7,000 tons of food, and a further 3,700 tons had been dropped by 1 O USAAF bomb groups in some 2, 189 missions. It was an operation which has remained etched in the memories of all who took part. As a 576 Squadron navigator recalls:
“All the crew took along something extra, a bat of chocolate or bag of sweets, to throw out to the kids. I slipped mine out of the sliding window above the nav table. It was one of the big emotional experiences of my life."
Instead of bearing death and destruction he and his comrades had at last been able to switch to missions of mercy, and what they did is recalled to this day with the deepest gratitude by those who received the help they delivered.
Not long afterwards, by remarkable coincidence, Dutch men and women were among the beneficiaries of a second operation, far less remembered but just as critical for those involved. Code-named Mastiff, this was undertaken in August and September by Dakotas and Liberators of Air Command South-East Asia to bring relief to prisoners-of-war and where possible to internees who had survived the appalling rigours of being held captive by the Japanese during the Far East war. Here too the airmen were at last able to tum their skills to humanitarian tasks, setting a pattern for so many similar operations that have been undertaken by the Royal Air Force in the subsequent half century.
Air Commodore Henry Probert 1995
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
Operation Manna
Description
An account of the resource
An account of how the operation came about and evolved. Describes the events leading up to the need for food relief in Holland, a brief account of how the operation was set up and executed.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Air Commodore Henry Probert
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1995
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two typewritten pages
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MLeavissED1818433-151116-250001, MLeavissED1818433-151116-250002
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Netherlands
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1995
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
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.
B-17
B-24
C-47
Holocaust
Lancaster
Mosquito
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
V-2
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/934/36536/MLovattP1821369-190903-75.2.pdf
51c3fbced3b1e3bd9c7237f2cb79c94a
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
Lovatt, Peter
Dr Peter Lovatt
P Lovatt
Description
An account of the resource
117 items. An oral history interview with Peter Lovatt (b.1924, 1821369 Royal Air Force), his log book, documents, and photographs. The collection also contains two photograph albums. He flew 42 operations as an air gunner on 223 Squadron flying B-24s. <br /><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1338">Album One</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2135">Album Two</a><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Nina and Peter Lovatt and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-27
2019-09-03
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
Lovatt, P
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
A Reminiscence of the Flying Characteristics of Many Old Type Aircraft
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed analysis of very early aircraft and their flying characteristics.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Air Marshall Sir Ralph Sorley
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Felixstowe
England--Eastbourne (East Sussex)
England--Calshot
England--Bembridge
Atlantic Ocean--Spithead Channel
England--Cowes
England--Stroud
Scotland--Montrose
England--Sunbury
England--London
Monaco
Egypt--Cairo
Iraq--Baghdad
England--Felixstowe
England--Aldeburgh
Iraq
Middle East--Kurdistan
Middle East--Palestine
Jordan
Iran
Middle East--Euphrates River
Syria
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
Singapore
Australia
Borneo
China--Hong Kong
England--Kent
United States
New York (State)--New York
France--Paris
Nigeria
South Africa--Cape Town
Yugoslavia
Norway
Portugal
Spain
Denmark
Japan
Belgium
Argentina
Austria
Brazil
Canada
Chile
Greece
China
Lithuania
Estonia
England--Weybridge
Scotland--Island of Arran
England--Kingston upon Thames
France--Dunkerque
England--Hatfield (Hertfordshire)
Newfoundland and Labrador
New Brunswick
Maine
Maine--Presque Isle
Washington (D.C.)
Massachusetts--Boston
Pennsylvania--Philadelphia
Maryland--Baltimore
Washington (D.C.)--Anacostia
Tennessee--Nashville
Arkansas--Little Rock
Texas--Dallas
Texas--Fort Worth
Texas--Midland
Arizona--Tucson
California--Burbank (Los Angeles County)
California--Palm Springs
California--Los Angeles
California--Beverly Hills
California--San Diego
Arizona--Winslow
New Mexico--Albuquerque
Kansas--Wichita
Missouri--Saint Louis
Ohio--Dayton
New York (State)--Buffalo
Ontario--Toronto
Québec--Montréal
Newfoundland and Labrador--Gander
Netherlands--Eindhoven
Germany--Rheine
Germany--Osnabrück
India
Switzerland--Zurich
Lebanon--Beirut
Pakistan--Karachi
India--Kolkata
Singapore
Indonesia--Jakarta
Australia
Northern Territory--Darwin
New South Wales--Sydney
South Australia--Woomera
South Australia--Adelaide
Victoria--Melbourne
Sri Lanka--Colombo
Spain--Madrid
South Africa--Johannesburg
Kenya--Nairobi
Sudan--Khartoum
Greece--Athens
Italy--Rome
Zambia--Lusaka
Zambia--Ndola
Zambia--Mbala
Heathrow Airport (London, England)
Turkey--Istanbul
France--Nice
Utah--Salt Lake City
Italy--Genoa
Atlantic Ocean--Firth of Clyde
Italy
France
Arizona
Arkansas
California
Kansas
Maryland
Massachusetts
Missouri
New Mexico
New York (State)
Ohio
Tennessee
Texas
Utah
New South Wales
South Australia
Victoria
Northern Territory
Egypt
Sudan
North Africa
Ontario
Québec
Germany
Indonesia
Iraq
Kenya
Lebanon
Netherlands
South Africa
Switzerland
Pakistan
Sri Lanka
Turkey
Yemen (Republic)
Czech Republic
Slovakia
England--Gloucestershire
England--Hampshire
England--Herefordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Suffolk
England--Surrey
England--Sussex
England--Great Yarmouth
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 Navy
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
82 typewritten sheets
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1971-08-16
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MLovattP1821369-190903-75
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
Battle
Blenheim
C-47
Chadwick, Roy (1893-1947)
Defiant
Dominie
Fw 190
ground crew
Halifax
Harvard
Hudson
Hurricane
Lancaster
Lincoln
Lysander
Magister
Manchester
Me 109
Mosquito
Oxford
Photographic Reconnaissance Unit
pilot
Proctor
RAF Boscombe Down
RAF Eastchurch
RAF Hendon
RAF Henlow
RAF Martlesham Heath
RAF North Killingholme
RAF Pembrey
RAF Prestwick
RAF West Freugh
Spitfire
Stirling
Swordfish
Tiger Moth
training
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/27/136/PFilliputtiA16010047.1.jpg
1e2264cdfadb748e4a84b4b94ff717f1
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
Filiputti, Angiolino
Angiolino Filiputti
Alfonsino Filiputti
A Filiputti
Description
An account of the resource
127 items. The collection consists of a selection of works created by Alfonsino ‘Angiolino’ Filiputti (1924-1999). A promising painter from childhood, Angiolino was initially fascinated by marine subjects but his parents’ financial hardships forced an end to his formal education after completing primary school. Thereafter, he took up painting as an absorbing pastime. Angiolino depicted some of the most dramatic and controversial aspects of the Second World War as seen from the perspective of San Giorgio di Nogaro, a small town in the Friuli region of Italy. Bombings, events reported by newspapers, broadcast by the radio or spread by eyewitnesses, became the subject of colourful paintings, in which news details were embellished by his own rich imaginings. Each work was accompanied by long pasted-on captions, so as to create fascinating works in which text and image were inseparable. After the war, however, interest in his work declined and Angiolino grew increasingly disenchanted as he lamented the lack of recognition accorded his art, of which he was proud.
The work of Angiolino Filiputti was rediscovered thanks to the efforts of Pierluigi Visintin (San Giorgio di Nogaro 1946 – Udine 2008), a figurehead of the Friulan cultural movement, author, journalist, screenwriter and translator of Greek and Latin classical works into the Friulan language. 183 temperas were eventually displayed in 2005 under the title "La guerra di Angiolino" (“Angiolino’s war”.) The exhibition toured many cities and towns, jointly curated by the late Pierluigi Visintin, the art critic Giancarlo Pauletto and Flavio Fabbroni, member of the Istituto Friulano per la Storia del Movimento di Liberazione (Institute for the history of the resistance movement in the Friuli region).
The IBCC Digital Archive would like to express its gratitude to Anna and Stefano Filiputti, the sons of Angiolino Filipputi, for granting permission to reproduce his works. The BCC Digital Archive is also grateful to Alessandra Bertolissi, wife of Pierluigi Visintin, Alessandra Kerservan, head of the publishing house Kappa Vu and Pietro Del Frate, mayor of San Giorgio di Nogaro.
Originals are on display at
Biblioteca comunale di San Giorgio di Nogaro
Piazza Plebiscito, 2
33058 San Giorgio di Nogaro (UD)
ITALY
++39 0431 620281
info.biblioteca@comune.sangiorgiodinogaro.ud.it
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Filiputti, A-S
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.
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
Bombing of Porto Nogaro
Description
An account of the resource
Returning from an operation against an airfield near Gorizia, British aircraft drop small bombs on a rural lane where two oxen are pulling a cart. Two men are running away from the scene. Buildings are visible on the left.
Label reads “96”; signed by the author; caption reads “18 Marzo 1944. Liberator britannici sulla rotta del ritorno da un’azione di bombardamento sui campi d’aviazione di Gorizia, sganciano spezzoni sull’abitato di Porto Nogaro, una rastrelliera carica di spezzoni e caduta in un campo presso il cimitero rimanendo inesplosa, (dal vero).”
Caption translates as: “18 March 1944. British Liberators, on their way back from the bombing operation on Gorizia airfields, drop small bombs on Porto Nogaro, a rural village. A rack full of small bombs fell in a field near the cemetery. It did not detonate (true-to-life artwork).”
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PFilliputtiA16010047
Language
A language of the resource
ita
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Angiolino Filiputti
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Francesca Campani
Alessandro Pesaro
Helen Durham
Giulia Banti
Maureen Clarke
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One tempera on paper, pasted on mount board
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy--San Giorgio di Nogaro
Italy
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-03-18
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Artwork
arts and crafts
B-24
bombing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/27/138/PFilliputtiA16010049.1.jpg
771d579c51ec8fc8ba68d22e948878bc
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
Filiputti, Angiolino
Angiolino Filiputti
Alfonsino Filiputti
A Filiputti
Description
An account of the resource
127 items. The collection consists of a selection of works created by Alfonsino ‘Angiolino’ Filiputti (1924-1999). A promising painter from childhood, Angiolino was initially fascinated by marine subjects but his parents’ financial hardships forced an end to his formal education after completing primary school. Thereafter, he took up painting as an absorbing pastime. Angiolino depicted some of the most dramatic and controversial aspects of the Second World War as seen from the perspective of San Giorgio di Nogaro, a small town in the Friuli region of Italy. Bombings, events reported by newspapers, broadcast by the radio or spread by eyewitnesses, became the subject of colourful paintings, in which news details were embellished by his own rich imaginings. Each work was accompanied by long pasted-on captions, so as to create fascinating works in which text and image were inseparable. After the war, however, interest in his work declined and Angiolino grew increasingly disenchanted as he lamented the lack of recognition accorded his art, of which he was proud.
The work of Angiolino Filiputti was rediscovered thanks to the efforts of Pierluigi Visintin (San Giorgio di Nogaro 1946 – Udine 2008), a figurehead of the Friulan cultural movement, author, journalist, screenwriter and translator of Greek and Latin classical works into the Friulan language. 183 temperas were eventually displayed in 2005 under the title "La guerra di Angiolino" (“Angiolino’s war”.) The exhibition toured many cities and towns, jointly curated by the late Pierluigi Visintin, the art critic Giancarlo Pauletto and Flavio Fabbroni, member of the Istituto Friulano per la Storia del Movimento di Liberazione (Institute for the history of the resistance movement in the Friuli region).
The IBCC Digital Archive would like to express its gratitude to Anna and Stefano Filiputti, the sons of Angiolino Filipputi, for granting permission to reproduce his works. The BCC Digital Archive is also grateful to Alessandra Bertolissi, wife of Pierluigi Visintin, Alessandra Kerservan, head of the publishing house Kappa Vu and Pietro Del Frate, mayor of San Giorgio di Nogaro.
Originals are on display at
Biblioteca comunale di San Giorgio di Nogaro
Piazza Plebiscito, 2
33058 San Giorgio di Nogaro (UD)
ITALY
++39 0431 620281
info.biblioteca@comune.sangiorgiodinogaro.ud.it
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Filiputti, A-S
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.
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
Bombing of the Latisana bridges
Description
An account of the resource
Twelve aircraft are dropping bombs on two railway and road bridges, as well as on the nearby town. A figure in uniform is running away and has dropped a rifle.
Label reads “015”; signed by the author; caption reads “19 Maggio 1944. Liberators e Fortezze volanti attaccano in ondate il ponte ferroviario di Latisana UD, l’obiettivo non è stato colpito, era un mercoledi giorno di mercato il paese affollato, veniva devastato con tutti i suoi abitanti sorpresi nelle strade”.
Caption translates as: “19 May 1944. Liberators and Flying Fortresses attacking the Latisana railway bridge (Udine province) in waves. The target was not hit – it was Wednesday morning, market day, and the village was busy. The inhabitants were taken by surprise in the streets while the village was devastated.”
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PFilliputtiA16010049
Language
A language of the resource
ita
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Angiolino Filiputti
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Francesca Campani
Alessandro Pesaro
Helen Durham
Giulia Banti
Maureen Clarke
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One tempera on paper, pasted on mount board
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy--Latisana
Italy
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-19
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Artwork
arts and crafts
B-17
B-24
bombing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/450/7970/AHarrisonR151116.1.mp3
78c4628fae306c070946abd90f7380e4
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
Harrison, Richard
Richard Harrison
Dick Harrison
Description
An account of the resource
10 items. An oral history interview with Richard Harrison (b. 1924, 1833947 Royal Air Force) a page from his log book and documents about gunnery training. Richard Harrison flew operations as a B-24 air gunner with70 Squadron, 231 Wing, 2015 Group in Italy.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Richard Harrison and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-16
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
Harrison, R
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AM: Okay then so, this is Annie Moody for the International Bomber Command centre and Lincoln University, and today I’m with Dick Harrison in York, and what I’d like you to tell me is, first of all, is just date of birth and just a little bit about your family and your, your upbringing, what your parents did, that sort of thing.
RH: Yeah, I was born of the 5th of February 1924, I was born in Köln en Rhine, Deutschland, Cologne, Germany and er yeah, Dad English, Mother German, we came back to England in I think it was 1926, I was two years old.
AM: How did your Dad meet your Mum then if she was German?
RH: He was in the army of occupation.
AM: In? In Cologne or?
RH: In Germany.
AM: In Germany, yeah.
RH: Yeah, because he’d been on the Western Front from 1915 to 18, he was a regular soldier when he was in Cologne and various other places in the Rhineland, but he met my Mother in Cologne.
AM: Right.
RH: I think they were married there in 1922, something like that.
AM: So, what did he do when you came back to England? What did your parents do?
RH: Well he was a regular soldier and he carried on being a soldier.
AM: Right. Right through, yeah?
RH: Yeah until 19, yeah 1936.
AM: Oh blimey, right.
RH: He left the army and became a civil servant.
AM: Ah, me too, well that’s another story.
[laughter]
RH: And me too.
[laughter]
AM: So, tell me a bit about your school years then.
RH: School years, well Dad’s camp was near Salisbury, Winterbourne, so I went to a primary school in Winterbourne, and although people say today, you know, how good the schools were back then, this was a truly appalling school [laughs] well, and from there, I can’t remember what it was called, you sat the exam when you were eleven. And from there I went to Bishops school in Salisbury which was a local grammar school, then unfortunately my Dad left the army, the civil service post was in Gloucestershire, so we had to move to Gloucestershire, and I went to and I had to transfer schools, from a very [emphasis] good and excellent school in Salisbury to certainly a below par one in Gloucester.
AM: Right.
RH: Near Gloucester.
AM: What age were you when you left?
RH: When I left what?
AM: When you left school.
RH: Sixteen.
AM: Did you do schools certificate and everything?
RH: No, I didn’t.
AM: No.
RH: No, I had enough of that school.
AM: Right. [laughs] So what did you do when you left school?
RH: Worked in an office.
AM: Yeah, doing?
RH: Pardon?
AM: Doing just normal administrative?
RH: Yes.
AM: Office work.
RH: Yes, just clerical work, that’s all.
AM: Yeah.
RH: It was a company that, it was a [unclear]company so I was dealing with invoices and things like that.
AM: Right. So what year are we up to now? Sixteen, nineteen, I’m just trying to work my own arithmetic out, if you were sixteen?
RH: I left school in 1940.
AM: Right, so the war had started.
RH: Yeah and I was already involved.
[background noise]
AM: Right, and I’m looking now at the County and City of Gloucester air raid precautions, and this is to certify that mister Richard Harrison completed his course in anti-gas training, under the auspices of County and City of Gloucester air raid precautions central authority and has acquired sufficient knowledge of anti-gas measures to act as a member of the public ARP service. Tell me about that then, what was that like?
RH: Erm, and that’s what I—
AM: Oh, I’ve missed a bit, nature of the course attended was—
RH: Was a cycle messenger.
AM: Right, what did that mean?
RH: We were about ten miles north of Bristol, so when they were attacking Bristol, you know I was very interested, the first time I saw flak [laughs] but—
AM: What was that like then?
RH: Well, I mean as a kid it’s all very interesting, isn’t it? I mean we, the village hall was our local ARP post, and every Friday night that was my job, even when I was at school, every Friday night, get there for six or seven o’clock, I think it was, until six, seven o’clock the next morning, with my bike ready to go anywhere. And all over Bristol, it was a fantastic sight really was, searchlights, flak, German bombers coming over lit up, one crashed about a mile away from us here, but no it was quite a, quite a sight, and when they attacked Avonmouth and the oil tanks were set on fire, the whole of the horizon was red, yeah amazing sight.
AM: So, where were you sent off cycling? Taking what sort of messages?
RH: [sighs] Well we was just, I can’t remember the details. I remember one, one regular one was to cycle down to the pub and bring them back a pint of cider or something, and that was a regular run.
[laughter]
AM: Right, so the message was, how many drinks?
RH: Yeah.
AM: So, so when, so that was it, you did your cycling in your messenger training.
RH: Yes.
AM: And then what?
RH: What?
AM: What made you join the RAF? Oh, what came next should I say with regards to?
RH: The Home Guard.
AM: Right.
RH: I joined that when, yeah before I was seventeen I joined that and despite what people say and that, because there’s that film—
AM: Dad’s Army
RH: Dad’s Army. I mean, it was one of the most useful things ever because I was in a platoon where the officer commanding was World War one soldier, my Father was a platoon sergeant, World War one soldier, there were several of them, I mean when I went into the RAF, foot drill, arms drill, using a rifle, shooting on the range, using a machine gun.
AM: You’d already done it.
RH: It was easy, yeah, it was easy. I also joined the Air Training Corps about the same time.
AM: Right.
RH: So, at one time I had three balls in the air [laughs] ARP, Home Guard, Air Training Corps.
AM: And [unclear]
RH: And in addition to that, I took a St John’s, St John ambulance first aid course and got a certificate for that, so—
AM: Right.
RH: Yeah.
AM: Blimey. So, when you joined the RAF, but I think Gary said RAF regiment?
RH: Pardon?
AM: I think Gary said you joined the RAF regiment?
[phone rings]
RH: Excuse me.
[interview paused]
RH: Where were we?
AM: So, where were we?
GR: You were juggling three balls, ATC.
AM: We were juggling all those balls with your ATC, and your Home Guard.
RH: In the end I packed up the, one of them became civil defence from ARP, so I packed, I packed that up, I couldn’t get—
AM: Right.
RH: Otherwise I was chasing round four nights a week [laughs] and weekends with the Home Guard.
AM: And working in your office.
RH: And working as well.
AM: And working as well.
RH: Yeah.
AM: So, you’re coming up to eighteen, why the RAF? Where did you join? What was, what was you’re, what was it like?
RH: For a young lad I mean it’s, it’s just the glamour of the thing. King and country had nothing at all to do with it [laughs] don’t say that—
[laughter]
AM: We’ll cut that out.
RH: All I wanted, well I mean, one saw a war films didn’t you, ‘target for the night’ and all the rest of it. But unfortunately, I had a heart condition and my, on my medical records which I saw, because I wanted to go into aircrew, I wanted to be a wireless operator.
AM: Right.
RH: Wireless operator [unclear] because I’d been, Father had taught my brother and I morse code, and in the house, he’d rigged up two keys and we used to use that, even when we were ten or eleven years old we knew the morse code, and in the Air Training Corps, when the CO discovered I already knew morse, I became the morse code instructor for the squadron.
[laughter]
RH: And, but when I went for the medical, I think I was, temporarily unfit for aircrew duties, they said that would right itself eventually, and I remember being interviewed by the, this officer, he said, ‘well, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘ that you’re fit for ground crew duties but you’re not fit for aircrew duties,’ I said, ‘right, in that case I don’t want to join the RAF, I’m going to join the army,’ [laughs] because I was fit enough for the army, and I had a mate, a school friend who was up at Catterick driving a tank, saying how great it was and I could picture myself in that, so I said, ‘I’m going to join the army, the Armour Corps,’ ‘no you’re not,’ he said, ‘no you’re not,’ he said, ‘we’re not going to waste, what was it twelve months or more Air Training Corps and then you go in the army,’ he said, ‘you’ll be called up,’ and that’s what happened. I got, yeah, before Christmas it was, 1942.
AM: Right.
RH: And I got my call up papers and went to Penarth in South Wales where they sorted you out, and because I’d been a clerk in civvy street, I went through trade tests, maths, English, I could type, type writing, book keeping, and that took all morning, and then at the end of it they said, ‘alright you’re now a trade group for clerk general duties,’ but it did mean that whereas a lad going in without any trade at all was getting three shillings a day, I got four shillings and threepence a day because I was a trade [laughs] and of course guys like one of the guys I sort of chummed up with, he had been a metal worker, and I can’t remember what trade he went into, but I know he was getting sort of, six shillings and something a day because he was a group one trade as against group four. Right, so what do you want next then?
AM: Ooh, well, what happened next? Tell me about it. What were you actually doing then? So, you got three a day—
RH: I can think, in my eight weeks I think it was, square bashing and then I was posted to RAF Tempsford in Bedfordshire.
AM: Right.
RH: And, that was the base for the special duties squadrons, 161 and 138, and they were dropping supplies and people for the resistance.
AM: Right, okay.
RH: And it was all top secret, I mean I suppose I didn’t know what they were doing.
GR: There was Maurice Buckmaster and Vera Atkins.
RH: Well, maybe so, Wing Commander Pickard, DSO, a couple of bars and all the rest of it, he was, he was the C.O. and, but I knew something about aircraft, and so what struck me was these Halifax’s, they had no mid upper turret, and I thought well that’s strange, and bomb trolleys were parked alongside the hangar with grass growing through them, so they weren’t being used [laughs] but no one told you anything. Eventually one of the guys in the office said, ‘Dick, do you know what we are doing?’ and this was after a month or so, I said, ‘yeah, I reckon you’re dropping agents into, into France,’ I said, because I had to do a what, a sort of duty every now and again, overnight, man the phone and so forth, and during that time, you would see a couple of black saloon cars going, going by, and they were going over to, what I discovered later, was a farm, an old farm where they were kitted up before they did their jumps. And, yeah, very secret, so I remember a guy crashed on take-off and they were all killed, and that night or the next night the father was calling and I answered the phone, and I said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything,’ you know, ‘was he on the raid to Berlin?’ I said, ‘I’m sorry,’ [laughs] I knew what had happened to him but wasn’t allowed to say. And another little story, no need to record, as I say it was all top secret, this Halifax was missing, so that was seven guys as well, so into the HQ, came their, the NCOs, their pay books and in the pay book was a next of kin listed. Now the wireless operator in that crew had listed his next of kin as a girl in Sandy village, which was four or five miles—
AM: Yeah, I know where you mean.
RH: Away, you know?
AM: Yeah, I know exactly where you mean.
RH: You know where I mean? So, the Padre and another officer went down to give her the bad news, sort of thing he was missing, but I mean I wasn’t witness to this, I only heard about it afterwards, and apparently when they gave her the bad news, she said, ‘well he’ll be alright wont he?’ they said, ‘what do you mean?’ ‘well I mean, they are dropping supplies to the French resistance and they’ll —
AM: Oh God.
RH: Get him back. Which they didn’t. While I was there, not him, but while I was there a guy came back, but the only thing I saw was her arriving with an RAF police escort in a car, and she was wheeled in to see Wing Commander Pickard, and I suppose he read the riot act to her, keep your mouth shut.
AM: Yeah.
RH: And some years ago when I was caravanning down there, I went back to see if I could get onto Tempsford, but it was all wired off, but you could see the huts in the background, and I met, a local woman came out of her house, and as a wee child she remembered this place and she said, ‘you see that hedge there?’ she said, ‘we lived up on the hill and we weren’t allowed to come below that hedge, no civilians were allowed below that hedge line,’ it was so, so secret.
AM: It’s amazing isn’t it.
RH: On one occasion Wing Commander Pickard, flying a Hudson, that’s that one up there, that was—
AM: I’m looking at, I’m looking at models here.
RH: Yeah, that was his aircraft, and he’d taken people down to the south of France to a landing ground down there, and when it came to take off, he’d bogged down, because it was just a field, and so they had to turn out local farm horses and so forth and pull him onto hard ground so he could take off. I remember next morning in the HQ, one of the guys said to me, ‘have you seen the CO’s Hudson take off?’ I said, ‘no,’ he said, ‘well go and look at hangar so and so,’ and there it was parked up outside, still with mud up into the engines themselves, and he got a, I think he had three DSO’s, was it, Wing Commander Pickard? He was shot down in the end on another raid, yeah. So, there we are, what’s next then?
AM: So that’s that, well you tell me. What came next?
RH: I must have been the worst clerk general duties that the RAF ever had, because I wasn’t a bit interested in what I was doing [laughs] and I was always on the—
AM: Wanting to be up there.
RH: Back in front of the adjutant flight sergeant being given a lecture about something I’d done wrong. Then one day two guys came into the office and I knew they’d been in north Africa, and they said, ‘can we have a form to volunteer to go overseas,’ I said, ‘but you’ve only just come back.’ [emphasis]
AM: Two aircrew this?
RH: Pardon?
AM: Two aircrew you talking about?
RH: No, they weren’t aircrew.
AM: Oh right, okay still—
RH: They were two groundcrew. Said, ‘we’ve only just come back,’ and I said, ‘you want to go back out there again?’ ‘well, [emphasis] England, terrible place isn’t it, full of Yanks and all the rest, no, the sooner we get out of here the better,’ so I thought, what a good idea.
[laughter]
GR: Get me one of these forms.
[laughter]
RH: Get me one of those forms, yeah. And then I had a medical and this medical officer said, you know, as I said to you on the phone yesterday, he said, ‘right, condition no longer, so I’ll put you forward shall I, for the aircrew medical?’ I said, ‘no, no thanks I want to go overseas.’
[laughter]
RH: Did you read that letter?
GR: This one?
RH: Yeah, the one, the regiment one?
GR: Yes, I’m reading it, yeah.
AM: I’ll take a copy afterwards. So, you went overseas rather than aircrew?
RH: Yes, I volunteered to go overseas, it was all very quick, in fact I was sent on what they called, embarkation leave.
AM: Hmm, hmm.
GR: Yeah.
RH: And I think that was one week or two, and while I was at home in Gloucestershire, a telegram came telling me to report back to Tempsford, and I’d only been home two or three days, and so I went back and there was my posting notice, and I think, I thought the RAF were taking their revenge on me for not carrying on with aircrew because they posted me to an RAF Regiment squadron. And believe me in 1943, to be in the RAF Regiment, you know, I mean today, yes, they’ve got a good reputation, but that was really the backend of everything. And there were about a dozen of us, tradesmen, clerks, cooks, vehicle mechanics, armourers, wireless guys and so forth, and all resentful [laughs] at being posted to the regiment.
AM: Where was that though? Where were you posted to?
RH: Oh yeah, that was near Peterborough, near Peterborough. And, when I arrived there, there was a corporal clerk in the, what do you call it? Orderly room, in the orderly room. And as soon as I arrived, he sent off a signal under the adjutant’s signature, under who was away at the time, to the airman’s records at Innsworth in Gloucestershire saying, that Corporal so and so, can’t remember his name, was unfit for overseas duty. And so about, a couple of days later a signal came posting him out, didn’t get off kindly. [laughs]
AM: So where, where from, where did you go from Peterborough?
RH: Overseas.
AM: Yeah, but where though? Whereabouts?
RH: Sicily.
AM: Sicily.
RH: We went to, yeah it was a, it took a month altogether, although I think it was three weeks to Algiers on a troop ship as a convoy—
AM: I was going to say—
RH: As it was, but— Yeah, although in my letter I said, not eventful, in fact it was interesting at times because a U-boat got in amongst the convoy, and there were destroyers dashing up and down dropping depth charges. [laughs]
AM: It’s probably quite exciting when you are eighteen, nineteen.
RH: It was, when you are a kid, when you are a kid.
AM: You’re still a teenager, really aren’t you?
RH: Yeah, I remember saying to one of the seamen on our, on our troop ship, you know, ‘why is that, why are they flying a black pennant?’ he said, ‘that’s because they’ve detected a boat,’ he said, ‘they’ve detected a U, U-boat.’ Then we went to Algiers, and then we left Algiers, still didn’t know where we were going at that time. And then, I was in what was called the headquarters flight, which all the tradesmen were in that flight and we were called up for a briefing by the adjutant, and then we knew we were going to Sicily, and there were maps passed round for us to look at, and we were going to takeover, it was a light anti-aircraft squadron by the way, it had a twenty-millimetre cannon.
AM: Okay.
RH: We were going to take over defence of the Gerbini airfield near Cantania in Sicily, and that was the plan. But unfortunately, the Germans, you know, didn’t know what our plan was—
[laughter]
RH: And so, when we got to Sicily they were still there. [laughs] And er, yeah, we landed, we went to Malta first, I think we stayed there overnight or a couple of nights, and then we went to Sicily, and it was over the, over the side, down scrambling nets onto the landing craft and then onto a little [old?] pier sort of thing. And then we formed up and marched up into an olive grove and we were there for about a week. We were waiting for our trucks to arrive and the cannon, but they’d all been sunk. It was funny when we were en route from Algiers to Malta, there was a, ‘boom,’ bang and a great column of smoke over in the distance, that was the ship going down, and we heard later that was our ship [laughs] with all the trucks on.
AM: Blimey.
RH: So when we got to, then we were posted and moved to Lentini and that was a new, new landing ground, and we were sent there for anti-parachute troop duties. The Germans had dropped paratroopers into Sicily, not, not straight into combat, they dropped them as reinforcements to the guys who were already there.
AM: Yeah.
RH: And, but some of them were dropped too far south, and when the 8th Army had pushed up and they were left behind.
AM: I’m just looking, thinking about the geography, so you’re in the south of Sicily?
RH: Pardon?
AM: I’m just thinking about the geography of Sicily, so the Germans were on the island?
RH: Oh yeah, and eventually, eventually they had four divisions there. They had three to, three to begin with and then, then they dropped in two regiments from the 1st Parachute Division, and they were dropped in as reinforcements, behind their own lines. But they were the guys who eventually who stopped the 8th Army, you know, getting any further. But, and so when we got to Lentini, they were forming patrols of about a dozen guys and an NCO, and they [unclear] [laughs] searched the local olive groves and go through, and as I said in, in the letter, you know, God help them if they come across any German para’s because I’m sure we would have been sending out the first missing in action signals.
[laughter]
RH: Because they wouldn’t have stood a chance, they wouldn’t have stood a chance against those guys. So, that was that.
AM: So, how long were you there for, on Sicily?
RH: Pardon?
AM: How long were you on Sicily for? Ish?
RH: Yeah, we landed there a week after the invasion began, July, August, and then, when did we go into Italy? September the 3rd? So, we went into Italy on September the 10th, something like that.
AM: Right, so, so the Germans had been pushed back?
RH: They evacuated.
AM: They evacuated.
RH: Yeah, they got everything away, they got everything away, they had a defensive line sort of thing, and they just took it step by step back, and meanwhile they, I think forty thousand men all their guns and tanks, everything they managed to get across the Straits of Messina. And, [pause] the regiment squadron, we were on, we moved from Lentini to the Scordia landing ground, again it’s only a rough strip through, through the fields and that was the American 57th Fighter Group. They were equipped with P-40 Warhawks and they used to go out day after day trying to stop the Germans evacuating the—
AM: Getting across the Straits.
RH: Their, their stuff. And that was the first time I’d come across American, Americans and they were great guys, [emphasis] they really were. And later on, we were on the same airfield, when I was in aircrew and again, you know, they really are first, first class blokes, I thought.
AM: So, you’re on, we’re on the push now, what, what month did we say we were? August? What, what—
GR: No, September into Italy.
AM: And September into Italy.
RH: September into Italy.
AM: So you—
RH: I’ll just tell this little story while we—
AM: Go on, yes.
RH: At Scordia, I mean they were suffering losses because I mean they were having to make quite low level attacks with their fighter bombers. And we were watching these guys coming back, and, and one of them he came in rather high, banged [emphasis] down onto the ground, up in the air, bang [emphasis] and then turned over onto his, onto his back, so the pilot was trapped under, underneath. But I mean, they were very, very quick, in no time there was a, the er, a fire tender, an ambulance, and a mobile crane. And the mobile crane lifted the aircraft up, turned it over—
AM: [inaudible]
RH: And they forced the canopy open and out [laughs] got this young lieutenant, stepped on the wing, walked away a few paces, reached into his overalls, pulled out a cigar—
AM: [gasps] Oh no.
RH: Lit it and went on walking.
[laughter]
RH: And I thought, well there’s, there’s a nerve for you, [laughs] there’s a nerve for you. But on the other side of the coin, I remember, I used to like going out into their dispersal and watch them come in. And, they’d taken off—
[background noise]
RH: And then one of them left the formation, came round, landed and then taxied up to where we were, we were, sort of thing, switched off the engine, pilot got out and he walked over to the, the er. There was a sergeant who was a sort of an engineer mechanic, whatever, and I can’t remember the words after all these years what the pilot said, but he was complaining that there was a fault in the, in the engine, there was something, something wrong, and then he walked away. And I said the sergeant, I said, ‘what do you thinks wrong with that then?’ Now, you’ll have to excuse the language.
AM: It’s alright. [laughs]
RH: He said, ‘nothing he’s just shit scared,’ he said.
[laughter]
AM: Fair enough.
RH: So then we went into Italy, [pause] now tell you, this was a regiment [laughs] with a squadron, and so I knew [emphasis] very well, being, being in the HQ, the squadron had been told they had to go to Crotone landing ground which was sort of under the, that part of the—
AM: The heel.
RH: Italian boot.
AM: The heel.
RH: And of course, and we were following a Canadian division along the coast. They were way, way, way ahead, we never ever saw them. When we got to Crotone landing ground, nothing there at all because it had already been evacuated. Now the same time as the 8th Army landed on the toe and moved up on the north coast, the Canadians were moving along the south coast and the British 1st Airborne Division came in by sea to land at Taranto to push up on the Adriatic coast. And when we were somewhere west of, of Taranto we came across the Airborne guys, and, and they were stopping our convoy. Now in our convoy would be about a dozen three tonne four by four Bedfords, three or four jeeps, two Italian trucks that we had pinched, stolen and, and motorcycles and so forth. Yeah, we spotted these Italian trucks in a little town called Catanzaro down on the toe and the C.O. had seen them, two big Fiat trucks, and so he said to our corporal fitter, engine fitter, ‘do you reckon you can get those going?’ he said, ‘yeah right.’ So sometime around midnight he and another mechanic went out and started them and drove them up the road a bit and then we found them [unclear]
AM: Appropriated them. [laughs]
RH: And then painted them in RAF camouflage and off we went. And then so, yeah, we met the guys with the, with the red berets and from what they were saying is, ‘go careful, keep your heads down because there are German para snipers in the area,’ [laughs] and I thought to myself, we shouldn’t be here, we had no business to be there with just our, just the C.O. You know, woo, let’s just going, you know so think you can imagine we were some kind of Panzer unit or something. And then we drove into Bari, you know that?
AM: Yeah.
RH: Well as we went to Bari, there were people on the pavements, waving and cheering and then passing out bottles of wine.
[laughter]
RH: And I thought, well this can’t be right, and, and where are our guys? I didn’t see any British soldiers at all, and we drove through Bari, and I can’t remember the name of the town now, but about ten miles north of Bari on the main coast road, we came into this little township, and again, [emphasis] people came out and they were waving and saying oh—
AM: Italian civilians you mean?
RH: Yeah, [emphasis] Italian civilians, I thought it’s got to be something, it’s got to be wrong you know, and then the word quickly came down the, the line, the Germans left here this morning.
[laughter]
RH: Well that decided the C.O., all the trucks were turned round. [laughs]
GR: You were the spear guard you were, you were out in front.
[laughter]
RH: We go back to, we went back to Bari, and he looked at his map. Bari airport which was an Italian air force base then, we’ll go there, and we’ll the, we’ll take over the airfield, we had no business—
AM: Is this just you the RAF Regiment, you’re talking here?
RH: Yeah.
AM: Right.
RH: No business at all to be, to be there. And we drove up to the entrance and there were gates and as we drove up, there were armed Italians carrying their funny little carbine rifles, they shut the gate. Now I wasn’t there I didn’t hear what, what was said but they refused to let us in. So, then the order came down the line, ‘get your rifles out men and load them, and stand by the trucks.’ And of course, in our headquarters truck, where are the rifles?
[laughter]
AM: We’re laughing now, but I bet you weren’t laughing at the time.
RH: Scrambling, put ten rounds in the magazine, get out the truck. Meanwhile the Italians, a lot of them, had crossed the road and were in the olive grove in that side, so I thought, God, we are going to be between two lots here, but I think that fact that they saw a hundred guys or more getting out the trucks with their rifles ready, and that decided the Italians to open the gate and let us in.
[laughter]
RH: Yeah, so.
AM: Blimey.
GR: So you’re fighting your way up Italy?
AM: And your C.O. wanted you to be fighting your way up.
RH: Pardon?
AM: And your C.O. wanted you to be fighting your way up.
RH: And the, what do you call it? SWO, he was, he was another sort of, you know, let’s get up there and we’ll, all the rest of it. But, yeah then we went up to Foggia and there were several airfields there which the Germans had used, and yeah, we were, I think on two different airfields there, if I remember rightly, well airfields, landing grounds it was just a single strip. But I can’t remember anything worth reporting there. And by that time, we were subordinate to Desert Air Force, and so you’d get the daily orders from Desert Air Force. And on one they were appealing for air gunners, air gunners, now I thought right—
AM: This is it.
RH: We’ll have a go at this, and so I, you know, I applied and went to Desert Air Force headquarters to get the preliminary medical as such. And, it was, it was quite interesting, because they had my records there and the first officer to examine me, flight lieutenant or squadron leader, doctor or whatever he was, he said, ‘I can’t understand why you were failed in, a year ago,’ he said. He said, ‘there’s nothing wrong,’ and I said, ‘well it says temporarily unfit,’ ‘I can’t see nothing wrong, well, we’ll get a second opinion,’ and he called in the chief, the group captain, and he came in and checked me over, ‘yeah,’ he said, ‘no,’ he said, ‘I can’t think,’ he said, ‘why you were failed a year ago,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing wrong with your, with your heart.’ I used to think afterwards, they failed me because when they looked at my background, they realised in fact, that Mum was a German.
[laughter]
RH: I’ve thought that might be a—
GR: That’s possible.
AM: Yeah.
GR: Yeah, yeah, possible.
RH: Yeah. Because when it came to the aircrew selection board, that was the next thing.
AM: Are you still in Italy at this point?
RH: Yeah, oh yes.
AM: Yeah.
RH: The, the aircrew selection board, and they asked, they asked that question, ‘what if you were ordered to?’ I mean there was no possibility for me to fly from Italy all the way to Cologne, but still, [laughs] They said, ‘what if you were ordered to bomb Germany, bomb something in Germany, you know, you were born there and your Mothers German, what, what if you were ordered to do that?’ [laughs] And I said, ‘I would obey orders.’ [laughs]
[laughter]
RH: Yes, so then there was, I was still with the Regiment Squadron, but I mean they hadn’t, they hadn’t fired a shot in anger and they were anti-aircraft, there was no need for them, so they found a new job for the RAF Regiment. That was to go up to the, our artillery gun line which would be a three, or four miles behind the front line, and by day if our guys were flying and bombing, they would put out smoke indicators to show where our front line was, so that our guys didn’t bomb in it. And by night they would put out flares and I was only there less than, less than, less than a week and but apparently, they did have some casualties later, later on. But, so that was it, now I went to Desert Air Force headquarters, and I had three or four weeks there, and then before I went back to the Middle East. Desert Air Force headquarters was the best posting ever I had in the RAF of a, really good guys to work with, we had an Australian flight lieutenant who was our, the C.O. of what’s called the organisation section where I worked. And he used to share his food parcels with us and he knew I was sort of going through them and I was going on for air, aircrew training and he called me in one day and he said, ‘Harrison,’ now I know this sounds like a line shoot, but he said, ‘Harrison, you’ve done a really good job here,’ he said, ‘we’re very pleased at the way you’re, you’re working.’ That’s because I had a gen, I wasn’t responsible to anyone even though I was only an airman I was doing my own, my own job, sort of thing, which was location of units.
AM: Right.
RH: And briefing people who came in asking questions about you, he said, ‘now why don’t you forget this aircrew thing,’ he said, ‘and I can guarantee,’ he said, in a few months you’ll have your first stripes,’ he said, ‘and I can see you going on from there,’ and I said, ‘no thank you, very much.’ [laughs] And so that was it, now I went back to Egypt
AM: Right. Where did you do your training, your aircrew training then?
RH: Air gunner training.
AM: Air gunner training, where did you do that?
RH: Yeah, a place called El Ballah.
AM: In, in Egypt?
RH: On the canal zone.
AM: Right. And how long, so how long were you training for?
RH: Right. [pause]
[paper rustling]
RH: You can take these away.
AM: Okay.
RH: Later. There were three six-week courses.
AM: Right.
RH: The first one was at 51 Air Gunner Initial Training School, and they’re all the subjects.
AM: Yeah.
RH: Then you had a forty-eight-hour pass into Cairo and then you came for another six weeks—
AM: Okay.
RH: At 12 Elementary Air Gunner School.
AM: Yeah.
RH: From there are all the subjects again.
AM: So, I’m looking at, I’ll, I’ll copy this, and but I’m looking at things like, different gun turrets, the Frazer Nash, the Boulton Paul, the Bristol.
RH: Yeah that’s right.
AM: Pyrotechnics, the Very pistol, the flares, forty flashes. Smoke floats?
RH: Yeah, smoke floats, yeah.
AM: Yeah, what’s a smoke float?
RH: Well it was, about, about that big and the idea was that, that in daylight, over the sea, over, over water, the navigator would ask someone to drop a smoke float, okay? And then the tail gunner, the rear gunner—
AM: Yeah, yeah.
RH: Himself. You see that smoke float and you take a bearing on it with your sight, and there’s sort of a compass ring—
AM: Right.
RH: And you say,’ okay, it’s at so many degrees,’ and then the navigator would count off so many seconds and say, ‘okay take another reading,’ so you take another reading and it shows you your drift.
AM: Right.
RH: The difference between the two readings.
AM: Yep.
RH: Yeah, smoke float by day, yeah.
AM: Oh.
RH: And that’s 13 Air Gunner school where you finally get to fly.
AM: I’m looking at this one because I was, I was going to ask you, what were, what did you actually train in? And we’ve got Avro Anson’s?
RH: Yes, it’s up there, somewhere.
AM: One of those up there? Dinghy drill. Did you all have individual dinghies at that point?
RH: No, seven-man dinghies.
AM: Because—It was a seven-man dinghy. Right.
RH: Then we trained in, in the Suez Canal, and the canal was only a couple of miles away from the, from the air field, so the instructor would tow an inflated dinghy out into the middle of the canal. And that was another, another thing and I’ve never come across it before and I’ve mentioned it to other aircrew types and they’ve never heard of this before. You had to swim fifty yards [emphasis] and if you did not swim, if you couldn’t swim that fifty yards you failed.
AM: That was it, you were out.
RH: You failed the course. So, I mean you had a life jacket on which was a damn nuisance believe me if you’ve got a Mae West and you try swim. [laughs] So you went out, two of you at a time, went out to a dinghy and righted it.
AM: Oops.
RH: Sorry. Righted it, then got into it, and then when the instructor was satisfied, when you got out you pulled the dinghy over you so it was upside down for the next pair.
AM: Right, and swam out from under it.
RH: To go out, yeah.
AM: I can’t imagine what the canal was full of?
RH: Oh yeah, [emphasis] yeah. Now and then whistles are blowing and everyone would have to get out if a ship came by. [laughs]
AM: Theres, there’s crocodiles isn’t there?
RH: No, no.
AM: Is there not? No. Alright then.
RH: There’s far more—
AM: I was thinking about horrible [unclear]
RH: Theres worse stuff floating in the canal, believe me.
AM: I can imagine.
[laughter]
AM: So, you’ve done your training.
RH: Yeah.
AM: Then what?
RH: Then we’ve went to [paper rustling] from Egypt—
AM: Hmm, hmm.
RH: To Palestine.
AM: Right.
RH: For the O T U.
AM: Right. [pause] So, I’m looking now at the, it was the 76 Operational Training Unit.
RH: That’s right.
AM: And you were on Wellington medium bombers at this point?
RH: Yeah, yeah.
AM: Tail gunner you said you were, weren’t you?
RH: Yeah, yeah.
AM: Tail end Charlie.
RH: Yes, we formed up of, as you may know, you know, the people weren’t detailed, we all assembled in a hangar.
AM: You did the crewing up.
RH: And we sort of—
AM: No other end.
RH: Pardon?
AM: No other end, is an expression—
RH: Is it?
AM: An expression, I’ve heard.
RH: Yeah well. And Joe, the other gunner, he, he eventually found a pilot who wanted two gunners, and so we met this Eddy who came from the Midlands, and he said to us, ‘who’s best at aircraft recognition?’ and Joe said, ‘he is,’ pointing to me.
[laughter]
RH: ‘So, right you are the rear gunner then.’
AM: So that was it? That was how that was decided. But then, so when was heavy Conversion Unit, were you still in Palestine at that point?
RH: No. We went back to Egypt for it.
AM: Back to Egypt for that, right.
RH: That was only four weeks I think at that point.
AM: So this is the 1675 Heavy Conversion Unit, into B-24 Liberators.
RH: B-24 Liberator, yeah. At least we got into a decent aircraft.
AM: Yeah. What, how many crew were on that? Was there seven or more? Seven.
RH: Well, seven. We trained as a crew of seven but operationally on the squadron, you carried an extra gunner, who manned the two waist guns.
AM: Right, so there was waist guns on there?
RH: There was also these, yeah, I did two or three [unclear] trips as a beam gunner, but you were the odd job. I’ll come to that when we get to the squadron then.
AM: Alright, okay. So, carry on—
RH: Well, [unclear, interviewer speaks over]
AM: Tell me about that and what happened and any stories about the conversion unit course or on to what happened after that?
RH: I can only think of a funny story on that. Sometimes, the nose wheel of the Liberator wouldn’t come down. And so, someone would go from the flight deck, for landing on the flight deck was a pilot, the engineer, navigator, bomb aimer, wireless operator and top gunner, six of them all on the flight deck in that area. If the nose wheel didn’t come down, there was a, a drill for it. One of them would go back into the nose and help to pull the thing down. Well, we’d been on a night exercise, and Joe our top gunner, a Lancashire lad, he always had intercom trouble. He was an electrician by trade, but he was a real jinx [emphasis] when it came to in, in, intercom. And the nose wheel hadn’t come down, so I mean I’m hearing everything on intercom, so the skipper said to, I think it was the bomb aimer Ron, ‘Ron go on down into the nose right and see if you can do it,’ and so Ron goes down there. Then the next thing I here, Ron’s on the intercom, ’no, I can’t do it and I need some help,’ ‘ah yeah, okay,’ and so the navigator is sent down. So, now there’s two of them in the nose trying to pull it—
AM: Yank the thing, yeah.
RH: And get the wheel down, and then they come back on the intercom, ‘no I can’t do it,’ so skipper, Eddy turns to Taffy our engineer and says, ‘Taff, go down and sort it, will you?’ So, Taff gets out of his seat and goes down. Theres a hatch in the flight deck that goes down into the nose. Now, Joe the top gunner, knows that the nose wheel hasn’t come down, and then his intercom goes dead. And one after another he sees the bomb aimer—
AM: Oh God.
RH: The navigator and the engineer all disappearing through that hatch down below, and what does he think? He thinks they’re all baling out. So, his seat release is a wire handle and he pulls that, drops out of his turret, goes straight through the hatch into the end of the bomb bay.
AM: Oh no.
GR: [unclear] [laughs]
RH: He just had a few bruises that was all.
AM: I was going to say, I thought you were going to say he went right through and had to pull his parachute. [laughs]
GR: Well, the thing is to anybody listening, obviously Lancaster, Halifax, B-17 all land, and land tail down, but the B-24 was one that landed, and landed with its nose up.
RH: Nose wheel
GR: The same, yeah. So, it landed, straight—
RH: Yes.
GR: As opposed to sitting back on the tail, so when you were on about the nose wheel coming down that’s—
AM: That’s why it’s important.
GR: Yeah
RH: Well, I— [unclear, interviewer speaks over]
GR: In fact that was the only bomber that, that—
RH: Yeah.
GR: The only, only four engine bomber that, that happened.
RH: If I remember rightly in HCU and I mean, I knew guys who were ahead of me and so forth, and Norman, and he came back and he came up to the truck as we were getting off it, and he said, ‘have you heard Mick Berry’s gone?’ Now, Mick Berry had been a corporal armourer and he was in our tent at gunnery school—
AM: Right.
RH: And he taught us more about the machine guns than the instructors. After all, that was his, his trade, he was a, I can still remember, he was a great [emphasis] man, he really was a good lad. And there they had, had crash landed and burst into flames, and Mick was in the mid er, top turret. Now that was held by, I think it was four bolts and it was a common fault that bang [emphasis] on, on the deck and that turret would drop out, and he was trapped and he couldn’t get out, yeah.
GR: Oh God.
RH: Mick Berry, he’s buried in the cemetery near Cairo.
AM: Oh, right. How big is it? I’m looking at a model of the Liberator here. How big is it in comparison then to the Halifax and the, and the Lancaster?
RH: [unclear] it’s a hundred and ten foot wingspan, the Liberator and the Hal, well Lanc, well it’s just over a hundred feet, in total.
AM: I was going to say, it looks a bit bigger to me.
RH: Yeah.
AM: On the, on the model, I know [unclear]
GR: Well at the same scales, they’re actually, the Liberators on a par with the Lancaster, probably slightly bigger.
AM: I’m showing my ignorance now, is it American?
GR: The B-24 was originally was an American bomber.
RH: Oh yeah.
AM: Oh.
RH: Yeah, consolidated to the aircraft company, yeah. [pause] Nice aeroplane to fly because after flying in the Wellingtons as the rear or tail, tail gunner, the heating system, well, didn’t really exist. And, in O.T.U. going out on a flight at night, and we’d six hours, six and a half hour flights sort of thing in freezing [emphasis] weather and you’d have long johns and, and then your shirt and your pants, and so forth. And your wool, pullover, woolly, the battle dress, then over the battle dress, the, an inner flying suit—
AM: Right.
RH: Which was sort of kapok something or other, brown silky, you put that on. Then over that, the outer flying suit which wasn’t padded at all, then over that your life jacket, then over that your parachute harness. Now, some of the gunners at O.T.U. there was only one entry hatch and that was in the nose, so the guys used to take their kit with them and get dressed when they got down into the fuselage. But I had an arrangement with the navigator, and the bomb aimer, and the armourer who would turn the turret of our aircraft to a hundred and eighty degrees, so I could get in from the outside. And they would lift [emphasis] me up into the turret, and then when we got back I would turn the turret a hundred and eighty degrees, open the doors, fall out—
AM: We’re talking about the rear turret then?
GR: Yeah.
RH: Pardon?
AM: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. And they would—
GR: Tumble out.
RH: And they would get me out.
GR: [unclear]
RH: The advantage of the Wimpy of course, and the rear, and with the Lanc and the British aircraft wasn’t it, you opened the doors as a tail gunner and you just bale out and go backwards—
AM: You just flipped out.
RH: Couldn’t do that on the Liberator.
AM: So, we’ve done Heavy Conversion Unit, you’ve got your crew, you’ve done your training with your crew, when was—
RH: I can’t think of any incidents.
AM: When was your first operation then?
RH: In February 45.
AM: Right, and where, where was it too?
RH: That’s a very good question, I think—
AM: Germany somewhere?
RH: No, I, no we were in Italy.
AM: Oh, oh.
RH: Yep, I think that’s just March, isn’t it?
GR: That’s just March, yeah.
AM: Yeah.
GR: Yeah.
AM: Can you remember what it was like going up? Right because now you’re doing it for real instead of training? Did it make a difference?
RH: It was just a job. I think, you know guys of our age at that stage of the war, nine, you know, coming up to the end of the war, and you, I can’t think of the term really, indoctrinated or whatever, and you are used to it, you are used to it.
AM: So, were you scared?
RH: No I wasn’t, no.
AM: No.
RH: Because I didn’t have enough up there to be scared.
[laughter]
GR: Am I right in assuming that the, the bomber force in Italy at the time, was doing things like marshalling yards—
RH: Yeah.
GR: In northern Italy.
RH: Yeah.
GR: Austria.
RH: Yeah.
GR: Southern Germany? I think that there was a couple of trips.
AM: I think, yeah, I thought, I thought you went to southern Germany?
RH: No, we there were, I never went on a trip into Bavaria.
GR: But that was some of their, their area of operations.
RH: Yeah.
GR: There was the northern Italy marshalling yards, the Turin’s, that sort of thing, Verona, to try and stop—
RH: It was mainly the railway lines coming down through Bremen.
GR: Yes.
RH: And also down to Trieste and so forth.
GR: Which was the main supplier [unclear]
RH: And also, we, yeah, we bombed, what was it? Monfalcone, a little port, Ancona and Assa [?] yeah, they were, they were where the Germans had ships and used to supply their troops by night by running these boats along the coast, sort of thing.
GR: Did you normally fly with an escort? With a—
RH: On daylight, yeah.
GR: Daylights, yeah.
RH: Yeah, yeah. We had the Americans.
GR: Yeah.
RH: American B-51’s.
GR: Tuskegee, Tuskegee airmen?
RH: I don’t know who they were.
GR: They, they were the black—
AM: Yeah.
RH: I remember on one, on a trip to Monfalcone in the daylight, I mean we didn’t fly in formation, I mean our guys didn’t know how to fly in formation I never, not on heavies. And it just the usual stream, and so there were, sort of sixty, eighty aircraft in a stream. And we picked up the American escort, this was at the top end of the Adriatic, Trieste.
AM: Yep, yep.
RH: Right, it was the port next to Trieste.
AM: Yep.
RH: And, we picked up the escort and it was coming up, and our wireless op was listening out on their frequency, there had to be some sort of contact for, for, I didn’t hear this. But I remember we’d said, said afterwards, he said, ‘when they saw us coming,’ he said, and they were [laughs] saying about look at those sort of God damned limeys they’re not in formation, you know, all that how do we protect this lot and all the rest of it. [laughs]
AM: It’s like herding sheep.
[laughter]
RH: Yeah.
AM: Or herding—
GR: Are the Luftwaffe putting in much of an appearance?
RH: No.
GR: Towards that stage of the war?
RH: No, no.
AM: Were they not?
RH: No, they had, they were 109’s on the Italian, northern Italian airfields, but I think most of those were in what was called the Italian Republican Airforce.
GR: Yeah.
RH: You know, Mussolini’s lot, so you did see them, you did see them. Right and I remember seeing a strange sight one night as we were coming away from wherever it was in northern Italy. It was all a tremendous glare of course and, and looking out I saw these three Lib’s flying in and they were in [laughs] formation more or less and then at the back end of the [unclear] was a Bf 109. [laughs]
GR: Oh.
[laughter]
AM: Following you.
RH: Following the—
AM: Did you ever get shot at?
RH: With flak.
AM: With flak, but not, not as Gary said, not from a fighter?
RH: No, no, I saw, yeah there was a, we were 70 Squadron, 37 Squadron operated from the same airfield. I mean I didn’t know who they were, were at the time but and coming back at night from somewhere, Austria I think it might, might have been, the, and then suddenly seeing green tracer which I knew it was German. And then red tracer [laughs] sort of thing, and then ‘woof’ [emphasis] up went the Lib and down he went, yeah and that was 37 Squadron. Liberator, all lost.
AM: All gone. Did you ever shoot your guns at anything?
RH: No.
AM: Never?
RH: No, no you even if, and we were tailed one night by a fighter coming back from Trento I think it was, Trento, Trento marshalling yards you know, and I just reported it to the, to the crew, it was a 109. And he was sitting out and sort of, sort of four hundred yards or so away, you’d just see them occasionally with the glare in the background but he didn’t close and I certainly wouldn’t fire at him because it would show where we were.
GR: Were you were.
AM: Other people have said that, why would you fire—
RH: Yeah. Quite.
AM: And you know, mark yourself out to them.
RH: Yeah.
AM: Effectively.
RH: Yeah. Yeah, no you never, never fire unless you’re fired at. Okay?
AM: Yeah. I think, have you got any more questions?
GR: No, no.
AM: How many operations did you do in the end?
RH: Bombing, eighteen.
AM: Eighteen.
RH: And then we converted to supply, as the war was coming to an end—
AM: Okay.
RH: And the bombing stopped, and then they put some sort of racking inside the bomb bay so we could carry four-gallon cans of petrol and things like that.
AM: Right. So, what did you do between the war ending and demob?
RH: Er, yeah, we carried, you see although the war ended we’d already converted to transport.
AM: Yeah.
RH: And so, yeah for two or three weeks after VE Day we were flying, we were talking up supplies up to the north of Italy. And then after that they converted the bomb bay so you could carry bodies, troops, we could carry twenty-two.
AM: Live bodies?
RH: Yeah.
AM: Live ones.
RH: Twenty-two in the bomb, bomb bay. Poor blokes, [emphasis] I mean they just had to go down into the, down onto the catwalk and then climb over the back of these seats and then sit down. And there was the aircraft fuselage wall, just there sort of thing, and they had to sit there and on flights back to the UK, it took six and a half hours.
AM: You can’t imagine, can you?
GR: No.
AM: Were these troops or did you take any prisoner of war back?
RH: No, no—
AM: It was troops.
RH: These were troops. The ones we were flying back were due to be retrained and reformed to go out to Burma. These were the, I remember, you see they didn’t need the air gunners as such, so you became an odd bod sort of looking after these soldiers and so forth. And I remember on one occasion we were flying back with some guardsmen from a guard’s regiment, and the truck arrived and this lieutenant got out with his twenty odd bods. And they piled around and he said to our skipper, ‘we were all NCO’s, we were all senior NCO’s, he said, ‘have you anything to say?’ to the men sort of thing, and he said, ‘no.’ Since I was Harrison, generally I was called Harry, and so Ken said, ‘now Harry will look after you,’ well that wasn’t good enough for the, for the lieutenant. He turned around and he said, ‘when you are in the aircraft I don’t want you putting your hands out and grabbing any wires or anything.’
[laughter]
RH: So I saw them on board and we were flying up to Peterborough, Croughton, just south, it was an American base at that time and I used to bring them out one at a time and with the beam hatches open they could have a smoke—
AM: Right.
RH: Sitting there. And I think it was one of the last guys, came out and he sat on the other beam gunners seat, and he didn’t have intercom of course, we could only talk to each other by shout, shouting really, and he shouted, he said, ‘do we go through customs?’ he said, I said, ‘well I don’t.’ Crewmen didn’t, you just went straight through, [laughs] I said, ‘you, yes you will have to go through customs,’ and I said, ‘why?’ and he pulled back the sleeve of his battle dress and [laughs] there were watches—
[laughter]
RH: On, on there. And I said, oh, how did you get those?’ and they disarmed an SS unit or something and so, and relieved them of all, of all their odds and ends. And er, and then he reached into his blouse, fiddled about and pulled out a pistol, and I said to him, I said, ‘I don’t think you’ll get through with that,’ he said, ‘I’ve got another one in my kit bag.’
[laughter]
AM: I thought you were going to say you took them through for him.
RH: No, no, no.
AM: If you didn’t have to go through customs.
GR: They’re here.
AM: [laughs]
RH: No, after, after we’d landed and I got my travel warrant, and had a forty-eight-hour pass to get back to Bristol.
AM: Right.
RH: Or near Bristol. And so, it was late evening when I caught a train from Peterborough to Kings Cross, and Kings Cross to Paddington, and Paddington to Temple Meads, then Bristol. Which, I arrived about seven o’clock in the morning, then I had to walk over to the bus station and get a bus, and I arrived at my parents’ house I think, yeah it must have been about nine o’clock in the morning. Knocked them up, then I had, since it was a Saturday, I had to leave next day, just after lunch—
AM: To get back.
RH: To get back, yeah, so my forty-eight-hour pass in fact was about thirty.
AM: In the middle.
RH: Oh, so, anything else I can help with?
AM: Yes, this is, just out of interest this question. So, your Mum was German, how was she treated during the war?
RH: Yeah, okay.
AM: Were people okay with her?
RH: Yeah, you see we were, when I say Dad went in, into the civil service, he did, he and a lot of other guys including the major commanding who is based and so forth. Some of them were sort of even if they hadn’t given their time were said, okay you’re finished, because now you’re going to an establishment in Gloucestershire where you’ll be training police, fire, in what today are called civil defence duties. And so, you know, my environment from a child and all the way through to the time I left home was, was semi military because all the other guys were like Dad, they all ex-army.
AM: Right.
RH: They were all ex-army and some of them I remember when we lived at Salisbury, I remember a couple of German women coming there to visit Mum and they were again were wives of soldiers and so forth. But, no and of course we had relatives in Cologne and at the time of the Battle of Britain, the Blitz, we had a telegram which came through the Swiss Red Cross, from Mums sister Gerda, in Cologne, asking if we were all okay. [laughs]
AM: Were they all okay, did they ask to—
RH: No.
AM: Did your relatives not survive?
RH: No, no they were, they lived, well as most Germans do in the cities, they live in an apartment block and the block was, was—
AM: Blown up.
RH: Hit, and Uncle Johan as he was, he died of phosphorus burns. And my aunt and my two cousins, saw one cousin, they were evacuated into, into central Germany. The other one, my, he was about a year or so younger than me and had been like you know like all the rest of them in the Hitler movement and so forth. And then when he was sixteen I think, he volunteered for part time duty on a flak battery, and then when he was seventeen he became a full-time member of the Luftwaffe [emphasis] on a flak battery. When I met him, you know after, we used to have a joke about it.
[laughter]
GR: That’s a, well at least you had the opportunity.
AM: At least you never shot at me.
RH: Never fired at me because you were in, on the Rhineland and in the Ruhr, yeah
AM: Yeah, Happy Valley, the Ruhr.
RH: Pardon?
AM: Happy Valley, I’ve heard the Ruhr described as.
RH: Yeah, yeah. But they’re all, my cousins and my aunt are not, they are all dead now so, no contact.
GR: What I’ve just found amazing is, you’ve saying like yeah, during the Battle of Britain, and Bristol was being blitzed and all that, and a family in Germany sends a telegram [laughs] to a family in England saying are you okay?
AM: Are you okay?
RH: Yeah.
GR: And that’s just like, that’s incredible.
AM: Ordinary people in the war.
GR: Yeah.
AM: As opposed to the Nazis and all the rest of it.
GR: But the fact is, so you are in Germany, and you’ve got Hitler, yeah, we’re going to invade Britain and do this, do that, but you can send a telegram. So, it goes from Germany oh yes, certainly a lot of it went through Switzerland through the Red Cross.
AM: [inaudible as speaking at same time]
RH: Yeah.
GR: But you got the telegram in England, are you okay? Is everything alright?
RH: Yeah, yeah.
AM: What did you do then after the war then, after you’d been demobbed?
RH: I became a civil servant.
AM: Which bit? Which, which department?
RH: The Home, Home office—
AM: Oh.
RH: Was the governing training department but again [coughs] it was, it was, it civil defence training I sort of followed on, I and my brother we were lucky having a father in it. [laughs]
AM: Not what you know, but who you know.
RH: Yeah, well yeah, well you had to go through selection board.
AM: There was always full fair and open competition and all that, allegedly weren’t it. I’m just looking at this, the warrant on the wall here, which is?
RH: The what?
AM: I’m looking for the year, 1962.
RH: That was commission—
AM: You became a, well you tell me what it is?
RH: Yeah, I was commissioned in the volunteer reserve training branch here.
AM: Ah ha.
RH: The Air Training Corps.
AM: As a pilot officer.
RH: Yeah. Eventually I was a flight lieutenant.
AM: Yeah, crikey. Well I think on that note we’ll switch off.
RH: Have you been recording all—
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Richard Harrison
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-16
Format
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01:07:06 audio recording
Language
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eng
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AHarrisonR151116
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Civilian
Conforms To
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Pending review
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Egypt
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
Italy--Sicily
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1965
Description
An account of the resource
Richard Harrison was born in Cologne in 1924 to a German mother and English father. His desire to be aircrew was thwarted initially by a failed medical, something he later surmises could be on account of his mother’s nationality. A member of the Air Raid Precautions, Home Guard and Air Training Corps, he was called up in 1942. He was posted to RAF Tempsford, base for Special Duty Squadrons 161 and 138, who dropped supplies and people for the resistance. In 1943 he was posted to Sicily in the RAF Regiment Squadron for anti-parachute troop duties and then to Italy. He successfully applied to join the Desert Air Force and had air gunner training at El Ballah in Egypt. He went to Palestine as a rear gunner on a Wellington for the Operational Training Unit, followed by the 1675 Heavy Conversion Unit in Egypt with B-24 . His first operation was in Italy. After VE Day, they transported supplies and troops. After the war, he worked as a civil servant in the Home Office. In 1962, he was commissioned as a pilot officer in the Air Training Corps and eventually became a flight lieutenant
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Annie Moody
Gary Rushbrooke
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Cathie Hewitt
Sally Coulter
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
138 Squadron
161 Squadron
70 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
B-24
bombing
civil defence
crewing up
Heavy Conversion Unit
Home Guard
Operational Training Unit
RAF Tempsford
Resistance
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/554/8821/PPattersonGE1502.2.jpg
38c2680d1699d350eecb4aed227391a1
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/554/8821/PPattersonGE1501.2.jpg
66fba105a1d1ee2367331ee22cac69ab
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/554/8821/APattersonGE151008.1.mp3
f32cabc127e0718595b075fed6b0fc4a
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
Patterson, Ernie
Gilbert Ernest Patterson
G E Patterson
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Patterson, GE
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-08
2019-01-26
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
Two oral history interviews with Warrant Officer Gilbert Ernest Patterson DFM (b. 1922 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a wireless operator / air gunner with 635 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AM: Hang on then.
EP: Can’t we just chat before you start doing that?
AM: Ok Right. Well, we can, we can, but let me just say. Just, ‘cause they need this for the recording in a minute, that my name’s Annie Moody, and I’m here on behalf of the International —
EP: Anne who?
AM: Moody.
EP: Is that what you’re —
AM: No. He’s called Gary Rushbrooke.
EP: That’s right.
GR: She wouldn’t take my name.
AM: I wouldn’t, I’d never change my name, Ernie. And I’m doing the interview for the International Bomber Command Centre, and I’m, today I’m at the house of Ernie Patterson in Darlington, and it is the 8th —
GR: Yeah.
AM: Of October 2015, and you can talk now Ernie, and what I want you to tell me, first of all, is where you were born and what your parents did, and what your background was.
[pause]
AM: See you’re not talking now, come on [laughs].
EP: I was trying to tell you I was born at —
AM: Right. Middleton St George. Tell me about that.
EP: [unclear] Road, Number 19.
AM: Right.
EP: My mum was living with her sister at the time, and she had a baby boy a month after I was born, and we were both christened at the St Lawrence’s Church which is down by Middleton One Row. Right.
AM: Right.
EP: Because — he’s died by the way, two or three years ago. That was where I was born.
AM: Right. And you were telling me that that was right near Middleton St George.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Yeah. Which is now Teesside Airport, but which was a big bomber base.
EP: That was part of my working career. I helped to build which is, which was Middleton St George bomber station, and I also worked and helped to build which is now Newcastle Airport.
AM: Right.
EP: When the RAF took it over.
AM: So, you were born there. Did you have brothers and sisters?
EP: Eh?
AM: Did you have brothers and sisters?
EP: Yeah. I was one of six.
AM: Right.
EP: There’s three of us left.
AM: What did, what did your parents do?
EP: My dad was in the Boer War.
AM: Yeah.
EP: He, not the Boer War, rub that out. He was in the Battle of the Somme.
AM: First World War.
EP: And he was badly, he got badly shot up there.
AM: Right.
EP: ‘Cause I’ve been — can I jump? I left school when I was fourteen. I’ll go from there, eh?
AM: Yeah. Ok.
EP: I left school when I was fourteen, and I decided to serve my time as an apprentice joiner at fourteen, and my pay was twenty seven P a week. True that.
AM: Five and four pence.
EP: Five and ten pence.
AM: Five and ten pence.
EP: In old money.
AM: Yeah.
EP: That was then, and I was, and I was in to the deep end straightaway by putting rooves on with improvers, they were called, and when you got to twenty one in my day, you got the sack, ‘cause they had to double your pay.
AM: Right.
EP: You had to go and work for somebody else. In my working career, I’ve been a joiner all my time, which is why — and I’ve got no City and Guilds, Higher National. Nothing.
AM: So that’s what you did.
EP: Experience. I just seen it happen and I just took it all in. Mind before I built this, I built a few garages for people and that give me the incentive and this — I took it on myself. And I was working twelve hours a day some days to get. It hardly rained.
AM: Yeah. So, at fourteen —
EP: Yeah.
AM: You started off as a joiner.
EP: Apprentice joiner. Yeah.
AM: Yeah.
EP: I was getting — the pay was twenty seven, you know, for forty four hours that.
AM: Blimey.
EP: That’s what it was. Twenty seven P.
AM: Did you enjoy it, Ernie?
EP: I enjoyed every work of my time of my working career.
AM: Right.
EP: And I was never out of work. I left school when I was fourteen and I worked until I was seventy eight, and I had a week off on the sick in all that time. Apart from giving the RAF four years.
AM: Four years. So why the RAF? What made you go for the RAF?
EP: I liked Brylcreem, didn’t I [laughs].
AM: What do you mean you liked Brylcreem?
EP: Well, we used to be the Brylcreem boys, weren’t we?
AM: True
EP: I used to use it, so I had to join the RAF, didn’t I?
AM: There must have been more.
EP: But what annoyed me was, I didn’t get the Defence medal because I was non-operational, such as being in the Home Guard or the Fire Service or anything. Yet I helped to build two big bomber stations. That should have counted, shouldn’t it?
AM: Right.
EP: So, you can check on that for me and get it for me. The Defence medal.
AM: Right.
EP: I was in touch with Gloucester, well you know what I mean, and this is what he came on the phone with. He said, ‘You only had two years’. Well, that was the two years when I was training in the air, how to be aircrew.
AM: Right. So, wheeling back a bit. So, when you, so you joined because you wanted to a Brylcreem boy. I’m not sure I believe that was the whole reason, but it’ll do.
EP: I had black wavy hair. I couldn’t. In the Army, you do a lot of marching don’t you? And in the Navy, I’d be seasick.
AM: Right. So, you decided to join the RAF.
EP: So, I joined the RAF. I was whipped in to the cream.
AM: You were whipped in to the cream. Where did you, where did you did you —
EP: I was deferred for a while. I was nineteen when I was called up.
AM: Right. So, what happened between eighteen and nineteen then, because I thought, weren’t —
EP: I was working in 1941, building bomber stations. Middleton St George and the satellite at Croft.
AM: Right. Tell me what you mean then. You were working there.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Working for whom?
EP: Helped to build, helped to build, working on [pause] such as Teesside there. Twelve flat rooves, you know, pitched rooves.
AM: Right.
EP: It was all shuttering, you know. We had to build —
AM: When you say you were working as a joiner? You hadn’t joined the RAF
EP: I’ve been a joiner all my life.
AM: Right. Got you.
EP: I built this place but I had no experience of brick laying. Just I’d seen them doing it.
AM: Just built it
EP: Built it.
AM: So, so from, so you started off as a joiner at fourteen.
EP: Yeah.
AM: And at eighteen you were working on the airport.
EP: 1941. When the war started in 1939 — I can take you to the pair of bungalows. I was seventeen at the time.
AM: Right.
EP: And I did all the joinery work on this bungalow for a builder who, he was working as a boss on another building firm, but he built these pair of bungalows in Darlington. Woodcrest Road. And I did everything on that, I was only seventeen then. Then when the war — that was in 1939, the day the war started. I can see it as if it was yesterday. They stopped building. You couldn’t get, you couldn’t get material to do building. They needed it for war work, didn’t they?
AM: So, what did you, so what did you do at that point?
EP: I got with a firm that was doing [pause] which is — not Middleton St George. Croft. It was a satellite of Middleton St George. I started work there as a joiner.
AM: As a joiner.
EP: It was a satellite of Middleton St George.
AM: Right.
EP: And then from there, I went to, when I got moved from there, for the same firm to Newcastle. I was lodging in Lady Park Road and it was about five shilling a week bed and breakfast at the time. Five shilling a week.
AM: All still as a joiner.
EP: I’ve never been, done anything else
AM: So, when you actually joined up with the RAF then, how old were you at that point?
EP: That was in September 1942.
AM: Right.
EP: I was nineteen, wasn’t I?
AM: You were nineteen.
EP: Work it out. Yeah.
AM: And where did you go to join up?
EP: I just got called up, didn’t I? I had to go.
AM: Right. Ah, so you got called up.
EP: You had to be registered. I had to go.
AM: But for the RAF.
EP: No, I volunteered for that.
AM: Right. So, you got —
EP: Flying was. Aircrew was voluntary.
AM: So, you got called up but you volunteered for the RAF.
EP: That’s it.
AM: Right. Ok. Got you. So, having volunteered for the RAF what happened then? What was the sequence of events?
EP: It was in the February of 1942. I can always remember. I was, I had to go to Edinburgh on an aircrew selection board.
AM: Right.
EP: And it was there they decided to make me a wireless operator. Because they do you tests and they could see that I could, they send you Morse code, and they’d send you a note or something, and they’d send you something else, and you had to say if they were both the same. That’s how they were testing you. But they found I could take Morse code in.
AM: Right.
EP: And they made me a wireless operator.
AM: Right. So where did you go?
EP: It was on my mum’s birthday. 4th of February 1942.
AM: Right.
EP: And I was accepted into the RAF then but it wasn’t until the September that I was called up, and by then, I was eighteen, nineteen or something.
AM: Right. So, so when you were called up, when did you start doing the training for the wireless operator? Where did you do that?
EP: When I was called up in the September.
AM: Right.
EP: ‘42.
AM: Still — yeah.
EP: Blackpool, wasn’t it?
AM: Was it? Blackpool.
EP: You learned the Morse code in the Winter Gardens. And they were all civilian ex-GPO bloody operators. It was Morse code then, wasn’t it? Telegrams and all that.
AM: So, what was it like then? Going, going to Blackpool.
EP: There was RAF all over. Everywhere, every, every boarding house had RAF in. You could see them at parading and that. And Woolworths, I think it was Woolworths or Marks and Spencer where they kept all your documents. We used to have to do guard duty on, on, I remember they used to say you had to learn something if you were challenged at night by the orderly officers and that, but you were protecting government property. And Burton’s was an aircraft recognition place. All these places were taken over by the RAF.
AM: Yeah.
EP: We used to do PT on the sands and we used to — where else did we go? We got [unclear], known as a pressure chamber, that happened there, but we did a route march to somewhere. Shooting ranges. You did everything in Blackpool. Then from there, I was posted to a place called Madley. This was the RAF now, Madley. I was trained to be a ground wireless op. We learned Morse code as a ground wireless operator. Then from there, I went to Yatesbury and I was trained to be an air wireless operator. Then from there, I was sent up to Evanton, up in Scotland and made an air gunner, which I was never in the turret. That was a waste of time because I was never in the turret. I was a wireless operator all the time.
AM: So, you — but your training was wireless operator, and then you were trained air gunner as well.
EP: I was a wireless operator air gunner.
AM: What was the training like at Yatesbury?
EP: Well, you flew in Proctors. Single aircraft with just a pilot and you, and you got, you got your, you had your transmitter, receiver in front of you. You had to push it back to get in, then pull it over like that., and you were experiencing air sickness and all that weren’t you? Then from Yatesbury, we get — do you want me to keep going?
AM: Yeah.
EP: Then from Yatesbury, we went to Abingdon.
AM: Yeah. You’re all over the country, criss crossing the country.
EP: Not Yatesbury. After Evanton, up in Scotland, I was a fully-fledged sergeant there. I got my brevet and then from there, I was sent to a place called Milham. Have you heard of Milham? It was an Advanced Navigator’s Flying Unit, and we flew with scrubbed navigators and wireless operators in Ansons. And from there, we were all sent to Abingdon but we all — pilots, all the —
AM: Right. So —
EP: In this big hangar.
AM: So, Abingdon is the Operational Training Unit where you crewed up.
EP: Where we crewed up.
AM: Tell me about crewing up.
EP: Well, they never said, ‘You’re flying with him’, and, ‘You’re flying with him’, you picked your own crew in there didn’t you?
AM: So how did it happen for you then? Who picked who?
EP: Well, someone just comes. I don’t know who picked me, but this I always remember, he was Jack Harold. He was a pilot and he was about a couple of years older than me at the time. What would he be? He’d be about twenty two and I was twenty, and it was just a matter of you just got together. I can’t remember how it happened, but from there, we flew down as a crew to this satellite of Abingdon, which was called Stanton Harcourt.
AM: So, who, who were the crew at that point? How many of you?
EP: There was seven of us then
AM: Were there a full seven of you?
EP: Seven of us.
AM: Right. Ok.
EP: Do you want me to give you the names?
AM: Yeah. Go on.
EP: Well, there was the pilot, that was Jack Harold which — he’s dead now. Jack Garland, the navigator. Lofty Thompson was the second navigator. Ernie Patterson, me, was the wireless operator. Snowdon was the mid-upper gunner and George Sindall was the rear gunner. And Alan Purdy was the flight engineer.
AM: Right.
EP: How about that from memory.
AM: Well done.
EP: And we trained at Acaster Malbis.
AM: Yeah.
EP: And it was there where Lady Luck was on our side for the very first time. We were sat waiting for this Whitley to come back. Is that? I think, let’s get this right first, but we were fired on the first time, we’d been flying in the daytime in this Whitley, and for some reason, we were flying in the same aircraft on the night cross-country run, and we had this crop who had an instructor pilot and an instructor wireless operator and for some reason, they changed the aircraft. The instructors wanted to fly, you know, we changed aircraft for some reason. They crashed and they were all killed. That was the first time when Lady Luck was on our side. And the second time, the second time we had that Lady — the second time, we were waiting for this Halifax to come back at Stanton Harcourt. It was doing two engine overshoots and that, and they crashed and they were all killed. Lady Luck was on our — and we were waiting for that aircraft. We were sat outside waiting for it to come back so that we could take it over, but it had engine trouble and they crashed.
AM: And this is all while you were all just doing your training.
EP: That was while we were doing — there was about nine thousand killed training.
AM: Yeah.
EP: But let me think. So, when we went on to a squadron, the pilot, you see after, we ended up at Rufforth flying Halifaxes from Whitleys. But this was Whitleys at Stanton Harcourt. But we ended up — but the next one was Rufforth near York, in the York area, and when we graduated, we’ had about forty hours on Halifaxes. We had the chance to go on to Main Force, which was 10 Group which was Melbourne or 635 Squadron, see. So, we plumped for the Pathfinder squadron.
AM: Right.
EP: And we went there for the Path. We were there a month before we did any, any op, and training all the time. And all this time we had this aircraft we were given for pre-flight training in and went to do a DI on it. Daily Inspection.
AM: Ok.
EP: And across, I did a crow flies. I walked towards the plate to it and I found this horseshoe. Threw it over me shoulder like that. I thought I’ll keep that.
AM: And you’ve still got it.
EP: It flew with me. All the flying I did from there.
AM: What was the extra training you had to do as Pathfinders then?
EP: Well, in the first place you had to do two tours. Main Force, you did one tour which was —
AM: Yeah.
EP: Well, we went on this squadron. The pilot flew with an experienced crew to give him, as second dickey, to give him extra to see what it was like before he took his own crew.
AM: Ok.
EP: So consequently, he did thirty trips. We all did twenty nine.
AM: You did twenty nine.
EP: And the pilot and the two navigators — they were posted overnight. We didn’t even get to say cheerio. But I’ve seen the pilot a couple of times since the war.
AM: So, when you got there to 635 Squadron.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Pathfinders. Can you remember your very first operation?
EP: Oh aye.
AM: Go on. Tell me about it.
EP: It was in August. We went to Stettin. You’ve heard of that haven’t you? In Poland.
AM: Yeah.
EP: And we went up. It was an eight and a half hour trip.
AM: For your very first operation.
EP: Yeah, and we lost twenty three bombers that night, I’ll always remember that. But you see with the pilot going around another crew to get experience, he done thirty trips. We had done twenty nine. But when you’re just, you’re supporting the markers.
AM: Yes.
EP: You’ve got markers on the Squadron. Certain ones. But when your brand new, you’re supporting the markers. Well, this is why, after he’d did thirty trips, him and the two navigators, well we never got off supporting those. We were supporting the markers all the time.
AM: On right.
EP: So, I got on with another crew. They’d lost their wireless operator. He was, he crashed, they crashed. That’s another story. They were on two engines coming back to this country and he ended up on one engine and heading for Woodbridge. Crash landed, and the wireless operator was killed and he’d done about eighteen trips and I’d done about the same. And I got him, I got his job.
AM: So, after about eighteen operations, you swapped over on to a different crew.
EP: Yeah.
AM: And who was that? —
EP: No. I’d done twenty nine.
AM: Oh, you’d done - right Okay
EP: I’d done twenty you see. That was a tour you see.
AM: Yeah.
EP: They liked you do two tours because you’ve got all the latest equipment.
AM: Yeah.
EP: And you’re using the equipment that the main force doesn’t have.
AM: Tell me what it was actually like Ernie. Going up and doing that. An operation.
EP: Well, you used to get the battle order going up in the mess, didn’t you? As soon as you saw your name on the bloody battle order, you couldn’t get in the toilet. You had all the toilets there, wash basins there, but you’re going to be coming and then when we come out of the toilets. The fear.
AM: Everybody?
EP: People say, ‘Were you were frightened?’ But constipation wasn’t a problem in those days.
AM: Were you frightened?
EP: Of course, you were. You were shit scared.
AM: Right.
EP: That was it. You wanted to go, that frightened feeling, you wanted to go to the toilet but you were waiting. All the toilets were occupied when the battle order went up.
AM: Right. And then what?
EP: Well, it —
AM: Describe it to me. What it was — you know, from actually getting the battle order right through, doing the operation, and coming back.
EP: Well once you knew where you were going to, you stayed over at the bomber. They didn’t let you out, and you’d maybe be over an hour, an hour and a half waiting to take off. Much of the time you did that, they’d come out, it was cancelled, and everybody went back to their billets, got changed and out for the night. You lived for the day.
AM: Why would they cancel it?
EP: Don’t know. Maybe a lot of cloud. Something.
AM: Yeah.
EP: But I survived. You know how many ops I did, don’t you?
AM: I do.
EP: How many?
AM: Well, he’s told me. Fifty.
EP: One.
AM: Fifty one.
EP: Yeah. We kept going until we all had done the fifty.
AM: But I want to know what it felt like, what it was actually like going. So, on the ones that weren’t cancelled. That’s it. You get in the plane. And then what? [pause], I know [laughs], I know you’re laughing at me but —
EP: Well, you settled down. You got daft you know; it’ll never happen to me. It’s not the [unclear]. As soon as you knew you were going, you thought, ‘Dear me, is this it?’ You know, and you couldn’t, you couldn’t get in the toilets for the [unclear].
AM: Right. Once you’re on the plane though, you set off. In — other people who have talked to us have talked about the bomber stream, but you were the Pathfinders so —
EP: Well, the elite of the Bomber Command was the Path. Now to be Master Bomber which we did five.
AM: Yeah.
EP: You’re the elite of the elite. When I got in to the second crew.
AM: Right. I’ve —
EP: And the first time — they used to mark the target. Mosquitos. There were a lot of Mosquito squadrons and they’d be the first to drop the white flares. The aiming point somewhere there. Now, you had to have a good bomb aimer and he’d pick it out like that. He’d be the first there, and I can always remember, and our call sign was Portland One and we had a deputy with us, and he was Portland Two, and main force was called Press On.
AM: Right.
EP: That was the call and he’s had to set thing up and tell the skipper, he could talk to them, and we would be approaching the target he starts. The Pathfinders. The flares would go down. Some would be on the target, some would be off, then you’d get another colour going out. Green maybe. And you’d tell them to ignore the greens, that’s off the target, and bomb the reds that’s fading away. They were still over the target area.
AM: When they dropped the flares? So, they dropped the coloured flares to mark the position.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Did they drop bombs as well?
EP: Yeah.
AM: Or did you just do flares.
EP: You make the bomb up. Yeah.
AM: You had a full bomb load as well.
EP: You carried it all, yeah, and I can always remember, sticks to my mind, full tanks. If you went on a long trip was two thousand one hundred and fifty four gallon. That, that’s full tanks which sacrificed bomb load for fuel.
AM: Yeah.
EP: If you were going on a long trip. For the Stettin raid, seven and a half hour trip, and we flew over Sweden, didn’t we? As we were flying over Sweden, they opened fire because it was a neutral country wasn’t it. Wasn’t it?
AM: Yeah.
EP: You remember that. Neutral country. And they fired up, and this pilot was listening out and he said, this person said, ‘You are’, he listened to them and they said, ‘You are flying over neutral territory’. And this pilot answered him, ‘We know’. Coming back over the same route, they opened fire again, and this pilot spoke to them and said, ‘You are three thousand feet off target’. And they says, ‘We know’. You get that.
AM: Yeah.
EP: True story that. They would open fire, they weren’t trying to hit you, they were just warning shots. ‘You are flying over neutral territory’. The pilot said, ‘We know’. Then coming back so they opened fire again, he said, ‘You are three thousand feet off target’, and they said, ‘We know’ [laughs]. They weren’t trying to hit you, just warning shots. That was that. And we lost twenty three bombers that night, I’ll always remember that. Some of them come down in the North Sea or something. But the most, the biggest raid I was on, was Hanover, when we lost thirty one bombers that night. And on Chemnitz, we lost thirty five bombers on the two raids we went to Chemnitz. But I did a Master Bomber raid on Dorsten, Kiel, Nuremberg, Osnabruck and Heligoland. How about that from memory?
AM: Wonderful.
EP: And we did two deputy Master Bombers.
AM: So, tell me what, tell me what the Master Bomber does.
EP: You go around and around on operations.
AM: You’re the first one though.
EP: Yeah. You go around, and you can contact your deputy. He’s there, he’s there with you and you’re going around and around all the time. And you see red flares went down and the, no, they might not be on the aiming points, because our bombers identified the aiming point. The target could have been in front or behind the flares or to the left, and you’d tell the skipper to speak to all the bombers. To main force. To bomb in front of the reds, or to port.
AM: And it’s the bomb aimer who drops the flares.
EP: Yeah.
AM: And it’s the bomb aimer who says whether it’s —
EP: Yeah.
AM: Hit the target or —
EP: So, then the next flares would go down. It may be green because it would confuse them and they might be way off, and you’d tell them to ignore them. The Master Bomber would speak to all the bombers and say ignore the greens, bomb the feeding reds, or the instructions he’d given for the flaming reds.
AM: And it’s the Master Bomber who’s saying that.
EP: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: Not you as the wireless operator.
EP: No.
AM: I imagined it would be you as the wireless op.
EP: I had to write everything down he says, because I’m the only one who can write it down.
AM: Ok.
EP: But I’m writing everything he says down. And when I got back, Intelligence took my log book off me. They could tell how that raid went off by reading my logbook.
AM: Right.
EP: This is what I have to get to, after the raid was over, my skipper would assess the raid, whether it was successful or not. He’d tell me, and I’d be in touch with, I’d be in touch with our headquarters which was at Huntingdon. In Morse code it was 8LY, I’ll always remember that. And I put them in the picture about whether it was a success or not in bomber code. Nothing — you didn’t use plain language; it was all in code.
AM: Right.
EP: And bomber code altered you read at 6 o’clock at night. At 6 o’clock the next morning was different. The same thing meant something else, because you had to have all your information on sugar paper. Just for a bit of extra. We used to tear it off and chew it, just to make sure. It was sugar paper.
AM: Sugar paper. I’ve never heard of sugar paper.
EP: Yeah. All the information had to be destroyed, you know, if you crashed you had to eat that.
AM: Oh, you had to eat that. Literally. You’re not pulling my leg.
EP: Yeah. That was, it was sugar paper, you had to eat it.
AM: Right.
EP: And when I first went on the squadron, they gave me a bloody 38 revolver. We had a revolver each. I thought, what are you going to shoot. Who are you going to shoot with that? They’ll fire back at you, won’t they? I had, I had to draw it out. You had to go on the range and fire the bleeding thing. In those days, you fired like that. You used to go up. Nowadays it’s like this isn’t it? Two, have you noticed?
AM: So, its two handed now instead of one handed.
EP: It’s two hands now. In those days you fired like that. Two hands now.
AM: So where was the revolver in the, in the —
EP: Well, I should put mine down me flying boot.
AM: Down your flying boot.
EP: And the ammunition down that one. If you bailed out, then they’d drop out wouldn’t it [laughs].
AM: Can we go back?
EP: That used to be my biggest fear, seeing the bloody places burning. To think I’ve had to bale out into that lot.
AM: You never did though, did you?
EP: It used to frighten the bloody life out of me.
AM: Were you ever [pause] right. Right. Wheel back a minute. When you changed crews. So, at what point was it that you changed crews, and who was the new crew?
EP: That’s him there. That’s Alex Thorne.
AM: Alex. So, Alex Thorne was your pilot.
EP: He was, he was thirty three year old then.
AM: Which was old.
EP: And he’d a lot of experience.
AM: At the time.
EP: Thirty three year old and experienced, wasn’t he?
AM: Yeah.
EP: He was an instructor at one time.
AM: And who else was on the crew with you, Ernie?
EP: Sorry.
AM: Who else was on the crew with you?
EP: Well in that, I can always remember. There was Alex Thorne. Harry Parker, the navigator, the wireless — the flight engineer. Boris was the nav, so the second navigator.
AM: Boris Bressloff.
EP: Graham James — Graham Rose was the navigator. Scott was the mid-upper gunner. Jimmy Rayment was the rear gunner. How’s that? And Joe Clack was the bomb aimer.
AM: Right.
EP: I think we had two or three. I think we had three. But we were experienced crew. As I said, to a be a Master Bomber in the Pathfinders, you were the elite of the elite.
AM: And that was when you became — did the Master Bomber. So how many times, you said you were the Master Bomber five or six, I’ve forgotten.
EP: We did five. Last couple as deputy Master Bomber.
AM: And two deputies.
EP: Towards the end of our, to the end of second tour, if our squadron wasn’t supplying the Master Bomber, we were the only crew stepped down. Different squadrons would supply a Master Bomber for different raids and towards the end there — it’s in the, I’ve got my logbook there.
AM: I’ll have a look at your logbook in a minute if I may.
EP: It’s good reading in there. There’s a couple of raids we were on. Master Bomber there.
AM: Ernie’s showing me pictures here of the —
EP: Take offs. I took ten take offs in Dominies, thirteen in Proctors, fifteen and thirty five in Ansons, forty eight in Whitleys, sixteen in Halifaxes, a hundred and five in Lancasters, three in Liberators, one in Catalina, and twenty two in bloody all other aircraft.
AM: In a Catalina? What were you doing in a Catalina?
EP: I went to India when I finished flying. You’d got —
AM: I’ll come back to that after.
EP: That’s a long time.
AM: Yeah, I’ll come back to that story after. The two pictures are pictures of, describe, just describe those to me. What are they actually pictures of?
EP: Well, that’s — that’s Heligoland.
AM: Right. Yeah.
EP: You’ve heard of that? And on there, you see, there’s a fighter base, the garrison and the U-boat pens.
AM: And who would have taken that picture? The bomb aimer?
EP: No, the aircraft.
AM: The aircraft. The air. Oh, it’s an automatic camera, isn’t it? Yeah.
EP: And that one’s Oldenburg. It tells you that and that was Alex the day I was, they are the target indicator. Did you know that the target indicators cascaded a thousand feet? Did you know that?
AM: No.
EP: There’s a fuse on the end. I can always remember. They were eight pound a piece then. What happened? The flares don’t go up? You see them cascading, don’t you? Well, the pressure at a thousand feet ignites them.
AM: And that’s the flare.
EP: That’s the flare. But the full, full amount of five hundred pound bombs and you’ve got the four thousand pounder, to be carrying the four thousand pound bomb all the time. And you know, they’re distributed off the aircraft you know. They don’t just all go off. It’s distributed so that it keeps the aircraft level.
AM: Yeah. So, you don’t —
EP: So, it doesn’t go top heavy. They distributed off the bombs so the aircraft —
AM: How many would one aircraft drop? How many flares would you drop?
EP: Well six or seven.
AM: Yeah.
EP: Of different colours. But —
AM: So, you’d do your first colour first.
EP: Whatever — you see. You’d make it —
AM: And you’d drop them all together, but you’d know which one had —
EP: Everything’s dropped in a big —
AM: Right. Ok. So, tell me —
EP: You’ve got the full five hundred pound going down together, but they all balanced off to keep the aircraft level, you know. They don’t all go ruddy together. Should keep the nose down.
AM: ‘Cause I’m imagining that you dropped —
EP: You see, at night time, there’s a photo, you’ve got a photoflash and you’ve got a photoflare in the chute. Half way down the aircraft. It’s a quarter of a million candle power. That’s what you measure light with isn’t it? Did you know that?
AM: No.
EP: That’s candle power. And it was a quarter of a million candle power did this flash. Now, when you drop your bombs at night, your camera takes over and takes up the release point in case you’re not in the position, ‘cause you’ve got to be straight and level to get the photograph at night you know.
AM: You’re supposed to be still and level aren’t you, as it’s taking it?
EP: It works out so when your bombs hit the deck and flares, the bombs hit the deck and the flares are going down behind them. The photoflash flashes and your camera takes, all synchronised together so your bombs hit the deck, your flashes and your camera take over. Take a picture. All three together. Nobody operates it. You relied on [unclear], that was one of the things. Marvellous.
AM: Yeah.
EP: But I used to have to be sent back to put my hand down the chute to make sure the bugger had gone. What would have happened if we’d landed and it had stuck? And it stuck on its way down. What would have happened if we’d gone with —? That operated at a thousand feet as well.
AM: So, what did you do if it hadn’t gone?
EP: You had to make sure that it had gone. There was ways of ejecting it.
AM: Right.
EP: What would have happened if you’d got down to a thousand feet?
AM: Oh yeah, I can imagine.
EP: It would have exploded and that would have been the aircraft.
AM: I can imagine.
EP: It would have been on fire.
AM: I can imagine. Yeah. I just had, I just had this picture of you crawling back along the aircraft to make sure it’s gone.
EP: Yeah.
AM: And it’s still there.
EP: Yeah, if it was, you would have had to make sure. There was ways of releasing some the bombs and that.
AM: Why would you have released it.
EP: You can take the plates off. If you’ve got bombs hanging off. Sometimes you’d maybe land with the bombs stuck up, but you make sure they’ve gone. You can always tell. When you lose the bombs, the aircraft goes up like that, you know. When you lose bombs in the air, in day light was the worst. You could see the bloody aircraft go over and over and the bomb doors open, and some of the shear bombs shooting past you, just goes past your wing tips. They knocked turrets off as well, didn’t they? You can’t see them. It was a hell of a thing. Aye. Daylight was the worst. Everyone jockeying to get near the target and the bomb doors were open, and they’re going over to get into position. He drops his bombs and he goes up like that. You’ve dropped yours at the same time and you’re going to be back alongside him again. But that’s what it was like.
AM: If you were at the front. So, you’re the Pathfinder at the front and there’s all the other aircraft behind you, did they come up alongside you then.
EP: You see, you’ve got to be, you had to work to time. Time was essential. You had to be in that position in the air at that very — so you didn’t bump into one another. That was worse? You were colliding with one another. You had to be in that right spot all the time. Otherwise for every, if you go, for every hour in the air to a target, you’ve got five minutes to play with. Now, if you found that you were right, you had to pick a spot where you’re going to lose time. If you were five minutes earlier than where you should be. So, you could either make a big orbit in the bomber stream, which wasn’t very nice, or you could alter course sixty degrees to port. Fly out of the bomber stream for five minutes. A hundred and forty degrees. You fly back in in five minutes. Everything was — and you got back on course and you’ve only gone that bit and that’s where you lost a bit of time.
AM: Who made that decision?
EP: Well, it’s [unclear], it’s all, that’s what you’ve got to do as a navigator.
AM: It was the navigator.
EP: He told us. And we had H2S on there you know, which had an eighteen mile radius. He used to check with the pilot. He used to just tip the aircraft like that, to keep the nose, to keep them on course. You could be on course and off track you know. You could be there, on course, but off track in relation to the ground. See what I mean?
AM: No.
EP: You can be on course and on track.
AM: Right.
EP: That means you’re in the right position on the ground, in relation to the ground.
AM: So, what, what’s HS2? Is that the — ?
EP: That’s the big blister. I forget what it’s called but that — it had an eighteen miles —
GR: Radar.
AM: A radar.
EP: Radius. If you were going past some built up area and you knew what was there. They knew all this. You just had to just, skipper to the tip the aeroplane and it flickered, so it sent the rays out there. It picked the building up and gave you some idea. He was wonderful. You wouldn’t think he was on operations. Our navigator, Graham Rose. He was that all the time. Very vigilant. And he was plotting our position every six minutes. A little diamond on his route. Wonderful navigator. Wonderful pilot. Wonderful. I think this is why we survived. We were in the right place at the right time. I was asked that when they interviewed me at the Teesside airport, when the Canadian Lanc was there — how come I survived like that. I said, ‘I think we were in the right place at the right time’, and I’ve seen bloody aircraft blow up in the sky.
AM: Eric, Eric said didn’t he, another chap that we know, said that they kept safe all due to the navigator.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Who kept them in the middle of the bombing stream all the time.
EP: He was the main man, not the ruddy pilot in my eyes. The navigator was the main one in the bloody Lanc. Definitely. He wasn’t, I’d ask him to have a look, have a look at it. I’d step down. Have a look now. Your pals can’t see bloody much, there’s fog and there’s wingtips. They can’t see bloody much on the ground. It’s everybody else can.
AM: Did you ever get shot at? Well obviously, you got shot at. Did you ever get hit?
EP: Just with flak.
AM: Yeah.
EP: I remember I seemed to suffer more with that with the first crew I was with. We used to get out with all the paraphernalia and walk around the bomb site when we knew we could count. Flak mad.
AM: What? While you were still up there?
EP: No. When we landed.
AM: When you landed.
EP: You could walk around and see how many holes in it. And you could whip through ruddy wires that were all clipped together like that, whip through them like butter if you got hit by flak. You see, in my compartment, I had what they called Fishpond and you could see any aircraft underneath you, ‘cause you had it up. It could fly underneath you and shoot you down. We had no protection at all underneath, they used to fly and fire upwards into you. That’s how he shot. There was a show on recently. A bloody German fighter pilot, that’s what he used to do. Shoot them down like that. Shot many a Lancaster down. He was showing them in his logbook where he shot you down, even took the letters of the aircraft that he shot down, this German pilot. If you could see them, well you see with this Fishpond, it took the centre of the H2S and if an aircraft, a fighter were going underneath you or anything you would see them. It would blip.
AM: Did your gunners ever manage to shoot anybody down?
EP: Well, if they don’t fire at you, you don’t fire back at them, you just bloody ignore them. But what do you do if you get a fighter on your tail, there was a recognised corkscrew. Did you know that? If they’ve got a fighter in front of you know, to hit you, like, when you know you see the American things. They’re coming up the side but I don’t know how they do it, because you’d be all flying that way. He’s coming this way. See what I mean? Well —
AM: Because of the speed of the aircraft. And the guns.
EP: The German fighter’s going to fire came in front of you ‘cause you’re all going that way.
AM: Yeah. So, you fly into it.
EP: So, if he’s coming at you and you’ve got the back. If you come this way, you’ll hear the rear gunner telling him to corkscrew to starboard. Go like that with a Lanc. Take it down like. The German fighters got to come around like that. He breaks away and he comes down and he, and you come around and you come back up like that. And you can see the bloody propeller just fanning around with the force of gravity all the petrol away from the bloody, from the propellers. From the engine. You can just flip them around. You come go on to there and get back on course. Come at this again. They don’t fire at you. You just keep out of the way.
AM: You just keep out of the way.
EP: Don’t blow your — that you’ve seen them but night time, everything’s is black. You can’t see anything. And coming back fifty miles from base, this is another tip, I had to call up base to get the barometric pressure of the base so that the pilot could put it on his altimeter. Of course, there were no lights on. You’ve got to get other side before you can see the runway lights. And we had FIDO then. Do you know what that was?
AM: I know what FIDO was. Did you ever have to land at a FIDO airport?
EP: Yeah. One or two. I can always remember though the very first trip I did with this new crew, we went to, it think, was it? It was Chemnitz, I think, but we got, I got a call from Group headquarters. We had to go and land at Ford of all places. Yet we had FIDO on account of training command — a lot of them had landed there, but when you get a group broadcast, you’ve got to do what they say. We could have got down and landed at FIDO but I got a message, and we had to go and land at Ford, down near Southampton it was. I can always remember that, and we were stepped up to ten thousand feet. There was that many bombers needing to land there.
AM: What’s it like seeing that because it’s petrol burning, isn’t it? Along the runway.
EP: Aye. That’s all it is. It just disperses the fog. When you fly over, did I tell you, you drop like that when you’re coming in to land. There’s one coming this way, when you’re coming in to land and when you fly over, you can feel the aircraft drop down with the heat does it. But when we went to Ford there, course it’s a straight bloody bomber station. When we did eventually land, these women bloody controllers they were the ones. They used to make their voices very clear. They knew what they were doing. I used to — a women operators at flying control. They brought them all. They’d speak to every bomber ’cause they made touch with you there. Some were calling up on three engines, wanting to get down. Giving them priority, and they’d talk to everyone. Bring them all down like that, speak to every one of them. Then when we landed, where did we go, a little van used to pull up in front of it and big words, “Come on. Follow me”. This little — and you followed this little van and you followed, and he switched his lights off, and you knew that was where you’ve got to stop. The next day, you had to go and find your bomber.
AM: I was just going to say.
EP: There was that bloody many there.
AM: So, you’ve all landed. You’re there. What? And you’re at “foreign”, in inverted commas, airport.
EP: Yeah
AM: And that’s — where did you sleep? Just where ever you can.
EP: Pick your own. That was ok, you just picked your billet. There was empty billets.
AM: Oh right. Ok.
EP: You slept in all your flying gear, and maybe there was a meal for you as well, which you got every time you went on ops. You got proper eggs bacon and chips every time you went on ops. And when you came back, you got it. They were all rationed in Civvy Street. Yeah.
GR: Ford was the emergency landing base.
AM: Yeah.
GR: On the south coast.
AM: Yes.
EP: And the next day, they went to find our bomber and we get, I think, I don’t know whether we got fuelled up or something, but we were hedge hopping all the way back.
AM: What does that mean?
EP: Very low. We called it.
AM: Right.
EP: When you’re very low, you call it hedge hopping. I was that low. It took us about an hour to get back, it took us about an hour to get back because I had to phone up base. Call up base to let them know we were on our way. Did you know bomber aircraft wasn’t allowed to go in the air without a wireless operator?
AM: I didn’t.
EP: Navigator? Yes. I can remember when I was flying in the Whitleys. It’s in that book. The numerous air tests I did, with just me and the pilot. Used to always call for me from the sergeant’s mess. I could find, if he got lost on an air test, I could get him back to base. He didn’t have to have — that was why no aircraft was allowed off the ground without a wireless operator.
AM: Because you’re the connection.
EP: Well, you can call me.
AM: Back to —
EP: You can call it.
AM: Yeah.
EP: The navigator wants to make sure I can get a fix for him from in the air, as a wireless operator you know. There’s three stations in the country, you call that one up and these two are listening to him working you, so then you go through the procedures. He takes a bearings on you.
AM: Yeah.
EP: He takes a bearing on you, and he takes a bearing on you, and he plots them all on his charts and where they all cross — that’s your position.
AM: And tells you where you are.
EP: Five minutes after, you can ask him again if there’s nobody else bloody working them. And you turn them all together, you could see where you are in the sky. You needed a wireless operator all the time.
AM: Yeah.
EP: Yeah.
AM: Gary was telling me a story as we were coming up, about a day when you were ready to take off and your fuel gauges was showing nil.
EP: Oh, that was when the skipper got a DSO for that. We were the Master Bomber that day.
AM: So, what happened? Tell me. What was the story?
EP: We’d been training in the day time right. And the Army couldn’t take Osnabruck. Whoever was trying to take the opposition. So, when you’re doing training, cross country, if you’re not on ops, you’re doing cross country training and bombing in The Wash. And I’ve got to contact base every half hour and I got the [unclear] for me to return to base. So, we came back to base. We were briefed straight away and we were taken out to the bomber and we took off straightaway. That’s how urgent it was. Otherwise, you’re waiting for an hour, an hour and a half before you go, and we took off before we should. In the end, we got in and found we hadn’t enough petrol. Skipper said to Harry, ‘Can you work out how much we’ve got?’ So, he said, ‘We haven’t got enough to get us there and back’.
AM: So that was when it was Alex Thorne.
EP: That was Alex Thorne.
AM: Yeah.
EP: So, he said, ‘We’ll go and we’ll bale out over France’, so, we were taxiing out to take off, got to the end of the runway and he pulled in to one of the dispersals. Broke RT silence and then we had to get the fella — the bowser driver had gone to the NAAFI for his break and they had to get him back. And so, we got the navigator, we cut that leg off and dogleg to the target. Cut that leg out and go to that one. Time was going by. Cut that leg out and go straight to the target. We took off on the wrong runway and flew straight to the target. And we got, and that was the day the highest we ever got, we got up to twenty three thousand feet. I’ll always remember that. And I can remember as we were approaching the target, skipper was weaving to get predicted with the radar. And there was about six bursts of flak on our tail. Straightaway, the rear gunner said, ‘Dive skipper, dive’, and we were up at twenty three thousand feet that day and he put it in to a dive, and you can imagine them reloading and firing and I was in the astrodome looking out. You could see all the bursts following us down as we were going down. You could see all the bursts. You know that, you know the feeling when you’re the last one to go to bed. You go up the stairs, thinking some buggers behind you and that, when you’re a kid, and that’s the feeling I got. When you could, you wanted to go faster. And you ruddy, you could follow this flak burst. That split second earlier, they would have hit us. And of course, the skipper, we started, and all the bombers were approaching the target and we were coming this way, and the skipper got in touch with the deputy, and that’s how the raid went on. And the skipper got the DSO for carrying that raid. We were the Master Bomber that day. We had to go. Now, if we didn’t, it would have happened? No Master Bomber. The raid would have been a flop. But we couldn’t. They couldn’t. They would have promulgated. He got the DSO on that raid. It was on Nuremberg. Another raid. We did a Master Bomber raid on Nuremberg, and we were on the approach. We were approaching the target, we got, I think we were just going to drop our bombs, and we got a wall up and the aircraft went into a dive, and Harry said — he had his back up against the pilot, pushing the stick back for the skipper, and it didn’t respond, and all the bombs gone. It eventually responded on its own, but by the time he had he got it around, it had gone in to the [unclear], because the deputy took over and took them further into Germany. As if Nuremberg wasn’t being far enough. But this [unclear], we were all on our, weren’t we? They’d all gone, the raid was over. There’s these two fighters coming towards us, I could see the gunners were waiting for them. They were two Mustangs. Better aircraft than the bloody Spitfire by all means. And do you know what? One of them came right alongside us. He had his hood back and he was a coloured pilot, American, and he was smoking a big Havana cigar. To let the smoke out. What do you think of that? And the other one was on the other side, and they escorted us back a hell of a way and as soon as they left us, in no time, a Spitfire came alongside and escorted us back.
AM: And escorted you back. Was the one in the Mustang — were they the Tuskegee’s were they called?
EP: I don’t know, but it was a coloured pilot.
AM: Yeah.
EP: And he had the hood back to let the smoke out.
AM: With his cigar.
EP: Smoking a Havana cigar.
AM: Waggling his wings at you.
EP: True story that.
AM: Yeah.
EP: We were escorted back a couple of time, with a Lancaster once, then it got shot down. Jack Harrold. I think it was on the Ruhr. We got, we’d gone three engines and this bloody Lanc flew up alongside. I’ve got a letter from what the skipper wrote to him, I’ve got the letter somewhere, but he found out after he got killed. He got shot down that lad, and in his letter, he said, ‘Do unto others as they would do unto you’. He said, if I’d left you, because when you lose an engine, you know, you lose all bloody sorts, you know, ‘cause all your power and that to your guns and dropping your wheels and hydraulics, and all the power comes from your engine.
AM: So, it’s not just the engine. It’s everything that it was powering.
EP: So, if an engine bloody stops, you know, the ways you could lose if you. I don’t know which engine it was but if you lost power with that you can’t — your wings. You’ve got to drop your wings, crank them around to get to lock them. Now where I sat in my place, I could see, I could see the wheels. I used to tell. When the skipper selected me, when we were coming in to land anyway, you could see the wheels had dropped down and I could feel the power build up then. You could see them do that, and I used to tell them they’d done that. I let him know that at least they had locked. If you’ve got, if you hadn’t got the indication on your panel on the aircraft. It’s a wonderful bloody aeroplane, the Lancaster, wonderful aeroplane.
AM: Wonderful.
EP: I’ve got three hundred and fifty hours flying one, and I think about two hundred and seventy operational ones, and we used to, when we were going on ops or were going on bloody training, we used to do cross-country’s for the navigators. We’d meet up with a bloody Spitfire or a Mustang for the gunners to have, you know, for the fight, and in The Wash, there was a triangle in The Wash. Did you know that? We used to drop ten pound smoke bombs. You could see them. Just ten pound in weight. They were little tiny bombs for the bomb aimer and this used to fascinate me. When we, this was on the way back, that was part of the training, and when you, the pilot would make contact with the base [unclear], whatever, and we were going to drop these bombs, and you had to tell them what height you were at. Do you know what they used to use for the height? Angels. Now isn’t that nice? We’re at Angels 10. Ten thousand feet. Now, isn’t that lovely?
AM: Yeah.
EP: That was a difference of not saying ten thousand feet. Angels 10.
AM: Ten. Angels 10.
EP: Wasn’t that lovely? That’s what they used to tell us what height we were at, ‘cause you just had to keep flying low, turn around and keep coming back and drop a one or two. That was —
AM: So, was there continual training in between the operations then?
EP: Oh aye. You would turn up when you were on ops. Every day was the same. Saturday. Sunday. There was no Saturday and Sunday. Any day. Aren’t you saying something?
AM: That was to Gary who is sat with us. Aren’t you? Have you got anything to say Gary? Any questions? Any extra questions?
EP: I think he’s put a bit of weight on as well, you know
GR: Oh, thanks Ernie.
EP: Haven’t you. Eh?
GR: I’ve lost weight.
AM: Never mind weight. Have you got any questions?
GR: When did you get your DFM?
EP: After we finished, didn’t we? I was recommended for a commission you know, after the war. I think, you know, how that worked if there was officers left. Officer’s mess if a crew get approachable, two of his crew. Now Jimmy Rayment, the rear gunner and me, after we’d, we’d finished flying, I think, I think it was after we bloody got out of the ruddy bomber at Heligoland. That was the last trip I did. And he said he’d recommended us both for a commission. Of course, we got a fortnight’s, leave, didn’t we? We all went on a fortnight’s and while I was on my fortnights, we decided to get married, didn’t we? So, I waited for another fortnight to get my —
AM: Oh, I was going to ask you when you met your wife and all that.
EP: Because what they do — you ask for a fortnight. They say seven days granted.
GR: Yeah.
EP: So, I’d asked for a fortnight, I only wanted seven days and I got the bloody, I got the fortnight and during that fortnight, the war ended. I was married on the 5th of May and the war ended on the 8th, didn’t it?
GR: Yeah.
AM: Yeah.
EP: Did you know that? I was on leave, weren’t I, and I got bloody posted to do another bombing, to another Pathfinder squadron. Off my leave. I thought, well what about my commission? They must have thought, well the war’s over now. We were surplus, or they’ve, ‘cause Jimmy, he went back, didn’t he? And he got his commission but I didn’t. I ended up in bloody India. I had to do something. I ended up in charge of flying control in India.
AM: I was going to ask you what —
EP: And this why, this is why I got the trip in the Catalina. Out there.
AM: So —
EP: I was then put in charge of bloody flying control out there. And I was dealing with flying bods coming from Hong Kong to the UK for demob.
AM: So, hang on. So, the war finished, then you got married.
EP: I got married on the 8th
AM: And then before demob —
EP: I got married on the 5th of May.
AM: Yeah.
EP: 1945.
AM: Yeah.
EP: The war ended on the 8th of May.
AM: Yeah. So then when did you get — so the war’s ended but obviously, it’s a long while before your demob.
EP: That was always first in were first out, but I did get, I was offered my class B release.
AM: What does that mean?
EP: Because I was a builder, wasn’t I? Joiner.
GR: Yeah.
EP: Yeah.
EP: They wanted you in Civvy Street then. Right. I was going to jump the queue and come out before I should do.
AM: So how did you end up in India then?
EP: The thing was if you, if you took your Class B, you go where they’re sending you and you got a fortnight’s leave. Well, I didn’t want that, I wanted to pick my own bloody job, so, I waited for my Class A release which was about five or six weeks after my release would have been up. I got, I took the month’s leave I was entitled to and I went and worked. Picked my own bloody job which was near home.
AM: Right. Tell me just —
EP: You had to go where they sent you when you did that.
AM: Just before you tell me about the job, tell me about going flying your Catalina and going to India.
EP: From Chelmsford I went, I think from there.
AM: Did you go on your own or were Harry or Boris or any of them with you?
EP: Lots of them were posted then until your demob number came up. It was always first in, first out, when your demob number come up.
GR: Was that just you Ernie? It wasn’t any of the other crew. It wasn’t Harry, or Boris or any of them.
EP: No. No. I think Harry — he went flying straightaway with Cheshire, didn’t he?
GR: Yes.
EP: Did you know that?
AM: Yes, I did. Yeah.
EP: Harry. Harry and Cheshire went up in to Scotland and bought two Mosquitos for seven hundred and fifty pound, and one of them only had twenty flying hours in. And Harry flew with Cheshire, setting up Cheshire homes in Europe.
AM: Yes, I remember that.
EP: Harry did that.
AM: So, where, where did, tell me again why you went then, before you were demobbed.
EP: I went to a place called Korangi Creek in India, near Karachi.
AM: And what were you doing?
EP: I was just — you had to do something until your demob number came. I ended up, I was in to accounts but I didn’t do it, go into it. I was in, it was a Flying Boat base which was in the process of closing down, and we were dealing with Sunderland Flying Boats coming from Hong Kong to UK for demob, and I used to have to deal with them. You see, once they left Hong Kong, they were my pigeon. Then when I left them — they left me, I had to organise petrol for them and all the meals and whatever. Fill them up. Then when I, then when they left me, Bahrain was the next stop. But it was, I used to wire Bahrain to let them know it was on its way. It was their pigeon. And it was there, and I used to, and these Sunderland Flying Boats used to take off the next day, and I used to arrange them for the meals for them and accommodation where I was, and I’d go with them to the launch with them, with the Anglo Indians, to see them off. And on this particular, we were in in this launch going along, and this Sunderland Flying Boat coming alongside me. Well, all of a sudden, for some reason, they turn off the bloody flarepath, like that, and this bloody fella driving the launch — he didn’t see him [laughs] and we were all bawling at him. There was a few of us on this launch with him, and I spoke to the pilot about it. He said, ‘I’m sorry’. I’ll always remember that. It was, and I think, do you know what? They approached me to join them. BOAC took it over. He said, ‘You’re a wireless operator. We need wireless operators. Why don’t you join us?’ I said, ‘Well I’m in the bloody RAF, aren’t I?’ When you get out you join us. We need wireless operators. I didn’t.
AM: Why didn’t you, why didn’t you?
EP: I wanted out. I’d already had enough of bloody flying, I wanted out, and they used to approach me. They had ones that would, they had their staff, we had ours. He said, ‘Why don’t you join us? We need radio officers in BOAC’. What might have — because I’d been pulled over the coals by the family for not taking it on. I wanted out, I’d done enough. Anyway, the thing was, I wasn’t up, when I was offered this commission. And the war ended. Whatever happened after that didn’t apply. But in a way — what they did with you, if you got a commission after you finished your flight, Transport Command they’d put you on. And I wanted out, I’d had enough of bloody flying.
AM: Yeah.
EP: But you never know. I’d been lucky up till then and that’s it. Only bloody birds and fools fly. But I wanted out and that was why I didn’t pursue it. I could have pursued it and they might have got me something earlier, and they posted me to another Pathfinder squadron, and I got posted from there. I ended up at Biggin Hill. I could always remember that. How [unclear] I was
AM: What were, what were you doing there?
EP: Just in transit all the bloody time ‘til they decided what to do with me. [Unclear] was there. I met up with him, he was at Biggin Hill.
GR: When did your demob finally come through?
EP: When?
GR: Yeah. When did you actually finish in the RAF?
EP: September ’46.
GR: ’46.
EP: See, another thing, if I accepted, if I’d accepted a commission — another way I looked at it. You get discharged out the RAF and brought back in as an officer, different number and that and you’ve got stay in at least twelve month from being a commission.
AM: Right.
EP: I thought I want out, I want out sharpish. I didn’t. it was another bloody twelve month before I didn’t come out. So that was it. I turned it down, I didn’t pursue it, but that was it. I ended up as a warrant officer which was automatic.
AM: Yeah.
EP: But my bonus out of the war was meeting to meet my beautiful wife. She was in the land army
AM: Where did you meet, where did you meet, Ernie.
EP: She was in the land army. She was in the land army in Wisbech.
AM: Right.
EP: I met her in the November. We were engaged and married in six month.
AM: So, she was in Wisbech. Where? Was that when you were based near there then?
EP: I was based at Downham Market.
AM: Oh, at Downham Market. Of course, you were. Yeah.
EP: I was based about fifteen miles away.
AM: Where did you meet her then?
EP: At a dance.
AM: At a dance.
EP: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
AM: What was she called, Ernie?
EP: Kathleen.
AM: Kathleen.
EP: Yeah. She was a lovely person.
AM: She was your bonus.
EP: I’d have died a thousand deaths to keep her. I could have packed. On Pathfinders, you know, you’ve got to do, they like to do two tours. Main force you do thirty.
AM: Yeah.
EP: Which is one tour, and you go away to be an instructor somewhere and they get you back to do another fifteen, but towards the end of the war, they weren’t doing that. They were just doing the thirty. Now, Americans only did twenty five, and then they went home, didn’t they? ‘Cause they all flew straight and level all the time, but we flew a different pattern altogether. Americans.
GR: Do you know how many ops Alex Thorne did in the end?
EP: He did about fifty three. Fifty four.
GR: Fifty three. Fifty four.
EP: Yeah, but I keep referring to this. When I read anything, I keep referring to this, it’s all in here.
AM: Ernie’s got his logbook.
EP: I’ll just show you some. An operational page [long pause] In red, it’s night time. Green, it’s day time.
AM: Yeah.
EP: And it’s, here in the, the number of ops I lost. On the fifty odd raids that I was on, we lost two hundred and seventy five bombers. But it’s the number of ops and the number of aircraft lost on that raid. So, it’s all, it’s a very interesting book this. Look at all. Look at that page for a kick off. In that. See all the —
AM: Yeah. I’m looking now at, I’m looking now at the different raids so Chennai, Dessau
EP: Chemnitz. See, all the times I was in the air is in the next column.
AM: Eight hours. Yeah.
EP: And the number of ops and the number of aircraft we lost. If you go the other way, that’s there’s some more. Some more. It’s quite a — one of my proud possessions that. Did you know, did you know when you’re selected as a Pathfinder, you’ve got to be marking and you get a certificate. You can be pulled up by the RAF police in the town. You could have a permit to wear those little gold wings. Did you know that?
AM: No.
EP: You’d have a permit and when you finished flying you got a permanent certificate from Bennett. I’ll show you.
AM: I’m looking, I’m looking at this one here. So, the operation — Heligoland.
EP: That was the last one.
AM: As Master Bomber, and then you’ve written in blue underneath, abortive sortie. So, there was a final abortive sortie after the Heligoland.
EP: That was, that was another one. I don’t know whether — I think if you can get within a certain distance, you can count it as one.
AM: It was like a quarter of an operation
EP: So, I did. So that’s it. it could have been fifty two. On the countdown. But go back to where you see more ops.
AM: Oh yeah. There’s —
EP: See.
AM: Yeah.
EP: Do you see all those amongst the people you interview?
AM: Yeah. Lots of people have got logbooks. Some haven’t but some do.
EP: Have you seen them all?
AM: Hmmn.
EP: How many had the DFM then?
AM: Sorry?
EP: How many had the DFM?
GR: Not many.
AM: I can’t. Not many.
EP: Do you know there were twenty thousand DFCs given out? Eight hundred and seventy DSOs. Six and a half thousand DFMs. This is why the DFM is more.
AM: Is more. It’s more.
EP: Did you watch that Antiques Roadshow the other night? Monday night.
AM: No.
EP: There was a lad on there. He’d had his grandad’s DFC, his medals, I have, and his logbook like that, and do you know how much they valued it at? Between three and four thousand pounds.
AM: Blimey.
EP: Now, I’ve got the Pathfinder certificate.
AM: The Pathfinder. Yeah. I’ve found the, I’ve found that one where you were Ford to base.
[Recording paused]
GR: Not with my interviews but when I’ve visited —
AM: So, I’m looking here at Ernie’s award of his Pathfinder Force badge, which certifies that, “1567159. Flight Sergeant Patterson, GE. Having qualified for the award of the Pathfinder Force badge and having now completed satisfactorily the requisite conditions of operational duty in the Pathfinder Force, is hereby awarded permanently his Pathfinder Force badge, issued on the 22nd of April 1945”. Signed by —
GR: Bennett.
AM: Bennett. Who was the air officer commanding of the Pathfinder force. And Ernie’s going to show me his badge in a minute, I think. What’s he fetching me now? I’ll try and get some scans of some of this information.
EP: This is, this is a permit to wear it before you get that.
AM: So, what Ernie’s telling me is that you have —
EP: You could be pulled up by the police.
AM: Come and sit. Come and sit down again and tell me about this
GR: Do as she says [laughs]
AM: So, the permit says, and it’s issued from the headquarters of the Pathfinder Force, again, to Flight Sergeant Patterson. “You have today qualified for the award of the Pathfinder Force badge, and are entitled to wear the badge as long as you remain in Pathfinder Force”, and again, signed by Bennett, Air Vice Marshall. So, what did the badge mean? Tell me. Tell me again. What?
EP: You can see them.
GR: It’s there.
AM: Yeah, but you were telling me. Yeah, I’ve got it. And you were telling me that if you were pulled up by the police
EP: RAF police. They used to have red hats on and —
AM: Yeah.
EP: In the town. Because people used to masquerade as wearing them, in the town, and wear it.
AM: Why. Why did they wear it?
EP: Swaggering.
AM: Oh, to swagger around in it.
EP: Showing off. That’s how they were. Another one.
AM: And I’ve got the letter from Buckingham Palace, “With the award that you have so well earned, I send it to you with my congratulations and my best wishes for your future happiness”.
EP: That’s what, that’s what appeared in the paper.
AM: And I’ve got a clipping in here from April 1945. A Darlington joiner gets the DFM.
EP: That was, that’s in the, I think that was taken on the —
AM: Blimey and I’ve got a picture here of Ernie with a wireless.
EP: That was 1154.
AM: I’m going to scan some of this stuff, but before we finish, I’ve switched it back on because I want you to tell me. I don’t — I don’t think it’s anything to do with the RAF, but you know your, your interest Ernie, in knowing all the different —
EP: I’m making sure my memory is still there
AM: Right. Hang on. Collective nouns.
EP: Yeah. What do you want to know?
AM: I want, I want to know loads of them. I want you to come and tell me some.
EP: You’ve seen the DFM haven’t you?
AM: But first of all, I’m getting to look at Ernie’s DFM.
EP: Have you seen some who have them?
AM: No, let me. I haven’t seen, I’ve not seen your one
EP: Of course they don’t
AM: Let me have a look.
EP: There’s the Pathfinder wing.
GR: That’s the Pathfinder wings which you wore
EP: There’s a Pathfinder wing.
AM: And there’s your DFM. So, the Pathfinder wing is actually a really beautiful — is it —
GR: RAF wing.
AM: Is it on a tie pin?
EP: Yes. It’s alright.
AM: And it’s the RAF eagle looking out towards the left. With the beautiful gold wings and the DFM, of course, is the one with the diagonal striped ribbon as opposed to the DFC one.
GR: And is the only medal with the recipient’s name on the edge.
AM: And is the only medal with the recipient’s name on the edge. Which I didn’t know. So, tell me some of these collective nouns.
EP: What time are you going?
AM: Tell me some, tell me some interesting ones.
EP: I’ve got dinner coming at 12 but I’ll put it –
AM: Why did you become interested in knowing what all the collective nouns are for groups of animals?
EP: I just read them. Some of them fascinated. Like a lot ravens. Unkindness. Isn’t that nice?
AM: A kindness.
EP: Unkindness.
AM: Unkindness sorry. Of ravens.
EP: Ravens. A lot of ladybirds. A love of ladybirds. Isn’t that nice?
AM: Lovely.
EP: Flamingos. A flurry of flamingos. A bale of turtles. A posse of turkeys. How many do you want to know?
AM: All of them.
EP: What they call a lot of moles. A movement. And that’s a nice name, isn’t it?
AM: A movement of moles.
EP: A movement, Moles yeah. And a lot of sparrows. A quarrel.
AM: A quarrel.
EP: You know what a lot of owls are. A parliament. A parliament of owls. It doesn’t sound right does it? Another nice one. A lot of snipe. Have you ever heard of a snipe?
AM: Yeah.
EP: A whisper.
AM: A whisper of snipes.
EP: Of snipe. Yeah, I looked them up.
AM: The wings just whispering. I could —
EP: And a covoy of pheasants. A covoy.
AM: A covoy.
EP: C.O.V.O.Y.
AM: I know that one.
EP: A covoy of pheasants.
AM: Yeah.
EP: No. Partridges that. A covoy of partridge. And a bouquet. A bouquet of pheasants. A town of giraffes. A crash of rhino. A pod of hippos. There’s lots of them. A destruction of wild cats. There’s a deceit of lapwing. An exaltation of skylarks. An ostentation of eagles. A mustering of storks. A flight of swallows.
AM: Just a flight of swallows.
EP: A flight. A flight of swallows. There’s lots of them. And what else? A sloth of bears. A sloth. A skulk of foxes.
AM: Some of them you can really see why and some of them you just can’t.
EP: Some are nice. And you get, what is it? A pace of donkeys, a barren of mules. You know why it’s called a barren?
AM: No.
EP: They don’t breed do they? They’re barren.
AM: Oh, a barren. Barren.
EP: Barren of mules. A mule is a cross between a donkey and a horse, isn’t it? They don’t breed mules. Did you know that?
AM: No. I did know that. But when you said barren, I was thinking baron.
EP: She can’t have kids, can she? I thought that was a good name for them. Mules. And you’ve got a charm of goldfinches. And a chime of Wrens. An army of frogs. A bevvy of otters. Do you know where otters live? Do you know what it’s called? Where otters live? A holt. H O L T. A holt. An army of frogs. A nest of snakes.
AM: What about toads?
EP: I don’t know about that one.
AM: No.
EP: But you get an array of hedgehogs. What do you call a lot of grasshoppers? It’s in the sky. What’s in the sky?
AM: Sun.
EP: Cloud.
AM: A cloud.
GR: A cloud.
AM: Oh cloud. of course.
GR: A cloud of grasshoppers. Yeah.
EP: I can remember the, what the great granddaughter — we met up with her when she was with her mum and dad one day and she had a pen and paper with her and I gave her fifty names.
AM: Brilliant.
EP: Yeah. That’s some of them. Some of them are a fascinating. Some of them — like a lot ravens. An unkindness. That’s my favourite. Nice, isn’t it?
GR: What was crows?
EP: Crows, a murder wasn’t it?
GR: A murder of crows.
AM: A murder of crows.
EP: That’s terrible that is. A mutation of, a murmuration of starlings and a mutation of thrushes.
AM: Is there one for swans?
EP: Eh?
AM: Swans.
EP: Swans. A bank.
AM: A bank of swans.
EP: That’s what it says. Some of them there’s three or four names for them but I just remember one of them.
GR: Yeah.
EP: A deceit of lapwing. An exultation of skylarks.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Ernie Patterson. One
Creator
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Annie Moody
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-10-08
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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APattersonGE151008, PPattersonGE1501, PPattersonGE1502
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Pending review
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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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eng
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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01:14:01 audio recording
Description
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Ernie Patterson DFM was born in Middleton St George in Darlington. At the age of 14, he left school and took on a job as an apprentice Joiner.
He joined the Royal Air Force at the age of 19 in 1941, but whilst he was waiting to be called up, he was helping to build a bomber station and what is now Teesside Airport, also completing work at the satellite station of Croft.
Ernie trained as a Wireless Operator, where he did well with Morse Code. He did his training in February 1942. He was sent to Evanton in Scotland, where he also trained as an Air Gunner.
He flew Proctors, Whitleys, Dominies, Avro Ansons, Halifaxes, Lancasters, Liberators and had a trip in at Catalina Flying Board. Ernie flew with 635 Squadron, which was part of the Pathfinders Force.
Ernie completed 51 Operations, flying to Stettin, Chemnitz and Hanover. He was part of the Master Bomber Crew to Dorsten, Kiel, Nuremburg, Osnabruck and Heligoland.
After the war, he was in charge of flying control in India, handling the closing of a Flying Boat base and arranging for them to be returned to the UK.
Ernie left the Royal Air Force in 1946 and returned to work as a Joiner, retiring from work at the age of 78.
Contributor
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Vivienne Tincombe
635 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
B-24
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bombing of Helgoland (18 April 1945)
Catalina
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Medal
Distinguished Service Order
Dominie
fear
FIDO
H2S
Halifax
Lancaster
Master Bomber
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
Proctor
RAF Abingdon
RAF Downham Market
RAF Millom
RAF Stanton Harcourt
RAF Yatesbury
Sunderland
superstition
target indicator
training
Whitley
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/812/10794/AEllamsSD170825.1.mp3
b0ffbbb061e351d003bc492ea0b449ee
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Ellams, George
G Ellams
Description
An account of the resource
60 items. An oral history interview with George Ellams the son of Wing Commander George Ellams OBE (b. 1921), and documents and photographs concerning his fathers service. He flew operations as a wireless operator with 223 and 199 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Stephen Ellams and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-10-06
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Ellams, G
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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AM: Ok. So, it’s Friday the 25th of August 2017 and today I’m with Steven Ellams in Manston in West Yorkshire. And we’re here to talk about Steven’s dad who was George Ellams, Bomber Command, and lots beside. So, I’m going to just stick that on the floor somewhere. That’ll do. And what I’m going to ask you Steve I know that you said your dad was born on the 16th of May 1921. So, what do you know about his early life? Where he was born. What his parents did.
SE: I did a visit to Liverpool a couple of years ago to trace his background and the family. And he was from Toxteth in Liverpool. And I’ve got his original school reports. I know he was in the Boy’s Brigade and I know that he was, on his signing up papers registered as a shop fitter.
AM: He was a shop fitter.
SE: And when I looked at that a bit closer it turns out it wasn’t quite what I thought. And the title shop fitter was more that he dressed dummies and that. So, I learned that my father was a window dresser come whatever else. Anyway, so the family, the Ellams family. It’s pronounced Ellams but Ellams people pronounce it different ways. They come from the Liverpool area and the Wirral. I’ve traced the family background. The two brothers which he had were both in the RAF at some stage and we traced that the elder brother was given the freedom of the City of Chester for being able to trace the family name back to 1066 or thereabouts. So, it’s quite a well-known ancient name. So, he being the younger of the brothers joined the RAF in 1938.
AM: Can I just wheel back a little bit?
SE: Yeah.
AM: Do you know what his parents did? What his, what his father did?
SE: Yes. His father, his father was a publican. Ran some different group of pubs in the Liverpool and particularly in the Birkenhead area. I’ve done a little bit of background on that and he was in the Merchant Navy. So, he, we’ve never been able to find exactly that part of his background particularly well but the part of the mother’s side which was extremely traumatic and something that we learned quite early on was that she committed suicide when he was fourteen. So, my father — and he found her hanging in a wood. So, we knew there was some really traumatic episode there. Now there have been other family members that we’ve traced since and there has been one of the family members has done quite an in-depth search on the rest of the family and the Ellams Printing Company have been part of that group and there are quite well documented, you know pieces in newspapers and that in the Liverpool area. And I’ve actually got the write up on his father’s death which was about 1967 I believe. So, we’ve got one or two pieces there. But the, the earlier background there was always the suggestion that his mother was Irish and his father was English but we’ve never quite been able to trace that. So, I’ve never gone back further than those bits of information.
AM: I’m trying to piece the dates together. Did you ever meet him then? Your grandfather?
SE: No. No.
AM: You didn’t.
SE: No. I never met them. Well, I certainly, obviously never met the mother. My father interestingly enough did seem to be adopted by a lady who, where she fitted in to it again we’ve got photographs of this lady but I think it was simply that she sort of took the boys under her wing when the mother disappeared. There was something there. But certainly, as far as the publican side is concerned, we’ve only got one photograph of the father in this particular pub and I have since traced that pub and that pub still exists in Birkenhead. In Wallasey. That’s where they went. And the school report and the details of that are all from the Boy’s Central School, New Brighton, Wallasey, and —
AM: So, that’s where he went.
SE: Yeah. And there’s some good information in there as to what his sort of level of education was like and he was obviously showing a little bit of technical skill at that time, I think.
AM: How old was he when he left school?
SE: I think he was about seventeen, eighteen. Something like that.
AM: So probably would have done school certificate then.
SE: Yes, he did. I think he did.
AM: He did it.
SE: Yes. I think it’s in there. Yeah. And then obviously he seemed to go straight into the RAF. Now, I believe it was his brothers —
AM: Via the window dressing.
SE: Yeah. I think it was his brothers that encouraged him to do that and certainly I haven’t been able to trace much other than his middle brother was, was a sergeant in the RAF. And the elder brother, and the one that got the Freedom of the City of Chester he ended up as the senior representative, chairman, call it what you like of the Prudential Insurance in Liverpool. So, he had quite an interesting career and he does come up in one or two searches when you google the name. And his name was John. The same as his father. So, both the senior brother and the father were both called John Ellams whereas the middle one was called Walter.
AM: Right. And then, yeah you knew that he went as a — so as a seventeen year old he joined the RAF and he went to Cranwell.
SE: Yeah. This has always been a bit of an anomaly as well because most people would know that if you went to a technical part of the RAF you would go to what was Cosford, Halton, St Athan.
AM: Yeah. Absolutely.
SE: And various other places and I always used to think it was a bit odd that he ended up at what would be the equivalent to the RAF’s senior —
AM: And that —
SE: Officer training. So, having then found loads more documentation. This was fairly recently when my mother died that we found that there was some paperwork to say that there were a group of individuals who were signed up to that college. And how or why it came about I don’t know but the list he actually kept so that he could trace some of these characters and you went as an apprentice, a craft apprentice, a technical apprentice to —
AM: To Cranwell.
SE: Cranwell. And you then went on to whatever station. And Aldergrove in Northern Ireland seems to be the station where he went immediately after that as a wireless operator. Obviously, Cranwell doesn’t do, do apprenticeships now. And of course, when I got to talk to Peter about this I said that he was always very proud of his hat band which was a particular type of colouring or squares or whatever the colouring was. Because when he was the senior training officer at RAF Cosford he used to go on about how he went to Cranwell and they were always sort of like, ‘Well, wait a minute. How could you have gone Cranwell if you weren’t a pilot?’
AM: Yeah. Why would you be?
SE: So, there were all these sort of anomalies in there. But I’ve actually got the list now of the apprentices that went to Cranwell in those years and I think Peter’s copied that now.
AM: Right. Yeah.
SE: Or I hope he has because that document must be pretty rare.
AM: It will have all been copied.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Did he ever speak about then? So, he left school with school certificate. Window dressing seems a bit —
SE: I know.
AM: Left field.
SE: I got the shock of my life when I got the documents from Innsbruck in Gloucestershire saying what his original occupation was.
AM: And you just don’t know. It might have just been the temporary job.
SE: Absolutely.
AM: Earn a little money.
SE: Absolutely. Absolutely.
AM: And but did he ever speak about actually joining the RAF and —
SE: No.
AM: Where he would have gone to sign up?
SE: No. No.
AM: So, somewhere there’s a bit missing there where he would have, he would have signed up.
SE: Yeah.
AM: They would have looked at him.
SE: Yeah.
AM: To try and decide — ok.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Which bit of the RAF then.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And somehow they’ve picked him out as being technically minded.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Which is where you then go on to find out that he became —
SE: Yeah.
AM: You know — a wireless operator.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, how did, from your, from the records that you got how long was it? You said he wasn’t at Cranwell very long and then —
SE: It seemed about a year that the sort of apprenticeship they did. It didn’t seem to be much more than that because the first major entry or tracing I could come up with was sort of ’40, ’41. So, there’s a bit of a gap between the beginning of the war and leaving Cranwell and going to Aldergrove. So, there’s this Aldergrove connection in Northern Ireland that I can’t quite piece together and then it seems to be that around that time he was obviously showing some aptitude and it was the case then that he went for flying training. Now, I do remember him talking about that and that his claim was that he could take off but he couldn’t land, and that he basically got turned down for —
AM: Right.
SE: Flying training. And this was when he was re-mustered then as a W/op AG.
AM: Right.
SE: And that’s when that logbook starts.
AM: And that happened to quite a few of them.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Where they showed the aptitude but for whatever reason they dipped out of the pilot training.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then as you say were re-mustered.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Because looking at the logbook.
SE: Yeah. It starts —
AM: At you say it’s got —
SE: With Defiants.
AM: This one starts with the Defiants.
SE: Yeah.
AM: In ’42.
SE: Absolutely.
AM: So, you’ve still got a gap there.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Where he would have had to have done some training to fly as a pilot.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Before he got to the stage —
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: Where they decided he weren’t going to be one.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: And then he would have had to do his, his wireless op training.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, that was the beginning of the war. So he would have trained as an air gunner as well.
SE: Yeah. And that’s where it really starts for me.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Because he, he very early on I remember I was really into Airfix model making. And I bought a model of a Defiant. And that little brass one there is a Defiant. And he used to look at that and say, ‘See this thumb and you see those scars?’ He said, ‘That’s as a result of getting my thumb caught in the trigger on a Browning machine gun that’s on those turrets.’
AM: On the Defiant.
SE: And that’s when it starts there with the log.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And I’ve traced one or two of those aircraft. I think there’s one of them still, I’m not even convinced it’s not the one that’s at the RAF Museum. But I have done a bit of work on Defiants.
AM: Right. So, what’s, looking at the logbook which starts in January ’42. So, he was at Number 2 air gunner’s, Air Gunnery School.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And as you say was on Defiants.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And, and the remarks within the logbook are about the number of rounds hit.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Fired. And how long it took and what have you. All in Defiants.
SE: Yeah. I think the, as I understand it was the turret. In other words, depending on what aircraft you were likely to be posted onto you would learn and train on a similar type of turret. And I’ve been to the museum here in York where they’ve got a Bomber Command turret exhibition and they are quite specific these turrets. And they’ve all got different names and that and I do understand that’s where that came from. So, the high likelihood is you would then be posted on to an operational squadron which would have those type of turrets.
AM: That’s right. And yet —
SE: Or that’s as I thought it was. Whether that’s true I don’t know. But to go from there to Sunderlands.
AM: Well, yeah.
SE: I thought was a bit strange. And the other first aircraft you’ll see crop up there is a thing called a Lerwick and a Lerwick was a two-engine Flying Boat that had a very poor track record.
AM: That’s it so, so —
SE: So, he went to that first which was presumably the Conversion Unit, and then finally on to Sunderlands.
AM: Even just on the first page where he’s at the Air Gunnery School he’s in the Defiants. Quite a number of the pilots that he was flying with were Polish.
SE: Yes.
AM: By the looks of the names.
SE: Yes. Yes.
AM: And when he starts off you’re looking at the number of hits — one percent, six percent, seven percent.
SE: Yes [laughs] it’s not very good is it?
AM: And then the very, well then he had a go with no drogue.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So they’re not following it around anymore.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then all of a sudden he gets thirty four percent in two hundred rounds.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then it stops and then he moves to number 4 CO Training Unit.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And that’s when as you say he ends up on the Lerwick but then latterly on the Sunderlands. So —
SE: Well, one of, one of the interesting things about, which I do remember he did talk about that because as a kid you’d get into air guns and pistols and whatever. And again because he was senior training officer at RAF Cosford we had access to all the facilities so he’d say to me, ‘Do you want to come down to the range and we’ll get that rifle of yours sorted out?’ And I do remember him saying that, ‘You may have seen in my logbook about the target shooting and the percentage hits and that.’ And I said to him, ‘How did you ever know they were your bullets that were hitting it?’ He said, ‘You painted them.’
AM: Yeah.
SE: He said, ‘You had all different coloured bullets so that whoever was hitting it you could identify then.’ So, I said, ‘Oh,’ you know. And I then asked, you know about the, the success rate, and he said, ‘Oh, I was never that good,’ he said, ‘But,’ he said, ‘You got passed out on anything that was reasonable.’
AM: And actually depending what plane they were on you talk to lots of gunners and they never actually fired a gun in anger.
SE: Probably not.
AM: They never needed to.
SE: Yeah.
AM: They knew how to take it apart.
SE: Yeah
AM: Anyway.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, back to your, your dad. And in, in March — so February to March through to April he was on the Sunderlands. Did he ever talk about why? Why did he end up on Sunderlands?
SE: No idea. That one’s always been a bit of a mystery. I think the fact is that he was showing an aptitude for the radio side and the radar side and the Sunderland was a very good platform to put lots of equipment on. And it’s obvious through the log that he was learning a lot of stuff.
AM: Yes.
SE: And finally became the squadrons signals officer and was again on various courses and bits of upgrade. Came back to the UK for, again upgrades on different radios and wirelesses. So, I think there was an element there that they were starting to see again that he was moving more —
AM: Yeah.
SE: To the technical side than he was either the flying or the ground side.
AM: Because in, in that whole period most of it is exercises with valves.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Two way, all the way, so we’re talking about radio stuff.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And there’s only one air to air gunnery. A hundred and fifty rounds fired. Nil stoppages. Everything else is about —
SE: Yeah.
AM: Wireless. The wireless side of it.
SE: There’s one entry there which I I will tell you about because I think it’s the most fascinating thing is an entry coming back to the UK from West Africa and it says specifically that they were attacked somewhere over the Bay of Biscay.
AM: Is that later on you’re talking?
SE: Yeah. They were attacked by an ME110. Now, the captain of that aircraft, it gives his name there. And I thought what’s the chances of this chap being alive still? And I then went to the Sunderland Flying Boat Association which is run by a chap who’s written many books on the subject and I contacted him and said, ‘Look, I’ve got this, what’s the chances —’ He gave me the current list of live pilots from that time. This is going back about ten years now. I rang the number. The guy was still alive. He was ninety two. And I said, ‘I’m Steve Ellams. I’m the son of what would have been Pilot Officer Ellams in those days,’ And he basically said, ‘I remember that trip,’ he said, ‘We got absolutely shot to bits. Nothing was below the water line. We landed at Calshot which is on the south coast,’ and he said, ‘Everybody got off, looked at each other and said that was a close one.’
AM: Yeah.
SE: And as I said it’s in the log there that he read. He remembered it. The pilot. Again, my father not being alive to verify any of this so I can only go by what he said.
AM: Absolutely.
SE: On that particular occasion.
AM: Because then I’m still looking at the logbook. April ‘42. Now, he’s posted.
SE: Yeah.
AM: But not on Sunderlands.
SE: Yeah. He did about eighteen months I think it was.
AM: Yeah. And I’m looking at the different pilots he flew with.
SE: The most significant is the early bit where you see he is on L5805 for about a month.
AM: He is. Yeah.
SE: And L8, I’ve checked this. I’ve got the records. L5805 disappeared in the middle of an operation in nineteen, was it ’41 or ’42?
AM: ’42.
SE: ’42. And the pilot is a, is a chap called Pybus.
AM: Pybus, yeah.
SE: And he was a New Zealander. Now, he has a memorial to his name in Auckland in New Zealand.
AM: Right.
SE: He and the whole of that crew disappeared. But you’ll note my father wasn’t on the crew that day it disappeared. Now, I believe this is where he has, or had this thing about Sunderland Flying Boats because if you look at the dates you’ll see the aircraft and the crew don’t appear for a month. Now, you’re in West Africa. Where are you? What are you doing?
AM: Yeah.
SE: Now, we know he suffered malaria all his life and we think, I’m not certain, I haven’t got his RAF medical records but I’m pretty convinced he got malaria. He didn’t go on that trip. The crew disappeared.
AM: And he was in hospital.
SE: He was still there. And I think he’s had a little bit of a sort of thing about that ever since.
AM: Right. Because as you say he was, he was in the Mediterranean by then. He joined 95 Squadron. He was posted to 95 Squadron, 14th of April ’42.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then in terms of thinking about where he went —
SE: Yeah.
AM: The significant one is that after three days of engine tests they went from Calshot to Mountbatten to Gibraltar to the Mediterranean.
SE: Yeah.
AM: To Freetown.
SE: Which is —
AM: So they were —
SE: British West Africa.
AM: Yeah. Absolutely.
SE: They operated there for most of that. Yeah.
AM: All over that area.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Escorting the Queen Mary.
SE: Yeah, they had, they had quite a chequered background but according to most of the material I’ve read on 95 they were, they were just doing fourteen hour sorties into the middle of the Atlantic. It was an extremely boring time.
AM: Yeah. Because some of the, apart from the transit ones that were getting them —
SE: Yeah.
AM: From somewhere to the somewhere else.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: They are quite short. Relatively anyway. Short flights.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And so from May ’42 he was the second wireless operator.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then from mid-May became the first.
SE: Yeah.
AM: WOM.
SE: Yeah. And the main, the main aircraft that seems to have survived right through with his time was EJ 144. Now, that aircraft was finally written off some time in ’44 after he’d left the squadron. But I’ve got pretty good records from 95 via John Evans, as I say. He’s the guy who’s done all the books on the Sunderland and he’s got a very good record of this lot. And it just seems to be that apart from a couple of crashes that they had and they’re mentioned in there where they’ve had one or two issues and I’ve got those photographs and those photographs have been published in, in John Evan’s book. And, I think in one or two other aviation books as well. So, again he never mentioned Sunderlands. He never mentioned crashes. He never mentioned this business in the middle of the Bay of Biscay with the ME 110.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And you sort of think but having visited the RAF Museum and clambered aboard the Sunderland they’ve got there and realised that this thing that you can see above your head as well was a pretty big aircraft and that you can sleep on it. You could —
AM: Oh yeah.
SE: You had quite a nice little setup on there. You’d have bacon butties.
AM: It’s a lot bigger than being inside a Lancaster?
SE: Absolutely. It’s a huge thing. And I think that they had a reasonable time. But one thing I do remember is that [pause] oh, it’s my chair. I wondered where that squeak was coming from. One thing I do I remember — when we were in Singapore we found an abandoned canoe on a beach. And he said to me, ‘We’ll have that, do it up, and we’ll call it Archimedes the Second.’ And I thought, so where’s that coming from? Not realising ‘til many, many years later that Archimedes the Second was EJ 144.
AM: Right.
SE: So, he called it after the particular Sunderland Flying Boat. And we got a close up of the hatch on EJ 144 on a, we got a photograph up on it and we pulled it in and sure enough you can see it. And according to John Evans it’s one of the very few Sunderlands that actually had a name.
AM: Right.
SE: So, somebody named it Archimedes the Second.
AM: I’m looking at carrying on at the other stuff that he was doing. And then August, September and October was spent on the ground as a squadron, as the squadron, you mentioned, squadron signals officer.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. So again going technical more and more.
AM: Yeah. You can see where it’s heading, can’t you?
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: And then back to his Sunderlands.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Through December. I should know this but I don’t. Where’s Mountbatten.
SE: Mountbatten. It’s just —
AM: Gibraltar to Mountbatten.
SE: It’s just off the south coast. It’s at Calshot. It’s the, it was the RAF Sunderland Flying Boats.
AM: Right.
SE: Yeah.
AM: EJ. There we are EJ 144. So, all the way through 1943 we’re back in around Gibraltar. Back to Bathurst doing lots of escort duties.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: And he describes himself as gunner signals at that point.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. And occasionally he’d be navigator as well I think.
AM: Yeah.
SE: On one or two trips. So they obviously had a grounding in most of the sort of basics and flying was obviously something that he was never going to pursue after that early knock back I suppose you’d call it.
AM: Do you know you look at it and — so into March ’43 and on Sunderland EJ 144 now with the same pilot throughout now.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, we’re now with flying officer [Calcut?]
SE: Yeah.
AM: Having had a number of different —
SE: Yeah.
AM: Pilots until then.
SE: And he went on to become the commanding officer. And I, believe it or not met the guy when we were based at RAF Brampton. So we’re talking 1968, 1969. This chap came into the officer’s mess. My father looked at him and said, ‘My God, I haven’t seen you since — ’ whenever. And he introduced him. And I thought wow there’s a Sunderland connection for the first time. And again —
AM: So, how old would you have been then?
SE: I was about seventeen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
AM: Yeah. Ok.
SE: Maybe I was a bit older. Eighteen. No. I was just about going off to university.
AM: Right.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Because I mean you look, you just look at some of the entries and think I just wish I could ask him about this one.
SE: Yeah.
AM: The ten hours fifty plus during the day. Plus two hours ten at night, anti-blockade runner patrol.
SE: You realise that, you know we do a trip from here to Hong Kong. It might be what ten, twelve hours and we think that’s heavy going. But you’ve got your drinks and you’ve got your meals whereas these guys are fourteen hours in the air.
AM: Absolutely.
SE: Out in the middle of nowhere and nowhere to go.
AM: Yeah. Yeah. There’s some. There’s a couple of fourteen hours. Twelve hours.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: See the last one on that page.
SE: Well, you think you’d go do-lally just looking at the sea all the time.
AM: Yeah. Yeah.
SE: I mean, the Atlantic is the Atlantic however you play it out. And you’d think gosh if you were out over there for those numbers of hours it would be quite exciting to see a submarine or something surface.
AM: And just looking at that date. That’s March. So he was out virtually every day. Virtually every day.
SE: This is why I’ve always queried that gap in the log when that crew disappeared because you couldn’t possibly be on holiday or just sitting on the ground. So, I’m convinced that that’s when the malaria got him.
AM: And the submarine attacked one.
SE: Yes. There was one or two occasions they did actually get to do something.
AM: Yeah. Anti-submarine patrol again. Oh, see, you look at that one. So, we’re in April 1943 now. On the Sunderland that he was on for ages and ages with Flying Officer [Calcot?]
SE: Yeah.
AM: “Searching for survivors we sighted lifeboat.”
SE: Yeah.
AM: But we don’t know whether they actually found any.
SE: We know there’s lots of stories about Sunderland crews landing to pick up people. We’ve got some fantastic stuff in John Evan’s material about even a Sunderland being towed by a ship back to base. There’s some fantastic stories with Sunderlands. I mean, they were such a versatile plane. And to be able to put one down in the Atlantic and get off again must have been almost impossible with, you know the rise and fall of the waves alone.
AM: We’ve got April ’43. The port outer seized and the prop stopped.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. There’s the, I’ve got the photographs of some of the crash landings and there’s one with a wing tip gone and another one with a chunk out the tail. And John again has put together the photographs I’ve sent him with the squadron records and said this is what happened. And so I’ve been able to piece it together from that.
AM: Yeah. Because that one where the — so when the port outer engine seized and the prop stopped and then the very next day engine change.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Full engine change. Straight out again.
SE: Yeah. Absolutely.
AM: Even though there was a small oil leak.
SE: Yeah. And learning again more about Sunderlands you know that they could actually get these gantries over the wings and lift the engines off. And of course the worry, as I then learned is that if an engine seizes and the prop keeps spinning or whatever it just literally just shakes the engine apart and can do more damage if you don’t get it sorted.
AM: Well, yeah. 26th of May, convoy escort OC 5. Didn’t meet them but crashed on landing.
SE: Yeah.
AM: The port float was written off at Port Etienne.
SE: Yes. I suppose quite symbolic and I think that’s the one I’ve got the photographs of. One of those, you know, things hanging under the wings there.
AM: Yeah. I’m looking up at the model you’ve got.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: And these are the floats.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Under the wings.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: So —
SE: They’re quite big. I mean, you know. They’re quite sizeable objects. They’re made in presumably lightweight metal but I’ve seen one or two in various museums.
AM: Right. I’m just flicking through the Sunderland ones now because I’m interested to see what he then moves onto. So, there’s lots of the same. I’m sure it wasn’t the same at the time but [pause] because then we get as far as August ’43 and he was posted. So, he wouldn’t have been doing operations counted in the way that they counted them in Bomber Command at the time.
SE: Correct. Correct.
AM: However, it’s clear that they were out virtually every single day.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Doing quite long flights.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, I don’t know, maybe you do. Was there a point at which they said, right you’ve done x number of hours now, that’s it? You’re off. So, so in Bomber Command it would have been, ‘That’s it. You’ve done a full tour.
SE: Yeah, looking at the way the personnel seemed to change it seemed to be based on exposure and experience. So that I’ve always taken it as read that it would be the numbers of hours that, not maybe in the air but using the equipment.
AM: Right.
SE: So, his expertise would have been building up now on radar and various forms of electronic communication and that would be the reason he was posted on. To then go on to do more training which appears to be the case before he goes back to flying again.
AM: Well, yeah. I mean following, not the usual pattern but a pattern that quite a few followed then they would have finished their tour of operations or however you described it and would become an instructor. They’d end up at an Operational Training Unit.
SE: Correct.
AM: Training.
SE: And that seems to be the case because he goes to OCU.
AM: And that’s what he’s got.
SE: With Sunderlands.
AM: Yeah. It’s number 4 COTU.
SE: Yeah.
AM: At Alness.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Where was Alness?
SE: Somewhere up in Scotland.
AM: Is it?
SE: I think it’s up Oban way. Somewhere up there.
AM: So, we’re August, September now. And straight away he’s instructing. And describing the exercises he does and who with but then another one where pupils not found but I’m fit to go solo. I’m adding a few extra bits there.
SE: Yeah.
AM: He doesn’t say I am he just says fit to go solo.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So then in to December ’43 still an instructor on Sunderlands.
SE: Yeah. So, for somebody who had so much time on Sunderlands its, it’s remarkable —
AM: Yeah.
SE: That he just never spoke about them.
AM: Yeah.
SE: I mean his nautical side he did speak about because they used to, you had a captain of a Sunderland not, not a pilot. And he used to talk about mooring up and you know there was a definite sort of leaning towards that side. Whenever we used to go out on a boat or whatever he would say, ‘Oh, you’ve got to do this. You’ve got to do that.’ So, I think he took to that side of it. But the actual Sunderland. The aircraft. The stories. All the stuff that’s in that book. Nowhere did he ever talk about it.
AM: Just, no.
SE: No. Even when I made the model he just sort of went, oh.
AM: Alright then. And now here we’re coming to January and February ‘44 and this is the first time radar’s actually mentioned by name.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: But, but he also does an air to sea rescue duty but no trace of survivors. So, there were —
SE: Well, I think what, what, again from John Evans, John Evans’ material that it appears that when you were on an OCU of some sort you were still, if you were in the air and something took place you would be sort of commandeered.
AM: Still operational.
SE: And you’d be expected to go.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And help out as it were.
AM: And by April ’44 qualified to operate and instruct pupils in Mark 3 radar equipment.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: And just before that he’s done his radar instructor crew courses [pause] Which then takes us onto [pause] from Scotland.
SE: Out to the Caribbean.
AM: Out to the Caribbean.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Nassau.
SE: To be re-mustered again.
AM: Yeah.
SE: To join up with the crew. Now, I’ve got the photograph which Peter will have of the crew that they joined up with. And according to the archivist at 223 he was able to name all those characters but in one or two of the publications they’ve got the notations wrong or they haven’t got the right caption. Because, I’ve queried how come my father’s not listed on some of the photographs but he’s on them and vice versa. So, we’ve got a little bit of an anomaly with the record keeping as to which crew he was with. That’s pretty clear in the, in the documentation. But on the photographs, and apparently this is a common thing that they get a photograph from somebody. They haven’t quite got the caption right or the names are wrong or something like that.
AM: Yeah.
SE: So, he ended up on coming back from being re-mustered or crewed or whatever they did out in the Bahamas. The photograph’s there, and then came back to 223 at Oulton.
AM: Yeah. So, he goes to Nassau. To Number 111 Operational Training Unit. So, we’re coming back to going on operations again.
SE: Yeah.
AM: One, oh the transit is on a Dakota. Yeah. So, that makes sense. Off we go in a Dakota. And then he’s on Liberators.
SE: Yeah. Now, again why Liberators? I don’t know. I could see the connection between Sunderlands and Stirlings because they’re made by the same people — Shorts. So, I would have thought that you would again keep people on similar. It’s a bit like saying you’ve always been with British Leyland.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Or you’ve always been with Ford. That’s how I understand it. And so it means that you would be familiar with a lot of the equipment and the things that are on those planes. But Liberators? American. Don’t know where that would fit in to be honest.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Just presumably where they did their training and its obvious from again the way its reading that there was —
AM: Well, and if you think about when it is. I have absolutely no idea if this is relevant or not but we’re after D-Day now.
SE: Yes. I wondered. And that’s, again he never ever mentioned about, again the period of the war where I always thought well he must have been involved in D-Day. As you would anybody that was in the forces but you see there that he was well clear of that.
AM: Yeah. There’s because the gap is —
SE: Yeah.
AM: That he did his final instructor crew the 1st of May ’44.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then the next entry is the 15th of June 44. So that period —
SE: Yeah.
AM: Of getting ready for D-Day and —
SE: Yeah.
AM: D-Day.
SE: Well out of it.
AM: And then all of a sudden he’s on American bombers.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. It is interesting. And again, it could be and I would like very much to get hold of his medical records from the RAF.
AM: Yeah. Could have had the malaria again.
SE: Yeah. I think again there’s been, something happened in and around that time that’s knocked him out because there are these gaps where you’ve thought well what were you doing for that period?
AM: And at such an intense period.
SE: Yes. Exactly.
AM: When they’re not going to send them all home doing nothing are they?
SE: No. Not at all. Not at all. No.
AM: Yeah.
SE: No. And then from RAF Oulton where he didn’t seem to be there long before again he’s recruited to go to another training establishment or course or whatever. And then from there he’s bounced on to North Creake. Now, being as both those squadrons are Special Operations Squadrons with 100 Group you can see that there would be a progression then to where ever you can do the job. Train at the same time. Use the expertise. Now, again I never understood what RCM meant in the logbook until somebody pointed out it was Radio Counter Measures and Radio Counter Measures being anything to do with throwing metal bits out of the aircraft to doing signal —
AM: They dropped the —
SE: Signal, yes. Or as I now understood that a lot of it was putting —
AM: Windows.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Sorry.
SE: Was it Windows? And putting out a lot of duff gen. So, in other words they were sending signals out within the main bomber formations to say we are actually something else. And it wasn’t for some considerable time did I put all that together and realise that these Stirlings were a pretty clapped out aircraft in amongst the main formations.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Doing all of this.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And they were doing it in patterns. And I’ve now managed to acquire three publications on the subject and it’s fascinating because we’ve now been able to trace the main pilot. We can see he was the guy who he was with most of that time and they did these like figure of eight patterns in the sky.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Or did a box or whatever out into the North Sea over the particular target areas. Sometimes they weren’t involved in actually bombing. They were just up there, you know messing about if that’s the right term. Whereas where you’ve got an entry that’s in red with a target then they were bombing, so —
AM: Yes.
SE: We know then that some of them were involved in actually dropping munitions and others weren’t. And again he never mentioned it. He never used to say oh we dropped all these bombs on so and so but through those publications I’ve learned a tremendous amount of what they were up to.
AM: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Because he was posted. So, he was posted to 223 Squadron.
SE: Yeah.
AM: On the Liberators. And as you say by October some of it is in red now so we’re on operations. Just, “Patrol as briefed” operations.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So we don’t know what the patrol was.
SE: No.
AM: And then [pause] and we’ve got a gap again. October ’44.
SE: That’s when I think he was another signals course.
AM: Right.
SE: Going to —
AM: Oh yes. Yeah.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Yeah. Quite right.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, posted for a signal leader course.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Which takes us to January ’45.
SE: Yeah.
AM: 199 Squadron, North Creake.
SE: Yeah.
AM: As you say, Stirlings.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And now we’re out over Germany.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So —
SE: Yeah.
AM: We’re out, we are within Bomber Command as support. Stuttgart. Metz. Eindhoven. Liege.
SE: Yeah. One of, one of the things that we learned as well from the archive of 199 is that according to that logbook they flew the last operational sortie.
AM: Right.
SE: And the aircraft was N-Nan. And we’ve got the photograph in the album which Peter’s got where it’s, the caption says, “Last op,” and “A dusk take off.” And I always thought that was significant. And that tallies with the operational records from that squadron to say that they were on the very last operation actively, with Stirlings at 199.
AM: Yeah. It’s just all described as bomber support. You desperately want to grab him and say, ‘Yeah. But what did you do? What did you do?
SE: I mean I don’t know whether his Morse code was sending out or whether they were doing it verbally or what they were doing. But I would assume that the, the duff gen as I call it or the disinformation would be giving wrong positions, or saying that the formations heading to — where ever.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Or I just don’t know what they were doing other than —
AM: Because for everyone else it would be radio silence.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So —
SE: Yeah. And radio counter measures. It makes you think oh they’re bouncing signals back or they’re, you know, defending something somehow. But I really just really don’t know what all that was about and I know, as I said earlier that he was fluent in Morse code. I mean he could tap out anything.
AM: And with Flight Lieutenant Lind. Did you ever —
SE: Ray Lind. We’ve got photographs of Ray Lind. He got a DFC and bar. He was quite an accomplished pilot and he went on to stay in the Air Force for a while. And there is some correspondence between him and Ray Lind so they were obviously quite good pals. But whether he’s still alive today I don’t know. He may well be because he was about a similar age. And let’s be honest if he’d have, if he’d have lived he would have been now the same age as Bill Barford. So that would take him to ninety [pause] wait a minute, ‘21 ‘til now.
AM: What would your dad be? Ninety — your dad be ninety six if he was still alive.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. Bill was, yes. Bill was ninety five, ninety six. Yeah.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Yeah. Yeah.
AM: So, bomber support. And that finishes then in March ’45.
SE: Yeah. Yeah. And the war ended not long after that.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And then he ends up just after the war.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Signals officer.
SE: Yeah. And then the, the real sort of career takes off where he is now re-categorized for major aircraft. That’s anything with four engines from what I could see where he became a VIP crew man. So, in other words, according to all of that — and there’s some very interesting names in that logbook. There’s people like Sir Pirie. Oh, wait a minute. What’s his name? What would have been equivalent terms today of the Minister of defence or various other VIPs and you’ll see later on in the logbook that they were flying all over world. They were flying important people. And he, having this particular category as a wireless operator, air gunner, signaller, whatever. And I’ve got, which I only really looked at today for some reason. I’ve never really paid any attention to it before but there was a little diary thing here which was in amongst a lot of his other affairs. And this is called, Aircrew Categorisation Card. Wireless operator air. Now this dates from — the very first entry is the 7th of March 1946. And it’s saying, qualified VIP on all types of service aircraft and equipment. And it basically goes on that each time there was some other aircraft or whatever then you can see that it goes on where you’ve basically got a record of you are one of the number one people now for taking VIPs around. And you’ve got, and if you look at the very back of the book there’s a, there’s a little sheet in the back cover that says — it’s almost like saying if you stop me I’m the person that you should be paying attention to because I’m the person who knows what I’m talking about. I’ve never seen that before.
AM: Pretty much. Yeah.
SE: I’ve never read it before. And I suddenly saw it today and I thought, oh wow, look at that, you know.
AM: Is — did I just see or am I [pause]
SE: And the range of aircraft that he ended up in.
AM: That’s exactly what I’m looking at now.
SE: Oh, it’s huge. It’s huge.
AM: That’s exactly what I’m looking at now.
SE: If you look at the back pages of the logbook you’ll see. It’s got — what aircraft type have I flown? That I’ve flown on. And I think it’s the last but one page in the back there. Go back. Go back further. Yeah. There.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And it’s got and then I think it goes to the actual aircraft there.
AM: Yes.
SE: And you start thinking wow that was a fair number of aircraft that you flew on there.
AM: And he did get to fly a Lancaster.
SE: On one. Yeah.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Even though he never mentioned it. And when we were younger I’ve got photographs of me on the strip at Changi where a Lancaster landed that’s the very one that’s Just Jane. I’ve got a real association with Just Jane up at East Kirkby.
AM: Yeah.
SE: And I clambered aboard with him in 1965 when it came through on its way back to the UK. I climbed aboard again in the mid-70s when it was the gate guard at Scampton. And I had no idea until my wife bought me a present for, I think a fortieth, fiftieth birthday something like that to do a night flight over on Just Jane. And I was over there and I kept thinking there’s a bit of déjà vu going on here and sure enough it turns out to be the same aeroplane which I had no idea.
AM: Just shows you.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Have you actually counted up how many —
SE: No.
AM: Bomber command operations he did?
SE: No. No. Never did. I know there’s a, there’s one commendation thing in here which I’ll just show you which I thought was quite an interesting one which again is getting very friable now. This one. That one.
AM: Right.
SE: Now, that one as I say is quite a rare one. I’ve not seen one of those before and its getting quite thin on the, you know the print. But I think Peter picked up on that one.
AM: Yeah. I’m just trying to see a date on it but this was 199 Squadron.
SE: It doesn’t. I know. I couldn’t find a date on it either. I thought that’s a bit silly that.
AM: But this is for meritorious service and good airmanship.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And it’s, a full operational tour has been completed without having been involved in any accidents or ever having an unnecessary cancellation or abandonment of an operational sortie.
SE: Yeah.
AM: I’ve never seen one of those before.
SE: No. I’ve not seen that before. And that’s 199. So, again that that’s must have been the last trip or the last trips that he did.
AM: I wonder who that was signed by because it’s been approved by somebody for —
SE: Yeah.
AM: The Air Vice Marshall, Air Officer Commanding, HQ, 100 Group.
SE: Yeah.
AM: But I can’t read the actual signature.
SE: No. No. No.
AM: So, that takes us to the end of the war. So, obviously I’ve got this great big thick logbook here that goes on many years after the war.
SE: It explodes after that.
AM: So, tell me a bit about — I’ve forgotten when you said. You were born in ’52.
SE: Yeah. I was born at Ramsgate.
AM: So, but what do you remember before we come onto you. What — so what do you remember if anything about — they would have got to the end of the war.
SE: Yeah.
AM: So, there’s two pathways for people to go then. They could either stay until they’re demobbed.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Or they can stay on. And obviously your dad stayed on.
SE: Yeah.
AM: Did he ever talk about why or —
SE: No. I remember he, he, obviously there was the connection with my mother and he was based somewhere around Manston.
AM: Right.
SE: Which is on the Kent coast. Where he met my mother. And obviously she was from Ramsgate so the connection there must have probably thought well I’ll stay in that area. And he got posted to, or he was the commanding officer of a secret radar station on the south coast called Foreness.
AM: Right.
SE: Again, you can see the connection with the expertise —
AM: Yeah.
SE: In radio or radar. So, that’s about 1950/51. Now, by then my sister was born and she was born in Singapore because he spent considerable years number of the years after the war in Singapore doing all this VIP flying. So, from the time that the war ended and him doing the VIP stuff they were in Singapore for three years. And there’s a lot of —
AM: Sorry. When did your mum and dad marry?
SE: They were, they were married in 1949.
AM: Right. Ok.
SE: So, between ’49 and ’51 they were in Singapore. My sister was born there and my mother was — no it may be even earlier than that because my mother said on many occasions that when she went to Singapore she was one of the very first wives to go back to Singapore after the Japanese occupation. And they still had Japanese prisoners of war as servants, and doing jobs. And my sister was born in Changi Hospital and she was the very first English, or white person to be born in the hospital after it was re-opened. Because if you know anything about Changi and you know anything about that hospital and the things that happened at that hospital —
AM: I do. I do.
SE: We’ve got quite a good history of that and I’ve got several books on the, on the history of Changi. Now, so, so they came back from Singapore ’50, ‘51ish or whenever it was. And then he went to Foreness and Manston. He was, he was sort of seconded from Manston to Foreness. I think Manston at that time was an American Air Force base so there was a connection there. And then at Foreness he had this challenge. My mother tells me about this challenge where he said to get the respect of his underlings he would have to climb the tower. Now, it was only last year that I had a connection with Foreness, from their archive people to say that this was true and that the tower existed and they sent me a photograph of the tower. And apparently he climbed this tower singlehandedly. Well, you had to to maintain it. So, he said, ‘Well, if you’ve got to maintain it I’ll get up and have a look at it.’ And I was sat on the beach as a six month old baby with my mother with this all going on. And I’m like — oh sorry love.
Other: I have to go.
SE: We’ve got to go have we?
Other: Yeah.
SE: Ok.
[recording paused]
AM: Right. Ok.
SE: What we can do. You can obviously keep that there and I can now do you a follow up to that. I’ve got one of those. And I can do the bit that’s missing if, assuming you want the up to date stuff. I wasn’t sure whether you really wanted to go that far.
AM: Yes. Ok. So, what we’re going to do we’re going to pause the interview now.
SE: Yeah.
AM: And probably recommence at some later point when hopefully you’ll be able to tell us about your childhood.
SE: Yeah. By all means. I mean —
AM: About your dad and the RAF.
SE: Yeah. I mean —
AM: And your dad in the RAF.
SE: Yeah.
AM: But also what he talked about to you and what sort of impression that made on you as a child.
SE: Yeah. I mean the sort of thing that I like to remember is the, the coming home in the evening in uniform. He’d come home and he’d say, ‘Do you fancy going down to the bottom of the runway? Because there’s a whole load of Mosquitoes down there that are being broken up. And you can go down there with a hacksaw and a chopper and go and get some wood and you can make yourself a model out of it.’
AM: Absolutely.
SE: So, I know as a kid I was vandalising aircraft.
AM: The wooden wonder. Chopping it to bits.
SE: Yeah. No. We could certainly do that.
AM: Did he ever talk about, you know the, the thing about bombing. Well, mind you he didn’t bomb then as such. He wasn’t, he was an operator. He was —
SE: No. No. No. He never mentioned it.
AM: He was on support wasn’t he?
SE: Never mentioned it. Never mentioned it. I mean it was only, it was only just recently when I, when my mother died that this parachute bag appeared. I mean this bag as I say it’s got his, it’s got his name on it as a, as a pilot officer and it just was up in the attic for, I don’t know how long, you can see the W.
AM: Yeah.
SE: Oh. Air Ministry on there. And, as I say, and PO. Now, that must go back to Sunderland days, and this is his parachute.
AM: Pilot officer at that point so —
SE: Yeah. So, this is his official parachute bag. So, you know they must have got on board each time with these parachutes and thought one day I might have to jump out. But anyway —
AM: Yeah.
SE: But, yes if, if that’s the case Jackie we’d better get a shift on.
AM: So, we’ll leave it there.
SE: Yeah.
AM: But I’m sure there will be a second instalment to come.
SE: Yeah. I’ll just show you this little thing. They paid me through you —
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Steven Ellams
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Annie Moody
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
2017-08-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
AEllamsSD170825
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:53:06 audio recording
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
Second generation
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Description
An account of the resource
Steve Ellams is the son of a wireless operator who flew in a number of different aircraft. During the war he flew initially in Sunderlands overseas before being posted back to the UK. He started operational flying in Bomber Command with 199 Special Duties Squadron.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Norfolk
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
199 Squadron
223 Squadron
95 Squadron
aircrew
B-24
Defiant
Me 110
RAF Alness
RAF Cranwell
RAF North Creake
RAF Oulton
Special Operations Executive
Stirling
Sunderland
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/115/1940/PBaileyHH1607.2.jpg
6f95c9bc4ace3bf44e3cf4be291bca22
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, Harold H
H H Bailey
Bill Bailey
Description
An account of the resource
The collection consists of an oral history interview with Harold Hubert 'Bill' Bailey (b. 1925, 2221922 Royal Air Force) and eight photographs.
Bill Bailey completed 37 operations as a rear gunner with 31 Squadron, South African Air Force as part of 205 Group. He flew from Egypt, Palestine and Italy and took part in supply drops to partisan groups in Italy and Yugoslavia.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bill Bailey and catalogued by IBCC staff.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-05-01
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Bailey, HH
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.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
B-24 in flight over the Alps
Description
An account of the resource
31 Squadron South African Air Force B-24 in flight over snow-capped mountainous terrain. The registration letter K is visible.
Additional information about this item has been kindly provided by the donor.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bill Bailey
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PBaileyHH1607
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy
Alps
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
South African Air Force
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
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
one b/w photograph
31 Squadron
B-24
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1977/38295/BLanningWPalmerRAMv1.1.pdf
40daddfc2b5ff193ead9c644c8456a05
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
Palmer, Robert Anthony Maurice
R A M Palmer
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
2017-10-30
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Palmer, RAM
Description
An account of the resource
38 items. The collection concerns Squadron Leader Robert AM Palmer VC, DFC and Bar (115772, Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, photographs, fact sheets, newspaper cuttings, documents, correspondence and a substancial history of his last operation. <br /><br />He flew one hundred and eleven operations as a pilot with 75, 149 and 109 Squadrons and was killed 23 December 1944 when leading a daylight operation as an Oboe marker.<br /><br />The collection also contains 51 items in a <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2178">Photograph album</a>.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Penny Palmer and catalogued by Nigel Huckins. <br /><br />Additional information on Robert AM Palmer is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/221528/">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
To Cologne - Gremberg by Oboe - tribute to Squadron Leader Robert A.M.Palmer VC, DFC & Bar
Description
An account of the resource
The story of an attack by Pathfinders of 35,105,109 and 582 Squadrons 23 December 1944. Tribute to Robert pPalmer and thirty comrades who died with him. Contains history of Battle of the Bulge. Description of Oboe system. List of aircraft and crews with some results and reports. Detailed hour by hour account of operation with recollections by some crews. Personal memories by Gordon Musgrave. Les Millett, Gordon Baker, Alan Bourne, Roy Shirley (F Freddie's last mission by Alan Roade). Russ Yeulett (Robert Palmer's rear gunner - the only crew member to survive). Continues with extracts from the German records and the RAF Historical branch. Next section headed Walt Reif and Crew. Arndt Walther Reif, Kenneth Harry Austin. Peter Uzelman, George Owen, Jack McClennan, Robert Pierce, John Paterson. Lists nine operations against French targets with 101 Squadron and then list 20 operations with 582 Squadron reported missing from last to Cologne. Telegram and letters sent to members of Walt Reif's crew and letter to Mrs Owen from Jack McClennan relating story of last operation. Next section - immediate interpretation report No K3465 - Cologne Gremberg. Assessment of damage. Quotes from newspapers, extracts from London Gazette citation for award of Victoria Cross to Robert Palmer. The American air offensive 23 December 1955 - list aircraft and losses. Lists losses for 23 December 1944. Includes friendly fire casualties and German fighter losses. Notes on German interceptions and tactics. Routes and timings. Headquarters Pathfinder Force 8 Group Bomber Command operational record book extract on attack on Cologne Gremberg. 105 and 109 Squadron operation record book extracts. Squadron Leader Robert A.M. Palmer VC, DFC and Bar list and numbers of operations on 75, 149 and 109 Squadron and 20 OTU. Biography of Robert Antony Maurice Palmer. Reflections. Photographs and map. Photographs of airmen, aircrew, aircraft, parties, Robert Palmer, 109 Squadron A Flight and other aircrew.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bill Lanning
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-12-23
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Cologne
Great Britain
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Kent
Germany--Osnabrück
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
France
France--Morbecque
France--Le Havre
France--Calais
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Photograph
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Sixty-five page printed document with photographs
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BLanningWPalmerRAMv1
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
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.
109 Squadron
20 OTU
582 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
B-17
B-24
B-26
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing
C-47
crash
Dulag Luft
flight engineer
Fw 190
killed in action
Lancaster
Me 109
missing in action
Mosquito
navigator
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
P-47
P-51
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Graveley
RAF Little Staughton
RAF Manston
shot down
training
Victoria Cross
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1415/26756/NWarrenGC190813-010001.1.jpg
99e0366294db39d72573a9206f7171be
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
Warren, George
George Clarence Warren
G C Warren
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-08-13
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
Warren, GC
Description
An account of the resource
47 items. The collection concerns Flying Officer George Warren (162041 Royal Air Force) he flew operations as a navigator with 626 Squadron until he was killed <span>16 March 1945 on an operation to Nürnberg. The collection contains his log book, correspondence and photographs.</span><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Harris and Vanessa Hibbert and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on George Warren is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/124450/ ">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Access Rights
Information about who can access the resource or an indication of its security status. Access Rights may include information regarding access or restrictions based on privacy, security, or other policies.
Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[Missing letters]ay, 28 March, 1945
BIGGEST TEN-TON RAID YET
Bombs Crashed on U-boat Shelters
CARRYING more ten-ton bombs than in any previous attack, Lancasters yesterday hit at concrete U-boat shelters under construction at Farge, north-east of Bremen on the River Weser.
An oil storage depot in the same area was also bombed. Other forces of Lancasters struck at the Konigsborn and Sachsen benzol plants near Hamm, and also at the railway centre of Paderborn, about 40 miles east of Hamm.
Spitfire-bombers continued their attacks on railway targets in the Netherlands rocket zone.
Leigh-Light Liberators attacked seven U-boats, a destroyer and 14 other ships in the Western Baltic on Monday night. Preliminary reports indicate that results were good.
In the Skagerrak, Halifaxes and a Liberator bombed marchant [sic] shipping, while torpedo Beaufighters attacked other vessels off the Frisian Islands.
Railway yards near Vienna, marshalling yards at Szombathely in Hungary and Bratislava in Czecho-Slovakia, and transport targets in Wiener, Neustadt and Budejovice areas were bombed by Italy-based aircraft.
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
Biggest Ten-Ton Raid Yet
Description
An account of the resource
A newspaper cutting with news about attacks on U-boat shelters at Farge, an oil storage depot, benzol plants near Hamm, railway targets in the Netherlands, vessels in the Western Baltic, merchant shipping in the Skaggerak and Freisian Islands and other locations.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Birmingham Mail
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945-03-28
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One newspaper cutting
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
NWarrenGC190813-010001
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
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Paderborn
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Europe--Skagerrak Region
Europe--Frisian Islands
Austria--Vienna
Hungary--Szombathely
Slovakia--Bratislava
Czech Republic--České Budějovice
Germany--Hamm (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany
Austria
Czech Republic
Hungary
Slovakia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
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.
1945-03
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
Anne-Marie Watson
Requires
A related resource that is required by the described resource to support its function, delivery, or coherence.
Workflow A completed
B-24
Beaufighter
bombing
Grand Slam
Halifax
Lancaster
Spitfire
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45953/SSmithRW425992v10003-0002 copy.1.pdf
2b2498c35c56b9b3f87fd35ee89aa604
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
A Tour of Operations with RAF Bomber Command No XV/15 Squadron Mildenhall
Description
An account of the resource
The third book of memoirs by Bob Smith.
Covers his operational tour and bombing operations.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Heinsberg (Heinsberg)
France
France--Beauvoir-sur-Mer
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
United States
Michigan--Detroit
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
France--Châlons-en-Champagne
France--Caen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Flensburg
Germany--Helgoland
Germany--Sylt
France--Somme
France--Aire-sur-la-Lys
France--Amiens
France--Gironde Estuary
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
France--Brest
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Braunschweig
France--Falaise Region
France--Royan
Poland--Szczecin
Great Britain
Scotland--Glasgow
Russia (Federation)--Kaliningrad (Kaliningradskai︠a︡ oblastʹ)
Sweden
Denmark
Sweden--Malmö
Netherlands
Netherlands--Eindhoven
France--Le Havre
Germany--Neuss
Germany--Düsseldorf
France--Calais
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Europe--Kattegat Region
Norway
Norway--Oslo
Denmark--Frederikshavn
France--Strasbourg
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Emmerich
Netherlands--Nijmegen
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Cologne
Belgium
Belgium--Antwerp
Germany--Essen
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Belgium--Charleroi
Germany--Leverkusen
Netherlands--Veere
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Aachen Region
Germany--Düren (Cologne)
Germany--Jülich
Germany--Fulda
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Osterfeld
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Australia
Victoria--Melbourne
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Brisbane
Scotland--Inverness
England--Blackpool
England--Colchester
Germany--Merseburg Region
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Canadian Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
98 printed pages
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SSmithRW425992v10003-0002 copy
1 Group
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
186 Squadron
195 Squadron
218 Squadron
3 Group
5 Group
514 Squadron
6 Group
617 Squadron
622 Squadron
75 Squadron
8 Group
90 Squadron
aerial photograph
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Battle
Blenheim
bomb aimer
bombing
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
Cook’s tour
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
Distinguished Service Order
escaping
flight engineer
Gee
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
ground crew
ground personnel
H2S
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Ju 88
killed in action
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 3
Master Bomber
Me 109
mess
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
propaganda
radar
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Honeybourne
RAF Husbands Bosworth
RAF Lakenheath
RAF Lindholme
RAF Mepal
RAF Methwold
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Sealand
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tuddenham
RAF Uxbridge
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Weston Zoyland
RAF Witchford
RAF Wratting Common
RAF Wyton
Spitfire
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
target indicator
target photograph
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45959/SSmithRW425992v10004-0002 copy.1.pdf
8c565c94f5bd602d984256cc89676d7a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, RW
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Bob Smith's Memoirs Book 4
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Bob Smith
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Scotland--Aberdeen
Scotland--Paisley
England--London
England--Thetford
Norway
Norway--Oslo
Germany
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Switzerland
Germany--Stuttgart
England--Ely
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Chemnitz
England--Brighton
Netherlands
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Liverpool
Malta
Egypt
Egypt--Suez Canal
Western Australia--Fremantle
Victoria--Melbourne
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Ipswich Region
Queensland--Maryborough
New South Wales--Cootamundra
Canada
Alberta--Edmonton
Nova Scotia--Halifax
England--Sidmouth
Nova Scotia
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Describes his service after completing his tour and the journey back to Australia.
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eng
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Text. Memoir
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40 printed sheets
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Pending text-based transcription
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SSmithRW425992v10004-0002 copy
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
3 Group
617 Squadron
622 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
Cook’s tour
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Service Order
Gee
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
ground personnel
H2S
Lancaster
love and romance
mess
mine laying
navigator
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
radar
RAF Desborough
RAF Honington
RAF Husbands Bosworth
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tempsford
RAF West Freugh
Special Operations Executive
sport
V-2
V-weapon
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/891/17971/BLillieCFLillieCFv1.1.pdf
dbc96002e44925d39e3017c027a466a7
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Title
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Huntley, Ronald
R Huntley
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Ronald Huntley (b. 1922, 1436327 Royal Air Force), an account of the shooting down and rescue by one of the Liberator crew, and photographs of RAF high speed launches and personnel. After service as a flight mechanic on fighter aircraft, he applied to join the Air Sea Rescue service as a engine engineer on high speed launches. He was involved in the rescue of the crew of a United States Navy PB4Y-1 Liberator shot down in the Bay of Biscay in February 1944.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Ronald Huntley and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-10-05
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Huntley, R
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A SPECK OF HISTORY
FROM LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
[photograph of Liberator]
FOR MY BRITISH SAILOR FRIEND RON HUNTLEY
WHO SAVE MY LIFE ON FEB 15, 1944
Thanks Ron – Carleton F Lillie
[page break]
BAY OF BISCAY INCIDENT
On Valentine's Day, February 14, 1944, crew 8 of U:S. Navy bombing Squadron VB-103, Fleet Air Wing 7, became engaged in aerial combat with two German fighter planes. Members of crew 8 were:
Kenneth L Wright, Lt. - pilot
Lawrence M Petersen; Lt. (jg) - pilot
Robert W. Lacey, Ens. - navigator
Carleton F. Lillie, AOM2c (AB) - bombardier - bow turret gunner
William E. Middleton; AMM1c- plane captain -top turret gunner
Robert A. Zabic, ACOM (AA) - gunner (all positions)
Richard C. McDaniel, AMM2c – waist gunner
Robert (Bob) Erdman, ARM2c – first radioman – radar operator
Thomas Ryan, ARM2c – radar operator – second radioman
Bennie Faubian, AOM2c – tail gunner
Robert M. Green, AOM3c – waist gunner
The crew members of the lead German fighter Ober Leutenant Kurt Necesany, pilot and squadron commander, Lother Clements radio operator, and Werner Rueger navigator. The Germans were flying Junkers 88s, which were long range twin engine fighters which have been converted from their original purpose as attack bombers. The JU88 carries a crew of three. We are flying a Navy PB4Y-1 “Liberator” (B24) bomber with a crew of eleven.
If this were being reported as a 10-second news bite, only these historical facts would be mentioned: “Today a U.S. Navy bomber was attacked by two German fighters. The Navy plane and one of the attackers were shot down with the loss of three crewman in each plane.” The main point would have been lost. This is not about planes; it is about human lives that are placed on the line in defense [sic] of their respective countries.
This saga, written in 1998, and revised in 2001, is based on a 57-year-old memory. Most of the events will be told in the present tense as if they were happening here and now, but you will notice that my memory and this chronicle flit back and forth between the “then” and the “now” without warning.
Before the aerial encounter, we have been searching for a German submarine down the French coast as far south as Spain. When contact with the fighters is made, we are over the Bay of Biscay, about 50 miles off the coast between Brest, France and the English Channel. We are heading north towards our base at Dunkeswell, England.
For my part, I am bombardier and bow front gunner. Never had to prove it, but I have been exposed to training that will enable me to navigate in the event our navigator becomes
1
[watermark of Liberator]
[page break]
disabled. Regardless, there are times when I can best describe myself as a-scared little boy. Knowing only this much background, you will see this conflict through my eyes as I recall it.
The narrative begins the night before the mission when I have a dream that I consider symbolically relevant. Most flyers I have known tend to be superstitious. As such, a bad dream is considered to be a bad omen. On the night before our mission, I have such a nightmare. I dream that I am walking down an abandoned street of an abandoned neighborhood [sic] in an unknown city. There is total absence of color [sic] except that everything appears pallid gray [sic] . As I walk, I am attracted to an abandoned apartment building. I enter the building and proceed from the entry up two fights of stairs to the second floor. Before me is an open door. Beyond the door is a very large room that is devoid of all furniture except one chest-of drawers. The top drawer has been pulled open and has been filled to overflowing with muddy water. A woman is in the process of drowning a naked newborn baby in the water.
Instead of interfering with her endeavor [sic] , I run to report the incident to authorities. When I reach the entrance lobby, I become confused, and instead of going out the front door, I turn at the landing and continue down the stairs to the basement. Before I can stop, I am in the center [sic] of the basement area. I am dismayed to find I am armpit deep in water and am engulfed by snakes of all sizes.
Thankfully this nightmare is interrupted by the alarm clock that is signaling [sic] us to prepare for today's mission. So, we get out of our "sacks", get dressed, and head for the chow hall. It will soon be daylight. During breakfast, someone takes a picture of our crew, then we head for the briefing room.
The pre-flight briefing covers all topics relative to our mission such as weather and an update of all current activities in the Bay including the probable path of an inbound submarine which was recently detected. While here, each of the crew is issued a small survival kit to be used in case we should somehow end up on French soil without having been captured. The kit contains a map, a couple of chocolate bars, a compass, much French paper money, and a few items for first aid. Now, off to the plane.
I can't shake the nightmare. My intuition is saying, "don't go" but the plane is too nearly ready for take-off to be grounded easily (an act I have never before even considered). Am reluctant to mention the dream to Bennie Faubian, our tail gunner, because, in my opinion, his nervous system crashed several weeks ago, and he is now flying on pure grit alone. I perceive the majority of the crew is too military minded to pay much heed to my concerns. The radiomen, Bob Erdman and Tommy Ryan, are the only two with whom I feel comfortable in sharing my dilemma. While the three of us discuss the situation. I become aware that Faubian has drifted in close enough to overhear us; so he has to be included in the conversation. Faubian immediately reminds us that we are flying 'Worry Bird `today.
2
[page break]
Because of its affinity for adversities, 'Worry Bird' is a nickname he uses to identify this particular plane.
The engines are ready to start before the four of us have developed a grounding plan. We have not been able to determine what equipment on the plane we could easily render sufficiently inoperable to force the flight to be cancelled. So, reluctantly, we climb aboard, and the plane is taxied to the runway.
To the best of my memory, this will be my 23rd mission.
Today's flight starts very much like all the missions before. As soon as we clear the English coast, all guns are test fired. Everything is go except the anxiety in my stomach. This feeling is new to me, for I have never been apprehensive about previous missions. I don't feel paranoid about this flight. but I'm not comfortable with it either.
We fly the route the briefing officer prescribed, and check out all the radar signals. Except for the turbulence in the weather front we recently encountered, our flight has been rather casual, and by this time it's late in the afternoon. We're heading north, back to the base at Dunkeswell. Now, radar is reporting a strong surface signal reflecting off an object in the distance along with two closer blips in the direction of one o'clock level. All hands look to the starboard and conclude that the two specks in the sky are German fighters.
As I watch, I am having several thoughts, three of which I will remember. The first is that the wing spans of these fighters seem too wide to be Ju88s, which I have seen before; so maybe they are Ju188s. My second thought concerns the possibility that my eyes might be blinded or (equally abhorrent) that I might lose my manhood. The third thought is temporarily interrupted.
Within a heartbeat the fighters have maneuvered into position for a gunnery run and are now within twelve hundred yards. The run is underway. There is no hesitation on their part. The planes move with precision and accuracy. These pilots are professional. Now at six hundred yards and within range of my 50-calibers, we exchange fire. I see flashes from their guns and am impressed by how slowly their tracers seem to float toward us. (Previous to this flight, I instructed the ground crew not to include any tracers in the ammunition belts scheduled for the bow turret, for they distract my attention from my gun sight.) For a few seconds, guns from our bow turret, top turret and starboard waist are all bearing on the Germans. Their lead plane displays a momentary erratic wing movement, and I'm reasonably sure he just received damaging hits.
The air is full of tracers, and it occurs to me that for every tracer I can see there are five bullets that can't be seen. I hear loud impacts as their gunfire perforates our plane. One comes much too close as it goes through the sleeve of my electric flying suit, cuts through a wool jacket, a shirt. and my long sleeved underwear. Thank God it only burns a reddish-blue
3
[page break]
crease on the inside of my wrist without cutting the skin. Sparks are flying because the electric solenoid that fires my starboard gun has just been shot loose. The solenoid was located within a foot of my ear. "Thank God" again. (I do not yet realize that my heating cord has been severed next to my leg).
Within these few seconds I have been able to fire several bursts. (A burst is usually composed of from five to twenty rounds). The Germans are now at 3:30 o'clock. Relative to me, they have slid toward the tail of our plane and beyond the turning capability of my bow turret. At this point I become a spectator. I can feel our plane vibrate as our gunners fire away and see the flashes from the German guns: I am watching tracers heading toward us and toward them from our starboard waist gun and top turret. Bill Middleton is in the top turret, but I'm not sure who is firing the starboard waist. For the next few seconds those two positions will have a clear shot with a good angle. If the Germans complete their gunnery run without breaking off, Faubian, in the tail turret, will have a chance to fire a burst or two.
Now all of our guns are quiet. The fighters' one and only run is over. My mouth is dry; I look at my hands and they are steady. I put one hand on top of my head and am surprised that I am able to feel my pulse there. I decide to align my turret with the plane because I have just had a disturbing thought. I will be able to exit this Erco ball turret [underlined] only [/underlined] if I can closely align it with both the horizontal and vertical axes of the plane. As I start the maneuver [sic] , I discover that the vertical control has apparently been shot out, but the turret has horizontal movement. So, I complete the horizontal alignment, and am excited to realize that fate arranged for the turret to be in vertical alignment before it was disabled. I will be able to get out of this trap.
During this brief encounter, my eyes have been on the fighters, but for a fleeting second, my mind drifts from reality back into my third thought that had been previously interrupted. I imagine those fellows are about my age -20 years. I’II bet we all would have been friends if we had been raised in the same neighborhood [sic] . Except for a radioman at each of our airfields no one in the world knows this DUEL is taking place. I wonder what in the ever-loving, blue-eyed hell this crazy war is REALLY about.
Some of the mechanical equipment on our plane has been devastated. At least one of their planes has met the same fate (a fact I will know for sure 54 years later). Our number one engine isn't running, and the propeller is windmilling. Something that looks like a slender stream of white smoke is trailing the number four outboard engine. Pilot Kenneth Wright instructs me to jettison our depth bombs. I comply and then abandon the bow of the plane and join those who are already in the waist section. They are Robert Lacey, Richard McDaniel, Robert Zabic, Bennie Faubian, Robert Green, and Tommy Ryan. Number four outboard engine has just stopped. All hands are ordered to get into our predetermined ditching locations. Someone instructs Ryan to go forward to his assigned position. This is the last time I will ever see my best friend and shipmate.
4
My position is to sit on the deck, facing aft, with my back tight against a thin aluminum [sic] bulkhead that separates the waist from the bomb bay. My hands clasp my knees which are drawn up tight in front of my face. I have never been one to make a public display of my religious beliefs, but I do believe in an all-powerful Creator who has the ability to control my fate and the outcome of all events. At this critical moment in my life, I am earnestly engaged in prayer. I truly expect to cross the `Great Divide' within the next few seconds. For the first time I can ever remember, I feel completely helpless.
To say that I am concerned for my safety is the understatement of a lifetime.
Has my subconscious found a sly and subtle way to console my mind, or is this a genuine manifestation? I tend to believe the latter, for I feel the presence of a being standing beside me with its hand on my shoulder. Immediately, I know I will survive this crash. – [underlined] what a relief [/underlined] !
I feel the plane bump as it ticks the top of a couple of ground swells, then the big finale as the plane and ocean collide.
What happened? I can't remember experiencing the impact, yet l am surrounded by water, I am blind, and I hear fire crackling all about me. Has some flying object hit my eyes so hard that I am in a state of shock and am unable to feel pain? If I have been hit, there must be blood in my eyes. I know what blood tastes like; so I'll touch my eyes and taste my fingers. Then I'll know for sure. As my hand reaches for my eyes. I feel a wool-lined leather helmet that is tight on my head and pushed down snugly over my eyes. I remove it, and immediately can see again - OH, HAPPY DAY - the most joyous moment of my life.
I survey my plight and quickly discern that the crackling sound of the imaginary fire is being made by metal snapping in two as the writhing sea wrenches a helpless fuselage. I am on my knees in a rear bomb bay and will soon be totally engulfed in water. The command deck is bucked up, and the bulkhead I was leaning against is missing. As I face aft, I see daylight and head that way. I comply with the training film and do not pull the toggle on my lifejacket while I am still in the plane.
Everyone who was in the waist has abandoned ship without my having seen them go. Water is halfway up the opening on the side of the waist hatch. The big life raft that we carry aboard all flights is still neatly snapped shut. It looks like a giant wiener as it randomly floats about me. I try to get it through the side hatch, but it is too slicky slick to grasp. I'll get out the starboard hatch while I still can, and then I'll try to coax the raft through from my position outside the plane.
So, I maneuver [sic] myself from the plane. Now that I'm out, it's time to inflate my lifejacket. I pull the toggle. Down I go toward the bottom of the ocean; up come air bubbles headed for the surface. My lifejacket must have gotten shredded as I climbed through that metal rubble on my way out of the bomb bay.
5
[page break]
Retrieving the raft is promptly forgotten as I see Faubian facing a gaping break in the fuselage and wildly flaying his arms about. His boot is trapped in the break, and he can't prevent going down with the plane. I approach him from his back, put my arms around his chest, and prop both my feet against the plane. With all my strength, I try to free his foot. Just then, the turbulent water causes the break to open a little., and his foot is freed.
He spins in the water and grabs me in a bear hug. I didn't realize he was so strong, and I didn't know he couldn't swim. He is frantic and Is In the process of drowning both of us. As I try to free myself from his grip, I become strangled. I can hardly breathe, much less think logically. Finally I get free of his grasp except for his iron grip on my little finger. It gets broken, but now we are separated.
The gyrations of the water move me about 50 or 60 feet to where Richard McDaniel is drifting. His lifejacket is inflated, and he is holding a small oxygen tank. When he sees that my life jacket is useless, he gives me the oxygen tank. Because I'm nearly drowned, I try to climb on top of the tank. It spins me over head down. When I surface, McDaniel slaps me with more than enough force to get my attention. He instructs me to hold the tank under my chin and stay still - I obey.
A miracle wave carries the two of us back to the plane just forward of the wing. The remainder of the survivors are with two small rubber rafts that Middleton has released from the top of the plane. Old dependable Lawrence Petersen and Bill Middleton are busy righting one of the upside-down rafts. With their help and that of Robert Lacey we all manage to get into the rafts before dark.
The sea is extremely rough with ground swells that appear to be 20 feet high; so we decide not to inflate the seats. The rafts are attached to each other with a 10-foot line. Some order is beginning to emerge from this chaos. We count heads. Erdman and Ryan are missing (never got out of the plane). To my surprise, Faubian is in a raft. How? He appears to be unconscious.
We are resigned to facing the night. The temperature is really cold. We are sitting in the bottom of rafts that are half filled with cold water. There is a canvas anchor trailing one of the rafts. When the leading raft clears the crest of a ground swell, the connecting line stretches taut as the rafts separate, and when the trailing raft clears the crest, the rafts bump together. This maneuver [sic] continues throughout the night.
Our big fur collars are turned up around our ears to protect against the wind. The trouble with this is, the collars also make good water funnels. Occasionally a curl will form on top of a ground swell, and if we are under It when it breaks, a ton of water comes down on our heads. Then the relatively warm water in our leather flying suits is flushed out and replaced with cold seawater.
6
[page break]
It is a long night. We can hear the drone of a plane above the noise of the sea. It is heading toward us, and the pilot turns his landing lights on. He continues to come our way. (I vaguely remember someone in the other raft shooting up an identification flare.) My mind is weary, and I'm not sure if the flare is fact or fancy. Anyway, he turns his lights off and veers out to sea. This incident causes me to engage in random thinking. Wonder if the sub we were trying to locate is still in this area? Wouldn't it be great if he would surface and take us prisoners! I seem to hear Grandpa saying, “If wishes were horses, beggars could ride".
Before morning, someone in our raft casually remarks that the pocket containing fishing tackle is not snapped to the raft as designed. It is upside down, the flap is open, and the fish hooks are loose among us. My imagination is off and running again. After all, we are in air inflated rafts.
Think I’ll check for hooks. Now I discover that I can't move my legs. They don't feel frozen; in fact, they have no feeling at all. I want to move my legs, but they refuse to react to instructions. So I take the hands of my companions seated on each side and place them on my chest. I still have feeling in my chest. Together, we three slide our hands down my body and place them under a knee. On signal, we all try and are able to slightly move one of my legs. We repeat the process with my other leg and then we move their legs. Now my thoughts drift to other areas.
Just remembered that I enlisted in the Navy exactly two years ago today (February 14, 1942). I left a carefree life at El Paso, Texas, High School, and within two short years I have become eligible to be a member of the'GOLDFI5H CLUB' which is first cousin to the `CATERPILLAR CLUB'. Now this is an accomplishment to strive for! (Members of the `Goldfish Club' ride their crippled plane down and ditch it in the sea; whereas members of the 'Caterpillar Club' bail out in silk parachutes and abandon their disabled plane in the air.) I'm sure all will agree that I celebrated my enlistment anniversary with a BIG SPLA5H.
It occurs to me that I have $300 worth of English ten-pound notes in my pocket. If I freeze to death the money will be worthless to me. I promise it all to the Good Lord if He will get me to dry land. (I will regret this promise a few days later, but I will be afraid to renege.)
Now the first signs of dawn appear. Someone discovers that Faubian died during the night. We meditate on this fact in silence. My mind flashes back to that dream I had just before our mission began; did it really portend things to come? I contemplate the deaths of my three good and loyal friends. (This train of thought will be renewed a few days later when the film of our last breakfast is developed. Erdman, Ryan, and Faubian are out of focus, but my image on the picture is sharp and clear. What, if any, importance should I give to this fact?) Did my subconscious mind have reason to make me apprehensive about going on this flight? It has been a long, cold night and the volume and diversity of my thoughts defy description. Before long we hear a plane, and I recover from my daze.
7
As it comes nearer, we recognize the plane to be a Sunderland - a British flying boat. The time Is probably 7 or 8 a.m. We signal to him, but he never sees us. Within an hour another Sunderland flies near us on his patrol south, We signal with stainless steel mirrors; but he just keeps going: Soon we see a third one heading directly toward us. This Sunderland circles and comes over us within 30 feet of the water. His crew waves and throws us a big round life raft with canned water in its survival kit. Our spirits skyrocket.
The Sunderland continues to circle within a mile radius until it is relieved by a U.S. Navy PBY 'Catalina' and three fighter planes. The Sunderland that first found us makes one more pass, dips alternate wing tips, and continues on his mission south. After one low run, the fighters move up in altitude to about 3 or 4 thousand feet and fly a big circle around us. We conclude that they have been sent here to prevent our being picked up by the Germans or the French. The PBY comes in over us low and slow with its engines making a popping and cracking sound as if each revolution will be its last: My friends Murrel Tittle and Mono Edwards are waving from the port blister.
"Pete" - Lt. Lawrence Peterson (the leader of our cheering squad) exclaims, "God bless him, that it ‘Whiskey' (Lt, Charles Willis). He has an old familiar flying boat; let’s pray he doesn't commit suicide by trying to land out here in these mountain sized waves". We are all aware that Lt. Willis has a reputation to uphold; so none of us would be foolish enough to bet against his trying to do anything, anywhere, at any time.
More planes are arriving on the scene - two of our Liberators and another fighter or two. With us now are two Liberators, one PBY and three or four fighters. I note that the insignias on the fighters indicate that they represent different countries. One of the Liberators is coming in only a few feet above the crest of the ground swells and heading almost directly toward us.
As it passes over us; l recognize George Moore leaning out from the port waist hatch and waving with both hands. We can hear him yell, "McDaniel", above the roar of the plane's engines and the noise of the sea; We know that George is `Slim's" (Richard McDaniel’s) best friend. "HoId onto something George." The fact that he hasn’t already fallen out of the plane is a big surprise. Someone in the other raft volunteers a personal observation, "That outfit belongs to Lt. Chet Rief and Lt. Bruce Higginbotham: The entire crew from Chet and Bruce on down is just like George - long on nerve and short on caution " I know that observation fits George Moore and Dave Offrell, and there is no reason for me to doubt that it applies to the rest of the crew.
Here comes the other Navy Liberator (PB4Y-1): It is just a little too high for me to recognize the three fellows in the waist hatch, but Lt Ken Wright is positive that Lt. Gus Binnebose is waving from the cockpit window. Regardless, we are gratified to know that our comrades are concerned about us and are doing all they can to ensure our rescue.
8
The planes seem to circle for hours. Who knows how long; our watches have not worked since they were filled with salt water. Finally the planes all streak away over the horizon. Within a few moments, they come back. They are flying low and come directly over us. They circle back and repeat their performance. They have spotted the rescue boat and are directing it to our location.
When we are on top of a wave, we can see what appears to be an overgrown PT boat heading our way. It is soon alongside us. A big British sailor reaches down, lifts me out of the raft, and carries me to the deck below. He supplies all the effort it takes to change from my cold, wet flying gear to warm, dry pajamas [sic] . I can't stand alone, and am not much help to him.
Bunks attached to a bulkhead are stacked several high. I try to get into the lower one alone. Even though it is only 4 inches above the deck, I can't get in without assistance. When we are all secure in our bunks, the ship's crew gives us some hot rum. I was told that the rum was spiked with a sleeping potion, so we wouldn't feel the pain of thawing out. That rum is the last I remember before I awake to find we are about to be unloaded at a British port.
We are taken from the boat to (what appears to be) a British military hospital. I report that a vertebra in my neck feels as if it is fractured. The doctors Ignore my concerns without ever taking an x-ray. (I will find out 50 years later, when arthritis occurs, that a vertebra really was fractured.) We are all treated for severe frostbite, exposure and abrasions, and within a couple of days we are released from the hospital.
Those British sailors risked their lives by going deep into no-man's-territory to rescue us. I will always appreciate them and admire their valor [sic] . I am especially appreciative of the big fellow who carried me from the raft. (I weighed 120 pounds soaking wet.) My thoughts at the time were only of getting dry and warm, but he was sensitive enough to perceive that in the future I might want a token remembrance of the event. So, after I was in dry pajamas [sic] , he picked up my wet leather flying suit and cut the section out of the sleeve that surrounded the bullet hole. He told me that some day I might want to show my children how close they came to not being here.
A tiny segment of my life has just been related. The time span was less than 36 hours, and only three minutes were assigned to actual battle. But, as a result of events that happened during that short encounter, three Americans and three Germans died: Robert Erdman, Tommy Ryan, and Bennie Faubian, -- Werner Rueger, Kurt Necessany, and Lother Clements.
~ ~
Members of crew 8 never flew as a unit again. Some of us flew two or three more missions with other established VB-103 crews before we were sent back to the States.
9
After a few weeks of stateside duty at Elizabeth City, North Carolina word began to circulate that Commander Brewer and Lt. Commander Rand had been selected to organize (or reorganize) VB-107. I, along with Murrel Tittle and Russell Millard (all three from VB-103), arranged an appointment with Lt. Cdr. Rand. He immediately accepted us as the first three members of his crew. After a few weeks at the Naval Air Station, Boca Chico, Florida. the squadron was sent to Upottery, England. We continued to fly in the Bay of Biscay and to blockade France until the last day of the war in Europe. According to my account, I flew a total of 53 missions from England with VB-103 and VB-107. And, the only souvenirs I have from these four years I flew with the Naval Air Force are the Distinguished Flying Cross, Purple Heart, an Air Medal with a Gold Star, and the Navy Unit Citation.
As a point of reference, I flew in the same Wing with Joseph `Joe" Kennedy, Jr. At that time in history, his brother Jack had not yet become the President of the United States. So, to us, Joe was just another fellow flier who took his chances in defense [sic] of our country, and was unlucky enough to get killed. But then, exactly half of the original members of VB103 were also killed in action.
Until recently. the account of this story was just a fragmented array of memory flashes. Mr. Edward B. “Buck” Cummings encouraged me to record the event just as I personally saw and felt the trauma as it was happening. Mr. Cummings also provided me pictures of the Germans that had been given to him by Mr. Chris Goss, the author of the book “BLOODY BISCAY”. This brief portion of history is in exact accord with the memory of one who has been fortunate enough to reach the carefree age of seventy-seven.
It would be remiss for me not to remember the stoic British people at St. Eval, Dunkeswell, and Upottery. I mention only these three locations, but in my mind, they are representative of all the neighboring [sic] towns and villages that befriended a bunch of young and spirited American flying sailors.
~ ~
I am appreciative of the constructive criticism provided by my son Scott and the research done by my daughter Ann Lillie Chess.
[signature]
Carleton F. Lillie June 8, 2001
1303 Caldwell Mountain Rd.
Hot Springs. NC 28743 s
TEL. (828) 622-7616
e-mail cliilie@madison.maln.nc.us
[photograph]
10
[page break]
A British air-sea rescue craft has ventured deep into no-man's-territory to rescue the survivors of crew 8 who are in the three rubber rafts. We will always appreciate those sailors and admire their valor [sic] [photograph]
[photograph]
Crew 8 of U.S. Navy Bombing Squadron VB-103
Fleet Air Wing Seven ~ Dunkeswell, England
Crew 8 - Upper L. to R
Carleton Lillie
Robert Zabic
Kenneth Wright
Lawrence Petersen
Robert Lacey
Lower - L. to R.
Richard McDaniel
William(Bill) Middleton
Bennie Faubian
Thomas Ryan
Robert Erdman
[arrow]
Ryan Erdman
[photograph]
As a result of events that happened during a three minute aerial duel, three Americans and three Germans died in defense [sic] of their respective countries.
[photograph]
Faubian
[photograph]
Clements Necesany Rueger
Above - L, to R
Thomas Ryan
Robert Erdman
Bennie Faubian
Left -- L. to R.
Lothar Clements
Kurt Necesany
Warner Rueger
Dublin Core
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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A speck of history from long ago and far away
Description
An account of the resource
Account of the operation to locate a German submarine and shooting down of a United States Navy PB4Y-1 Liberator by a Ju 88 in February 1944. Author is the nose gunner/bomb aimer and describes the operation, attack by fighters, ditching, escape to dinghies, loss of crew members, survival and rescue by RAF Air Sea Rescue launch. Air-to-air view of a Liberator over the sea on the cover. On page 10 a three quarter length portrait of a man in United States Navy uniform. On the last page top right a air to ground view of a high speed launch. Left top 10 aircrew in two rows captioned 'crew 8 of U.S, Navy Bombing Squadron VB-103 Fleet Air Wing Seven, Dunkeswell, England'. Middle left - two aircrew squatting down captioned 'Ryan and Erdman'. Right middle - an aircrew standing behind a gun turret, captioned 'Faubian'. Bottom left - three aircrew in front of an aircraft, captioned 'Clemente, Necesany, Rueger' Caption at bottom of page 'Above - L to R Thomas Ryan, Robert Erdman, Bennie Faubian, Left - L to R Lother Clements, Kurt Necesany, Werner Rueger'.
Creator
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C F Lillie
Date
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2001-06-08
Format
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Twelve page photocopied document with photographs
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BLillieCFLillieCFv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Devon
England--Honiton
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
United States
North Carolina--Hot Springs
North Carolina
Temporal Coverage
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1944-02-14
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Peter Bradbury
air sea rescue
B-24
ditching
Ju 88
RAF Dunkeswell
shot down
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/303/3460/AMcPhersonWhiteR150901.1.mp3
0e5df7f42951c97fd20e9aa7362cf89e
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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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White, Roy
Roy McPherson White
Roy M White
Roy White
R M White
R White
Description
An account of the resource
Eight items. An oral history interview with Roy McPherson White (1925 - 2018, 3006061 Royal Air Force), his log book, Service and Release Book, and five photographs. He joined the RAF in 1943 and after training, served as a wireless operator until 1947.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Roy White and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-01
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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White, RM
Requires
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Stationed at RAF Yatesbury (No.2 Radio School),
RAF Aqir (No. 76 Operational Training Unit and No. 26 Anti-Aircraft Cooperation Unit), RAF Abu Sueir (1675 Heavy Conversion Unit),
RAF Khormaksar (Aden Communication Flight).
Aircraft in which flown: Proctor, Dominie, Wellington X, Liberator VI, Baltimore, Ventura, Albacore, Beechcraft, Mosquito, Anson.
Roy White was born in Perth, Scotland in 1925. He lived in Scotland until the age of nine, before moving to London, after he received a scholarship to the London Choir. Roy performed with the choir at the 1937 Coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.
Roy left school at fifteen and went to work in the fabric trade at 16, he joined the ATC as a Volunteer Reserve, before joining the RAF in 1943 at the age of 18.
Roy recalls going to Lords Cricket Ground on the “Hallowed Turf” to join up. Roy was accommodated in some near by flats by the RAF. Roy’s brother was also in the RAF, in Costal Command and was a Navigator.
Roy was stationed at RAF Yatesbury (No.2 Radio School), RAF Aqir (No. 76 Operational Training Unit and No. 26 Anti-Aircraft Cooperation Unit), RAF Abu Sueir (1675 Heavy Conversion Unit), RAF Khormaksar (Aden Communication Flight).
Aircraft in which he flew: Proctor, Dominie, Wellington X, Liberator VI, Baltimore, Ventura, Albacore, Beechcraft, Mosquito, Anson.
At RAF Yatesbury Roy could easily do the required twelve words per minute in Morse code, and had an excellent American trainer who could do forty words per minute, along as sending and receiving the messages. At certain times, Roy was allowed to teach the class, but was mocked by his fellow classmates. Roy also learnt about the different parts of the radio, how to take them apart and fix them, along with how to fault find on the radio. The signaller would receive a message every thirty minutes, on the mission flight. This message could be about the target, or the weather condition, or even to return to base. The radio waves could also be used to help the Navigator find the correct location. As the Signaller was listening out constantly for messages, he wasn’t on the main crew radio.
Roy also learnt how to take a gun apart blindfolded, which he struggled with but found useful. Roy and his best friend Billy failed the initial training exams, and had to resit them, wit the next unit that arrived. While waiting to complete his exams, Roy worked as a porter at the local hospital, moving the wounded solider sent over from France.
Once Roy had passed all his exams and training, on his passing out parade, he borrowed a uniform for the parade. His uniform was having his brevets sown on by a WAAF on the base.
As part of the Air Crew training for a Signaller to correctly use the radio on board. Roy had to learn about the theory of radio waves, and learn to complete different sounds tests, along with the PNB system test.
When training as an Air Gunner, Roy learnt about the different parts of a .303 riffle and did some clay pigeon shooting. He didn’t receive much Air Gunnery training, as he was to fly on B24 Liberators (the main bombers used in the Middle east) and they used .5 guns, which he didn’t train on until he was in the Liberators.
Roy sailed to Egypt via Gibraltar, as he was a trained Air Gunner, the ships Captain on the merchant convoy, appointed him Ships Gunner and told him to expect to fire the guns. Roy did daily four-hour shift, U-Boat watches on the journey.
When Roy finally arrived RAF Abu Sueir, along with all the other crews. They were locked in a hanger for twenty minutes and told to crew up for the Vickers Wellington that they were to fly. Roy joined a crew with four South Africans and two other Scotsman. The South African crew mostly spoke to one another in Afrikaans.
When Roy was training on Wellingtons, due to a fuel tank problem. The Wellington crashed on landing. Roy banged his head on the radio set and was in hospital for a few days. After the crash, they were assigned a new pilot. The rear gunner got stuck in the Wellington, due to the mechanism being broken.
Roy and the crew then converted to B24 Liberators, which he flew until he left the RAF in 1947. After the war he returned back to his pre-war job in fabric, before running a Antiques shop with his wife before retiring.
Daniel Richards
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today I am doing an interview with Roy White and we’re at [redacted] Haunton near Banbury and we are going to talk about his days in the RAF, about how he got to that position and what he did afterwards. So, over to you Roy, if you’d like to gives us your history please.
RW: Right, I was born in Perth, Scotland 1925. I lived there till I was nine years old, then I came to take a recital in London to join a London choir in Margaret Street in London. So I did join the choir at the age of nine and I continued there until I was fifteen. I managed to get into the coronation choir during my experiences there and it was a marvellous experience in actual fact then. When I left the choir I went to the Mercers’ school for a couple of years but I left there and joined a firm that was making fabrics and I was there until I joined up in 1943. I joined up and went to St John’s Wood, Lord’s Cricket Ground on the hallowed turf, we were actually allowed to go across there and we were billeted out in the flats at St John’s Wood from there and kitted out and all the rest. After we’d done all our initial pieces we then went on to Bridgnorth for our initial training wing, which was drill, which didn’t come as a great surprise ‘cause I’ve been in the ATC and we’d done it all before, you know, but the Morse code was alright because we were supposed to do twelve words a minute when we left there but in actual fact I could do twelve when I started, ‘cause I done there, but I found it more difficult with the, with the gunnery in actual fact taking 303s to pieces and what not there because used to have, undo the breechblock with a blindfold on and put it back together which sounds stupid but in actual fact the lighting was very poor on aircraft so in actual fact if something goes wrong it was quite difficult to see so, in actual fact it made quite a lot of sense. So we were there till about the end of the year 1943 and then went to the radio school at Yatesbury and we were supposed to get up from twelve to eighteen words a minute on there and we also did training in arms, we rifles, Sten guns, we did hand grenades as well, what not there to, general training, what not there and my best pal, Billy Wilson and I, when it came to the exams we both failed the same thing on [unclear] and so we had to drop back a week and join the next unit, which came as a big surprise for us because that unit had been marked down for overseas unit, they sent us home on leave again for a fortnight but we joined the unit there. During our period waiting for embarkation we spent a couple of nights at [unclear] hospital, portering the wounded coming back from France, the convoys and we worked all night during operations helping out which was quite an experience ‘cause it really brought it home to you what it was all about when you saw the condition of some of these people who were there, you know, quite difficult, but it was a good experience and we embarked on the ship and we, I’ve never been sailing before, I’ve been across the Isle of Wight, that was my total knowledge of sailing, we thought, oh, lovely, easy trip on there and we saw the sailors loading up shells and wondered what on earth they were for, the first officer came on board, was just walking past us and he said, ‘you gunners?’ And we said, ‘well, air gunners’, and he said, ‘oh good, you can be the [unclear] gunners for this ship.’ And we all looked at each other as if to say what’s he talking about? He said, ‘let me explain, we are classified as an armed merchant cruiser’, he said, ‘that destroyer over there will be looking after one side of the convoy and we should be looking after the other side.’ He said, ‘we’ve got two 4.6 guns on the end of this ship’, he said, ‘you will be firing them at some time’ and whatnot [laughs] ‘but in the meantime you’ll be submarine watching as well on four hour shifts’ [laughs]. So we started our voyage doing submarine watching shifts from midnight till four in the morning on the, dead man’s watch I think, we called it in actual fact [laughs]. So we did that there and we did actually fire the guns so [laughs] much to the amusement of the rest of the people on board the ship but so, yes so that was the voyage. Then we went to Aqir we were from Cairo, we were based there for about a week or so and then went through Aqir just started our training there and from there we went to the gunnery school at Ballah, then came back and did our OTU at Aqir and then finishing that we went down to a Heavy Conversion Unit down Abu Suweir onto Liberators after that, we were flying Wellingtons at Aqir but Liberators down to [unclear] and then after that we, came the end of the war in the Far East ‘cause we were due to go out there on our next trip but the atom bomb dropping, we then faced with nothing to do so, we got posted out to Aden then, to a communications unit there where we flew all over the Middle East, all over the Arabian continent what not, did quite a lot of flying there and did a year there and from there we went to 26 ACU army operation, cooperation unit and that was helping the army in Egypt, we were target towing to, for there so we did that for about nine months. And then we came home in 1947, and I got demobbed up in, on the coast, up north. And came back to my job in London after that.
CB: Ok, so when you returned to your job in London, what did you actually do?
RW: Oh, we were inspecting, we used to make rolls of cloth, and when we, they came back to London we used to inspect them all to make sure that the quality was good and what not, and then
CB: Then what?
RW: And then the firm split up, I went with one director and went with another and I eventually became the director of the firm on, you know, in London.
CB: So what were you supplying? You -
RW: We were supplying the wholesale trade, dress making trade, the fashion trade in other words.
CB: And so becoming a director, what were your responsibilities when you were the director?
RW: Well, re the stock and travelling as well, I used to go and see customers and we used to do the buying and what not you know for each year, ‘cause you are working six months in advance all the time, picking the next seasons, materials, fabrics and all the rest of it, you know, so.
CB: Sounds good.
RW: Quite a good job. Very interesting.
CB: When did that come to an end?
RW: About 1973 or 4 I think, something like that.
CB: Ok, so you were only fifty then, so what did you do next?
RW: Yes. We went into antiques then, you know. My wife had a hat shop and when she left that, we started doing antiques.
CB: Ok. And you did that till when?
RW: We were still doing antiques I mean we came here so till about, I suppose, twenty five years ago, something like that, you know.
CB: Then what?
RW: So we retired then [laughs]. We’d had enough [laughs].
CB: Ok. And did your wife keep busy after that?
RW: Yes, she, she enjoyed her hat shop and she was an extremely good French polisher, which very handy in antiques trade.
CB: For antiques.
RW: And she was very clever, extremely good needle woman, ‘cause her grandmother had been a court dressmaker, you know, so.
CB: Ok. Thank you very much, so now going back to the early days. How did you come to join the RAF rather than the army or the navy?
RW: Well, I’d been in the ACC [sic], my idea was to join, ‘cause my brother was in the RAF as well, he was in Coastal Command.
CB: What did he do?
RW: He was navigator.
CB: Ok. And is he still about, is he?
RW: No, he died unfortunately when he was about fifty odd. He had a heart condition and those days unfortunately there was nothing they could do for them, you know. Today could probably just put a stent on again.
[Other]: It was a different matter.
CB: Quite different.
RW: Unfortunately then he died but he was also very lucky because he was in a crash as well, in a Mosquito went up with a strange pilot because the aircraft had been in for an electrical fault and then this pilot said, would you come up with me because you weren’t allowed to go out without a wireless operator so they went up and after about twenty minutes or so went totally out of control and wouldn’t recognize any of the signals and what not and they just crashed on the runway and while I saw the pictures of it, all you could see was the radio, that was all that was left there and luckily, say luckily, he broke his thigh quite badly. And so reduced him to grade three and so he had to give up flying, you know, after that but the pilot was lucky, he just got nick out of his ear, that was all [unclear].
CB: Right. What happened, what was, did they find out what was wrong with it?
RW: No, as I say, it had been, I think, for an electrical fault so whether it was still there or what not, you know, is hard to know.
CB: We are going back to your situation.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So you’ve been in the Air Training Corps at school.
RW: Yeah.
CB: And you left school at fifteen.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So you stayed with the Air Training Corps throughout that period.
RW: That’s right.
CB: When you were doing what? You were at -
RW: Well, I joined the textiles when I was about sixteen, you know, so I’ve been with them about a couple of years.
CB: That was a company.
RW: Yeah.
CB: Ok. So, you volunteered, you were being called up at eighteen.
RW: Yeah, I was in the RAF for, you know, [unclear]
CB: Yeah, ok, so how did that go? So, they called you up or you just said, I am joining, I want to join up?
RW: No, they called me up when I was eight, after eighteen, you know, because as conscription after you were eighteen.
CB: Yeah. Ok, so what happened then? ‘Cause you talked earlier about grading, so at what point did you undertake the grading system for aircrew, because they could have put you on the ground you see?
RW: Oh, when I went to Cardington.
CB: Right.
RW: That was it, I just got the notice to stay and we were there two days, most of the first day was medicals and what not and then the second day was all the various testing and then we had a board interview with the wing commander I think who went through all our details and said, yes or no, you were suitable.
CB: And what sort of testing did they do to decide whether first of all you’d be aircrew rather than ground crew and secondly which type of aircrew?
RW: They’d give you some educational test and for wireless operators they’d just give the difference between different sounds, you know, to pick it out as to say whether you could tell the difference [unclear]
CB: Yeah, sure.
RW: But that was the basics of it.
CB: Right, because they had the PNB system, pilot, navigator, bomb aimer
RW: That’s right, yes, and I think they had different things for each of them, you know
CB: Yeah. And had you volunteered to be a wireless operator air gunner?
RW: Yeah, because they said, why do you want to be a wireless operator? I said, well, I’ve been in the ATC, I enjoyed [unclear] I want to be a wireless operator, you know [laughs].
CB: Ok, good. So then you went on to do gunnery.
RW: Yeah.
CB: And how did that go? So,
RW: It was quite good, the training was quite good but it was fairly short course ‘cause they knew we were going onto Liberators and because different guns, instead of the 303s you’re on the point five, so there wasn’t a lot of training for that because they knew you’d be going over to the other ones afterwards.
CB: But how did they train people to be an air gunner? What was the first thing they did, because you hadn’t been in the air before so what was the process that you went through?
RW: Well, just mainly the basics of the 303 machine gun, you know, to learn all the bits and pieces of it, that took the most of the time.
CB: And when you start, when did you start shooting with an aerial?
RW: Well, we only did a little bit of shooting there.
CB: Was that, clay pigeon or initially, or how did they do it?
RW: Yeah, we did clay pigeon shooting and what not at Yatesbury as well as Ross rifles, what not, we did all that sort of thing.
CB: What rifles?
RW: Ross rifles, Canadian rifles they were.
CB: Oh, right, that was shooting at targets.
RW: Yeah, that’s right.
CB: Ok. So they didn’t put you in any turret at that stage.
RW: No, not at that stage, no.
CB: Ok. Good. So the point you were making earlier about the Liberator is that it is an American aircraft so it’s got different guns and they are .5 machine guns
RW: That’s right.
CB: And a completely different setup.
RW: Yeah.
CB: But when you got to the end of the course they recoursed you because you and Billy Wilson didn’t get through, what caused you to fail?
RW: It was a radio test, what you did, you tuned up the transmitter to get the maximum aerial, and you had, you were supposed to retest it, to make sure that you were on the right one and not on the reverse signal there and it was one of the few tests that if you failed that was it, you had to, the other things you could fail but it didn’t matter quite so much.
CB: Ok.
RW: But this particular one we both failed on the same thing so all we did was just retrain for a week and retake it all again, you know.
CB: Ok. The reason why we’re asking the questions is of course people have absolutely no concept of what is involved in the individual trade specialities.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So when you came to do radio training how did that work? They started you said earlier with the Morse code.
RW: Yeah.
CB: But then you got on to using radio, so could you describe please what was the process of training to be a wireless operator?
RW: Well, you had to learn all the innards of the various sets, all the various valves and what they did and they went through all the theories of what radios waves were and how they worked, all of the rest of it, you know, it was, quite involved learning all of that you know, something new completely to me at the time and of course in those days with the big old valves and what not not like the modern things now, and it was quite a complicated business fault finding ‘cause they used to do testing, putting faults in the system and find out where they were, all that sort of thing, and it was quite complicated you know to do it all but -
CB: So there was a lot of theory?
RW: Yeah, a lot of theory.
CB: And then there was practical, so how did that work?
RW: Practical. Very good in actual fact I enjoyed you know Morse code for my sins the instructor used to let me take the class when he was getting tired, usually [unclear], used to start a bit of a riot with all the class, they said, don’t you go too fast now! [laughs] Oh no, so, I used to take the class occasionally [unclear] but I enjoyed Morse code.
CB: So, Morse code you needed to know because of the signals coming in.
RW: Yes, that’s right.
CB: And going out but what was actually the job of the air signaller, the radio operator?
RW: Well, on half hour used to get the messages from coming in, I mean it might say return to base or weather bad or whatever, the rest of the time you could use the radio compass to find out the way back to base and stuff like that you know and you could find your position by contacting two different stations and asking them to verify what your position was [unclear]
CB: So in practical terms you were helping the navigator, were you, in position and indication?
RW: Yes, in an actual fact, you could pass it over to him, say what it was [unclear]
CB: And did the navigator ask you to do that?
RW: Not that, not that I remember.
CB: Later on.
RW: But I used to pass it on to him anyway, you know, see whether there was any commonality [laughs]
CB: So you were teacher’s pet in this business of the training for being a wireless operator?
RW: I don’t know about that! [laughs]
CB: But -
RW: No, he was, mainly, he was on an American, he worked for Wells Fargo, he was absolutely fabulous operator, quite incredible.
CB: And he had operational experience, had he?
RW: Yeah, I think he could do about forty words a minute actually on there which was absolutely incredible and he could send messages and receive them at the same time, you know.
CB: But had he got aircrew experience?
RW: No.
CB: Oh, he hadn’t. Oh, ok. So what about the other people who were on the course, so they were barracking you not to go too fast, so what were the people and what were they like? What sort of people?
RW: Oh, they were great bunch of fellows, as in actual fact you know, wonderful sense of humour, all pulling the leg if they had to [laughs] but oh yeah, great bunch of blokes in actual fact.
CB: And presumably they had some kind of aptitude, did they, to do this work because.
RW: Oh yes, they did, in actual fact, you know, we all [unclear] in different ways, they all come from different backgrounds, all sorts of things.
CB: Had any of them got radio experience before?
RW: I don’t think so, oh yeah, one chap had, I think he worked for Marconi or something like that but most of the others never had, you know so [unclear]
CB: So you and Billy Wilson were recoursed.
RW: Yeah.
CB: What happened to the other members of the course? I mean, where did they go?
RW: Oh, I think they must have gone straight on over here to OTU gunnery school and probably onto a squadron you know [unclear] left behind, you know.
CB: So you kept in touch did you, with some of the people so -
RW: No, I didn’t, actually, in actual fact, you know [unclear], so I don’t know quite where they all finished up, but I have no doubt they finished up in a squadron somewhere round about.
CB: It’s interesting that you then being recoursed, you went to a different unit.
RW: Yeah.
CB: That meant you had to go in the convoy system.
RW: Yeah.
CB: Out to the Middle East.
RW: Yeah.
CB: Did you go around the Cape, did you?
RW: No, went straight, went straight through Gibraltar, a long way to Port Said [unclear]
CB: Right. Ok. So when you then got to Egypt, what was the routine then because you’d done your basic training including gunnery but you hadn’t done .5 machine guns, so what did you do as soon as you got to Port Said?
RW: I think we went to Cairo, as I say, for about a week or ten days, something like that and then straight to Aqir, to the base I think there, and then from there to Ballah, you know, to the gunnery school after that, they did that first to get that out of the way before the OTU, you know.
CB: So how was the training, how did they do the training in those two places, at Aqir and Ballah?
RW: It was mostly paper work, you know for the biggest part of the time, you know, in actual fact, fill in all the different bits and pieces that were there.
CB: And the gunnery, how did they do that?
RW: I’m not sure we did a lot of that because I think what they were thinking, we were going on to Liberators anyway so wasn’t gonna make a lot of difference to do that, you know, so in actual fact I think we curtailed it.
CB: So at what stage did you crew up and where?
RW: Well, what they did when we went to Aqir, they marched us all up into a big hangar, said, ‘right, we are going now, we are locking the doors, we’ll come back in twenty minutes, sort yourself out a crew’ and that was it [laughs], that’s exactly what you did, you all talked to each other and finished up going on to a crew.
CB: So this is crewing up for Wellingtons?
RW: Yeah.
CB: So you don’t have an air engineer, you don’t have a flight engineer.
RW: No.
CB: So, how did you -
RW: We had a second pilot.
CB: Oh did you? Who took the initiative in making the crew up?
RW: Well, you just sort of walked into people and said, ‘well, can I be with you’ [laughs] and they said, ‘oh yes, why not?’ You know, my name is Roy, you know [unclear]
CB: ‘Cause you all got brevet so you knew what your specialities were.
RW: Of course, some of them I knew but others most of them I didn’t know at all you know so because our crew was, there were four South Africans in it, you know, it’s unusual, you know [unclear]
CB: So tell us about who were the people there then, in the, individual, the pilot, who was the captain, the pilot, who was he?
RW: The pilot was a Lieutenant Van Sale.
CB: South African.
RW: And there was Lieutenant Erasmus was the co-pilot and there was a front gunner and a rear gunner, they were both South Africans.
CB: Right. The navigator?
RW: Two Scots, and then one Englishman, [laughs] that made up -
CB: So, did you class yourself as a Scotsman or an Englishman in that?
RW: Well, as a Scotsman, you know.
CBN: Right, ok. So, how did the others go then? Who was the navigator?
RW: Navigator was the Englishman. Yeah, he was an officer as well [unclear]
CB: And what was his experience?
RW: I don’t know really, in actual fact where he’d come from, in fact. I think like everybody else he just arrived at Aqir you know, [laughs] sorry I don’t know where from in actual fact but -
CB: The reason -
RW: We were all a great bunch anyway.
CB: Yes. And so you crewed up and you did your, you did then gunnery training when you were in the Wellington, did you?
RW: No, I did radio, just radio, that’s all.
CB: Ok, right. So you didn’t do gunnery normally, it was just a secondary -
RW: No, no, I was just filling in.
CB: Right. Ok. And then how long were you there at the OTU?
RW: A sheet somewhere.
CB: Because it took a little while to do all the training on the Wellington presumably.
RW: Yes, it did, in actual fact.
CB: Just looking at the form.
RW: We finished in June ’45 at Aqir OTU and then we went to Abu Suweyr and finished up in September ’45 there, just one day after they dropped the atom bomb, you know, so.
CB: Yeah, but by then you went to Abu Suweyr because of the Liberator?
RW: Yeah.
CB: So, that took more crew, so how did that work?
RW: Yeah, we made up, because, I don’t think I said but [unclear] the aircraft, as far as we know, a bomb exploded on board, I think it got caught up in the release mechanism and they were all killed.
CB: On the ground or in the air?
RW: In the air, you know and about three days later our pilot was told to switch over tanks, he switched over to an empty one, cut both the engines and -
CB: This is in the Wellington?
RW: In the Wellington, that’s right.
CB: Yeah.
RW: And so we finished up in a field on that, how he managed to control it I don’t know but -
CB: This was without an instructor?
RW: We had an instructor with us, thank God.
CB: Oh you did?
RW: So, yeah, so we finished up in the field and the laugh was I didn’t know anything about it because I’ve been on my radio ‘cause I cut myself off from the rest and the first thing I knew was my going straight into the radio thing front there and I was livid because I thought, what kind of a landing is that? [laughs] but it was a fantastic piece of work, in actual fact, how he did it, and I mean, we were just lucky to be over some fields, if we’d been over a built up area we, you know, there’d be no way out, but just lucky that was a field there.
CB: What did they do with the pilot?
RW: I think, he left us after that, yes, that’s right, got a new pilot as a matter of fact, so.
CB: As a captain.
RW: Yeah, captain.
CB: Another South African.
RW: Another South African, yeah, that’s right, slightly older so, so we got a different instructor, we had a squadron leader, the chief instructor then so.
CB: Interesting, so how did the crew gel together?
RW: Oh, very well really, considering they come from all different backgrounds, you know.
CB: Did they South Africans, because of their names, it sound as if they were Afrikaans? Did they?
RW: Yeah, they spoke to each other in Afrikaans because it was better for them, I mean they speak English very well but they tended to speak to each other in Afrikaans some of the time.
CB: But you didn’t mind.
RW: No.
CB: But you knew a bit of it after a bit.
RW: Not really [laughs], I had enough trouble trying to learn Arabic! [laughs]
CB: Did they give you courses in Arabic?
RW: No, just picked it up, you know, from bits and pieces during the day.
CB: Right, right. So you finish on the OTU,
RW: Yeah.
CB: You go to the HCU,
RW: Yeah.
CB: To go to change to heavies and you’re going onto Liberators.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So what was the process there?
RW: Going on to Liberators, just getting used to, ‘cause they were quite complicated the American sets, they were very good, the Bendicks was a marvellous transmitter, they used to ask us not to transmit over the station because it used to drown all [laughs] communications in actual fact but it was very good, in actual fact.
CB: So now, you were just allocated other aircrew because for instance there was no engineer on the -
RW: Yes, I think one of them was off, Billy my friend’s crew that got killed ‘cause unfortunately they had to drop one out when the instructor was with them so there was one crew member left, one poor gunner left on his own so we took him on as one of our spare ones, on there.
CB: How many crew were there on a Liberator?
RW: Eight on there.
CB: Ok. Where did the engineer come from? Was he a South African as well?
RW: Well, he was second pilot, you know, Lieutenant Erasmus [unclear]
CB: Ah right. Ok. Good. Now some of the difficult things in the circumstances were obvious in Britain but in some cases they were also abroad. One of them is LMF, lacking moral fibre.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So, did you come across that at all?
RW: No, there was a slight bit of it because when we had our crash, the rear gunner got stuck in his and couldn’t get the turret to move, you know, I think he was scared [laughs] it was gonna go up, you know, without him, so there was some talk at the time that he was going to give it up but in actual fact he didn’t, he went back again but I think there were odd cases of people who did give up.
CB: And what did they do with them?
RW: I don’t know what they did, I presume they put them down in the ground staff job, but I don’t really know.
CB: ‘Cause in Britain they had a very firm way of dealing with them.
RW: Yeah, they didn’t like it you know ‘cause obviously it wasn’t good for morale.
CB: No.
RW: No.
CB: The other is the STDs, the sexually transmitted diseases. So how did that get dealt with?
RW: I remember that they had somewhat horrific films they showed you at St John’s Wood when we first went there [laughs] but I think that was their method of dealing with it mainly you know, in actual fact, but it was really all the confrontation we had with it, you know.
CB: Ok. Good, I’m gonna stop there for a mo. We are restarting now just to talk about some extra items.
RW: Yeah.
CB: So what about accommodation?
RW: Accommodation was quite good, you had your own space and locker where you keep all your own private bits and pieces, you know, photographs and letters from home all the rest of it you know and the food generally was very good, you know, we enjoyed it and what not, nothing really to complain about, it was really, really quite good.
CB: Did you get better food because you were aircrew?
RW: Yes, I think so.
CB: Even in training?
RW: Yeah, I think so, yes, on there. ‘Cause at a sergeant’s mess you know and what not there, so used on your own, quite decent but we reckoned it was better than the officer’s mess [laughs] so we didn’t know.
CB: So you had lockable lockers but were you in Nissen huts or what sort of accommodation did you have?
RW: Yes, sort of Nissen huts, you know, there, and yes in Aqir.
CB: So, were they insulated?
RW: Not really, because it was very hot, you know, all the rest of it, the climate was quite hot out there so, don’t really [unclear] much from there,
CB: No.
RW: But they were quite comfortable, I must say.
CB: Right. And in the UK, what about the accommodation there?
RW: No, fairly basic there, I remember polishing the floor [laughs] so corporal used to come and dump a great load of polish on the floor and say, ‘polish that’ and it took about an hour to get it [laughs]
CB: With a bumper and a liner.
RW: That’s right, a bumper up and down and one sitting on it and going up and down but yes [unclear]
CB: Now you started as an AC2.
RW: Yeah.
CB: How did the promotion system work?
RW: Well, when you finished your course at Yatesbury, you got your promotion to sergeant, used to be quite funny actually because what we used to do is borrow somebody else’s uniform for the parade that day and get the WAAFs to sew all our stuff on there so the minute we came out for our parade we could put our new jackets on with all the rest of us so we were all in borrowed, borrowed gear [laughs] when we went on parade then.
CB: And your brevet was what?
RW: Pardon?
CB: What was the brevet?
RW: The brevet, that originally it was air gunner and then it went to signaller later on they changed after about a year to signaller.
CB: And so you are now a sergeant, how long were you a sergeant?
RW: Till, till I was down in Aden when we took a board from there, got flight sergeant.
CB: And how did the pay change?
RW: It was more, I can’t remember what it was [laughs] wasn’t a fortune but it was better than it was before, you know.
CB: You knew where you were going to go when you left the RAF. Were you waiting to get out waiting for demob or did you just say, I want to be demobbed now? [emphasis]
RW: No, we just got sent home, that was all afterwards, no sort of forecast or anything, we just, we were 26 AACU, they just said, right, you are posted home you know and that was it, little or no warning [unclear]
CB: And where did they send you?
RW: To Lytham St Annes.
CB: And what was the process there?
RW: Just got all your civvies which we hadn’t seen for donkey’s years [laughs], you know and all the bits and pieces, got your vouchers and your travel warrants and all those [unclear] and I was due about six or seven weeks leave I think something like that, you know, so I didn’t take it up [unclear] but yes that was the end of that you know.
CB: So, the war’s ended, you’ve been demobbed two years later.
RW: Yeah.
CB: You then go into civilian life, having been in the ATC and joined as a volunteer reserve person, what was your commitment for future years?
RW: Well, I quite liked the job that I went to, you know, so I decided I’ve been toying with the idea I might stop in the RAF but I decided, no, I’d sooner go back to the textiles so, in a way I’m glad you know that I did, because I enjoyed textiles so it’s very good you know.
CB: But you were required, as a VR man, you were required to remain in the VR,
RW: Yes.
CB: That’s what I meant. Till what age?
RW: I got my release, release thing, I think all the dates and what not are back there, how many years I’m on reserve ‘cause they said [unclear], you might be eligible for call up in an emergency and what not.
CB: And did you join any air force associations afterwards?
RW: I was in the RAFA for a while not long after, played cricket for them, while, I enjoyed that in actual fact [laughs]
CB: Did you do much cricket when you were in the RAF?
RW: When we were down at Aden I played cricket down there you know, we’d to play the officer’s mess, we used to like beating them [laughs]
CB: Good, Ok, thank you very much, I’m going to stop there for a mo. Right, you mentioned earlier about the aircraft that was downed because of a hang-up.
RW: Yeah.
CB: And the bomb, were you in formation with that or was it a separate and what happened?
RW: No, we weren’t flying that day, we were between lectures and I just came back at lunchtime and as I say next door were just empty bedsprings, nothing on the locker nothing I said you know, where’s Billy’s stuff, and he said, haven’t you heard? No, and he said, oh, you know he’s gone and got killed, you know, I was shattered you know.
CB: This is your friend Billy Wilson.
RW: Yeah, that’s right, so as I say, we never got an official report, you never did with these things, but that was what we heard, and it sort of ties up with the fact that nobody got out, it was an experienced pilot on board, an instructor, you know, there were no survivors, nobody parachuted out or what not there so must have been something disastrous that happened you know, so that was it.
CB: So how did you all feel as a crew after that?
RW: Oh, a bit shattered, especially when we had our own one a couple of days after [laughs], wasn’t a very good week in actual fact.
CB: So when you had your own engine failure because of fuel starvation, that was, what height was that?
RW: I’m not really sure but all I can think was that the pilot had to keep the nose down because they daren’t let the nose go up, go out of control so if we were flying, say six thousand feet, take what, two, three minutes with the nose down, something like that so he had to find somewhere in about two or three minutes.
CB: And he wasn’t able to switch, he wasn’t able to switch the fuel correctly and restart.
RW: No, there wasn’t time because I mean he had more than his job, ‘cause it was a heavy aircraft the Wellington but to keep control of it with no engines it must have been a heck of a job, you know, to do that, just to try and keep it level and what not there and at the same time try and find somewhere you could put it down, you know, so.
CB: What did he say to the crew on the intercom?
RW: I don’t really know ‘cause I wasn’t on it, you see, I didn’t know anything about it, you know.
CB: You were listening out, were you, on the radio?
RW: I was listening out, ‘cause it was more than your life’s worth, to miss the messages on the half hour, then, you know, if you came back and your logbook had got no messages, so, what goes on, you know,
CB: So that’s an important point as you’re, now you’re flying, your role is to listen out to signals.
RW: Yeah.
CB: What did you actually have to do? You were listening to signals but how did that work?
RW: Well, as I say, it might be just trial messages that you think on there but as I say occasionally would be something like return to base, weather bad or something else like that which you of course you would then pass on them back to them on there so that was why they absolutely insisted that you got the half hour messages, you know, didn’t miss them.
CB: Because they would send particular messages on the half hour.
RW: Yes, they did on Bomber Command I think, if they had anything there had a registered time to send the messages and you had to make sure you got them.
CB: So we are talking about this crash, how, who else was hurt in the crash?
RW: The front gunner broke his ankle but that was the worst of the injuries, which is absolutely incredible really.
CB: And was the bomb aimer also a gunner?
RW: No. No.
CB: He simply was the air bomber.
RW: Yeah, yeah.
CB: Ok. So, thinking of your flying experiences in total, what would you say were the best times and what were the worst?
RW: I think, flying in the communications unit down at Aden was the best time in actual fact ‘cause it was so varied, you know, all sorts of things, we actually took an air vice marshal round on a tour of the thing, the CO called us up one day and he got a letter in front of him and said, ‘I’ve just had a note from the Air Ministry to say that they are sending Air Vice Marshal Sir Charles’ - I can’t remember what his surname was – ‘on a tour of inspection and we’ve been given the job of taking him round, so I don’t want anything to go wrong understood?’ [laughs] So he says [unclear] so we’ve, I’ve never seen so much top brass in my life ‘cause they all appeared, the Governor’s car turned up, his Rolls Royce and they were all involved.
CB: This is in the Liberator?
RW: No, so, no, it was a Wellington converted on [unclear] so, yes so, and a very nice lady officer with him as well there, which cheered everybody up but yes so we took him round, we actually had dinner together the evening which surprised me [unclear]
CB: He was a flying man, I take it?
RW: Yes, I think he was one of the top handful of people in the end, the chief of technical training command I think he was something like that you know, so.
CB: What was the worst experience you had?
RW: Let me think now, I should think probably the day Billy’s crash I think it was probably about the worst day of it all really, rest of it, you know, was bad, that was the sort of low point from the time but get over it, you know.
CB: Had you known his parents, before you went out?
RW: No, unfortunately not, no, and the worst thing was I wanted to go on his funeral parade but we were all on sick leave you know, they wouldn’t let us go on parade you know so I didn’t get the chance to, well you know, say goodbye.
CB: You were on sick leave. What sort of sickness did you get?
RW: Ah, well, I had a sore head [laughs] for about a week afterwards but you know apart from that it wasn’t bad you know.
CB: Yeah. From the crash. Yeah.
RW: Yeah, but they obviously decided, you know, to give us some days off.
CB: Yeah. Right. We’ve had a good interview now so we are looking at pictures and various things and we’ll wrap things up.
Dublin Core
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AMcPhersonWhiteR150901
Title
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Interview with Roy White
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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00:53:22 audio recording
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Date
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2015-09-01
Description
An account of the resource
Roy White was born in Perth, Scotland but grew up in London. He joined the Air Training Corps, went on as a volunteer reserve and then served as an air gunner in the RAF. Tells of his brother serving in Coastal Command and surviving an aircraft crash. Gives some insight in aircrew roles such as radio operator and air gunner. Mentions various episodes of his service life: training in England and Egypt; an aircraft crash in which a friend got killed; flying with a South African crew; being assigned to submarine watching and manning the guns on his journey to Egypt; towards the end of the war, being posted to the communications unit at Aden. He served as a wireless operator in Egypt post war.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Egypt
Great Britain
Middle East
Egypt--Ismailia (Province)
Egypt--Alexandria
Contributor
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Peter Schulze
Carolyn Emery
Temporal Coverage
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1943
1944
1945
aircrew
B-24
crash
crewing up
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
RAF Aqir
RAF Yatesbury
training
Wellington
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/351/3522/AWoodardP160512.1.mp3
676f65ec3a4b2d9e7d1226df655c32cf
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Woodard, Peter
Peter Rowlands Woodard
Peter R Woodard
P R Woodard
P Woodard
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. One oral history interview with Peter Rowlands Woodard (b. 1924, 1810707 Royal Air Force), photographs, a warrant certificate and a note of operations carried out by H R Woodard. He was a wireless operator and flew operations with 192 Squadron.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Peter Rowlands Woodard and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-05-12
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Woodard, PR
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and I’m in St Alban’s today on the 12th May 2016 with Peter Woodard and his wife Irene and Peter was a wireless operator, signaller and I’m going to ask him to talk about his life starting with his earliest recollections that he has. Peter.
PW: As regards when, where I was born.
CB: Yeah.
PW: Well I was born of course in Banbury in Suffolk and had a twin, the youngest of twins, because my twin brother Howard he was always climbing in seniority by arriving twenty four, twenty minutes before I did [laughs] and then of course we went to the local Catholic school because my father was Catholic so and we were christened Catholics but my mother was Protestant, but she had agreed of course to bring us up in the Catholic faith. And from then on of course I went to the ordinary school at Banbury and then we moved to Beccles for a while and then from Beccles we moved back to Banbury and then on to Colchester. My father was a bit of a wanderer alright he was in the print trade and of course he became a printer’s leader and then he we moved from there to Tunbridge in Kent and from Tunbridge in Kent we moved to St Albans and then of course along came the war. My father was a, he was a bit of a wanderer anyway but he, he for some reason or other joined the army again, course he was in the signals regiment, signals corps in the first World War and of course he re-joined and it became the Royal Corps Signals then when he was in it. And being an old man, as he was, he got himself a nice cushy job at Eastern Command Headquarters that was at Luton Hoo and he has his hands, he was a wireless man, he had his own little wireless cabin at Luton Hoo and he stayed there until the war finished and other than that he was as I say in the print trade. And of course my mother was in the print trade too she was in the book binding department and that’s how I came to follow the print trade in a way, just successive and of course I was apprenticed at the, with the [inaudible] publishers and suppliers limited, Campfield Press in St Albans that’s how I became a book binder. Of course then I was in the air training corps and of course when the war was on I then went into the RAF and I was on deferred service for a while before I entered and then went up to Lords Cricket ground for air crew receiving centre, then from then on I went off to radio school and I was at Yatesbury number two radio school I think it was, Yatesbury in Wiltshire and then of course from there I went on to Dumfries, when did I first start flying, I’ve got my log book here so it’s easy enough to find, my first trip was in 1943, in September 1943 in Adomally doing radio transmitting tuning and receiving and all that sort of thing, that was in 1943 and then at the end of 1943 I then moved from Yatesbury to where are we, oh, air crew, operational auxiliary flying unit OAFU they called it at Dumfries and flew there in Andersons and that was in March, no April 1944 until the end of May 1944, no not the end of May, yes it was yes, then I moved to Edge Hill which was satellite which was OTU and part of Chipping Warden actually and that’s when I crewed up with Flight Lieutenant Fawkes who became my pilot and by then my flying hours had gone on to sixty nine to seventy hours day light and forty-five hours night time. Then of course from then on I went to, still at Chipping Warden with Flight Lieutenant Fawkes doing our OTU training and we finished there August 1944. Then we came Chipping Warden, by then we were crew you see, Wellington crew so that was pilot, navigator bomb aimer and wireless operator by then and we flew from [unclear] squadron at Fulsham until 1945 was it 1945, 1944 rather yes 1944 flying from Fulsham then all the time until we did our first special duty operation on October 1944 doing special duty ops up and down the Dutch coast and carried on doing that sort of thing the French/German border in 1944 October, still October yes. There we are and then we got, still doing special operations on the Dutch coast and the first one, that’s in 1944 too, our first one [pause] first operation was 18th of February 1945. By then my skipper was squadron leader and our first operation was to Rehiene a 3 30 trip three hours thirty night time and Dortmund the next one was Dortmund then Dortmund again on the Danish coast rather, and , like I said my skipper then was now OC of A flight 192 Squadron, and then of course he then started signing my log books as the squadron made the OCA flight, then in 1945 March 1945 we were special operation [unclear] Frankfurt, Hannover and stayed in Germany all in Germany until the end of March no, Heligavan was in April 1945 then the last one we did operation of the war, I think it was the last operation of the war too, special duty operation to Flensburg that was in north Germany wasn’t it, yes that’s right up in the north of Germany yes, and then it was certified that we completed a first tour of operations [unclear] signed by Wind Commander Donaldson and then 102 Squadron Pocklington. I was then left Foulsham and being that much younger than the rest of the crew I was sent up to Pocklington and so I left the crew and Ben, I always remember Ben saying when you get up there, don’t forget, when it’s all over and done with, we shall, I’m going to insist that we meet at least once a year and that was very good of him and he did, he made sure we did, we didn’t miss a year at all. One year we, he had business in France and we all went over to Paris on the strength of his company which was very good [laughs]. Anyway, Pocklington, that’s right, Pocklington, I was with a Flight Sergeant Sandham who was a pilot and the crew there and we did a real cross country taking the ground staff to see the havoc over in Germany. And then that was with Pilot Officer Sandham. Then we moved to [unclear] and transfer, 102 Squadron it was then and we transferred to Liberator’s, troop carrying and we did that training until October, the end of October, and then in November we were doing the conversion still on Liberator’s but the pilot I had then was Pilot Officer West who had come straight from America where he had done his training so he, in fact I was the only member of the crew in transport command I was , had a completed tour of ops, I had a real raw crew, 102 Squadron Leader [unclear] that’s right Pilot Officer West and then we used to go backwards and forwards to India, that was in December 1945. We used to go base to Castle Benito, Castle Benito and then on to India that was the short-term on Liberator’s. Castle Benito, Cairo West Cairo West, Shairo, Cairo West, Shairo, Maripau that was the route we used to take. We were taking personnel out to India and then bringing some back. The whole bomb bay was sealed and had seats in the middle and some of the Liberators I wasn’t up on the flight deck I had a cabin on my own halfway down the aircraft and so to get to it I had to go through the bomb bay where the guests were sitting you know and of course I used to threaten them if I get any trouble I’ll get them to pull a [unclear] to let you out [laughs] which tended to amuse them a bit. They were mostly army people. We had one officer there and he said “God”, he said ‘I’ve gone across Egypt and the desert in a tank and one thing and another’, he said ‘but I’ve never felt as bad as this I tell you’ and he was really ill, he got sickness alright. So that was, carried on with 53 Squadron unwards on the India routes yes, [inaudible] to upward Eastray, Eastray to Castro ,Benito Castro Benito to Cairo West to Maripau and back it was a really interesting time and that went on until 1946 then. Yes April 1946, Lidda, Maripau, [unclear] with 53 squadron upward. In fact I did more distances flying then than I’ve ever done before backwards and forwards to India, Maripau, Shariba seven hours. It was coming back that was the main thing and of course that was the finish of my flying with with the RAF I came out of the RAF then and of course started flying again in 1951 and 1946 when I was in the reserve had to do reserve flying in Panshanger, that was handy that, that was flying in Andersons then and the pilots were citizen pilots. Mr Stewart, Mr Brown and Mr Snowden, Mr Snow and so on [laughs] [pause] and that went on until oh I did a stint at the reserve flying school at Cambridge and of course I was just in reserve then you see [pause] 22 reserve flying school, that would finish my flying with the Air Force then, that was on the 24th January 1954 [pause] and then of course the skipper was true to his word and every year we used to go on to a in the end there were only three of us, the skipper, wireless operator and the navigator and that’s when we had our annual trips [laughs] when we all went out, this in in Ben’s house, at .
IW: Look it up, would it be on there?
PW: Yes I was sitting in Ben’s house there [laughs]. That’s the same one isn’t it yeah [pause] in the New Forest he had a place down in the New Forest [pause].
CB: So every year you got back together?
PW: We did.
CB: In different places?
PW: Oh no, we, we, we used to go the New Forest, well for start off the first reunion was at , on the East Coast [pause].
CB: Okay, well we can look that up.
PW: Yeah, I can’t remember that now, and then after that we had a reunion in Blackpool.
CB: Hmm.
PW: Yep had a reunion in Blackpool. It was the Butlins, the Butlins we went to on the Norfolk Coast, what the heck.
CB: Cromer was it or somewhere like that?
PW: Hmm.
CB: Was it Cromer or somewhere like that?
PW: No, before you get to Cromer.
CB: Hunstanton?
PW: No, no it was right on the coast it was a Butlin’s holiday camp.
CB: Anyway we’ll look that up.
PW: And from then of course we used to have a reunion every year and Ben made sure that we got, in the end there was Ben the Skipper, Jock, Jock Scot, the navigator and myself, even the rear gunner he couldn’t make it any more, course he’s, as I say they were all ten years older than me anyway.
CB: Yes.
AW: I was still the boy.
CB: Yeah.
AW: [laughs] They called me the boy all the time.
CB: So what was it like flying in a crew where you were that much younger than them because they on balance were much older than most crews anyway?
PW: Well yeah , because they’d both been instructors, Ben as skipper was a teaching pilot, it was in his log book.
CB: Yeah
PW: Down there where he was teaching people to fly and Ken Scott the navigator he was the same he was teaching navigation and I think they both decided they wanted to see something of some action before it all ended and of course that’s when they decided to join up and it was at the OTU that Ben approached me, he was tall a six foot chap, and he introduced himself as Flight Lieutenant Faulkes, ‘would you like to be my wireless operator’ so I looked and I liked the look of him and the way he approached and it was all good, because we all used to gather in a hangar you know for this selection crew, crew selection and it worked you know, it was marvellous there was group of signallers, air gunners or WOP AG’s as I used to call them navigators, rear gunners and bomb aimers, that’s all we did, not flying engineers then because we were still on.
CB: Still on Wellington’s.
PW: Twins, hmm. So he approached me and he said ‘would you like to move on to as a wireless operator’ so I said yes sure and we gelled straight away and when we crewed up and the bomb aimer was Canadian.
CB: What was his name?
PW: Morgan, and trying to think of his name.
IW: Danny Hutchings.
PW: Hmm?
IW: Danny Hutchings.
PW: No, no that wasn’t his name he was with transport command.
IW: Oh I beg your pardon.
PW: This was when we crewed up originally and that’s it of course we had a mid-upper gun turret on the Halifax’s and on the Wellington, was there one on the Wellington, I can’t remember now.
CB: Not normally, no front and .rear
PW: Yeah, hmm, so.
CB: So it was a crew of six?
PW: Yeah, Hmm.
CB: Right, so this interaction between you as a boy and the others they were constantly ribbing you were they?
PW: Oh no, not really, I just looked on the skipper as a father figure, I mean he was so, so good to me really, I just had complete faith in him and in the navigator, I never felt queasy about any trip I went on with them at all.
CB: No. That’s when you were at OTU, how did , did Ben Faulkes look out all the other members of the crew or how did that work? Was he the instigator of the crew?
PW: As an OTU at Wellington we’d just had the.
CB: But in this milling around in the hangar, how did he go around looking for people?
PW: He came to me when he had already got to know Ken Scott.
CB: Right.
PW: Who was a man from Edinburgh, in fact he was a customs and excise chap in a brewery
CB: [laughs]
PW: And he’d tell us some tales about that when we used to have or reunions. He used to bring a case full of what he called a case of wee heavies, it was that strong isle stuff [laughs] he used to bring that in a big case to wherever we were having a reunion, at Filey, Filey in Yorkshire.
CB: Yep.
PW: We had some great fun there and of course we had the flight engineer eventually.
CB: That was at the HCU so where was your heavy conversion unit?
PW: we did heavy conversion on squadron.
CB: Oh did you, right.
PW: Hmm, we didn’t go to a heavy conversion unit.
CB: Right, do you know why that was?
PW: We converted from.
CB: Straight onto what? Lancaster’s?
PW: Halifax.
CB: Halifax, ok.
PW: Yes the squadron was a flight of Wellington’s and then a flight of Halifax.
CB: Hmm.
PW: And then a Mosquito and then a single Lockead attachment from the American Air Force, that was the 192 Squadron and of course they done away with the Wellington in the end.
CB: Yeah.
PW: And we converted to the Halifax on the squadron.
CB: Right.
PW: So when Ben was first Flight Commander we were on Wellington’s.
CB: Oh were you.
PW: And he was Flight Commander on Halifax’s.
CB: Where did the Flight Engineer come from?
PW: I don’t know where he came from.
CB: What was his name?
PW: He was commissioned man when he first came.
CB: As was the pilot?
PW: Yeah and the navigator was of course was commissioned, and the rear gunner he became, he got commissioned as well and so I was the only NCR in the squad, in the crew in the end, but , of course I was ten years younger.
CB: In the Wellington, in the Wellington you’re talking about.
PW: Yeah and the Halifax.
CB: And the Halifax. Right.
PW: Hmm, yeah and the Halifax, of course I , they put me up for commission and I had the interview with the CO, Donaldson, remember Donaldson don’t you? And he considered I was too young for a commission [laughs] and so that was it, I didn’t get the commission.
CB: Strange.
PW: So I was, I was myself, I was the only non-commissioned officer in the crew.
CB: Where did the bomb aimer come from?
PW: I can’t think where Ted came from, no not Ted, , yes he was a Canadian fella, he was an officer he was commissioned, he was Canadian [pause]
CB: Okay.
PW: He lived in the, what’s the big waterfall in Canada?
CB: The big what?
PW: The waterfall.
CB: Niagra Falls.
PW: Niagra.
CB: Right
PW: Yes he came from the Canadian side of Niagra.
CB: Now going back to your earlier times.
PW: Yeah.
CB: You were a wireless operator air gunner, did you do gunnery training?
PW: Yes I did gunnery training.
CB: And where did you do that?
PW: That was at Walney Island.
CB: Walney Island. So you did that after Yatesbury?
PW: Yes, yes.
CB: Okay, at Walney Island.
PW: Yes we went to Walney Island at some radio school
CB: Right.
PW: To get the air gunners certificate
CB: And from there you went to Dumfries?
PW: Dumfries, yeah, operation, Auxilliary Flying Unit they called it.
CB: Yeah. So what were you doing in the Auxilliary flying unit?
PW: We were just flying Andersons.
CB: Yeah but as a signaller or as a gunner?
PW: Well both, I was a signaller and a gunner.
CB: So it had a turret did it?
PW: We had to go, we had an aircraft tow and a drove and we had to fire at the drove and that was the gunnery school, I didn’t do any gunning, what was is, let me find my log book, oh I forget now what it said there. [pause] Is it in here?
CB: Okay, well we can look in the log book in a minute.
PW: Oh yes that’s the wireless operator, that was the Liberator that was.
CB: Right, so when you were at the OTU, you’ve crewed up so what did you do while you were at the OTU then Peter?
PW: AFU?
CB: At the OTU, at the Operational Training /unit.
PW: OTU?
CB: What were you doing there mainly?
PW: Well, well.
CB: You were working as a signaller at the OUT?
PW: Yeah, yeah.
CB: Or as a gunner or both?
PW: I was , I was doing wireless operator.
CB: Yeah.
PW: Didn’t do any gunning. Chipping Warden that was.
CB: Yeah, so what were you doing at the OUT as a wireless operator, what was your task?
PW: Just operating the, the radio equipment.
CB: Yeah but why was the radio needing to be operated, what was happening?
PW: Nothing really, I was just on cross countries and that was all.
CB: So you were flying across country, are messages coming into you or are you sending them out, what is happening?
PW: Yes, in the main it was radio silence, if the navigator wanted a fix I’d give it on the loop system.
CB: Right.
PW: Three or four stations, I gave him the time and where it was coming from and he’d get his positions from that.
CB: Right, so just explaining that, you’re tuning into a radio station.
PW: Yeah.
CB: Having tuned in you are then taking a bearing from the radio station.
PW: That’s right, yeah.
CB: Then you go to another radio station and you take a bearing from that is that right?
PW: That’s right.
CB: And you do a third one at least and that gives you the triangulation as they call it, is that right.
PW: So the navigator could plot where he should be.
CB: So you have to be quite quick.
PW: Oh yeah, hmm.
CB: Do you log the time between each tuning in?
PW: Yes well I didn’t have a log of course I just passed to the navigator straight away. Well he’d be sitting quite close.
CB: So how long did it take to tune in and get a fix as it were?
PW: [pause] I can’t remember.
CB: The reason I ask the question is that if the plane is moving and so he has to take account of that.
PW: That’s right yeah, hmm.
CB: In time.
PW: The speed, air speed and the wind direction [laughs].
CB: And how did you decide which station to take the bearing from?
PW: Well, you had various stations en-route you know and they would radio and say can you get a fix from so and so.
CB: These were civilian radio stations that you were using were they or beacons?
PW: No, no, no I don’t, [pause] they, were automatic I think.
CB: Ah beacons that are set up. Right, okay.
PW: You didn’t have to speak to anybody or anything like that.
CB: No, no.
PW: [unclear]
CB: So in essence what we’re describing is that, you’re listening out with your loop on the top of the aircraft?
PW: Yeah.
CB: You tune into a radio transmission and you then plot the bearing of that from the aircraft?
PW: Yeah.
CB: You pass that to the navigator with the time at which you took it?
PW: Yeah.
CB: You then go to the next one and give him the bearing is that right? Of the next one and give him the time you took it, is that right?
PW: Yeah.
CB: Did you do more than 3? Or was 3 enough for him to get.
PW: 3 was enough as a rule.
CB: Right. So you were needed to do it quite quickly did you?
PW: I can’t remember how fast I was going anyway [laughs]. No it wasn’t too quick I just used to give him the bearing that’s all.
CB: So when you weren’t doing that you were listening in.
PW: Yeah.
CB: And what were you listening in for?
PW: Well there was an what do you call it, a special frequency.
CB: Yep.
PW: Just 2 initials it was, I can’t think of it now.
CB: Right.
PW: I can’t think of it now, and then pass that on to the navigator.
CB: So what were you listening for?
PW: Just a signal that sounds like a, it was usually two digits, dah-di-dah-di-dah or something like that, 2 initials. They were broadcasting all the time.
CB: That’s what I mean, what were they broadcasting? Are they just broadcasting dot dash Morse code in other words?
PW: Morse code, yes.
CB: Or are they sending you a message.
PW: No just Morse Code, just Morse code signals.
CB: So was that at particular interval or was it a regular transmission that they were making?
PW: I think it’s a regular thing.
CB: Right.
PW: Hmm.
CB: Ok.
PW: Because there was someone there all the time.
CB: Because some signallers have said to me that on the half hour they had to listen to something.
PW: Yeah.
CB: This is when they’re on ops.
PW: Yeah.
CB: Ok, so anyway when you’re doing the cross country you’re trying to help with the navigation?
PW: That’s right.
CB: So then you changed to the heavy conversion unit onto Halifax’s?
PW: Yeah.
CB: How different is your role on the Halifax from on the Wellington?
PW: More or less the same, in our Halifax the rest position was taken up with the secret equipment.
CB: Right.
PW: Well I didn’t know anything about because I was just a straight wireless operator but we had a special operator who was usually a commissioned type and he had all his gear in the rest position in the Halifax and we used to go and of course half the time recording and they’d be searching for a start while we were, we used to go out with the main force and then deviate from the main course and perhaps we’d send out some [unclear] the window, the bomb aimers job, that was to put the window out and then change route again back onto the route and then veer off again and do the same again and that confused the German radar of course.
CB: Hmm.
PW: That was all it was really and we had extra petrol tanks in the Halifax and of course in the Wellington’s so that , and they carried a small bomb to give the bomb aimer something to do, [laughs] it was only a small bomb because they had the extra petrol tanks of course, I can remember one time the bomb aimer’s job was to change the petrol cox and all of a sudden I can remember Ben saying ”did you change the tanks over cox“ and he went flying past me [laughs] to get to the cox to turn the thing on to a different the tank.
CB: What made him say that? The pilot.
PW: Oh I don’t know, just to make sure he had I think [laughs].
CB: Oh right the engines didn’t stop?
PW: The engine didn’t stop no [laughs].
CB: Now what about the special operator, did he link in with the crew or was he very stand offish?
PW: No, no he was the normal one who came with us but he never had anything to do with the crew at all.
CB: What did he do as a job?
PW: Oh as I say the equipment they had, I mean I’ve never seen anything. [unclear] were unknown at one time of course, what was the other name, navigating.
CB: So there was also H2S was there?
PW: H2S that’s right.
CB: Who operated the H2S?
PW: That the special operator who operated that.
CB: He did, did he? Okay.
PW: Yes, yes I didn’t have anything to do with that at all.
CB: So this is the eighth man on the aircraft is it?
PW: Hmm.
CB: You still had the mid-upper gunner did you?
PW: No.
CB: So you only had seven of you in the crew?
PW: If they wanted anybody as mid-upper gunner that was me [laughs] that was the idea being a WOP AG.
CB: Yeah.
PW: But I never did go up into the [unclear] at all.
CB: Right.
PW: I mean we didn’t see that much traffic and the rear gunner was, I know we had a corkscrew a couple of times, that frightens the life out of you that does, but Ben did it marvellously well.
CB: So just describe the corkscrew could you, what started the corkscrew?
PW: In the aircraft approaching.
CB: And who called that?
PW: That I don’t l know because.
CB: But normally?
PW: Normally it would be the navigator I would think, or the bomb aimer.
CB: I’d suggest that it might have been the rear gunner.
PW: [laughs] it might have been the rear gunner, yeah.
CB: Well if the attack was from the front.
PW: Yeah.
CB: Then the bomb aimer would see it wouldn’t he?
PW: Yes, yes.
PW: But the navigator can’t see anything because he’s shrouded up on his table at the side of me.
CB: So what happened with the corkscrew then, you said it was a bit disconcerting so?
PW: It is yeah, yeah, because you’re not strapped in you see.
CB: Right, right.
PW: I mean they are.
CB: But you’re not.
PW: The ones [unclear] are strapped in and the navigator’s strapped in but you’re not strapped in, it’s all of a sudden [makes plane like sound], yeah so it’s a frightening thing, I remember we were doing it once and you were sort of in a, you almost feel like you’re going to lift up.
CB: So can you describe how the aircraft reacts in a corkscrew, what happens, somebody calls to the captain what does he say?
PW: I wouldn’t know.
CB: Corkscrew, corkscrew left or corkscrew right does he? So then what, what does the pilot then do with the aircraft?
PW: Well just doing a quick back left or right.
CB: So he goes down to the left doesn’t he or down to the right and then.
PW: Yeah, roll, not rollover no wouldn’t be a rollover [laughs].
CB: No, no but roll out of it.
PW: Goes straight and then try and get back on whatever the course.
CB: And then back up to what the course was.
PW: Yeah, yeah.
CB: So the purpose of a corkscrew was to do what?
PW: Just to evade the fighter that was all.
CB: So did you get hit at all in the aircraft?
PW: Never.
CB: Flak or fighter?
PW: Seen plenty of flak.
CB: So what’s it like when you see a lot of flak?
PW: I can’t say I was ever really frightened but I didn’t like the look of it. Ben came and said to me 0nce “come and have a look at this” and of course it was, well you could touch the sky, I just went I’ll go back, I didn’t particularly want to look at it. [laughs] I can’t say I was frightened though, no, no.
CB: Okay, so what is the view of flak, the sky is full of flak but what are you looking at what is it?
PW: The sky’s full of full of white [unclear] it’s terrific really. You think to yourself how the hell are we going to get through that lot. But of course we used to have to leave the mainstream, left or right, leave the mainstream that’s why we had extra petrol tanks. We’d go with the mainstream perhaps as far as the bomb aimer said he released his little bomb we had, and then come back or go right the way round and make our way home you see.
CB: But on the way out are you going, are you saying that on the way out, you’re going in and out of the stream are you?
PW: Yes, hmm more or less.
CB: And that’s because.
PW: Well we’d go out from the stream and drop the.
CB: Window.
PW: Window, yeah. And of course in the meantime hoping that the the special operator found a frequency that the German’s were working on. Because they used to search for the, they’d got some idea which frequencies they were using and then we had equipment for jamming.
CB: Right.
PW: And as soon as he found that he put our equipment on to jam the German RT.
CB: And how did they jam, the German, the special operators?
PW: I. I’ve no idea really. It must have been sending a blast of something like that, I really didn’t know how they did it.
CB: Okay, so H2S was a bulge underneath the fuselage?
PW: Yeah, yeah.
CB: What identification was there that you were special operations with aerials on the top of the aircraft?
PW: Well I don’t know, I think that gave you, that gave the H2S a picture of the terrain.
CB: Yes, but what indication was there on the aircraft that there were special bits of equipment for the special operations man, was there an aerial on the roof or the side or where was it.
PW: There was one underneath, there was a couple on the top and of course there was the DF one on the top, the only one I needed and the only one I operated because I didn’t know what they were doing.
CB: No, no.
PW: Because it was considered secret.
CB: God.
PW: But see if you crash landed or landed and the aircraft was [unclear] the skipper would operate something and destroy the aircraft itself. Once we were all out hopefully [laughs].
CB: Hmm, so the special operator had explosives in his area to destroy the equipment in the event of something going wrong.
PW: Yeah, yeah that’s right.
CB: And to what extent do you think the German’s could identify that you were a special operations aircraft?
PW: [unclear] I have no idea, I don’t know how they could know really I apart from they might be able to feedback from the special aerials maybe, I don’t know.
CB: And later aircraft had a tail warning system for German night fighters to detect the transmissions of German night fighters, what did you have on your aircraft?
PW: Nothing that I know of.
CB: So you couldn’t detect that you were being, that there was somebody creeping up on you?
PW: [unclear the rear gunner.
CB: Like one eyeball.
PW: That’s right, yeah. Hmm.
CB: Okay, good.
PW: We did have to corkscrew one time because the rear gunner saw something and thought it was coming for us.
CB: Hmm, and he missed you?
PW: Hmm, and of course the bomb aimers business this tinsel out, wow that was just like a shoot.
CB: Oh was it, in the Bombay was it?
PW: No, it wasn’t in the Bombay, I know it was quite near the mid-upper turret.
CB: Right, in the floor?
PW: Hmm in the floor, yeah.
CB: How would you describe the performance and comfort of the Halifax?
PW: Well my position was A okay and of course Halifax, yeah, I was underneath the pilot
CB: You were?
PW: Yes.
CB: Right. Did you have any windows?
PW: There was a small one but you had it blacked out anyway.
CB: How high could you fly in the Halifax?
PW: I didn’t think we went much over 10,000.
CB: Oh, was that the, the bomber stream was running higher than that though wasn’t it?
PW: Yeah, but you’d have to have your oxygen on.
CB: Hmm.
PW: If you were over 10,000 anyway and I don’t remember having the oxygen mask on for considerable periods.
CB: Was that partly because you needed to be lower in order for the special operations man to be able to deal with the German night fighters and radar?
PW: Perhaps so, as I say what they did mid- aircraft I didn’t.
CB: No.
PW: We had the Cato air tube there, what do they call it?
CB: The screen for the H2S you mean?
PW: H2S, hmm.
CB: Who operated that?
PW: The special operator.
CB: Oh he did, right okay.
PW: Yes, yes, he was usually an officer or two tour man.
CB: Oh was he, and what sort of languages did he speak?
PW: [pause] I don’t know whether he spoke manually or we used to record send out messages in German from the aircraft.
CB: Hmm.
PW: Once they found a frequency that the fighters were working on, how the hell they did that I don’t know, they must have known what sort of range they were working on.
CB: Yes, well in the 101 squadron for instance, Lancaster’s then the special operators were all German speakers you see so that’s why I’m asking what the languages your special operator spoke.
PW: I wouldn’t know.
CB: I think it reinforces the point doesn’t it that the rest of the crew didn’t know anything about him.
PW: Well perhaps so yeah.
CB: But when, gradually the crew became commissioned is that right?
PW: Hmm.
CB: So where did the special operator live, stay where was he billeted, he was always an officer was he?
PW: Yes, I just presume he was somewhere, either in the officer’s mess or in the, if you were in a station like Foulsham then we had all sorts of, set out in huts, there was no sort of big building.
CB: What was your accommodation at Foulsham?
PW: just a hut.
CB: Nissan hut?
PW: Yes, type of Nissan hut yeah.
CB: With whom?
PW: With a big coke stove in the centre [laughs].
CB: In the middle yeah?
PW: But there was one, we got a little room on our own, the rear gunner and myself and so we were quite cosy there.
CB: I’m just going to stop this a moment. We’re talking about the accommodation you had, so how many other crew members were in the same accommodation as you?
PW: Well there was just the rear gunner and myself.
CB: Right.
PW: The others being commissioned.
CB: So what social life did you have as a crew?
PW: Oh well we always used to get, the whole crew used to go to Norwich, they used to have a truck take us all to Norwich and we all mixed in together. The place we used to go to in Norwich Samson and Hercules, that was a , well the only trouble was the Americans used to go in there as well. And that’s the time that.
IW: Yes.
PW: I could never understand.
CB: What?
PW: What it was all about.
CB: Why, how do you mean?
PW: Well when the Americans and the Samson and Hercules came in they had separate colours of squadrons and whatever.
CB: They segregated their people by colour?
PW: Yeah, yeah, when they got, they used to create hell, and of course the white caps, so in the end we decided we wouldn’t go in the Samson [laughs].
CB: You mean that they would take out the blacks so that they weren’t in with the white air crew is that what you mean?
PW: Well they sought them out, they would come into the dancefloor and then all of a sudden a coloured one would be with one of the white yank’s fancies and then they would start. We used to say, I don’t know [laughs] I don’t know who we’re supposed to be fighting for, [laughs] the whole place [unclear] and it was strange absolutely and of course the white caps used to lie about them with their truncheons like.
CB: These are the military police?
PW: Yeah, yeah and they didn’t spare any blushes.
CB: No, no. So where they American black ground crew or where there any American black air crew?
PW: Well no they had American, there was an American all black squadron.
CB: There was. Where was that based?
PW: I’ve no idea where it was based.
CB: No.
PW: It was in East Anglia.
CB: What were they flying, fighters?
PW: No Fortresses.
CB: Oh they were, right. Now in the RAF how often did you come across people from the West Indies or Africa or whatever, India?
PW: No we didn’t, we had one officer in the squad who was a West Indian, and I didn’t get to know him at all but he was a very nice fella, but as I say we didn’t have much to do with him really.
CB: What did he do, was he a pilot, navigator or what was he?
PW: He was pilot rank if I remember rightly.
CB: What rank?
PW: maybe a Flight Lieutenant [pause].
CB: On your squadron?
PW: Well I don’t know if he was on our squadron because we had a, we shared a place with 462 Squadron who were Australian. Yes it was 462 Squadron who shared a base with us.
CB: Oh right.
PW: So he might have been with them.
CB: So there was what one did you ever know or come across any other colonial, West Indian or African?
PW: No, not while on squadron, no.
CB: No, okay, Right. Now when you came to the end of the war, you’d already done your tour?
PW: Yes.
CB: How was it that you then did a second tour? Because people tended at the end of a tour to then go on ground jobs. So how did you change to a second tour?
PW: I didn’t go on to a second tour.
CB: Ah.
PW: No.
CB: So you did your thirty?
PW: Yes, that’s right.
CB: So which squadron were you with when you did that?
PW: That was with, with 192.
CB: Right. But then you went to 102 and then 53.
PW: 102 became 53
CB: Okay, and was the war still on when you changed to that?
PW: No, no.
CB: So it just happened that the end of your tour was also at the end of the war was it?
PW: Yes in fact we were on the last bomber command raid of the war to Flensburg.
CB: Yes which is what you said earlier to Flensburg.
PW: That’s right that was on the 2nd of May 1945.
CB: And did you do any ferrying of POWS’ after that in operation exodus?
PW: No, no we did, what ferrying we did then was taking Halifax’s up to the graveyard [laughs] up to Scotland and then come back with one of the others.
CB: They flew you back in some other plane?
PW: Yeah in one, one plane.
CB: Yeah. So the war ended in 1946 and you were de-mobbed, does it say there when you were de-mobbed?
PW: 1945 [pause]
CB: In 1946?
PW: In 1945 I was transferred to 102 Squadron Pocklington and that became 53 Squadron.
CB: Right.
PW: And that was , what was it Bassetlorn.
CB: Upward? You were at Upward as well?
PW: I was at Upward [pause]
CB: So you never did fly Lancasters?
PW: No. Never flew one.
CB: So you came to the end of the war then what did you do, you left the RAF when you were de-mobbed.
PW: Yeah.
CB: How did they kit you out?
PW: Oh well I went, they sent me up to , oh where was it, Yorkshire, I was doing on a sort of radar station, but that was only for a little while of course it wouldn’t be in my log book.
CB: Hmm, it’s in our pay book. Yeah. So then you went back to civilian life doing what?
PW: Well as an adult apprentice, I carried on in my apprenticeship and the Government paid Camphill Press the money to make my wages up to a German’s rate.
CB: Right.
PW: Although I was an adult apprentice.
CB: Right.
PW: I was supposed to do three years like that.
CB: But you did less did you?
PW: No I carried on doing that and and then of course we, to make up for the fact that I missed a few years apprenticeship, of course an apprenticeship was seven years in those days [laughs].
CB: Oh right.
PW: And so they used to pay the Salvation Army publishing supplies and the money to make up my, to a German’s rate. So I was still in an adult apprenticeship and I went up to London printing for quite a while.
CB: On day release was it?
PW: Yep. [pause]
CB: Where was that Camden Town?
PW: No, [pause].
CB: Regent Street Poly?
PW: [pause] No, no it’s, a London School of printing and bookbinders, Stamford street that was.
CB: Right, Okay.
PW: Before they moved of course, and then of course I then got a job with somebody I used to work with had started up on his own and I went to work for him.
CB: What was that called?
PW: Book binding.
CB: No, no the company.
PW: The company, what was it called?
IW: It was Mr Hicks.
PW: Hmm, yeah Mr Hicks, I forget what the book binding was called. Universal Booking Binding he called himself.
CB: And you stayed there how long?
PW: Oh, about a year if that.
CB: Then what?
PW: Then I was with a chap who I was an apprentice with, the name of Clark, he was an older chap and he was working for this fella so he got a deputy and there was three of us and he was a composter and we started our own book binding company.
CB: And what was that called?
PW: For what part of a better name, Reliance Book Binding Company [laughs]. And, well as I said I’m not going to work for somebody else, I’ll work for myself, and I did.
CB: With two others.
PW: With the help of two others, yes, partners. But of course that didn’t last, the partnership didn’t last in the end.
CB: How long did it run for?
PW: Because one of the chaps thought he’s now a boss he could please himself when he comes and goes [laughs].
CB: One of those.
PW: [laughs]. So that didn’t work very well did it , so I decided we’d end that so we ended that partnership so there was just Mr Clark and myself.
IW: [unclear]
PW: And we carried on as the Reliance Book Binding Company until I retired.
CB: Which was when?
PW: When did I retire?
IW: I don’t know because you still used to.
CB: What age?
PW: I wasn’t sixty even was I, fifty-five.
IW: Oh no, never fifty-five.
PW: It was when I retired from, when did I retire from working for myself then?
IW: I don’t know, but you certainly didn’t retire at fifty-five.
CB: Anyway you retired, after you retired did you then do another job or?
PW: No, no.
CB: Your pension was enough to keep going, or did you sell out or did you sell your part of the company?
PW: I did, Ron and myself sold the company to the chaps we worked with over a period of three year and.
IW: The chaps that worked for you, you didn’t just work with them they worked for you.
PW: That’s right yeah.
CB: Okay, and then you put your feet up?
PW: No, not really.
CB: What did you do, I started.
PW: What did I do after that?
IW: [unclear]
CB: I’ll just stop recording for a bit.
CB: We’re just picking up what happened after the war, so after the war you went back to civilian life but actually you returned to the RAF in the volunteer reserves so when did you do that and what did you do?
PW: Well it should be in there.
CB: So it’s 1951 to 1953. What were you doing?
PW: [pause]
CB: Because you said it was the reserve flying school, but what were you actually doing for them?
PW: Wireless operator on Anderson’s and I finished that in 1954.
CB: So what was the purpose of the?
IW: What was the purpose Peter?
CB: What was the purpose of this organisation the reserve flying school who were you teaching?
PW: Just to keep, keep your hand in really.
CB: Right.
PW: We used to have weekend flying and then an annual week at Cambridge.
CB: Right.
PW: And then I finished that and that’s when I finished the RAF altogether wasn’t it.
CB: Right. Ok.
PW: Hmm, so I was then just a sergeant.
CB: Oh they took you down to sergeant from warrant officer?
PW: So yeah, when I was back in reserve, that’s right wasn’t it, just had the three stripes again.
CB: Okay, thank you very much.
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AWoodardP160512
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Interview with Peter Woodard
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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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Sound
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eng
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01:09:35 audio recording
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Chris Brockbank
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2016-05-12
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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Germany
Great Britain
England--Norfolk
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Flensburg
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hannover
Description
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Peter Woodard was a wireless operator and after training at RAF Yatesbury he flew operations with 192 Squadron.
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Carron Moss
Temporal Coverage
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1943
1944
1945
1946
100 Group
102 Squadron
192 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
B-24
bombing
Cook’s tour
crewing up
H2S
Halifax
Mosquito
Operational Training Unit
P-38
RAF Dumfries
RAF Foulsham
Raf Mauripur
RAF Pocklington
RAF Shenington
RAF Yatesbury
training
Wellington
wireless operator
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/638/8908/AShawWH151027.1.mp3
14ff9f7e0fd3903f2c73a2d0175fe797
Dublin Core
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Title
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Shaw, William Horace
W H Shaw
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Shaw, WH
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with William Horace Shaw (1892171 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a wireless operator / air gunner with 37 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2015-10-27
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CB: Right, I’m with Bill Shaw, who was wireless air gunner, operator air gunner, and we are in Reading, and we’re going to talk about his life and, in the RAF and what he did afterwards. So Bill – er the date today is the 27th of October 2015. Bill, could you start with the earliest days with your family, where were they, where were you born, what do you remember about the early experiences?
WS: Well I was born in a London hospital, in Whitechapel, 26th of February 1924. My mother was living then in Kenning [?] Street Road, her father was a farrier and dyers and cleaners business. Soon after I was born, I was just thinking it must have been something like fifteen months, they moved to Layton and mother opened up a shop for dying and cleaning. My father then was out of work because by that time there was the depression in 1926 [emphasis]. He did get a job, I can’t remember in very much detail of that time, he did get a job in Sutton, Surrey, on the parks department there because he was a professional gardener, and travelled backwards and forwards for a time, and then they got a house in Sutton which he rented from the council. And I moved to Sutton in 1929 when I was about five, just before I was five. I can’t remember the details exactly, but soon after we went to Sutton, I caught diphtheria which was quite a killer disease in those days. There was a lot of controversy that I got told about after I’d got better was the fact that the doctor wanted me to go to hospital and mother wouldn’t agree to go, me to go into hospital, mainly because back in the First World War when my father was in France, their first baby died of diphtheria when she was thirteen, and as a result of that Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me go into hospital [emphasis] so Mother had to nurse me at home. All I can remember about that is that I had to lie flat on my back, I wasn’t allowed to sit up at all, it was a liquid [emphasis] diet. I can just about [emphasis] remember that my sister used to sit on the stairs outside reading stories, otherwise the only thing I can remember about it was the fact that when I got better, the first time I could sit up I could look out the window and see my father picking some mushrooms in the cold frames in the nursery and brought those in, that was the first meal I’d had for a very, oh goodness knows how many weeks. Then I can’t remember how many weeks it was, but – then I went to school as usual in Sutton at the infants, and junior school. And then when I was about twelve I suppose it was, I went to secondary school in Wallington, had some success and some failures there [laughs]. Cricket and rugby was the two games I played. I made a stained glass window in the art class which was quite a feat – I often wonder what happened to that. And then takes you round to 1939, we broke up for usual, as usual for the summer holidays. I went to stay with my sister who was by that time married and living with a family up in Gobowen on the border between Shropshire and Wales. I don’t know why but after a few weeks with her, I think mainly because she was expecting a baby, I went to live with an auntie in Chester [emphasis], and that part I can remember because on the Sunday morning on the 3rd of September was when war was declared. My school closed for the duration so I, unbeknownst to me I’d left school, and then I came back to Sutton for home, 1940, in April 1940, I managed to get a job with an insurance company in London. And on reflection you think what a daft place to go and start work [laughs] with the Blitz on. We went to – it was exciting times in a way. I think it was 1941 when I joined the Home Guard, and that helped me a great deal for when I was called up into the services. I didn’t think so at the time, but I think it was about when I was seventeen I had to register I think for the conscription, when you had to decide whether you wanted to, which service to go into. At that time there were rumours about pilots going on indefinite leave [CB laughs] so I thought ‘that’s a good idea,’ and I put down my name for the RAF and air crew. You didn’t get much opportunity to decide what you wanted to do in aircrew mainly because you didn’t know what went on [laughs]. I had, I was put down as a wireless operator air gunner. Then you went home again to wait for, you know, a call to arms. That was on the 24th of May 1943 that I reported to Lourdes Cricket Ground [emphasis]. We were stationed – we were billeted in some blocks of flats in Abbey Wood I think it was called, just outside Lourdes, for I think it was something like two weeks or ten days while you were kitted out. Then went on to ITW, don’t think there was anything in between. ITW was at Bridgnorth up in Shropshire, which was a town renowned for the number of pubs it had [CB laughs]. ITW – I can’t remember how long it lasted but after that you went on leave for, I suppose it was a week, maybe five days something like that. You reported then to radio school [emphasis], Number Two Radio School at Yatesbury in Wiltshire. That’s when soon after we started the radio course they decided that there was no need for the gunnery part of it so we trained as a signaller.
CB: Mm.
WS: Odd times getting home for leave and hitching lifts and that kind of thing. Qualified as a signaller. again I can’t really remember how long that course took, but as you qualified, normally you went straight on leave, but the night before we were due to go on leave, as we had two empty beds in our hut, they introduced two new intake into our hut, one of which the next morning reported sick with suspected scarlet fever, which meant we were confined to the hut straight away – food was brought in et cetera, et cetera, for about ten to twelve days again until it was confirmed whether it was scarlet fever or not, and then, as we left behind most of the course because of the scarlet fever scare, they decided we could go up to Scotland on a gunnery [emphasis] course. Now that was very good organisation because we went down into town to get onto a train, there was as far as I could remember roughly fifty, fifty five of us. We got on the train to go up to Scotland, we didn’t know whereabouts in Scotland we were going, just that we were going north, and every few miles or so we were, the carriage we were in was shunted to the sidings to let traffic go down from the north to the south. And then we push on and eventually [emphasis] although we’d left sort of first thing in the morning from Yatesbury, we got up to a place called Evanton, or Evanton [pronounced differently] in Scotland, early evening, only to find that the reason for our long journey was the fact that D-Day had started, and the traffic going from north to south was all the tanks and troops going down for the invasion. We did gunnery school – so as they changed their mind about us, we thought, we assumed that we would be due to go on Coastal Command [emphasis]. As Coastal Command, because of the duration of the trips or flights, had three wireless operator air gunners to each crew, so three of us had palled up. We left to go on leave after gunnery course. I’d arranged with my girlfriend, who I’d met before [emphasis] I went into the RAF to meet and go to stay with an aunt of hers away from the bombing. We were due to go to Stamford. We were gonna meet at Waterloo Station on the Saturday morning. I had spent [unclear] leave at home in Sutton, all ready to go to Waterloo when the knock at the doors, and a policeman had asked, had a telegram for Sergeant Shaw. And my mother took it off him and said ‘what shall I do?’ I said ‘well give it back to him and tell him I’ve gone to Stamford’ [laughs]. I thought we must get a couple of days at Stamford before they caught up with us [CB laughs]. We got up there, sat down to tea on the first day, there was a knock at the door and I heard someone say ‘Sergeant Shaw,’ and my aunt said ‘don’t know no Sergeant Shaw,’ because although she knew my Christian name [CB laughs] she didn’t know my surname [emphasis], I thought I’d better show my face [laughs]. And the, he gave me orders to report back to my unit with small kit and pay book. Pam said ‘what are you going to do?’ I said ‘well, you go down the station and find out when the last train goes and I’ll report to the transport officer’ which I did, and he said ‘ooh, well you’ve missed the last train,’ ‘cause I thought well at least we’d have one night [laughs], and the next day Pam went back to her home in Fulham in London and I went up to Scotland to report back to the unit. They, they measured my height and weighed me, and sent me back on leave [emphasis], indefinite leave. I thought ‘ooh this is nice, indefinite leave.’ That lasted three days [both laugh], and I was – had orders to go back to West Kirby which was near Birkenhead, transit camp. We were then embarked on a ship, we went up to Grenick [?] for the ship for the convoy to assemble. And I can remember one chap on the ship when we first sailed – we got out of sight of land and he said ‘oh that’s enough of that, let’s go back’ [CB and WS laugh]. The eventually we – I think we were about three weeks on the boat, we didn’t know where we were going of course, but we reckon we were going west for so many days and then we turned south for a bit and then – during the night of course you didn’t know whether you’d changed course or not, but eventually we got to Alexandria [emphasis]. We disembarked in Alexandria, that was out first real taste of overseas [emphasis] service really. Before we got off the ship there was boys, native [emphasis] boys on the quayside shouting up for white money, and there was troops, it was mainly an army ship just ‘cause there was only about fifty of us in RAF, and the, there was a Scottish regiment, or Scottish company, and the, used to throw coppers in, which of course was no good to the boys because they couldn’t see them in the muddy water [emphasis]. So when they [laughs] used to dive in after the money, they used to shout ‘bloody Scotsmen’ [both laugh]. And that was then my initiation into overseas service [laughs]. And we disembarked, went on a train down to a place called Ismailia [emphasis], to a transit camp. I can’t tell you how long we stayed there but then we went on another [emphasis] train up to Jerusalem. We got to Jerusalem – there was an officer in the room there which interviewed us and we were still the three of us together still, and he said ‘where did you do your ASV course?’ We hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, we hadn’t, never done that. So he said ‘you should have done that before you came out,’ he said ‘you’re no use to us.’ And with that we went back to the billet, which in Jerusalem was referred to as the ‘German hospital.’ We just went in there, waiting for orders. We got, a couple of us got chatting to the guard which was a local sort of people, I don’t know exactly what they were, they weren’t Arabs but – we were chatting to them, they were well educated with English, and one weekend he said he won’t, wouldn’t be there because he was going to his brother’s wedding in Bethlehem. And he said ‘you could come if you like, we go on the Friday.’ We couldn’t get away on the Friday so he instructed us how to get there on the Saturday which was a bus, Arab bus. We didn’t realise at the time that Jerusalem was up on a hill and Bethlehem was up on another hill, so the bus went down [emphasis] into the valley and up the other side. There was this road just covered in stones – it was quite a journey [emphasis] looking down into the valley as we were going round the bends [laughs]. His brother who was the bridegroom met us when we got to Bethlehem, showed us round, and the procedure then was the bridegroom, with a few others, went from house to house where the men were all sitting round. A couple of the women brought in a tray with little drinks on, brandy or Arac [?]. We didn’t know Arac was prohibited to the servicemen but it was rather nice, followed by, which amazed us, was a tin of Macintosh’s Toffees [both laugh]. So you got a little drink and a toffee [CB laughs]. And we went to around about five or six houses I suppose in Bethlehem. Then we were shown to another room where we could sort of lounge about. Food was brought in on a big circular tray, placed in the middle of the room, and our guide there, the sentries from the hospital looking after us said ‘you can eat that, don’t eat that, don’t eat that,’ and there was various dishes all on this table, and he pointed at what not to eat on [laughs] this table. And then we went to the Church of Nativity for the wedding. We were shown round the Church of Nativity, the manger and so forth, and the party went on in another house after the wedding. The bride as far as I can remember sat on a chair in a little dais, and all the guests went up and pinned money onto her dress. Of course it was nothing we do, we were just observers [emphasis] more or less, the party went on from the Saturday night into the Sunday, but we couldn’t stop all that long because we had to get back on the busses, back to billets. So that was the first time we’d seen anything of an Arab wedding. The thing that stood out in our mind then was the pews in the church were just sort of wooden benches, and we sat sort of to one side, just watching what was going on, and the baby started to cry in the middle of all the service. The women was in the same row of seats as we were, and she simply undressed her, undid her blouse to feed the baby which kept it quiet [laughs]. And we thought to ourselves, ‘just imagine that happening in England’ [CB and WS laugh]. And we went back to billet, which then came through to go to OTU Takia [?] where they were using Wellingtons for training. We did – I just can’t remember how many weeks a course went on for OTU, but on our last, we did so many circuits and bumps, so we did so many of them, but at the end of the course which consisted of cross country trips and simulated bombing on Cyprus. And the trip before last, we had a terrible storm [emphasis] while we were on the way to Cyprus, and when we were on the way back, there had been a recall signal out but I never received it because with the storm the radio was pretty useless. And the debriefing they reckon the navigator had cooked his log [?], they didn’t think that we could have got round and they reckon he’d cooked his log [?] to show that we’d got round. And the CO was going to take him off and give us another navigator, and the pilot refused to accept another navigator of an unknown quantity so to speak. The CO said ‘well you’ll have to do your cross countries again,’ so we did another set of cross countries. At the end of that we were then posted down to Shalloufa [?] the station near Suez near Egypt for conversion onto Liberators for the four engine heavy bomber. We did the conversion course on that, eventually got across to Italy and caught up with squadron. And the talk as soon as we got onto the squadron was all about the bad winter they’d had, because nothing – I think it was March by time we got there, but we, we missed that, we were in, we were under canvas of course in Italy. We did two operations [emphasis]. First one was trying to bomb a railway bridge a the north of Italy to stop the supplies coming through the tunnel in the Alps for the Germans and the second one was to bomb marshalling yards in Austria, just outside Salzburg [emphasis].
CB: Mm.
WS: Most successful, erm, that was about the end of April I should think, something like that. 1945, before we did any more operations the Germans surrendered and the hostiles ceased on the 8th of May. We then started doing more flying than we had before because the army had gone so far, so fast up to the north of Italy that they’d outstripped their supply line, and they got so many hundreds of thousands of prisoners with no supplies [emphasis], so we were flying supplies up from the south to the north of Italy. Boxes of supplies with food and rations et cetera, and also jerry cans of petrol. That went on until about the October I think it was, then we were posted back to, back to Palestine, back to Egypt, back to the Shalloufa [?] we converted onto, and I can’t remember the date, then the squadron was disbanded [emphasis]. We went, we were sent to a transit camp where we met aircrew from the other squadrons, some of which, whom we’d trained with a so forth. The procedure there was that there was a parade at eight o’clock in the morning. If your name wasn’t called out you were free to go where you liked until eight o’clock the next morning. We had a form to fill in to show, or to decide which type of ground duties you’d like, we filled three of us, there was a navigator and myself, and the two navigators and myself filled in the form with the choice of five duties. We put, so we put flying, flying, flying, flying [CB laughs] and thought we’d get called up before the CO where they sorted that out, and nothing happened for two or three days, and then our names were called out one morning, and instead of being in for the high jump we were posted to a maintenance [emphasis] unit, just outside Cairo. And then we were – pause there.
JS: Mhm, yeah.
CB: Pause?
JS: [Unclear.]
CB: Okay. We’re just pausing our tape.
[Tape paused and restarted.]
CB: So, and we’ve talked about a lot of things Bill, thank you very much, but I think it’s useful to be able to understand what the training was at various stages. So you were going to be wireless operator air gunner but only wireless operator in the end. What was the training, what did it involve?
WS: As far as I can remember, it was just a question of explaining how a radio worked for a receiver and transmitter point of view and learning the Morse code [emphasis]. The layout of the radios was sort of laid out on a table instead of in a box, it was always laid out on a table. Various wirings and the transformers and tuning, tuning veins or something wasn’t it? I can’t remember my memory’s gone. And the valves, we were shown how this valve did such and such, and this valve did such and such, and you also trained so how you could move the valves around in case one was damaged so that you could still get some sort of signal out of the set. And the same sort of thing with the trans, transmitter. It mainly as far as I can remember, learning the Morse code was the most difficult thing. The radio seemed quite straight forward, but learning the Morse code and the Q code as it was called then –
CB: What was the Q code?
WS: [Unclear]
CB: What was the Q code?
WS: Q code?
CB: What was that?
WS: You had, they’re like QDM – if you sent, if you sent out a message basically saying requesting a QDM that was meant that you wanted them to give you a magnetic course so you could then hold the key down to transmit while they picked up the signal and followed directions, and course then come back and tell you what your course was. So if you did that with two stations, you could then get a fix where the, those two courses crossed. That’s where you first flew, it took us up in the Domini [?] Rapide [emphasis], about five or six of us. That was to show whether you could stand air-worthiness, whether you were sick or frightened or so forth. And then you went on to a single engine, Proctors [emphasis] with a pilot and yourself, just local flying so you could learn how to transmit and receive in the air, and did various trips on that sort of thing. Then you had a test and on the result of that whether you qualified or not. Then you got your wings, or brevy, and then of course we went on to do the same sort of thing on the gunnery course, were you had a, an aircraft with a mid upper turret, which was an old Hampson [?], used to take off with about three I think, three, three cadets in it, and a pilot. And you rendezvous with a, another aircraft which would tell you [?] the drogue [emphasis], and used to wander round the lighthouse at, can’t remember, the north east of Scotland, and you had so many bullets each and the noses of the bullets were painted different colours so that when the drogue came back to land they could count out how many hits the red had and how many hits the green had and so forth. What happened sometimes [laughs] was the last person in to fire, instead of hitting the drogue would hit the wire that was towing the drogue and it floated out into the sea [CB and WS laugh]. So it was a wasted exercise [laughs]. But I always had quite a good eye because of, again the Home Guard going onto the army rifle ranges was a great experience for that, and the first thing we did at the gunnery school was with somebody who looked as if he was a real life old country gentleman sitting on a shooting stick with clay pigeons coming across and how to aim off with a shotgun. And he did it out, he seemed to do it without looking. I suspect he had been doing it all his life [laughs]. But then you went on to, as I say, firing air to air. I don’t think we did any air to ground I think it was all air to air firing. Where did we go from there? Believe, prior to going overseas [unclear].
CB: So prior to going abroad, you didn’t know where you were going to go at all?
WS: No.
CB: You thought you were going to Bomber Command did you?
WS: Well as we’d done a gunnery course, we, we presumed right at the beginning we were going onto bombers of some sort. I mean, it could have been night fighters. Defiants had a turret –
CB: Hmm.
WS: A radio operated turret. But as we’d done the gunnery course after they’d changed their mind and only wanted a signaller, we assumed we were going onto the Coastal Command [emphasis]. That’s where we ended up in Jerusalem, and the chaps said ‘where did you do your ASV course?’ Which I never really understood what it stood for but it was something to do with the air search or something, with this radar business you could see under – submarines if they were near the surface of the water.
CB: Mm.
WS: But that’s all I know about that. We never did that before we went over there so we had to go back to the transit camp and wait until they could sort of feed us in with the Middle East Bomber Command.
CB: What was your squadron number?
WS: Thirty-seven.
CB: And was that with you in the Middle East or did you join it in Italy?
WS: No that was – well no, we joined it in Italy because the squadron had been in the western desert right the way through North Africa –
CB: Mm.
WS: Then over to Italy, which was 1205 Group.
CB: And where were you in Italy?
WS: Just outside Foggia [?], place called Torremaggiore [?].
CB: Mhm.
WS: Which was an olive, olive grove, or had been at one time.
CB: You mentioned the two ops you did –
WS: Yeah.
CB: That was the total number of ops, was it, or did you do some other ones as well?
WS: No, no that was all we did.
CB: Mm.
WS: The hostilities ceased then.
CB: Mm. Just thinking about the crew, what was the relationship between the members of the crew? How many were there first of all?
WS: Seven, in the, in the crew of the Liberator. The, we were training on the Wellingtons you had two gunners, when you went onto the Liberator you had three gunners. So you had the pilot, engineer, navigator, bomb aimer, wireless operator, two gunners and the wireless operator stood in as a third gunner if it was required.
CB: Mm. And how did the crew get on?
WS: We got on very well, yes. The engineer was a Scotsman who, because he was an engineer they were always much older, they were two or three years older than the rest of us because of their engineering training, but the one we had [laughs] was quite a good engineer but he did like his whisky [CB laughs]. So [laughs] sometimes it was a job to keep him away from that. One of the gunners was also the heavy weight champion of the Middle East while we were there for the boxing, otherwise we got on. The pilot had been a van driver before he was called up, delivering groceries, the navigator had been a coal miner working down the pits [CB laughs], I’d been a clerk down in East Yorks [?] [laughs]. I can’t remember – ooh two of the gunners had been, two of the gunners had been what? I think they’d been in the RAF but remustersed [?] or transferred onto aircrew. I think they’d been on ground duties when they’d first – they were a year’s difference in age made an awful lot of difference at that time –
CB: Hmm.
WS: You were either old or not, you know [laughs]. And those in the year older than you were old.
CB: Yeah.
WS: It was – especially the engineer who was two or three years older. He was an old man [laughs].
CB: What’s this – was your particular formed in Italy, and how was that done –
WS: No –
CB: Or did you just join a crew that was short of –
WS: At OTU, where you started, at the beginning of OTU, all the aircrews of various trades, like the bomb aimer and pilot, came up from South Africa, I think the rest of us had come out from Blighty, but we were all in, so many hundreds of us in the hangar, and it was the pilot’s job then to come around amongst all these aircrew. He came up to me and said ‘would you like to fly with me?’ And I’d never met him before [laughs] so it was a why not sort of thing, you know. And then you couldn’t tell if you wanted to or not [laughs]. So you said ‘yes’ and he had to round and pick his navigator and his engineer and gunners like that, so at the end of the day he’d formed a crew [emphasis].
CB: What nationalities did you have?
WS: Erm –
CB: The pilot for example. He came up from South Africa but what – did he train there or was he actually from South Africa?
WS: He trained as a pilot in South Africa but he wasn’t –
CB: He was a Brit was he?
WS: Yeah he was English, I was English, the navigator was a Yorkshire man, there’s quite a difference there [CB and WS laugh]. Bomb aimer was a Scouse [CB laughs]. One of the other gunners was a Yorkshire man I think – I can’t remember – mid upper gunner, mid upper gunner was a Scotsman, one of the gunners came from Leicestershire somewhere, I think it was. But I suppose quite a normal span of occupations overall.
CB: Yeah.
WS: Really.
CB: Now, people’s experiences varied hugely in some people later in the war didn’t experience the same draw, draw, dramas [emphasis] that others had –
WS: Oh no –
CB: In the middle of the war perhaps.
WS: No –
CB: But in your case, what sort of excitements did you have in your flying activities? Or even on the ground?
WS: Well [laughs] the only thing I can remember stands out most is on the first operation. ‘Cause on the Liberator, the bomb doors used to – the bombs were inside the aircraft and the bombs used to go up the sides. And there was a lever which operated the bomb doors, which with the vibration of the aircraft, if they came down two or three inches, would interfere with the bomb release gear. And there was a catwalk through the aircraft with the bombs hanging over either side like that, and my job was to sit on the end of this catwalk holding this lever so it kept the doors up, out on the, on the bombing run, and I was also told to, you know, report any hang ups, and being very naïve I thought ‘oh that’s easy, I can go one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.’ It dawned on me afterwards [laughs] if the bomb’s about a hundred yards apart on the ground it’s a split second up there [laughs]. So I was sitting up there [unclear] thinking ‘I’m ready,’ you know, this and this, bomb aimer said ‘bomb’s gone,’ and the bomb went down like that, the aircraft went up and I nearly fell out the bottom [CB and WS laugh].
CB: Sounds dangerous [WS laughs].
WS: And there were – you kept the bomb doors open, sitting on there for, looking for fighters coming up underneath.
CB: Mm.
WS: Until you were sort of well clear of the target. And the second trip we had to Austria was a moonlit night, and coming back you had the beautiful snow coloured mountains [laughs]. It was quite picturesque [emphasis]. There was one aircraft, single engine aircraft, I couldn’t tell you what it was, whether it was an ME109 or what I don’t know, might have been an F190, that sort of went across quite a way below us, he didn’t take any notice of him so we didn’t take any notice, you know, he didn’t take any notice of us so we didn’t take any notice of him. That was the only activity I had on that trip. On the railway bridge, that was the first trip I did – that was at the foot of the Alps, Northern Italy, where the trains coming through the tunnel in the Alps across the River Po, then the Americans, who were stationed on the other side of the airfield with Flying Fortresses used to go out during the daytime raids, and they would come back some of them shot up, so we had their intelligence and whether we were flying under them, under them. They were in control, control of the airstrip so to speak. Reports of so many hundred guns protecting this bridge and that sort of thing. And we went out at night, which the Americans thought we were mad [CB laughs]. And of course they, they were day [emphasis] gunners, they’d got not radar in those days. No, they were day gunners, so although they might hear us they couldn’t know where we were.
CB: What sort of height [emphasis] were your flying at?
WS: Bombing height was eight thousand five hundred.
CB: And the bomb load, how big?
WS: It was I think four, four one thousand pounds and eight five hundreds I think it was [unclear]. I got a couple of photographs there –
CB: Good.
WS: Of – taken by the camera automatically when the bombs burst.
CB: And how was the adjustment made for the camera to operate?
WS: I don’t know, no idea.
CB: You didn’t operate that?
WS: No, no. That was fitted in by the, sort of ground crew.
CB: Mm.
WS: Who had the height, knew what height the bombing height, height would be –
CB: ‘Cause they’d need to know the height to do it, yep.
WS: So the camera was fixed [emphasis] –
CB: Mm.
WS: On that thing. I – on one of them you could just about un, make out the river, but otherwise I, I don’t see what they could decipher from it.
CB: So both occasions, these two ops where in, in the night.
WS: Yes, yes. Mm, yeah.
CB: Okay. Changing the subject slightly, what did you learn about, or see, to do with LMF? Or did it not arise?
WS: No. We’d heard about it but no context [unclear]. Never knew anybody that was classified as that.
CB: Mm. And did you know what happened to aircrew that were accused of that?
WS: No, no. We – I suppose being oversees we got very little information from anything [laughs].
CB: Mm, mm.
WS: I don’t know whether anybody was sent back to this country –
CB: Perhaps it happened differently there.
WS: I don’t know.
CB: Okay.
WS: News, news was very late coming through.
CB: Mm. So the war ended, and you didn’t come out until 1947 –
WS: Yeah.
CB: So what did you do in the meantime?
WS: Well to start with, when the squadron first went back to Egypt before it was disbanded, I can only think that we were kept operational because of the Cold War [emphasis]. Because, because twice [emphasis] we were bombed up at that time, never really knew whether that was a real [emphasis] emergency or just something to keep the armies occupied.
CB: Mm.
WS: But, that was, that was really all that happened in Shalloufa [?] really then. I don’t think [emphasis] we did any, any other trips at that time.
CB: So you left [emphasis] really before the Israeli Palestinian hostilities gathered momentum?
WS: When we went – after disbandment when we were posted to the maintenance unit was [unclear] operative which is a pre-war station just outside Cairo. We had, there were five crews, pilot, navigator and wireless operator, and we had a marvellous time then because we were in brick built billets after being under canvas. All luxury [emphasis] yeah. And a chap – we had our own room, and the chappy next to me, I mean it was quite a room, about twelve by twelve, quite a size –
CB: Mm.
WS: Chap next door – we employed a boy and we gave something like the equivalent of roughly ten bob a fortnight I think it was, he cleaned our room, did our laundry, polished our buttons and shoes and that sort of thing. Gave us a cup of tea in the morning –
CB: Mm.
WS: All that sort of thing. We had a life of luxury.
CB: Mm.
WS: But that was about the time when – who was it, NASA [?] wasn’t it? Wanted Egypt for the Egyptians, they wanted the British out. And they got all these aircraft that they’d been using up in Palestine for training, just dumped [emphasis] in the desert, in a place which became locally as Wimpy Valley. Everybody knew Wimpy Valley, and they were bringing these aircraft in, putting them through the main, maintenance unit and then we’d test them and send, deliver them to wherever they had to go. We – the first consignment we had was fifty-two to be delivered to the French in Algiers. So where they, where they’d gone through the maintenance unit, and if there was no snakes [?] we’d rake them up to Algiers and then scrounge a lift back [laughs]. A lot of the trips we got back to Cairo were on American Dakotas.
CB: Oh.
WS: ‘Cause they seemed to have a taxi service running backwards and forwards –
CB: Right.
WS: From the North African coast. And as I say, we also took one or two up to Greece, one up to Palestine, things like that. And then we had orders to bring them back to this [emphasis] country. So that was a [laughs] that was a laugh really.
CB: What route did you take to do that?
WS: Well you see, we were a law unto ourselves at that time really. Nobody knew where we were or who we were [CB laughs]. We had a marvellous [emphasis] time. We used to go along to, from Cairo to I think it was Benin, refuel there, over to Luqa in Malta to refuel there, refuel to the South of France. Can’t think of the name of the place –
CB: Orange [in French accent].
WS: Toulouse was it?
CB: Orange [in French accent].
WS: Was it?
CB: Orange, yeah.
WS: Then up to St. Morgan [?] for customs clearance, and then up to Scotland to deliver these aircraft.
CB: Mm.
WS: But the first one we had to deliver was to the Bristol Aircraft Company at Gloucester. They wanted it for the engines because they were Gloucester Engines [unclear]. And we handed it over – there were three [emphasis] chaps on the airfield in a little hut. We handed over the papers and said ‘where’s the transport for, to go to the station?’ Railway station [CB laughs]. And they said ‘we haven’t got any transport. We all come to work on our bikes’ [laughs]. He said ‘we close down at four o’clock, if you’d like to wait ‘til four o’clock, we’ll run you into the railway station on the fire tender’ [CB and WS laugh]. So we travelled then up to Charing Cross, and the idea was you’d go to Charing Cross, walk up the Strand, go into Kingsway House I think it was, which was Transport Command, to book your flight back to Cairo as a passenger. So going up on the train to Charing Cross, I think it was on a Thursday or a Friday, I’m not sure which. But we said ‘nobody knows who we are [laughs], when we are [laughs] what we’re doing or anything.’ So two of us were Londoners, I can’t remember were the third person was, went, erm – so we said ‘we’ll go home for the night,’ and yeah, ‘meet again tomorrow about nine o’clock time, and go up to the Strand’ [emphasis]. So we strolled up to this place and went in to book our flight back and the chap said ‘where you come from?’ So we said ‘Cairo’ [CB and WS laugh]. He said ‘oh you want to go back, come and see me Monday’ [CB and WS laugh]. So that gave us thought for the next trip over, so we had five days [emphasis] home the next trip [laughs].
CB: So when was this? This is late forty-five is it?
WS: This is –
CB: Forty-six –
WS: Forty-six by this time, yeah.
CB: Right.
WS: I think it was when the –
CB: And what prompted the discharge? The demob?
WS: What prompted it?
CB: Yes. How did they work out, when you –
WS: Ooh I don’t know – you went into groups didn’t you, or something. I don’t know how it worked. You just had to wait and see –
CB: Mm.
WS: When your time came sort of thing.
CB: But you were still flying at that time.
WS: Erm, last time I flew in a Wellington [pause], I made a mistake [papers shuffling], I put some of my flights, civilian flights in here after the war, shouldn’t have done that, gliding. Erm, March 1947 –
CB: Mm.
WS: Is the last time I flew in a plane.
CB: What did you do when you left the RAF?
WS: Went back to where I started.
CB: In the insurance company?
WS: Yeah, they were writing to me in Egypt saying ‘when are you going to be back, there’s a job waiting for you.’ So I just went back to – as if nothing had happened, just went back to work.
CB: Mm. Where did you live then? You rented a house somewhere did you?
WS: I was living in Sutton still. The house I’d been brought up in.
CB: Mm.
WS: 1947. I was married in forty-eight. Went to live with Pam’s parents then in Fulham [pause] and – for five years. Couldn’t – we struggled and struggled to find somewhere to rent but you know, people with families were given priority and all that sort of thing. And then by a stroke of good fortune, somebody said to me one day ‘old so-and-so’s going to retire, they’re going to move down the West Country,’ and I knew where they lived and so forth. I didn’t know it was their house, I thought perhaps they just rented the, rented this house, and I went round – ‘if you’re moving out can we move in?’ [laughs] sort of attitude.
CB: Yeah.
WS: And it was their house apparently. It was a spinster [emphasis] living there. Had to sell it, and it was a house that had been divided into two flats with a sitting tenant upstairs. And I – part of my work at the office was dealing with building societies, so I knew the secretary of a small building society quite well, and I thought ‘oh.’ She told me what she wanted for it, about twelve hundred pound [laughs] for this house. Thought – the chance you take with a sitting tenant is an unknown quantity.
CB: Mm.
WS: And I went to the phone and rang up the secretary of the building society one evening, that evening, and said ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem,’ told him what, what I’d got sort of thing, and he said ‘oh, I think we can help you Bill,’ he said, ‘you’ll need two hundred pounds of deposit,’ but he said ‘we’ll take care of the rest.’ And borrowed two hundred pounds from my dad [emphasis] on pain of suffering that I paid it back within six months, and he kept on and on about this two hundred pounds until at the end of six months we’d struggled to collect it and [laughs] get it back to him. It was [laughs] ‘here’s your so and so money’ sort of thing [laughs]. Course the mortgage worked out at eight pound eleven a month, and I can see us now sitting down with pencil and paper to work out our expenditure, ‘cause we got a – we’d started a family by this time. Well, the family hadn’t been born yet. We’d started [laughs] one.
CB: How many children did you have in the end?
WS: Two, boy and a girl.
CB: And did you stay with insurance all your working life?
WS: Yeah, yeah.
CB: When did you retire?
WS: 26th of February 1985.
CB: And what was the company?
WS: General Accident.
CB: Oh right [pause].
WS: But erm, various jobs during that time –
CB: Mhm.
WS: Up in London, various, into various offices for different jobs up in London. And at Putney, the manager at Reading here rang me up. We had crossed paths at one time. He rang me up to say there was a job at Reading if I’d like to apply for it, which meant quite a bit of promotion, and I was aged fifty then.
CB: Mhm.
WS: I thought ‘nobody else is going to offer me a promotion at my time of life,’ so I went home to tea and said ‘I’ve been offered a job at Reading,’ and the family said ‘where’s Reading?’ [laughs]. We had to get the map out to find out. So that’s how I came here.
CB: And this is the house?
WS: Well that’s another story, ‘cause to – I was travelling backwards and forwards to start with. Trying to go round estate agents and – with the General Accident you had a staff mortgage with a very low rate of interest, ‘cause outside was about fifteen percent at that time, and they were doing staff loans at three and a half percent.
CB: Cor.
WS: But the amount of repayments which had to be buying down [?] policy. The premiums plus interest couldn’t exceed twenty five percent of his salary, so you could work out exactly how much you could borrow. And the property they kept sending us to and the price they were asking was ridiculous. So I was in my office one day and the – I had a newspaper cutting on my desk. And a woman came in with, delivering sort of papers and things round the building, she came in with some papers for me. She said ‘ooh, who’s buying houses then’ sort of thing, nosey sort of a person. I said ‘I’m trying [emphasis] to,’ she said ‘ooh, the one next to me’s got to be sold, take me home at five o’clock’ she said ‘you can look at mine, it’s the same as the one next door’ [laughs]. And so I came here [laughs].
CB: Amazing.
WS: People – I’ve been lucky all my life.
CB: Yeah, it’s good.
WS: So I went home and said to Pam ‘I’ve found a house,’ so we piled in the car [laughs] and came back that evening, and the people – it was a bit of an odd situation. Apparently this chap had [unclear] a farm had retired, bought this place, and he had two daughters, both married. One was living with him to look after him, and when he died he hadn’t left a will, so the place had to be sold because they couldn’t raise a mortgage to pay off the other sister. It was a game quite by chance really. The first [emphasis] time I came in – when that person showed me her house I knocked on this door to see if I could have a look round [CB coughs].
CB: Mm.
WS: The son was here, he was a bit sort of backwards, he turned out to be. I said ‘I understand your house is being sold,’ you know, ‘is it possible to have a quick look round?’ ‘Well I don’t know what I think about that’ he says, so that’s all that. He said ‘you can come in if you’d like,’ you know. And on the table in here was a letter, looking at it upside down said ‘Brain and Brain.’ And I thought ‘ooh I know them, had dealings with them through the office,’ these solicitors. So I thought ‘ooh, Brain and Brain,’ and, so the next morning I rang up Brain and Brain about Hardcourt [?] Drive. ‘Ooh come and see me’ he says, ‘come and see me.’ Real old fashioned solicitors this place, so – in the reception you had a silver tray to put your visiting card on –
CB: Really?
WS: You know, that sort of place [laughs].
CB: Yeah, yeah .
WS: And he said, he says ‘we’ve been trying to get them out for months,’ he says [CB laughs and coughs]. He says ‘there was one person interested in the house nine months ago but whether they still are’ he doesn’t know, he says ‘we’ve got to the point now where we’ve put the rent up so high we’re forcing them out’ [CB laughs]. He said ‘it’s in the hands of the estate agent now’ [CB clears throat.’ He said he couldn’t discuss the price or anything with me because he was part of the – I don’t know what they called it, the administration or something, you know to wind up the, your estate. So I went to see the estate agents. ‘Oh yeah’ he says, you know, ‘I had one offer, all I could get out of him was that the offer had to be over sixteen thousand’ [laughs]. And so I did my maths, we knew I could borrow that much, you know, that sort of business [?], and I’d got a house [unclear] to sell, and I couldn’t work out from him – but these people had been interested way back, were the party that were interested, that’s all I could find out. And he said ‘offer of sixteen thousand,’ you know, he said ‘the offer’s got to be over sixteen thousand.’ I thought ‘oh, reading between the lines, I think their offer’s sixteen, so I’ll put in an offer for sixteen one-fifty’ [laughs].
CB: And got it?
WS: [Laughing] and got it. But that – the offer I put in on the Tuesday morning, or was it the Wednesday morning? But the deadline was noon on the Thursday. So I, I hadn’t even seen [emphasis] the place, only from the outside [laughs]. So I’d got a house, didn’t know what to do with it [laughs].
CB: Amazing.
WS: The company gave me a bridging loan –
CB: Mhm. Then you sold the other one.
WS: ‘Til I’d sold the other. It took me nine [emphasis] months to sell the other one.
CB: Did it, wow.
WS: It was at a time when the high rate of interest and the market was flat [emphasis].
CB: Mm.
WS: But it turned out in the end that I’d sold that one for sixteen one, and bought this one for sixteen one-fifty [laughs].
CB: Can’t be bad. Going back to your early stage, where there acquaintances you made then who became friends and then you were in touch the rest of your life, or did the crew disperse and you never saw them again?
WS: The pilot lived near Gatwick, I kept in touch with him. We stayed friends, used to go on holiday together, that sort of thing. One of the gunners was in – the, the bomb aimer who was a Scouse had emigrated to Canada, and he used to come across and we’d meet up. The, one of the gunners was, it started off really when we were first demobbed was a reunions, that’s where it started off.
CB: Squadron reunions?
WS: Yeah. Erm, no, 205 Group reunions, group reunions. All the squadrons [unclear]. That’s when the crew was, you know, before they dispersed so to speak, for about two years I suppose.
CB: Mm.
WS: But the pilot lived near Gatwick. Say the bomb aimer – the navigator went up to Yorkshire, he was a right character he was, he never worked again [laughs]. You can’t believe it really sometimes, but his wife used to, his wife used to go out to work and he lived opposite a pub, so he used to go across to the pub [laughs]. House was a terrible [emphasis] condition. He never – he started up doing some painting and decorating as a, I don’t know, whether or not he got any jobs or not I don’t know, but he certainly didn’t do any jobs indoors [laughs], yeah.
CB: Amazing.
WS: I suppose it’s the – but the only one left now is the gunner who’s living near Waddington.
CB: Warrington?
WS: Waddington [emphasis].
CB: Waddington, right.
WS: But last I’d spoke to his wife, last I’d spoke to her she said he, he’s not well at all. He can’t talk at all now, sort of thing.
CB: Mm.
WS: So erm – I did try to contact him before going up to Lincoln but I couldn’t – what’s happened to them I don’t know but, just couldn’t get anywhere on the phone.
CB: Okay. Let’s just pause there, thank you.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with William Horace Shaw
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-27
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AShawWH151027
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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01:04:18 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Shropshire
England--Wiltshire
England--Cheshire
Scotland--Ross and Cromarty
North Africa
Egypt
Italy
Italy--Foggia
Austria
Austria--Salzburg
West Bank--Bethlehem
Middle East--Jerusalem
Description
An account of the resource
Bill was a wireless operator/air gunner. He joined the Home Guard in 1941 and registered for conscription to the Royal Air Force (RAF) in 1943. He reported to Lord’s Cricket Ground and went to an Initial Training Wing at RAF Bridgnorth. Bill then went to No. 2 Radio School at RAF Yatesbury where he qualified as a signaller. He did a gunnery course at RAF Evanton in Scotland before going to RAF West Kirby and embarking at Greenock to sail to Alexandria.
After a transit camp in Ismailia, Bill went to Jerusalem and attended a wedding in Bethlehem. He proceeded to an Operational Training Unit at Attiyah where they trained on Wellingtons. He was posted to RAF Shallufa for conversion onto B-24s.
Bill eventually joined 37 Squadron, No. 205 Group, at Tortorella, near Foggia. He went on two operations: one to bomb a railway bridge in the north of Italy and the second to attack marshalling yards near Salzburg in Austria. After the Germans surrendered, he flew up supplies from the south to the north of Italy. The squadron then disbanded, and Bill was sent to a maintenance unit just outside Cairo, delivering aircraft. Bill left the RAF in 1947.
Temporal Coverage
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1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
Contributor
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Sally Coulter
37 Squadron
aircrew
B-24
bombing
crewing up
Dominie
Initial Training Wing
Operational Training Unit
Proctor
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Evanton
RAF Yatesbury
training
Wellington
wireless operator
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1125/11617/ASindallTH170801.1.mp3
f9b061c7d247788b9204765b3f063b26
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Sindall, James
James H Sindall
J H Sindall
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. An oral history interview with Timothy Sindall about his father, Wing Commander James Hepburn Sindall DSO (608158, 37365 Royal Air Force) and a photograph.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Tim Sindall and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-01
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Sindall, JH
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the 1st of August 2017 and I’m in East Horsley, in Surrey with Tim Sindall to talk about his father, James [unclear] Sindall, DSO. And we are going through all the details that Tim has amassed on his father’s life.
TS: Whilst my father James Heaven Sindall was alive, he in common with many others of his time very rarely spoke about his wartime experiences and yet I knew sufficient to respect him greatly for all he had achieved and was awed as to his unquestioned bravery in operations. After Madge, my mother, died at an all too early age, he withdrew into himself and sought solace in adventures at Salcombe for fishing, France, caravanning and Spain, a house he had built for him in an olive groove. He was careful as to those he accepted as friends for he was a handsome man and his neighbours never tired of trying to fix him up with solo female companions. But this was not what he wanted. He always welcomed my family to his house in [unclear] and he loved having us there for holidays, but he refused to install a telephone, so communications of other types relied upon the personal services. Only towards the very end of his life did I discover some tin trunks hidden under the stairs of the house where his sister lived and I didn’t have time to ferret around their contents until the end of the year 2010 when I came across his pilot’s flying logbooks, letters and other documents. These contained such a wealth of information that I simply knew that I had to commit time and energy in compiling his biography, not just for my own satisfaction but also for that of my family who had already begun to ask questions and to encourage my endeavours.
CB: Go.
TS: Chapter one in the biography is entitled flying begins between the years 1933 and ’36. James Heaven Sindall was born at home on the 12th of November 1909 at 41 Clock House Road, Beckenham urban district in the county of Kent to Annie Agnes Sindall and, formerly Heaven and Owen Sindall whose occupation was given as accounts clerk. The birth was registered on the 24th of December 1909 in the district of Bromley. James attended Worcester college Westcliff between 1922 and 1924 and then Eaton High School Southend from 1924 until 1927. One of his sports was boxing and we have a medal that he was awarded for his prowess in the sport. His civilian occupation after leaving school was as a clerk and include working for first, the Anglo International Bank EC between 1929 and 1933, then Novel Libraries Limited in 1934, and thirdly, the Bank of British West Africa between 1934 and ’35, all these appointments I believe to have been in London. But whilst he was working as a clerk, he joined the territorial army, the London regiment, the 14th, the London Scottish, as a private on the 20th of March 1929 and was promoted to Lance Corporal on the 16th of June 1932. He attended training camps annually between 1930 and 1933 but relinquished his appointment in January 1934 and was discharged on the 8th of July that year, quote, having been appointed to a commission in the RAFO and quote, RAFO means Reserve of RAF Officers. Whilst with the territorial army, James’s army number was 6666088. His military history sheet showed that his service was at home i.e. not abroad and that it counted as British, i.e. not India, and that its length was five years, 111 days. Now we move on to 1933, to a paragraph entitled flying training in Essex. The first flying records contained in a civilian pilot’s logbook begin just before the 9th of July 1933, the date of his second flight and show two dual training flights at Gravesend airport, each of twenty minutes. Subsequently, James undertook six further dual training flights, each lasting between fifteen and thirty minutes from Southend Airport in Gypsy Moth Golf Echo Bravo Tango Golf. An entry made on the 26th of June records landed plane ok, obviously with some pride. The last flight made in this phase of training took place in July at whilst still [unclear] includes the comment, take-off and landing solo, which to me seems to imply that captain [unclear] his instructor allowed James to manage the flight. We now move on to 1934, flying training sponsored by the Royal Air Force. The same flying logbook shows that James was at this time living with his parents and sister at Outspan, Nelson Road, Leigh-on-Sea, Essex, a semidetached house that remained the family home until after he died in May 1991. Issue 34072 of the London Gazette, dated the 24th of July 1934, shows James being granted a commission in the Royal Air Force reserve as pilot officer on probation, class 1AA little 2 with effect from the 9th of July 1934. This was the same date when he was authorised to wear the RAFO flying badge. His personal number in the Royal Air Force was 37365. It would appear that James recommenced flying training on Tiger Moths at Hatfield in July ’34 being deemed ready for solo on the 4th of August but actually doing so in Golf Alpha Charlie Delta Echo on the 14th for five minutes. The exercise he performed were 6, 7 and 14 meaning taking off into wind, landing in judging distances and solo, in other words, probably just one, thrilling circuit. This allowed him to enter into the remark column first solo. He flew a solo again on the next couple of days but mostly however after that his instructor Cox took him through turn, spinning, glides and aerobatics, as well as the all-important take offs and landings. The ammunition of course on DH82 aeroplanes run by the De Havilland aircraft company Limited took 56 days to complete. His assessments for airmanship, air pilot, forced landings, cross country flights, and instrument flights were average. The chief instructor commented on the 12th of September, he has definitely improved throughout the course, his flying has been consistent, aerobatics require more practice, he is very keen and should make a sound pilot. 1935, We have Consolidation and the start of service flying training. The pilot’s logbook records that James flew Avro Cadet, Golf Alpha Charlie Tango Bravo three times from Rochford on the 17th of March, James flew with Glava again on the 8th of April from Rochford, diverted to Gravesend owing to rain. Flying training resumed on the 15th of March, when James was back at Hatfield, once again flying Tiger Moths solo. They were doing advanced forced landings, reconnaissance, instrument practice, spinning, loops, aerobatics, cross country and general flying. On the 27th of April, the logbook shows that James flying solo, quote, landed Luton to find direction and quote, five minutes later he was off again, flying under very low cloud back to Hatfield. The course ended on the 1st of May 1935 when ten hours total had been flown. This time his performance was assessed as average on all counts, adding, he is very keen, he displays ability, and with more experience should make a very sound and reliable pilot. Now, between the 8th of June and the 24th of September 1935, it would appear that James undertook several private flights in Avro Cadets flying Moth airplanes, three notable entries in the remarks column of the pilot’s logbook included, flying his first passenger on the 2nd of July a Ms Keithley who is possibly associated with a film crew and she joined him on seven other occasions in dispersed with film job, going to location, line take off etcetera for Wells film Things to Come. The second item was flying Madge her first flight. That was F O Madge Birchall who became my mother. This a twenty-minute flight made on the 6th of July must have been a wonderful moment, for three years later James and Madge were married and the third point was flying O Sindall, that’s Owen, James’s father to London and back on the 9th of July, almost certainly the first time he had ever flown. By the end of September, James has amassed forty hours and forty minutes dual time and forty two hours and forty-five minutes solo and the London Gazette dated the 10th of September ’35 shows James being confirmed in the rank of pilot officer on probation in the RAF reserve and then, in 1935, on the 22nd of October, the London Gazette shows James relinquishing his commission in the RAFO on appointment to a short service commission with the RAF to take effect from the 7th of October. His first posting was to the RAF depot at Uxbridge and then to number 6 Flying Training School at Netheravon. The first page of James’s logbook here shows that James’s RAF flying training proper began at number 6 Flying Training School Netheravon and entry at Reading records I certify that I understand the petrol system and that I know the action in the event of fire in the air, also the use of breaks on the Hawker Hart. His first instructional flight in a Tudor includes spinning and the second slow rolls and loops. His third flight was the CFO eyes test which could have been to ascertain or confirm that James had the potential to benefit from further instruction.
CB: Right.
TS: James was clearly very impressed with the Hart and wrote to his mother on the 2nd of November 1935, have been flying Harts, look, something like this, enclosed a picture of a Hart, not a good one, I intended to draw it but I could not do it justice so here’s a picture of a Demon, same makers and practically the same, the only difference being that the exhaust comes out under the lower wing as I have [unclear].
CB: Just doing that again.
TS: James was clearly very impressed with the Hart and wrote to his mother on the 2nd of November 1935, have been flying Harts, look, something like this, I intended to draw it but I could not do it justice so here’s the picture of a Demon, same makers and practically the same, the only difference being that the exhaust comes out under the lower wing as I have [unclear] and I fly it from the front office and not from the back. After crawling around at 70mph in the Moths at home, you can imagine the thrill of cruising at 130 and at full throttle speed of 160 to 170mph. Coming out of a spin, a Hart is pointing vertically downward and everything screams, wires, struts and me until she comes out. I have not had the time to look at the speed indicator, but it must register something horrid. The sticks tooks up getting used to, not like the usual straight at moving in all directions from the floor, sideways and forwards but hinged just above the lease for sideways movement and both together for fore and after. The top is a ring, a spade grip and the two little leavers are thumb leavers to push to operate the forward guns which fire through the propeller. It is great to hurtle around the sky so fast. As a preface to this letter, James had written, no doubt to calm his mother’s fears, always remember that with machines there is more safety the faster one goes. James’s flying training, which included aerobatics, instrument and lower flying, cross country and flair path exercises on Tutors, Harts and Audax aircraft continued until February 1936. He recorded that on New Year’s Day 1936, whilst flying solo in Audax K4393, he carried out a forced landing at Portham being flown back as passenger to Netheravon in a Tutor nineteen minutes later. He also recorded that on the course of a solo flight made in a Hart, he carried out loops, spins and stall turns, notwithstanding that spinning had not been part of the planned exercise. On completion of his RAF training, James’s proficiency as a pilot on type and his instrument flying assessment were both recorded as average with a note, that disregards the standard entry any special [unclear] in flying which must be watched, must look after his engine. No other outstanding faults. These entries were dated the 16th of February 1936 and he was then qualified for certificate B under King’s regulations at air staff instructions. On the 6th of March James was posted to number 64 Fighter Squadron stationed in the Middle East. Chapter 2, fighter aeroplane to the Middle East and testing parachutes 1936 to 1939. First of all, a fighter squadron in Egypt. On the 6th of March 1936, James was posted to number 64 Fighter Squadron that was stationed in the Middle East. The RAF history records that number 64 had reformed in Heliopolis on the 1st of March although for political reasons it had been announced as having reformed at Henlow so as not to disclose its true location. The squadron was commanded by squadron leader Patrick John [unclear] having been established by authority. Now the RAF Form 540 which is the operations record book states that the original intention had been to form the squadron under peacetime conditions as part of the RAF expansion scheme. It was to form in Egypt to relieve congestion at home and by taking advantage of the good flying weather in this country to become fully trained as quickly as possible. Its Demons, fitted with derated Rolls Royce Kestrel V engines had already been set out to Egypt where they formed D flights in number 6 Bomber and 208 Army Cooperation squadrons and these were transferred during March to number 64 Squadron. The next entry in James’s flying logbook shows that he’d been transferred to number 208 Army Cooperation Squadron being based at Heliopolis. The unit was seemed to have being carried up type and role version at area familiarisation training. On the 19th of March, he was given a 35-minute checkout in an Audax after which he was sent off solo for general flying, navigation, formation and landing practices. A separate entry dated the 6th of April 1936 reads authorised to wear the flying badge with effect from the 20th of February 1936. He signed this as pilot officer and it was countersigned by a flight lieutenant, O C A flight 64 Squadron. On the following page of the logbook the heading number 64 fighter squadron Egypt appears. The first flight which was also from Heliopolis was made solo with balance to assimilate the way to a passenger in a Hawk Demon K4516 that lasted for thirty minutes. Two days later James flew again for landing practice, this time with aircraftsmen turrets on board. On the 9th of April, the squadron moved to Ismailia, James being a passenger in a Victoria 6. It had been the original intention to move to Mersa Matruh east but, due to severe engine troubles, which all squadrons operating in the western desert had been experiencing, it was decided to keep number 64 Squadron at a less dusty aerodrome, a turret should be required for the actual operations. The squadron consisted of three flying flights of four aeroplanes with no reserves. Its strength was thirteen officers and 153 other ranks. With the Abyssinian crisis still on, the squadrons duties were to carry out attacks on enemy airfields and act as cover for bombers being refuelled at advanced landing grounds. However, until required to commence these operations, the squadron carried out on normal training whilst being kept at 72 hours readiness to move to Sidi Barrani whence operational sorties would be flown. On the 15th, James was airborne again for a local familiarisation flight and this was followed by practice force landing, aerobatics, formation and air to ground firing with the front guns. On the 27th of April, he flew to and landed at Suez at Little Bitter Lake airfields. On the 28th and 29th he recorded battle climbs, five thousand feet in four minutes, ten thousand in seven and sixteen thousand feet in eleven and then he recorded on another flight, five thousand feet in five minutes, ten thousand in ten and sixteen thousand in fifteen. On the 19th of May, James was regraded from acting pilot officer on probation to pilot officer on probation. May was spent practicing more air to ground firing by the front guns and those fired by an air gunner, formation flying, aerobatics, air to air firing and on the 16th he undertook a twenty minute test flight in a Vickers Valentia with sergeant Higgins. In June 1936 this training continued with visits to Mersa Matruh, Sidi Barrani, Solum and Amira. He flew to [unclear] on the 6th of June to enable the engine of the Valentia to be changed of, I think it must be a Hart which had forced landed there. Also on the 18th he flew in a Gordon 2617 for two hours on a target train mission to facilitate air to air gunnery. In July a number of flights were made to test engine air filters fitted to Demons and James carried out some flair path landings and the times to height that I recorded just now were probably associated with these air filter engine performance trials. Number 64 Fighter Squadron returned to the UK in August 1936 to form part of the fighter defences of London. James’s logbook showed no flying during the months of August and September. By the time he’d left Egypt, he had amassed sixty-five hours and thirty-five minutes solo flying on Demons. On the 22nd of October, James flew in English skies once again, in Bristol Bulldog 1961 Martlesham Heath checking up on landmarks. His next flight on the 10th of November included formatting with a flying boat over Felixstowe. Thereafter, his flights included formation landings, circuits and bumps, cloud flying, testing RT, that’s the radio telephone and aerobatics. On the 3rd of December he flew Demon K4509 over [unclear] and Bexley on a tactical exercise radar on London fog and smoke and this is the first time he’s recorded undertaking flying, probably in association with Bentley Priory, beginning to trial the air defence of Great Britain, the radar chain. On the 8th of December 1936, James was confirmed in the rank of pilot officer with effect from the 7th of October 1936.
CB: Now back in Egypt. No, ok.
TS: We’re not, we’re back in the UK. We’ve come back to the UK.
CB: OK, that’s fine. Keep going.
TS: 1936, the parachute test flight. January 1937 saw James involved in testing camera guidance and in rearming and refuelling exercises, followed by quick getaways and battle climbs. There were more raids on London exercises. On the 27th of January 1937, James flew for the last time with his squadron, his logbook recording his proficiency as a pilot on Demons as average. James moved to the home aircraft depot at Henlow where he flew again on the 9th of February in a Tiger Moth on a refresher test. He then began a series of flights as a second pilot on the tail of the Vickers Victoria a Virginia aircraft drop testing parachutes, eight on each flight attached to dummies. He also made eight solo flights in a Hawker Hind, on one of which he, quote, landed to retrieve map near Bournemouth, and quote, after having encountered bad visibility, mist and rain. In March he carried out sundry flying tasks in a Tiger Moth, Prefect and Hind. These tasks included map reading tests for sergeant pilots, air sickness tests for aircraftsmen, photography and high-speed parachute dropping. Typical entries read, from ten thousand foot, 265mph, twelve thousand feet, 295mph, pull out four to six hundred feet, engine can’t take it at two thousand eight hundred revs in the dive, cutting out, boost minus two. On the 17th and 22nd James records, general flying over flooded areas and on the 23rd, search for Green Tiger Moth Duchess of Bedford, lost since previous evening. A note at the foot of this page records, struts and portion of aircrew recovered from the Wash confirms from the Duchess of Bedford’s machine. In April, James flew to Sealand, recording to [unclear] a new aircraft, with regard to an Audax that he’d got, with a hundred and fifty LSI airspeed indicator, with two thousand two hundred and fifty revs cruising, then he returned to Henlow in the, the Blackburn after which he recorded flying Blackburn hard labour all the time. After flying Moth 1889 on air experience for parachute pull off, he made two more flights in the Fairey to Cardington and back. At the end of the month, James signed off the months flying totals for the first time as officer commanding parachute test flight home aircraft depot Henlow. May began with a short flight in a Fairey 3F, followed that afternoon by an entry in red ink, live parachute pull off from port wing, from Virginia K2329 and this excitement was repeated on the 28th. Later in life, my father elaborated on the technique used to test parachutes. The Virginia would take off with one parachuter standing on the outer part of the lower wing on each side, facing [unclear] and grasping the strap with both arms and legs. On approaching the top [unclear], in response to a signal given by one of the crew, both parachuters would turn to face forward and await a further signal whereupon each would then deploy the parachute, if the parachute deployed as expected, the increase force would pull the parachutist away from the strut and he would ascend to a normal landing. If the parachute didn’t open, then the parachuters would turn around again to face [unclear] and remain there until the aircraft had landed. It was important I was told that when facing forward the parachuter should not intertwine his fingers when deploying his parachute, otherwise the snatch force created when it opened would dislocate his digits. Empire Air Day, held on the 29th, was the highlight of the month. Before this, James was closely involved in rehearsals. He flew a second pilot in a Virginia that was used over Long Church as a target for attacks by three Gladiators. On the following day, which is 21st, he flew photographers from the local rag, before collecting fireworks for the Empire Air Day from Northolt. There were further rehearsals after that and on the 29th he flew Fury in a display handicap race, coming close forth, followed by a flight in which the Virginia took on the role of enemy aircraft, shot down by 54 Squadron. August flying began with Queen Bee Moth K, ferrying this aircraft to Sealand for shipment. Now, the Queen Bee was a modification of the highly successful and reliable DH-82A Tiger Moth. The main differences being that the Queen Bee had an entirely wooden fuselage and a fuel tank five gallons larger than the Tiger Moth. Queen Bees were first produced in 1935, in response to an Air Ministry request for inexpensive, expendable radio-controlled target drone for anti-aircraft gunnery practice. The front cockpit was fitted with conventional controls for a test or ferry pilot, while the rear carried the radio control receiver and pneumatically operated servers for the flying controls. Queen Bees were said to have been the first, full sized aircraft originally designed to fly unmanned and under radio control. September 1935 involved miscellaneous air tests. On the 10th, James flew to Netheravon in Fairey 2F for live and dummy drops in the making of MGM’s film Shadow of the wind. He [unclear] often doing flight with flight sergeant Smith and a gentleman called De Grue on board, James records live drop, use reserve parachute, just made it, later that day the latter named person was on board for another live drop, as was Naomi Karen Maxwell, both went off, quote, ok, with dummy unopened, unquote. On the following day, dummy drops took place through clouds but had limited success with one dummy landing a mile and a half off and another, quote, drifted fifty miles, unquote. Dummy drops were made from a Hind for the bystander magazine on the 17th, followed by a landing at Bassingbourn due to a thunderstorm. On the 18th, James was once again helping MGM make their film with Ms Maxwell and De Grue, both making live free drops. December 1937 offered very little in the way of flying due to a very bad visibility, rain and cloud. On the 3rd, James recalled his height as fifty feet, whilst very low flying. On the 8th, the remarks include damn cold, ice and snow on the ground, followed by b…. cold. On the 11th, the entry reads, fall after frost, low cloud, circuits and bumps, and on the 13th, hit three peewits taking off. On the 24th, conditions had hardly improved, thickish mist and [unclear] almost like flying in an iceberg. The last entries in this logbook relate to the 17th and 18th of the month, the remarks are regarding a flight from, Henlow to Sealand flowing Queen Bee over the top of clouds, came out in the middle of Wales. Then on the 18th, refuelled, land in Penrhos, hit post, damaged port [unclear], returned to Henlow by a train. We do note also that in 1937 the landing was made near Bournemouth to retrieve the map and near Aberystwyth due to a petrol shortage. All in all, the records by now showed an adventurous flying career in the RAF. James was promoted to flying officer on the 30th of December 1937. 1938, James was broadening his experience. He continued to fly from the home aircraft depot at Uxbridge as officer commanding the parachute test flight, flying the Prefect, Fairey, Queen Bee, Moth, Tutor, Magister, Hind and Virginia. In March, he carried out a number of high-speed runs in the Hind, recording variously 240, 250, 280 and finally 290mph. On the 26th of March, he took this aeroplane up to twenty-four thousand feet, recording times and boost pressures against altitudes as he did so. The maximum altitude he reached in forty minutes and forty seconds. April ‘38 seems to have required a mixture of flying that included passenger transfer flights, balloon chasing, cloud flying, circuits and bumps. On return to Henlow from Bircham Newton where they had gone for lunch, he or his pupil hit port errond on post. On the 6th of May, he flew a press representative to take photographs of pull offs presumably from a Virginia. Not much flying took place in September but on the 30th an entry reads playing silly Bees around cloud. Another flight in the Virginia shows flying around in November ’38 but then it went to add forced landing in fog on the 9th and fog turned back. Total flying in December was only one hour but there was a reason for this, for he married Ethel Madge Birchall, who preferred to be called Madge, on the 3rd of December 1938 in the parish church at Saint Andrews in South Shoebury in the county of Essex. James, a bachelor, was twenty-nine years old and his occupation was given as RAF officer residing at Henlow camp Bedfordshire. Madge, a spinster, was twenty-eight at the time of her marriage and had no work or profession recorded on the certificate. Owen Sindall retired was recorded as James father and Jasper Beasley Birchall, captain Royal Artillery retired as that of Madge, who had been residing with her parents at Newland, nurse Road, Shoebury, in the county of Essex. James left the parachute test flight on posting to Central Flying School at RAF Upavon at the end of March 1939. Chapter three, training new pilots and flying in the Battle of Britain 1939-1941. 1939, Central Flying School and of flying instructor posting. James arrived at Central Flying School at RAF Upavon in April 1939. The primary purpose of CFS was to train pilots to fly competently. These next couple of months were then spent flying Ansons, Hart, Tutor, Harvard, Fury and Oxford airplanes. He was also cleared to instruct on the link trainer. James began his postings as qualified flying instructor in July 1939, he took his first students for revision exercise on the 24th and in his logbooks he records all their names. The Second World War began on the 1st of September 1939. James flew the Anson once that month and had a refresher flight in an Oxford instructing new students and performed several solo, navigation and forced landing tests, as well as aircraft and weather tests. In a letter to his mother, James wrote on the 15th that they had overcooked some marrow jam and it was so thick that they could almost have used the toffee to stop up the mole and rabbit holes. The only war news they were getting came from the papers [unclear] that it was generally expected that air raids would commence fairly soon so it was necessary to, quote, keep the old respirator, anti-gas handy and quote, on the 19th of December 1939, the London Gazette shows James being promoted from flying officer to flight lieutenant with the effect from the 13th of December of the, of 1939. Flying training continued from Raf Hullavington at number 9 Flying Training Service School and March of that year 1940 saw the tempo increase with up to five sorties a day, often involving three or more aeroplanes. In a letter to his mother dated the 5th of March James wrote, I taxied onto another machine night flying the other night, broke my prop and his tail, managed to hush it up. James was clearly not the only one enjoying exciting flying for on the 16th he wrote, things go on here as usual, we are just at the end of our night flying program, one of the pubs by himself landed outside the aerodrome, it’s a four inch thick tree, he did say he brushed something, came through three hedges, hopped over the road and landed on his back on the aerodrome, as his usual he had not a scratch or a bruise. It was at night and although I saw it, I only saw his wingtip lights going up and down and over. Another pub took two soldiers up without permission in an Anson, which is a twin engine five seater, and crashed, smashed the aeroplane to bits and the three of them had a few cuts and a few bruises, it’s amazing, isn’t it? Beginning of June 1940 saw the commencement of number 20 course. In a letter to his mother, Annie Sindall dated the 4th of June, James implores her to persuade the family to leave number 46 Nelson Road, Leigh-on-Sea, Essex and get away to South Africa or if not, to Wales or Cornwall, to avoid the Nazi way of bombing, not a dozen machines as in the last war, but hundreds and coming in waves at about two hours interval. I’m making it sound awful, I know, but I’m not exaggerating, will you please do something now? It’s not even safe here. We have a station defence working day and night. As I said before, don’t worry about me. I may go anywhere and at any time. To stay in Leigh waiting to see where I go is madness. July saw the end of number 20 course and beginning of 22. Within that month an entry on the third, towards the end of the day reads dawn patrol, written in red ink. With the Battle of Britain about to begin, it would seem that preparations would be made to defend the defences. James wrote to his sister Dorothea who joined the WAAF and who’d been posted to Lincoln, James was expecting to be on lookout duty that night, which would have meant sitting on top of a water tower accessed by going up an open iron ladder which gives me the creeps coming down. An enemy aircraft had shot down a pupil early in the day, not one of his, and had machine gunned him as he drifted down, spoiled him too. They say that we caught the Hun later.
CB: OK.
TS: Participation and the Battle of Britain, which officially now ran between the 10th of July and the 31st of October 1940. On special interest, James flew a Hurricane II, apparently for the first time, on the 12th of September for station defence. On the 16th he again flew a Hurricane for station defence but with the additional words after Junkers 88, the whole entry in the logbook being underlined in red ink, his method of indicating an operational sortie. He flew a, probably the same Hurricane again for air tests later in the month. At CF 5 number 5 Flying Training School signed the monthly totals confirming that all these flights had been authorised. James wrote to his parents as follows, Dear mother and dad, I nearly got a Junkers 88 long range bomber yesterday. We have a Hurricane we keep ready for station defence and three of us were allowed to fly it, very occasionally, as we waste petrol. Anyway, the Junkers came over the camp at about five thousand feet and as I was doing nothing at the time, I grabbed my bike and peddled off to the Hurricane with my brolly over my shoulder, leaped in and started up and off. I chased away the way he had gone with my electric sights on and my guns ready. Of course, I didn’t catch him. He had had too good a start. I flew around at twelve thousand for a bit in case there was another and then saw another Hurricane going past towards Swindon. I followed him in case he knew of something but there wasn’t anything there. So I came back, maybe I get one someday. The Hurricane is grand, cruising at 200 and climbing at 160, I dive quite gently and got 360. No effort at all. Cheers. Love, Jim. 1941, James flew in the first three and a half months in the year but in April he flew a Hart to Benson and on to Hullavington before proceeding to number 12 Operational Training Unit at RAF Benson to learn to fly and operate Wellington bombers.
CB: OK.
TS: Looking back at the details that were in this particular letter, it does seem a little odd that performance information should have been written without perhaps being intercepted by a censor. Maybe James’s enthusiasm for writing this up got the better of him as indeed we shall learn later on when he was in India as it resulted on his being court-martialed following interception of information of by a censor.
CB: Brilliant. So, we are restarting now when we are at the OTU, 12 OTU Benson.
TS: Chapter 4, bomber operations over France and Germany 1941 to 1942. The London Gazette dated 11th of March 1941 shows James being promoted from flying lieutenant to squadron leader temporary. In April he arrived at number 12 Operational Training Unit RAF Benson opson to learn to fly and operate Wellington bombers. After two dual sorties, James went solo on the 25th of April, with wing commander Daddy for company. Both pilots swapping seats as they built up experience on what was termed local flying practice. The next page in James’s pilot’s flying logbook displays at the top line number 115 bomber squadron at Marham and in red ink operational. The first operational bombing sortie for all such sorties was numbered by my father in sequence and recorded in red ink was flown on the night of the 10th and 11th June. Operational sorties flown with the squadron in June, July and August were in Wellingtons, all believed to be in the Mark I C. The first flight made on the 10th and 11th of June with Bailey as the captain and James as co-pilot was to Brest to attack the Prinz Eugen, a five-hour flight all at night. On the 12th and 13th my father was in command and, I beg your pardon, it was Bailey still and my father as co-pilot, they attacked Ham, the marshalling yards. The following night, the 13th and 14th, my father flew his first operational flight of a Wellington in command. They attacked the Prinz Eugen again at Brest. On the 15th and 16th it was Cologne. They attacked the railway yards and they shot down one Messerschmitt 110. On the 17th-18th it was Dusseldorf, the railway junction. On the 20th and 21st Kiel, various battle motes. On the 26th and 27th Cologne, turned back by storm. And on the 29th and 30th Bremen, town blitz. In July 1941, operational sorties continued, on the 1st North Sea sweep for dinghy, on the 4th and 5th Brest and my father wrote in his logbook, bombed Lorient. On the 6th and 7th Munster, with the remark Coventrated. On the 7th-8th Munster, ditto. On the 9th and the 10th Osnabruck, short of fuel, crew bailed out. On the 13th and 14th Bremen, snow, ice, hail, sleet, rain. On the 15th and 16th Duisburg, returned early, aircraft not climbing. And on the 24th, Brest, daylight sweep on Gneisenau and Prinz Eugen and one Messerschmitt 109 F shot down. A letter relating to the bailout on the night of the 9th and the 10th of July which is, which I’ve referenced, which is the day after I was born, still exists, my father sent it to my mother and it reads as follows. Royal Air Force Marham, King’s Lynn, Norfolk, 12.7.41, the time is 05.30 and I have just come back from Abbington where I went with Doc Bailey to see one of my crew in hospital where he is with a broken leg. I had just read your letter which you asked me if I had a good party that night. We did, we went to Osnabruck and came back to find everywhere covered with cloud, cloud at ground level. We arrived back at the aerodrome at 3.30 in the morning, but were told to go to Abbington where it was clearer and we could get down. At 4.50 we were very short of petrol, so I tried at first the distress calls, but there was such a row going on in the air, everybody calling for help, that I could get no result so eventually I sent out SOS. We got an answer from Hull, they listen in for SOSs, who said go to Abbington, they then telephoned Abbington which took twenty minutes or so to say let these people in at once. Well, we contacted Abbington as soon as Hull told us to go there but as they did not know by then that we were in an SOS they just decided to let us take our turn with the other machines. At about 4.30 the engines cut and I pushed the crew out. I decide to stay on for a moment or two to let all the petrol burn up so that she would not burn when she crashed. Then a funny thing happened, it picked up again, and spluttered and banged and I was able to fly for another hour. It was due to the change in altitude weight with the crew gone. I flew north to get nearer the dawn and to put it down in a field if possible but came over cloud again so flew south to keep over open country. I could just see light coloured fields and nothing else. At 5.40 I saw an aerodrome flash SOS on the under recognition light and landed. As I was holding off the engines cut for good, there were thirty-six other machines there from other squadrons. My crew all landed safely, one in a group captains garden, except one who broke his leg. I saved the country twenty thousand pounds of an aeroplane, but I bet they don’t get me a commission of even 5 percent. I can’t write all this out again so will you forward it to mother when you write? On the 24th of July, the target was Brest, operational form 540 states, bombing from fifteen thousand two hundred feet, dropped one stick north east to south west over target, first bomb fell in water about ten yards from warship laying alongside the mole, burst from other bombs seem to burst around other ships about half a mile south west of Mull. Aircraft hit by flak in rear turret hydraulics, one Messerschmitt 109 F was successfully engaged and shot down in the sea. Two other aircraft of number 115 Squadron that took part in this raid were captained by sergeant Prior and by flight lieutenant Pooley. The first landed at St Eval and the second in Exeter. Now, I do vaguely remember my father telling me once that on the way back from Brest, on one of his sorties there, he had slowed down to formate alongside another British bomber that had suffered badly from enemy action and was barely able to stay in the air flying slowly. As that aircraft was so vulnerable to fighters, James felt that his presence along the side, might help to ward off any attacks. In the event, both aircraft made it home to the UK, following which the pilot of the stricken airplane was told that he would be in line to receive a medal, an Air Force Cross or Distinguished Flying Cross possibly. As I remember it being told, that pilot said that he would accept such an award if offered only if some similar recognition could be given to James who, by risking his own aeroplane and crew, had ensured the safe return home of both aircraft. Apparently, such an assurance was given. Sadly, there seems to be no record as to who the other pilot was and whether or not his resilience resulted in an award. What is without doubt is that no special recognition was given to James for his effort on that particular flight. It is possible, given that James flew St Eval on the 23rd of June to collect the crew of [unclear], that the protection he had provided to a stricken aircraft might have taken place on that the 24th. August operational sorties on the 8th and 9th Hamburg, ten tenth of cloud, no joy. 12th, Mönchengladbach flak over 14, 15 Hanover searchlights, 18-19 Duisburg. 27, 28 Mannheim, crashed near [unclear], crew bailed out with my parachute. According to the squadron form 540 the record for the night of the 27th -28th of August states, Squadron leader Sindall bombing from eighteen thousand feet, dropped all his bombs south to north, just south of the aiming point, burst was seen followed by a large explosion, aircraft had to be abandoned, all crew bailed out, well that’s what they said, and made successful descend, aircraft crashed and was burn out near [unclear], now at the back of my father’s logbook under accidents, he recalls a few more details, crew bailed out, no parachute left, crashed in a field burnt and in a letter to his sister Dodo written on the 29th of August, James gave a very detailed account of what occurred that night. Royal Air Force Marham, King’s Lynn, Norfolk, 29.8.41. Dear Do, you like exciting stories so here is one. We went to Mannheim last night with a 50mph wind behind us, cracked the target good and proper and set course for home. The wind against us put us off course a bit and we stouaged over Dunkirk where we got coned and I think it was there that a bit of flak holed one of my reserve tanks. We got to Marham and as we started to come in, so Jerry dropped a stick along the flair path. Control told us to go to Honington. Off we went putting on the one reserve tank and not both as I thought there are no gages for the reserves. Honington was dead and we could get no reply to repeated calls or there we were over the aerodrome, we saw what appeared to be a flair path some distance away so wandered off there but it went out. Then the engines cut dead at fifteen hundred feet I shouted to abandon ship and the boys went out in quick time. I stretched out for my para and found someone had taken mine. I flashed a torch to look for another but there wasn’t one. I swore hard and sat back and prayed like mad. Switches off, top escape hatch open, helmet off, landing light on and went straight ahead at 80mph. At first, I saw nothing but rain, then a field and another at five hundred feet, then a village over that, then trees, then more fields, very close now, then crash, crash, crash. I went for a six up at the front, feet in the air and an almighty wallop on the head, laying there wherever [unclear] had stopped moving I felt my head and to my horror in all the blood fair rushing out it was, a bit of my head came away in me hand. Holding my head steady so that my brains wouldn’t fall out I plogged my hankie over the hole and tried to get the right side up. I did then up and out of the top hatch to trip and fall face down in turnips and mud. Got up, I walked over to an incendiary bomb which was still burning, some of ours had stuck up and lit a cigarette advert for players. I thought alright but really honestly thought I was done. I sat by the bombs, it was warm in the rain, when, bang! The blasted thing blew up, it was one of the explosive ones, I only had one boot on, so I hopped along the field holding the hankie with one hand and smoking with the other. I sang and shouted as I went, proper daft I was, until I found a nettle or something with my bare foot, I only shouted then. At a safe distance I sat on a bank and waited for someone to put in an appearance. Then poor old J for Johnny started to burn, and I sat on the other side of the bank in case a high explosive bomb had hung up too. Various aircraft circled round and when it was quiet, I shouted for the Home Guard, fire watch, girl guides, WAAFs and anyone else I could think of. After I while I was still alive so up to the standard of the second field towards a church, they have graves there, which I could see by the light of Johnny. There was a ditch, then a road, no house at all. So I started walking until I came to a cottage, still see, [unclear] this time, my words, as I opened the gate, the upper window opened and a female said, what do you want? I said, there’s been a terrible disaster, and a shocking occurrence up the road. What’s that fire? My aeroplane. Oh, your aeroplane? I’m a parachutist now. Have you a telephone or where is there a doctor as I have a hole in my head? The doc is round the corner. Window down with a bang. He was and then I went to [unclear] hospital for stitches and bandage and here I am back at Marham once more wangling sick leave. The bit of my head must have been a bit of Johnny which I had broken off. So there you are, life is never dull, I’m due for six days about the middle of September so they may make it twelve days. Cheers, Jimmy. September ’41, operational sorties, just one, went to Karlsruhe, natives friendly. The operational sortie to Karlsruhe would appear to be the last operational flight James made within Bomber Command. In October, he flew Wellington again on a marker test and twice in formation, on formation flights, he also managed to carry out an air test in a Hurricane. There was no flying for the month of December. In January 1942, James made one flight, an engine test in Wellington 1645, this lasted thirty minutes and he just two crew members on board. In February he flew twelve times in five days on Whitleys in the beam approach training flight, accruing some eighteen hours, of which fifteen and three quarter were logged as instrumental cloud flying. He then flew as part in command three times in a couple of Wellingtons on local sorties and then he flew a Hudson from Port [unclear] to Kemble and a Wellington from Kemble to Lyneham, his grand total of flying hours now stood at one thousand, five hundred and twenty. He had no flying in April, May, June, July or August because he was on route to headquarters, New Delhi, India and James was not to set foot in Europe again for three years.
CB: What we know from all our experiences of all our fathers really is that they didn’t talk about what they did in the war but occasionally there were snippets that would come out perhaps in social situation so did you ever get any feeling for your father’s approach to things later?
TS: Not a great deal, my father became very reserved after the time when he left the RAF. His life had changed as my mother had died and I was now away joining the RAF myself and when I saw him on holidays for many years after that he never really talked to me about anything and certainly didn’t talk about the war. I think, in common with many people, who’d lived through it, they wanted to put that past behind them and get on with their lives.
CB: An interesting aspect of this perhaps is that you were in the RAF for many years, you had exchanged posting to the Royal Australian Air Force and when you came back and visited your father in Spain, what was his reaction to your urge to tell him what you’ve done? He didn’t want to know. Right, so moving on now to his next posting.
TS: Chapter 5, Air headquarters India 1942 to 1944. He was posted on May the 21st to from [unclear] 44 Group to West Kirby for posting to air headquarters India. On authority of Air Ministry postagram for duties in connection with a selection of sites for aerodromes, on May the 26th he travelled to Newport on to board the P&O steamer Cathay that had recently been converted into a troop ship in the USA. James left the UK on the 27th of May 1942, stayed through Freetown and Cape Town and arrived at Bombay on the 23rd of July. When he reported to headquarters New Delhi and he learned that the people that had asked the Air Ministry in London for a surveyor, not a general duties i.e. pilot bloke, can you please delete it? Anyway, a place was found for him on the training staff, will I ever get away from training, he said. And then the next three days was spent reading files to find out how Air headquarters functioned. In September, James arrived at Lahore, headquarter to 227 Group and then started visiting various squadrons, first 31 Squadron at the aerodrome. Later he left Lahore for Delhi and by 30 he was back in the office there. On the 26th of September, James was promoted to acting wing commander on the strength of the training staff. October the 1st went to [unclear] by road, into tribal territory up and down the pass, quite exciting, everybody had a gun except me. In January 1943, he reports on the first, not feeling too well, on the 4th he was felt really ill in the office, and this was the beginning of a long period when my father was affected by malaria. Not only malaria was rampant, but so was too was prickly heat and by February my father had contracted jondiss that resulted in three weeks sick leave. James applied for a couple of weeks leave having had none for two years. He remained in his quarters throughout April and in May went to Chakrata on sick leave. In August he started leave travelling by train to Rawalpindi where he hired with a friend a houseboat. Back in office in September, today we’ve been at war for four years, another two should finish it off, I hope. September the 18th very hot, could not sleep, on the 19th not feeling well, really ill, reported to the medical officer, malaria, into the British military hospital straight away, bad afternoon and night. In October, James learned he’d be posted to HQ 227 Group as wing commander training who’s assessed for being fit for duty. On arrival there, he felt familiar signs of malaria returning and was packed off at the hospital. As a result of that, he was downgraded and ranked to squadron leader war substantive. On the 23rd of October 1943, a colleague told James that a ladder to dad, James’s father, had been stopped, all males vetted before leaving the unit. On the next stage, James was yet experiencing familiar symptoms of malaria and had to take leave. In December, he arrived back in Bombay and waited for a posting. On the 11th, he heard that a date had been set for a court martial that would consider an alleged offence associated with the contents of a stopped letter that he’d been told about in October. On the 17th of December, James wrote, we saw an enormous comet fairly sizzle across the sky, never seen such a long tail. And on the 21st of December, the general court martial held at headquarters 227 Group Bombay was held. James was being charged with conduct prejudicial to good conduct and air force discipline etcetera. In that honour about the 13th of October I posted in Bombay a letter containing references to movements of Halifaxes and Lancaster aircraft in this country. The prosecution called the duty pilot at Delhi airport to say that one Lancaster had arrived on the 9th of October, no Halifaxes. As James had no defending officer, the deputy judge had a break whilst he instructed me how to conduct my case. He told me to say that the prosecution had not proven their case and therefore I had no charge to answer. I did so. Another break whilst the court considered it and I went again, not guilty, hurray! And my beautiful fireproof defence was never needed. So that was that. I came back to Karrian and had a quite evening doing the round of rat traps. I can remember my father mentioning this episode as I recall he had whilst delirious with malaria and the associated medicines written to the effect that hordes and hordes of Halifaxes and Lancasters had been flying overhead which was quite clearly a delusion. December the 22nd, I’m off to Bhopal to be present of a court, president of a court of enquiry into a crash at Bhopal or near there. What a wizard service this is, prisoner one day and president the next. It means I shall have Christmas at Bhopal. Should be good. December the 31st, the last day of ’43, and now I can see I’m due having next year, seems very comforting. James records that on the 2nd of January he decided to build a sundial outside the mess, using hard wood and an old celluloid computer, spending most of the afternoon marking in the times, North, South, East and home. There was to be small garden around it. On the 4th of January he decided the sundial required some to finish it off, a verse or something, so during the evening, he produced this, remember that the group responsible for his being there was 227 and they don’t pay much attention to our once. This is what he wrote. To those who have to or who care, put on their letters Callyan, little stranger passing by, pause a while let’s slip aside, for we who knew Bombay was heaven were posted here by 227. For company we lack it not, rats, snakes and mozzies are our lot, the sun beats down, no fancy given, we’re even there with 227. Time marches on in Solam state but awful thought if from the gate of India with [unclear] a ship sails home with 227. Of course, I’m prejudiced, said James in his diary, but I think it bloody good, I wish the OC of 227 could see it. He has no sense of humour. James later referred to this as the headstone of rank and sent a type copy to the editor of the journal of air forces, accompanied by a rather long sundial serenade. This was actually published in the journal, pages two and four of the Indian edition, volume two number two dated the 10th of March 1944, the only change being made that numbers 227 were changed to 527, so as to confuse the Japanese. On the 18th of January, James wrote, my posting came in with a mail, Poona for a fresh air flying a Wimpy and then onto ops, just what I wanted two years ago. Still it’s gonna be wizard, have to keep it quiet from Madge though. Wrote to Jasper telling him only. Three days later, James arrived at Poona and started his Wellington Mark X conversion refresher course, doing navigation, intelligence and lib trainer sessions. A red-letter day if ever there was one, I flew, actually flew myself in a Wimpy, first time for a year and ten months, not too bad landings either. On the following day, he took over the sea flight, when the CO went down with malaria, and found himself having to organise flights, air tests and training exercises with the navy. Chapter 6, number 215 Bomber Squadron, Jessore 1944. February 1944, operational sorties, in a Wellington he flew to Pru a six-hour night flight. James made four sorties in February. On the 2nd he wrote, I put up my 39-43 star ribbon as all Euro rifles ex-U have, ex-UK have. Note, this was subsequently to become the 1939-1945 star. On the 17th, James set off for Jessore at number 215 Squadron where he was to become Bee flight commander was met at the station by the squadron in Jeeps and a fifteen hundred weight truck on the platform, never had such a welcome anywhere, the party continued until 3.30. The next two days were spent meeting people and finding his way around and he flew in Wellingtons doing circuits and bumps. Then, on the 22nd, he flew his first operation in [unclear] bombing the [unclear] dumps with squadron joe’s captain. No opposition at all, took off in daylight and got back 11:00, flares dozens of them all over the place, [unclear] fires. After returning from a flight to Lahore to collect spares flying through an intertropic front, lots of extra flying, very wet on the 25th, he flew twice on the 26th, once to an overload test, and once doing circuits and bumps. The dairy records, quiet day and party in the evening. I was eventually debaged after putting up a stiff resistance, had a finger in my right eye, bruises and a bash on my nose. The following day the diary reads thus, due for ops this evening but the medical officer has put me on service [unclear] for two days on account of my eye. Had three accidents today, one, joe’s undercarriage collapsed and slid off the runway, two, starboard engine of A flak machine cut on take-off and it crashed and burned out a mile away, four dead out of five. I pulled out two bodies, the fifth crew member died on the 28th. Three, night flying aircraft with no flaps, went off the end of the runway, one hurt, what a day. March 1944, an operational sortie was flown to Anissakar aerodrome. The other squadron that was with them, number 99 of Liberators bomb went off to bomb Rangoon. On the Sunday night the 5th James took off in one of the Wellingtons to attack the town of [unclear] on the Irrawaddy but returned after twenty minutes when the port engine oil pressure dropped to below the minimum acceptable 70psi, makes you think by which I surmise he had in mind the recent loss of the Wellington due to engine failure just a few days earlier, just might have been repeated. After this, James had three weeks leave to stay in a bungalow as the guest of a maharajah with the aim of hunting tigers. On March the 13th he bound a boar on a first drive with one shot through the head, followed on a second drive by a dough and a stag [unclear]. James’s name was not drawn out to go on the tiger shoot, only two officers were allowed but one was shot by an American. April 1944 operational sorties on the 3rd and 4th all in Wellingtons he flew to Yaju, violent explosions, on the 5th and 6th to Akyab, four thousand pounder, dirty, 8th and 9th Mandalay four thousand pounder, on the 17th a seven hour journey air sea rescue Sandoway, found out ultimately that was unsuccessful although some of the air craft searching reported that they had found a dinghy in lights they were lost and the crew were never returned. On the 23rd and 24th they attacked Maymyo barracks missed it diverted to Fenny and on the 28th Kallowar daylight. On the 21st of May the entire squadron with the exception of two crews was detached to 3 Dakota squadrons to assist in supply dropping on [unclear] in the Arakan and Burma. I went with eight crews to a station north and operated over the [unclear] near to Kina Morgan area. The Dakota is a very nice aeroplane, I like it, did twenty trips, some in foul weather. Returned to Jessore on the 15th of June, having been away just over three weeks. Stayed at base long enough to collect clean clothes, we’d been in the jungle and off to Kolar near Bangalore for conversion onto the Liberator VI. Now, my father’s logbook entry show that before being attached to 117 Transport Squadron, he flew one operational sortie to Kalimo in Wellington [coughs] on the first of May. And the second [unclear] to drop a four thousand pounder at the Infa area on the 9th. Conversion onto the Dakota began on the 23rd with circuits and bumps, followed by loaded landings and flights with soldiers on board. The first operational sortie was [unclear] lake and the 29th of May with a payload of five thousand five hundred pounds. The average trip times were between four hours twenty minutes and just over five hours. And in this length of time he flew some 17 operational sorties to Indigoy lake so a total of seventeen operational sorties to various destinations, all in the space of fourteen days, all in the Dakotas, either air landing or air dropping, three fifths of the Dakota time count towards tour time. The RAF operational record for 117 Squadron states that one aircraft was lost in June 1944, the crew being part of a detachment from 215 Squadron who’d been helping us for a time. The machine was last seen approaching [unclear] when it was flying normally and there is no evidence to show why it did not return. The loss of this crew is much regrated as the 215 boys had been popular in the time they had been with us. The detachment later returned to their parent unit as did the C-48s manned by American crews. Each of these had done much to help the squadron 117 during a particularly arduous period. The last entry for June 1944 shows a flight back to Jessore at the end of the attachment in Dakota Whiskey with 29 crew. On the 10th of July James flew the Wellington to Kolar to join 1673 Heavy Bomber Conversion Unit to learn to fly and operate Liberators and the RAF 540 for July reads squadron leader acting wing commander J Sindall general duties pilot posted from 215 Squadron, squadron leader flight commander post to 215 Squadron wing commander post with effect from the 10th of the 7th ’44. Chapter 7 number 219 Heavy Bomber Squadron Digri 1944. On the 28th of July my father flew a Liberator under instruction from squadron leader Sharp, a familiarisation sortie with circuits and bumps and on the 31st after another circuits and bumps session he flew solo with his crew. In August James completed his conversion onto Liberators, that’s the B-24 Mark VI and his dairy showed that he returned to Jessore on the 21st of August and having been given command of the squadron with effect from the 10th of July. I settled down or tried to run things and dealing with a number of bloody-minded gunners. Six flights were made in September all in Liberators, two for fighter affiliation and others associated with communications, including the squadron move on the 15h to Digri with an expectation that they would join wing headquarters at Dhubalia later on. After the move, James and his squadron personnel set about settling in, finding that the mess was a bit of a mess, ha-ha, but not so bad as he had left behind in Jessore. There was on my father’s squadron a Canadian by the name of flying officer later flight lieutenant Frazer who wrote and published a book which detailed much of what took place on the bomber squadron at this time and in which he mentions my father by name. I will be quoting one or two little pieces from his book. Flying officer Fraser describes his first meeting with James thus 16th of September 1944. I must have met him before but now I see how [unclear] sitting with three others at the table right in front of me. Two I’ve met but not the one with three blue stripes on his shoulder tabs. Of course, that’s the CO, Wing Commander Sindall, I only saw him from a distance at Jessore but whilst I’m trying to give him the white silver, the wing co gives me a flip with his finger a-ha, I’m being summoned, I slide off the stool and say, yes sir, managing a quick nod to [unclear] at the same time, at least I don’t have to salute, you don’t unless you’re wearing a hat, which is lucky, I don’t know how I managed to holding a glass of beer in one hand and a cork bottle in the other. You’re Fraser, I believe, the CO says, not sounding that excited at the thought, you’ve met our [unclear], this is squadron leader Beaton, and flight lieutenant Williams, their nods are almost imperceptible, what’s all this about? Welcome to the squadron, from the wingco, still sitting he extends his hand. To shake I have to get rid of the damn bottle and the only empty place is under Sindall’s outstretched arm. When I put the cork there, he pulls his hand right back. He extends it again but cautiously reaching around the bottle, lightly concerned about knocking over my beer which is thoughtful maybe why his handshake is so limp. Standing before him, I’m been given a thorough examination by cool eyes in a solemn face. It gives me a chance to look him over too. He’s an older type of young guy into his thirties but not far into, dark hair, small moustache, good features with a firm chin, a sort of military look. He might even be a handsome fellow if he hadn’t tried smiling. In this climate, Fraser, at this temperature, do you really think alcohol makes sense at the Landshar when you don’t know what cause you may be, yet be asked to perform today? I glance at the table, all their glasses are filled with lemon limes, well sir, I didn’t expect a large bottle, well, [unclear] come very polished at all, so I just finished with, I guess not, sir. Then I say, you’ll be right, he said, but welcome to the squadron. October the 5th, one of the other squadrons, 159, did a low level daylight on the Bangkok railway, lost one aircraft unheard of, one ditched out the Cheduba island, we sent out aircraft daily and at night, we found it twice [unclear] lost it again. Today I’ve only got three aircraft [unclear], two are off at four, one should go out at eleven then we can do no more. [unclear] October the 13th, one aircraft at 0400, another one at seven, they will be the last, I’ve no more aircraft. October the 14th, it’s amazing how the ground crew do things, I was able to put two aircraft in the air. October the 15th, no joy with the air sea rescue, it’s been called off, poor devils. I recall my father saying that with so many crew members wearing shoulder flashes because on his squadron there were members from England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, eight Canadians, fifteen Australians, half a dozen each from New Zealand and South Africa, one from the States, one from Brazil and one from Fiji. There was also one Indian equipment officer and several [unclear] followers. But with so many crew members wearing shoulder flashes displaying their country of origin, my father had some made up with England that the British could wear. November ’44, operational sorties. On the 2nd to [unclear], weather good, two thousand two hundred miles, it was a twelve-and-a-half-hour flight, all at night, twelve thousand feet, fifteen hundred pounds of bombs. On the 26th, [unclear], a marshalling yard, leading a formation of twelve aircraft. And then Fraser wrote, on the 3rd of November, action at last, not for me, the squadron, just four crews, but 215’s first ever bombing trip in Liberators. I didn’t hear it until this morning, sitting in the shade behind the flight shed, we saw them circle the field for landing, strange there’d been no take offs that we knew about, within minutes three more, Roy Williams who runs Bee flight when O’Connor’s away came out of the office with a field glasses, Liberators? Four of them? Whizzo! The crews were on a mission last night. Mission? What mission, we clammered? We didn’t hear about any op. Aircraft V, that’s O’Connor, Roy says mostly to himself, glasses pointed at the runway a quarter a mile away, good landing, Percy! Now B, that’ll be [unclear], here comes Jimmy Ross, very nice Jim, where’s the fourth? Alright there he is, that’s the wingco, whoops! Hold it straight, James! Ok, you’re down. Even without glasses, we could see that wing commander Sindall put another dent in our runway. A good pilot in other respects, he is famous here for terrible landings. Not that if you bumped or anything to be ashamed of, maybe we are even a bit proud of the CO who can make jokes about his bounces. Everyone’s excited and full of questions, where did they go? What was the target? But the answer is, really, did the CO and two flight commanders go on the same mission? Well, they did, William shrugs, maybe because it was an unusual target, shipyards at Vin, well, was there, Burma? No, further east, French Indochina. Before Fraser flew on his first operational flight, the wing commander started the meeting with a little speech, I guess it was intended as a pep talk but it didn’t come over like that because Sindall is more of a low key type, wouldn’t go for razmataz stuff, mostly he just wished us good luck, for those going on your first operational flight, just remember you are well trained crews flying an excellent aircraft that is exceptionally well armed. If you remain alert, keep your wits about you, you should have no problems whatsoever. The sortie went well and the crew enjoyed their operation. In the days before the raid at [unclear] on the 26th, James carried out bombing practice on the ranges and practiced formation flying with pilots of 99 Squadron. This culminated in his leading of the twelve [unclear] formation. Some bombs fell west of the [unclear] outside the target area but many bursts were observed on the tracks and station buildings causing a heavy and secondary explosion with much black smoke. The weather was good and no opposition was encountered. In December on the 10th, James flew with his crew to [unclear] Bangkok railway, trail-busting eight hundred feet and also [unclear] railway station, five hundred feet, heavy anti-aircraft opposition, rear gunner killed, two thousand five hundred miles on a fourteen hour mission. The squadron form operation says that it was sergeant Day that in Liberator Lima who was killed by shrapnel from a small calibre shell fired from the ground, I can recall my father telling me that after they had landed he carried out the task of removing his rear gunner’s remains from the turret not wishing to delegate this to anyone else. We should of course remember that Kanchanaburi is that featured in the Bridge over the River Kwai and there was a letter received from a KJ Porter from New Zealand who was a prisoner of the Japanese at this time, naturally we were all scared when bombs began to fall and some bloke’s nerves were in a bad state already but I personally and some of our mates welcomed the sight of those big birds floating over seemingly all powerful and indestructible as this was the first, real sign to us that the Allies were now on the offensive and the end was in sight. Perhaps just as well we never knew you were flying down from India but imagined you were using captured bases around Rangoon or thereabouts a few hundred miles away. When I lay on my back in a shallow monsoon rain outside our hut by the Kwai bridge, it gave [unclear] commentary on the raids, the adrenaline surged, and I thought, now these bastards are getting some of their rain back. The great thing was that you appeared just when morale was at an all-time low and gave us a much-needed boost, so I feel we are indebted to you. Number 215 Squadron moved from Digri to Dhubalia on the 27th of December 1944. Chapter 8, number 215 Heavy Bomber Squadron Dhubalia 1945. James flew only once in January 1945, he went to [unclear], little opposition, earthquake, number 28 Korak railway yards, these were both in February, no opposition, in March on the 11th, two Rangoon dams, leading formation, dam accurate, flat [unclear] but also damn accurate and on the 19th to Nanyen railway yards, two thousand four hundred miles, that was another fourteen and a half hour flight, on the 24th they went to [unclear] again, Uk dumps, very hazy, just made it, flat fool proof, this time they dropped seven thousand five hundred pounds, on the 29th Rangoon, Japanese army headquarters with a seventh brigade, good [unclear], large lumping [unclear] but accurate, eight thousand five hundred pounds. There was a letter that he received from the AMC, Air Marshall Keith Park, who’d only recently been appointed Allied Air Commander in Chief, written to all officers commanding squadrons and upgrading them for not maintaining the efficiency of wellbeing of service personnel regarding messy and he said, that it seems to me that some units pay less attention to the wellbeing of their men than we did to our horses when I was a junior officer, it was a matter of pride in those days that we got the very best rations and fodder for our men and horses and a little bit extra yes for luck. I’ve got the letter still and in it my father’s written in blue crayon with an end, with an arrow pointing to the word horses, with [unclear], when I was at Poona, so I don’t think he took it too seriously. April 1945 operational sortie to Kaykoy, Bangkok area, individual aircraft in a gavel, first time this was attempted in South East Asia, weather good, bombing good on railway yards, two thousand four hundred miles and dropped six thousand pounds and that was another thirteen and a half hour flight. On the 10th of April the airfield was struck by an unexpected hurricane, the aircraft were mainly alright although most had shifted into wind and on the 13th Wing Commander Sindall announced to air and ground crews the intention to divert to Dakota transport aircraft under combat cargo task force, training to begin immediately so suddenly everyone was changing from operating the Liberators which they were quite happy with to becoming a transport squadron. Everyone was a little stunned. But still there was a visit from Air Commodore Melash CBE RC Air Officer commanding 231 Group and he spoke very well of his regret at the squadron’s departure and his appreciation of the excellent work they had done, wishing every success for the future because Sindall also was leaving to go home and then it was not long before the time came to go back and wing commander Buchanan arrived to assume command of the squadron on the 28th of the month and then Sindall entered in his final logbook the following in May, 2nd of June in the Liberator self to [unclear] one hour. On the 4th in the Liberator Karachi with sixteen passengers, eight hours fifty, on the 5th with the crew Shaima Cairo fourteen hours ten, and on the 6th Cairo Malta Lyneham. I can remember visibly my father looking out of the lounge window one day when I saw someone I did not recognize open the little gate that connected the pathway from the front door to the pavement and calling out mummy, mummy, there’s a strange man in the garden and then recall well as my mother rushed to the door and they fell into each other’s arms. Issue 37119 of The London Gazette dated the 8th of June 1945 shows James being mentioned in dispatches and the London Gazette promulgated on the 20th of July 1945 that James had been awarded the Distinguished Service Order. The citation reads, this officer has served in both the European and the Far Eastern theatres of war, during his first tour of duty he attacked many of the most heavily defended targets in Germany. Now on his second tour of operational duty, he has taken part in many sorties against targets in Burma and on numerous supply dropping operations. Many of these missions have involved flying over difficult terrain in adverse weather. Wing Commander Sindall has at all times displayed outstanding organising ability and great devotion to duty. He has lead his squadron on many low level daylight attacks against the enemy’s lines of communications and rolling stop and has always pressed on these attacks with skill, courage and determination. By alongside the [unclear] of the DSO at the end of the war my father now wore in order a 39-45 star, the aircrew Europe star, the Burma star with rosette depict his entitlement to the Pacific star, the defence medal, the war medal 1939-45 with oak leaves to depict his being mentioned in dispatches, later on, much later on I, his son, was able to add the Bomber Command clasp to his 1939-45 star, and a photograph of my father after he returned from Southeast Asia, shows him wearing a wound stripe, a vertical bar above the right rank on the left seam of his number one dress. That’s the only record I have of his wearing band. He then served on the staff of the Air Ministry in Whitehall from the 15th of July 1945 until the 23rd of June 1947 in the post of bomb ops, bomb operations 1. War against Japan ended on the 14th of August 1945.
CB: It was really good, thank you very much.
TS: I cut back on a lot of.
CB: Now of course, while you were away, you with your mother were staying in England, what were your, you were very young at the time, but what were your recollections of the happenings of the time?
TS: I have only one very clear image in mind, bearing in mind I was about three years old, and that was because we were living alongside Southend-on-Sea, we were in the firing line for many of the doodlebugs that came over and also there were many comings and goings of aircraft. I have one clear image and that was from within the iron cage that my mother and I slept in every night on rugs underneath the kitchen table. My mother going to the French windows, pulling back the curtains and looking out and beyond her silhouette I saw lots of lights which were most probably anti-aircraft gunfire and searchlights and maybe some explosions, that was my only memory of activities in the war. But we were not alone, we were accompanied all this time by Remus, a cocker spaniel, he’d entered our family about two years or so before the start of the war and he lived for a good length after it but Remus was the first early warning system we had of the approaching enemy bombers. I don’t know the reason why but I put it down to the fact that the engines that powered the German bombers made a different sound to those of our aircraft and then Remus associated that sound with the discomforting bangs and explosions and flashes in the sky and therefore used that as the early warning for us. One other remembrance I have and I suspect it was on V, Victory in Europe day, when my mother and I went down to the seafront [unclear] and there were a line of American army trucks and they were all in a very high and happy mood and one thing we were able to do was to make a voice recording on a little, tiny disc and I think I sang a song or recited a poem but that no longer exists unfortunately but that just reminds me of the euphoria that existed at this moment as people were so pleased that in Europe the war had ended.
CB: Brilliant. Thank you very much.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Timothy Sindall
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-08-01
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ASindallTH170801
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Pending review
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01:41:46 audio recording
Language
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eng
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Royal Air Force
Second generation
Description
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Timothy Sindall is the son of James Herbert Sindall DSO, whose career as a pilot in the Royal Air Force started in the mid-1930s. Following the discovery of all of James logbooks, personal letters and newspaper cutting, Timothy has put together a biographical account of his father’s career. The logbooks have provided a detailed account of aircraft and sorties flown. Letters to family give detailed accounts of various incidents, including one where he was forced to crash in Norfolk and another where he faced a court martial. A letter from a former prisoner of war who worked on the Burma railway describes how morale amongst prisoners raised when operations against the Japanese reached them. His first logbooks commence with him being a civilian and then joining the Royal Air Force qualifying as a pilot in 1936. At the outbreak of the war, he was posted to the Central Flying School to train new recruits. In 1941, he was posted onto Wellingtons at 115 Squadron at RAF Marham and then in 1942 he was sent to Air Headquarter in India. Much of 1943 was lost when James contacted malaria. 1944 saw a return to operations, when he was posted onto B-24s of 215 Squadron. Bombing operations throughout South East Asia were then carried out. Post war, James served in the Air Ministry.
Spatial Coverage
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Burma
France
Great Britain
India
Bangladesh--Jessore District
England--Norfolk
France--Brest
Bangladesh
Temporal Coverage
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1936
1941
1942
1943
1944
Contributor
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Ian Whapplington
Peter Schulze
115 Squadron
12 OTU
215 Squadron
aircrew
B-24
crash
Hurricane
military discipline
Operational Training Unit
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Benson
RAF Henlow
RAF Marham
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1141/11697/AStapleyVA160802.1.mp3
342968355055f3de6511be564331e0d9
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Stapley, Victor
Victor Arthur Stapley
V A Stapley
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history interview with Wing Commander Victor Stapley OBE, DFC (b. 1922, 1801888, 175092 Royal Air Force), his log book and a portrait. He served in the RAF from 1941 to 1977. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 166 squadron. Post war he served in Singapore, Malta, and at Christmas Island.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Victor Stapley and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-08-02
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Stapley, VA
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is Tuesday the 2nd of August 2016. I’m with Wing Commander Victor Stapley in Dersingham near Kings Lynn to talk about his times in the RAF. What are your earliest recollections Victor?
VS: Well I, I was born in Ilford in Essex. And my first recollections would be going to school very close to myself and a very large recreation ground, which I rather liked, and that came into my life very much later on. I was at — my, my father was an accountant with Brettles in London, at Wood Street, next to St Pauls and it was bombed. Fortunately St Pauls escaped, so he left there and went to another firm in East London, Old Street, where he was also an accountant, and I come back to the school days when I remember playing cricket at quite a young age and liking it very much, and all sport, and I ended up as captain of the school, chief, head prefect and playing cricket for the school, and soccer and playing cricket for my town boys, Ilford and Essex and London boys, and being very sad when I left school at fifteen and had no more cricket, because there was a wide gap between schoolboy cricket and professional cricket, and I was just getting involved with Ilford Town cricket when war was declared in 1939 [pause]. I left school at the age of fifteen. I was at a, a central modern school where we left at fifteen, and grammar schools left at fifteen as well, and I joined the [unclear] tobacco company, who marketed [unclear]cigarettes and [unclear] cork tip [unclear] I should think about a hundred different patent names of cigarettes and that’s how I was, I could say weaned on cigarettes, which was a very bad thing, and wasn’t able to throw off cigarettes until about 1965 when I, I took everything off my desk at North Luffenham, when I was CO of the radar station there, and just put them away and stopped smoking there and then. That was the best thing I did, I think, medically for myself. Coming back to [unclear] was a management trainee and went through home orders, home selling, secretaries department, export selling which I loved very much, and as the slightly older chaps left, so I was being trained quickly on this, that and the other as they left, and I then became, I rose to assistant shipping manager and I remember vividly trying, travelling from where my family had moved to. It’s a point I’ve just missed out, come back in a moment. I was at Romford in those days, travelling up to Liverpool Street and of course, we had many raids, air raids and we stopped, the trains stopped and all this sort of thing, and we, we had some near misses. I used to then walk up the back exit of Liverpool Street, over the bridge heading for Moorgate and Finsbury Square, where [unclear] tobacco company had 15-51. Now how the devil I remember that, that was the actual address 15-51. It was a long industrial complex and offices at the end, which were very plush and, and I remember vividly coming across firemen sleeping in doorways, their hoses all over the roads, and brick bat everywhere and quite a calamity, and being shipping, assistant shipping , shipping manager, my task was to marry orders to shipping space I could obtain, and it was very, very difficult to obtain this shipping space, and I found that when I got in the office, all the telephones were out of order so I had to collect lots of coins for the post, the actual boxes on the street. It was a hard job to find one that worked, and I eventually did, and that’s the way I managed to contact shipping brokers, and find out whether I could find space. Dash back to the office, call a meeting with the factory manager in order to say what orders I wanted doing within twenty-four hours, to get them to the docks and off into the shipping space that I’d booked in advance. Yes, I mentioned earlier that I, I travelled from Romford, I say I didn’t really cover the move that we had from Ilford to Romford, and it was most notable because we moved to a bungalow at Romford only a week before war was declared, on the 3rd of September thirty-nine, and I remember laying lino down in, in the bathroom that very morning. I was on my hands and knees when Chamberlain declared war at eleven hundred hours so that’s how I was travelling from Ilford, from Romford instead of Ilford. It was on the same line of course, in, in Essex. The obvious reason why it was shortage of shipping space, was because of the Atlantic convoys, and the submarines having a devastating effect on, on our supplies both ways, exports and imports. So that was a real problem that lasted quite a long time. Well of course, it was five years, wasn’t it, the overall war. It was during this time that I went to the ministry to volunteer for the Royal Air Force as a flyer, and my whole idea was that I think I’d rather prefer to be blown up in the air, and not know much about it, rather than being crippled on the ground. I didn’t fancy infantry work or submarines underwater, although I had a relation that was a, on the single sub, submarines and I thought he was a very brave chap as you can imagine. So that’s the reason I went there and they accepted me as pilot navigator, but then we go on from there. Nothing happened, wasn’t called, wondering what’s going to, happening, why not, and unbeknown to me, and it didn’t come out until I was in the Air Force, I found out what had happened. That my firm, without consulting me, had made me a reserved occupation, applied to retain me beyond my call up time and, so that’s the reason why I was just wondering what the devil was going on. But eventually I got a letter which said that they’d got many people now ready to start training as pilot or navigator, but they had a real urgent need for flight engineers, because the actual problem was to do with the fuel consumption, and management of the fuel consumption, and lots of pilots falling foul of this and running out of fuel. And we lost quite a number and they were thinking, also of the building up, they’d already planned to build up with as many four engine bomber aircraft as possible, like the, not only the Lancaster, the Halifax, the Sterling and so on, the different marks of these. And so I thought, well I’ve been waiting and waiting and I, I volunteered, I said yes. So I think that hastened my being brought, taken in by the Air Force and I had to go, I was one of the early boys, so I had to go through the training of ground mechanic and straight onto a ground fitter and then out, out onto squadrons doing maintenance work in hangars, on Mustangs with 2 Squadron at Sawbridgeworth. The years I’m not too sure about, but on from there to [pause], onto Gravesend and, where we still had Mustangs and the, the engines were American Allison inline engines. Similar design to the Merlin but nowhere near as good. We had so much trouble with those [laughs] because when we did an engine change, that’s obviously what I was on being a fitter, we’d do all the covering up and everything else, and then we’d fire them up, and there was misfiring on this cylinder, that cylinder, you know, and it was a hard job to find out which were misfiring, which cylinder was misfiring. So what we did then was to pack up, have a, and go off for a cup of tea and go back when it was dark and restart, we could see from the exhaust which was misfiring, etcetera. There was all that trouble, and changing the whole magneto, and all the wiring and plugs and so forth. Sometimes that didn’t work. Anyway we managed to get it done in the end. The magneto drop was huge in comparison. The acceptable magneto drop was huge in comparison with the Merlin. Anyway we — after all this, we’d then double check on the oil filter, because so many times we took it off and found white metal in the oil filter. So that meant that we had to change the whole caboodle again, the whole engine and, and restart again so it was a terrible business and their, their supercharger was no good and they, they were good for ground strafing and all that sort of thing, up to about ten thousand feet, but they were no good above that because of supercharger being very, very inefficient. So directly, and that what happened then, of course, was after I’d left them that, they’d fit them with Rolls Royce engines and they made all the difference and turned them into a good aircraft. By then I’d been called on training for a flight mechanic, and also to go straight onto as a fitter. So I was at Blackpool for a time, running up and down the sands at 6am in the morning to get fit, and did a mechanics course, and then short leave and then onto Innsworth for the fitter training. So then, that’s going back up to the running, following that, out into the field to as a fitter. Eventually I go to St Athan for the flight engineers finishing course and passed that, and was recommended for commissioning, straight on from there to a heavy conversion unit, where I linked up with the crew at Lindholme, and because I got married at that stage, I was the last flight engineer to arrive. All the others had been sorted out their crews and there was only one crew left and that was Wiggins, Albert Wiggins, a Royal Australian Air Force ex-farmer from Torquay, near the gold mining area in Victoria and I found him a good stalwart, you couldn’t — he was steady as you would expect with a farmer, nothing would phase him, and we had a, an Australian navigator, Jack Sparks from Melbourne, he may have been from Canberra earlier on because he was a civil servant. So anyway he, he was a great one as well so we had a, a jolly good crew. The mid upper gunner was only just about eighteen, and just beginning to shave. He was a Manchester, very slow talking lad, again didn’t get excited so he was just the right type you wanted for a gunner, but the rear gunner was a chap named Fraser, a Scotsman, and we had a hard job to cool him off all the time, he wanted to jabber, jabber, jabber and he was the complete opposite of the Manchester lad in the mid upper turret and the wireless operator was a chap named Bell, and he was the son of a couple of variety people on the stage in some musical capacity and he was a wonderful pianist, absolutely wonderful and a delight to be with. Well after we’d finished and going on to cover, meanwhile it was the same case, after we’d finished their first eight operations, after that you went on a five days leave, and poor old Bell failed to come back because he was stuck with some disease, and so we never saw him again, and the next thing is, he’s been sent to another squadron as their new wireless operator with some other crew and we, of course had another one given to us who was a very nice fella, and I think he, was Trotter, and I think that later on, he went onto a second tour and unfortunately never came back from one of them, and his name his listed in the Lincoln Cathedral. So now, coming onto the operations, our first operations. Our first two were to Stuttgart and they, we thought they were quite nasty operations. Well of course, we would do, I suppose, being the first ones but they were in essence. Their defences, we decided in the end, overall defences of their major areas in Germany were a jolly sight better than over London. We thought London was pretty good but we were nowhere near. So we always took quite a beating in the sense, in, in the — in the feel that you had for the place, that you would likely get a real big banger on your wings or something. The predicted flak was so very good, directly you, you were coned. You had to dive and climb, and turn yourself upside down, so to speak, in order to get out. You were lucky if you got out. That early part you then had predicted flak, with big red balls coming quite close to your wings and that, so you had to move fast and that was — Stuttgart was one of those where searchlights and defences were very good. So the first two ops were Stuttgart. We didn’t think very much of them and Frankfurt was about the same, we had two operations there, so that was four of them. [pause]
CB: Right.
VS: Yes. The next operation which filled us with dismay because of what we’d heard about the actual target, and that was Berlin, and it was the last of the, the big bangs, you might say, against Berlin because prior to that there had been lots of operations on Berlin, night after night, whenever the weather was suitable, and this to my mind was the last one, we weren’t to know that but it was one of the last of this stretch of operations and that, that was a tough one. Because unfortunately our, our navigator was disconnected from his oxygen supply, unbeknown to us, until he was calling his projector all the names under the sun, ‘where is it, where is it, [banging on table] where is it?’ You heard this on the intercom and, ‘what’s the matter, Jack?’ So I said to the bomb aimer, ‘check his oxygen is connected please, Jack, erm, Pilly’. That’s Ted, Ted Pilly, the bomb aimer, ‘check that he’s connected’. He came back, ‘he is’, twice I asked and in the end, I got fed up with it and went back myself and found it wasn’t connected and that’s why he was all over the place. So we were slightly off track because of that, and we got into a little bit of trouble with the flak, er, in some other area on route, and then we saw the TIs go down and we went heading straight for them. It was like driving into Piccadilly Circus lit up at night. You were completely lit up, that’s how we felt and that’s what it looked like. Whether that was individual coning, I wouldn’t be able to say, because the impression I had with it — my pilot and myself, I was helping him with the actual controls, and we were diving and climbing all over the place. Thinking we were in individual searchlights, but we, we never got out of them but we got away with it, straightened up, levelled up and got on the heading that the bomb aimer wanted. Dropped our bombs on the target and that was when we experienced the [unclear] for the first time, I think it was, as master bomber and, and got away. We had various interludes going there and coming back, of fighters having a go at us, but we managed to dive and get out of that, so we were very lucky. Lucky and well trained, I think, and disciplined. And then, of course, we had the Ruhr, so we had a taste of all these places very quickly, spread over the first seven or eight operations, and that was to Essen, and that was happy valley, and amazing the actual Ack Ack searchlights. Ack Ack in particular and, but there you are we, we got through that and went on the worst one of all and that was Nuremberg, and it was a moonlight night, which we didn’t like as you can imagine. We had nowhere, no cloud to get into and cover ourselves, so we were open targets and unfortunately, in addition to that, apparently the — for some reason or other, luck or intelligence slipup, their fighters rendezvoused in our track. We wondered what was going on because it — reaching German territory, territory it was silent, no guns, nothing, no searchlights and then suddenly - boom, boom - four Lancaster’s around us, our friends [pause]. And we logged at twenty-five, twenty-five in the early part of the run to Nuremberg over Germany [coughs], and we had to give up recording to keep the intercom open. We had one or two advances by fighters, but we managed to get away somehow or other by diving into contrails. We hoped there wasn’t a hard centre, and we had that sort of thing for about two thirds of the run to Nuremberg, and then it’s all quiet, and we got to Dornburg and we bombed and it was all quiet, and came back, two or three fighter episodes and managed to get away with it. And came back and landed, and we were all discussing it with the intelligence boys and that, and debriefing, and they asked me how many I reckoned, and I said, ‘well we saw twenty-five, and on that basis, I think you’ve got to multiply it by four’, and it came out I understand, the following day, ninety-six, ninety-six other aircraft were shot down [long pause]. After that raid on Nuremberg, we were all pleased to go on holiday for about five days and, and come back in the early days of April, where we resumed operations. We then went on Achern, which we had to abandon for some reason or other. I think we were recalled. I’ve got it, mission abandoned and I’ve got no reason, I’m pretty sure that we got recalled on that. Things went on and then we went on Cologne and that was quite a target as well [coughs], all lit up, and we had one or two attacks but not very many. We got away with it again, thank goodness, and the following one was Düsseldorf where, of course, that was back to the Ruhr and that was a shocker and, er, but we managed to bomb our target and come back safely. A few days off and we then went on mining in the Baltic. Where we took off and had to fly, as we got close to Denmark islands, we had to drop down to a hundred feet to go under the radar cover, which was quite a dangerous thing to do because of obstructions that you could hit, so we had to be wide awake. And came out, of course, heading for Sweden and we just touched on the coast of Sweden because navigational point, and they were very unkind by firing up a few tracer, but they were too low. They couldn’t get us and we went, went off from that on a, on a timed course, er, to a point where we dropped our mines and came back in a similar way but avoiding Sweden this time. Coming straight over Denmark and at a very low level still, so that we didn’t disturb anyone, except perhaps a few farmers and villagers and got back but they were rather dangerous. We all had to take our turn at mining and that — quite a number of chaps that didn’t come back from those efforts. We were then again on Essen, in the Ruhr, and that was a similar one, story to the others. You always got fighters and searchlights and Ack Ack and so forth, but never the same as Berlin and the, the Stuttgarts that we had. A few other things and then we had ammunition dump at Rouen, R, O, U, E,N and that was quite an experience. We were told to fly fairly low [coughs] to make sure we got the target but not too low so you got the effects of the actual target blowing up under your belly. So we were about four thousand feet and we got the target all right, because we felt it, and we got the rumbles, but came back safely, thank goodness [pause]. We’re now in the beginning of the bombing of France, so leading up to D-Day on the 6th of June. [bleep]
CB: So, we’re just talking about how, in the early days of the war, a flight engineer wasn’t an established position and how they came to adapt the training from people who were trained as ground engineers, riggers or whatever, to then fly as flight engineers, because the Lancasters and Stirlings and Halifaxes didn’t really come along till forty-two. So you were part of this transition weren’t you?
VS: I was yes. Yes, I was invited to, to join at the early stage. There weren’t all that number of flight engineers like me [coughs], because when I got to St Athan on the flight engineers finishing course, I’m pretty sure the, all ready, we had at St Athan the start of direct entry training which, which was something like eight months.
CB: That means people who hadn’t, that worked on the ground first?
VS: That’s right. They were direct entry and so they had to adapt everything and, and not take things for granted that they had in, in previous training. They weren’t so well trained, there’s no doubt about that, they weren’t so well trained but they filled a, a need and quickly. We, we couldn’t wait for, to go through all the training that we went through. Quite sure of that. Yes, I don’t, I don’t think. I think that my squadron was first formed in the early part of forty-three, maybe late forty-two, I think. Anyway the first Lancs didn’t arrive there until forty-three that’s for sure. They had a few Manchesters [clears throat]. One of the interesting things is, of course, the, the chaps that flew Wellingtons. They, they thought the Wellington was absolutely terrific. It was. It would take a hell of a bat, battering. The, it wasn’t a firm alloy construction and so it was fabric and it could take a lot to shoot it up. Holes didn’t make any difference to it [laughs] [unclear] the, the vital part that was the hit ,you know, of the actual aircraft and I knew two chaps that are now dead, now that died this, this year. One is a fellow at Fakenham, who is in the heavy transport business and got another place up north and he flew Wellingtons, a lovely fellow who has just died, but the other one ,that I, you know, is the, now what’s, oh dear, it’s the fella that flew the ultra giro in the bomb fields.
CB: Oh, Barnes Wallis, Barnes Wallis?
VS: No, no.
CB: No, no, no, Wing Commander Wallis?
VS: No.
CB: Wasn’t it?
VS: It was — no.
CB: Not Barnes Wallis but Wing Commander Wallis?
VS: Yes, yes. What’s his Christian name?
CB: I can’t remember. Barnes Wallis did the —
VS: I entertained him twice.
CB: Did you?
VS: Yes and his wife was a Stapley.
CB: Oh.
VS: And so we had something in common, but then we didn’t. When we checked on everything, there was no connection at all.
CB: Oh right.
VS: But I think there must be because she, she came from down south in Southampton. Test, test area, Testwood. But Ken Wallis.
CB: Ken Wallis. That’s it.
VS: And I entertained him twice as president of the RAFA, we have two dinners a year and I entertained him this year, I think it was.
CB: Did you?
VS: Yes, or late last year, it was as recent as that. He was a terrific engineer, you know. He brought along, on one occasion, something he’d actually [unclear] made himself. Terrific, absolutely terrific. He was, for a long time [coughs], he was at Boscombe Down on the research side. And I think, I think it’s actually dreadful that he wasn’t acknowledged, wasn’t made a Sir or something like that, cause he was so good for the Air Force and the country. Lovely fella. But he, he’s got a museum at Dereham.
CB: Oh, has he?
VS: Um, um.
CB: My mistake, Barnes Wallis designed the Wellington.
VS: You put me off there. That shot me down, took me a fortnight to get to Kent.
CB: Well you did well, but Barnes Wallis designed the Wellington with its geodetic construction.
VS: Well Barnes Wallis was the one that —
CB: With the bombs.
VS: That’s right and, and there’s — he’s, he’s number two, we had his wife up here, she died. She was, she was a friend of a lot of us. Yeah. Yes. Are you gonna switch off now?
CB: OK.
VS: Switch on now something else has come to me.
CB: OK.
VS: This springs to mind that on my eightieth birthday, the family were very keen to take me out somewhere. It was going to be a surprise. So I was thinking, where the devil are they going to take me. So we set off in about three cars and we head for Lincolnshire, so directly I was going to Lincolnshire. I thought there’s only one place and that is to the two farmers that have got a Lanc at, at Kirkby.
CB: East Kirkby.
VS: Yes, Kirkby, sorry.
CB: Yes.
VS: East Kirkby. They were both alive then, one’s since died and their brother, there’s another brother who was a flight engineer and died. And they opened specially for my gang on a Sunday afternoon, weekend. It was jolly good.
CB: Fantastic.
VS: And they, the thing that I remember, one of two things, um, was the, they’d still got the control tower and I, I was most amused to find that, that the toilet was still there and it was the most clean toilet I’d ever seen in my life. It was lovely to see. Ought to be on exhibition [laughs] but they do a good job.
CB: Yeah.
VS: But unfortunately, of course, they, they, it was a runway in, in war time but they’d cleared one part of it about a third of it for farming and I think they regretted it when they got this Lanc because then that stopped them taking off.
CB: Um.
VS: They did get eventually a, a certificate of air worthiness from the Civil Aviation Authority which would have allowed them to take off and, er all they could do was taxi and give the people a thrill that way. But it was a lovely little area there.
CB: Yeah. This is the former Scampton Gate Guardian and, um, they were —
VS: Oh, it was that one was it?
CB: They restored the aircraft and they call it “Just Jane”.
VS: Yes.
CB: And there is some film of them doing high speed taxi runs with the tail up for a film, a little while ago.
VS: Yeah, well the runway that’s left must be a fair, fair length.
CB: It is.
VS: For them to get the tail up.
CB: Yeah. But it’s an amazingly restored site.
VS: They want to make sure their breaks are good in order to pull up if short [laughs]
CB: Yeah.
VS: Otherwise they’ll be, be into, into the potato patch [laughs]
CB: Or their chickens [laughs]
VS: Oh dear, dear, dear.
CB: We’re restarting on some of the points from early on. So you’re talking about south of the river?
VS: Yes, I was very friendly with a caretakers son at my old school and we used to go to each other’s houses at weekends [coughs], and this was the early part of the war and at night time, at the weekend, we used to go down to the underground cellars of the school and we used to play bridge, and I shall never forget that when the sirens went, so we had to get up and keep our eyes open outside in case some incendiaries fell, and sure enough they did and one, one or two lodged in the roof of the school. They weren’t causing much damage and [coughs] the caretaker dived for his bucket and Stirrup pump, and there he was trying to get a spurt of water, two storeys up into the roof [laughs], with a Stirrup pump, that’s all he had waiting for the fire service to come. That’s a silly, a silly story really, absolutely barmy, but I enjoyed those times underground and at the weekend, because you felt reasonably safe and we were playing bridge and I love bridge, it was fine, absolutely great. What was the other thing?
CB: So, tell us about the land mines.
VS: Oh yes. So this chaps sisters married this fella, I got to know him quite well and they went to live south, south of the river, and I can’t tell you any more than that, but anyway he was on ARP duty and there, there was a parachute coming down and something dangling on the end, and he was running towards it because he thought it was a chap on the end of the parachute that had bailed out. He suddenly realised that it wasn’t and he ran for his dear life, and this was a land mine, he got away with it. He was quite close really, well, he must have been for him to be able to identify it in darkness. There’s another story about those. The, when I was reminiscing with someone recently, yes, it was my son, he’d gone on the internet and he, you can get a record of all the land mines that were dropped in Barking and Ilford, and a terrific number, so lots of places were absolutely flattened really. There was total destruction within a mile radius and then surface, surface blasts you know these were taking out windows and everything else. Very, very destructive. They were a shocker. People were sometimes the, the youngsters talk about the V Bombs and so forth, what were they?
CB: Well the V-1 was the flying bomb.
VS: Yeah, yeah, yeah and that’s just a bang wasn’t it? That’s all you knew?
CB: Well, the land mine was destructive because it exploded above ground level, so that had a huge blast effect.
VS: That’s right.
CB: The V-1, because it came in at a shallow angle, that also had a big blast effect. The V-2, because it landed vertically, had less blast but a bigger hole.
VS: Um, um. Yes. Lots of people were, were worried about these [coughs] at our cottage we didn’t worry too much about that, we’d seen enough.
CB: Yeah.
VS: We either got it or we didn’t [laughs]
CB: Of that era, because the land mines you are talking about the early part. Which areas were hit most by land mines?
VS: Barking, no doubt. I’ve got the map of the, the landings.
CB: Right.
VS: They, they were definitely hit the most, the second a very close second was Ilford. It just shows you that it wasn’t only us that had a problem of hitting targets from above. The inaccuracy of bombing. They were trying to bomb the docks. There’s no doubt about that. Mind you, I think they didn’t mind them going astray, eventually became a target didn’t it. All built up areas became the target, but in the early days, they were trying to hit the docks and they hit Barking and Ilford.
CB: So going back to Ilford, and the family being there, and the sanitary arrangements.
VS: [laughs] well, that was an outside toilet, it was, that’s — I was brought up in this three bed roomed house with outside toilet, which wasn’t very convenient to say the least, but we, we moved out to Romford on the 3rd September and I think I told this story. And thank goodness we did, because later on we found out that Henley Road at Ilford was bombed, and flattened and so we wouldn’t be here, perhaps but you never know we might have been out shopping and got away with it [laughs] [coughs], they expanded their, their targets.
CB: The Germans did?
VS: Yes, Germans. Expanded their targets to cover well, well populated areas because they’d failed, they’d tried hitting aerodromes and the Air Force generally and they didn’t succeed. They tried hitting the docks accurately and they didn’t really put us out of business, fortunately, and they widened their targets then. Anybody was fair game as far as they were concerned. So they started that in a big way and then later on the, the public started accusing Bomber Harris of doing a deadly thing and killing people, the population, this big town and city, etcetera, etcetera [telephone rings].
CB: Your phones are calling you.
VS: I can hear it. Ok.
CB: So we’ve been talking about a variety of things. One is we’ve covered the Nuremberg raid, which was a very heavy loss rate, but in general, what was the loss rate and how many planes would you put up at a time?
VS: I remember that our maximum we put up was about twenty-two and, like on the Cologne raid and Nuremberg raid and Berlin. But some of the others we dropped, I should say to about fourteen, eighteen something like that. Of course, then they had the individual mining, one aircraft off and or two aircraft off and so forth, the odd little titbit on the side. But the main efforts I should think we averaged something like eighteen, sixteen, eighteen.
CB: And the loss rate?
VS: No more than, I remember, than about four. Which people thought at that time was heavy but it wasn’t really, when you think in terms of Nuremberg, where I think we only had about eight hundred of it, it wasn’t a thousand bomber raid like the Cologne special one, where we put everything in, including the kitchen sink, and Wimpys and so forth, even Ansons I think, in order to make a bit of a publicity stunt out of it, a thousand and no, four was quite good, I reckon.
CB: Right.
VS: Considering what we were doing.
CB: So we’ve just moved a bit earlier on to bombing France in anticipation of D-Day . So after Roeun, where did you go?
VS: [shuffling of papers] Oh yes. That was the, the ammunition dump and [pause] we went to Leon, that’s right, which was quite an easy one. The one thing [laughs], we were on fighter affiliation afterwards, none of our operation. just a bit of fun. Then we went to another dump at Aubinges, I don’t remember much about that, except that we had to be very careful we didn’t blow ourselves up by being too low. Nothing in particular. But then we had one which was Margny-lès-Compiègne, and lots been written about that and it’s a bit of a mixture. Because we had, we had Lancs on it, Halifaxes on it, Mosquitos on it, and I think basically there could have been two targets. One was the ammunition dump, and the story goes that the Panzers were there with their tanks and we only had that opportunity that night to try and flatten them, and that’s where the Lancs came in. So we were briefed to orbit a, a marker, and running on that track to the target. We didn’t like that, experienced people like us, by then we were quite experienced, we didn’t like orbiting anything, you were asking for trouble from the fighters to get it, they’re not silly and sure enough they did, and we, we breezed off and orbited elsewhere so we got away with that operation, and we did apparently do a good job, and the locals, later on, after the war, came out loud and clear that they were so glad that we managed to do that. But the other side of it, I think, was another target, and I never got down to the brass tacks of this, maybe all your experiences, you might be able to come up with the answer. But I think that the Mosquitoes were on a separate target, though mighty close in the same town or whatever it was at Margny-lès-Compiègne, and a books been written about this, and I haven’t got that and I don’t know how to go about finding out any more. Martin Cook or something like that I think, has written a book about it [coughs] and that is, it was a prison [coughs] and a lot of our chaps were prisoned there and something was going to happen there and they were likely to be marched off or get shot for some reason or other [coughs]. Pardon me. So it was decided to attack, and they had to be very careful what we were doing with the — what these Mosquitos was doing was to try and break the outside crust of the building to give the prisoners a chance of escaping, and I think a lot had been written about this, which I don’t know.
CB: That’s the Amiens raid.
VS: That’s the Amiens?
CB: Yes, with Pickard. Yes.
VS: Oh, was it?
CB: Yeah. It was a different —
VS: It was a different raid. Right.
CB: Yes.
VS: Oh, oh. I don’t know where I got tied up with that one. But [coughs]
CB: But there might have been something similar.
VS: Um.
CB: What was your next operation?
VS: So where we went from there was off Dunkirk for some reason. All these were fairly easy jobs, and then the next one was Hasselt, how you pronounce that, I don’t know, and then we went mining again in the Ulm, quite a lengthy run. And next one was Aachen, got no recollection for that. So it was reasonably straight forward. So then we, I think we had a rest and then we really got sucked into the real preparation for D-Day [coughs]. We were on Calais, which is just slipping in on the coast, and then Boulogne, and then on the night of the fifth, in other words D-Day, coming up after midnight we were charged with trying to put out of action, the big gun emplacement at Le Havre. And the wonderful thing there to talk about is coming back from Le Havre, the early hours of the morning, and seeing all this flotilla, this mass of shipping and boats and galore all over the channel. I, I only hope that they, they took some aerial views of all this because it was absolutely fantastic [coughs], and we passed Channel Islands on our starboard side, and really could see all this mass heading for the French coast, and you can bet we were wishing them well, and we came home to hear the confirmation, of course, on radio. So we got back onto the mainland that morning, without a shadow of doubt as you all know, and then from then on it was really straight forward as we were concerned. Small little ops. Achery, I’ve got no recollection of anything terrible there. Gelsenkirchen was one [unclear] was another one that was one of the bigger ops, I think. Then there was a place Bernapre - b, e, r, n, a, p, r, e - and Domleger, Domleger, which was the first daylight raid that we did. And then there was another one at, where is it, Gissey, Gissey-le-Vieil, Gissey-le-Vieil a daylight one. And I think that [pause] was the last one that we did. All very quiet been —. Oh there was one more, oh I said that, we went back to Domleger, Domleger. On the 2nd of July and that was our end.
CB: OK. So what did you do after that? So you’ve ended ops but you didn’t do thirty for some reason.
VS: No, no because —
CB: So why didn’t you do thirty?
VS: Well the reason for that was rather funny. You mention people having a hoot because the pilot and myself we, we shared a room, and we’d come back from an op, and the following morning there we are in our, doing our abolitions as they called it in those days, and he said to me, he said ‘you’ve got spots all over your back’, and I said, ‘thank you very much and I’ve got one up on you at last’, and so off, he said, ‘you’d better go and see the docs with that’. Which I did [coughs], and he laughed his head off, the squadron doc, I said, ‘well, what the devil are you laughing about, doc’, ‘you’ve got German measles’, ‘oh my god, all the boys are going to have a laugh about that one’, which they did. So I was packed up, with my small kit, to go to the isolation hospital at Scunthorpe. So along comes a five hundred weight truck, just the ambulance, and a WAAF driver, and I said, ‘have you ever had German measles before’, and she said, ‘no’, and I said, ‘well, I’ve got it, but do you mind taking a chance so I can sit in front, I don’t want to sit in the back there, it’s a bit uncomfortable’, so I sat in front and as we were driving down the main street of Scunthorpe, the crews had been stood down, and I recognised a few and they recognised me, so we were waving to one another as I went to Scunthorpe isolation hospital and when I was there, it was a bit of a hoot. I had ten days there, my crew did two ops. That’s how I lost the two on them. And thankfully, I joined up with them again when I got back. But I was there about ten or eleven days [coughs], and my, I was, I had a room of my own, very nice set up, to the right of the entrance and the, the toilet was to the left of the entrance. So I had to go past the entrance to the toilet, coming back, there’s another room, of course, opposite the toilet, and there was a young lady sitting up in bed, I naturally went there to have a chat, and I was sitting on the corner of the bed chatting, and along came the matron, ‘oh you shouldn’t be here, you should be in isolation in your room’ [laughs], so that was a big hoot. The next thing is, I’m allowed out, of course it was just an infection. So I felt good enough, and they said, ‘if you feel good enough, would you like to come and make four at tennis’. I said ‘yes, fine’. So I went off and played tennis. I’d run out of cigarettes and the matron throws down twenty packet to the court where I was, and we carried on playing and had a good game. I went back, had a shower, sat up in bed and there I was, eating dinner. Very good dinner, and along came the doc, who said ‘I’ve come to see whether you’re fit enough to go back to your squadron’. I said, ‘well, I reckon having played tennis and eaten a good meal and sitting up in bed like this, I should say yes, can I go tomorrow morning?’ ‘Yes’. So off I went, found out the crew were on leave, waiting for me to come back to them and so I went off about two days, came back and we finished our operations. That was the story there.
CB: Amazing how many people actually had their careers disrupted by disease. So, we’ve had a scarlet fever man on the, on the, caught it on a boat going to Canada, somebody else with something similar because, of course, there weren’t the antibiotics or —
VS: No, no.
CB: Or other cleanliness steps.
VS: As a youngster I remember vividly I, I, I got, get fed up with the, the look of anything red. Why? Because my brother caught diphtheria, and in those days, they used to come to your home and pick up all the mattresses and, I don’t know, some, some heat treatment and they came back, but they baked them, that’s right, baked them, the mattresses, they were no good, it wasn’t worthwhile. Hopeless, so that was one lot of red blankets that coming to the door, and the next thing is, he gets, he gets through that, next thing is, he gets scarlet fever, so again, all the blankets and bedding and that were all baked and they were useless when they came back, and then he, he was ill again and he could barely swallow and, I’ve forgotten the term, but it was the throat, it was closing, he could hardly breath and the doctor was still saying, ‘you can’t get, you can’t have diphtheria twice, mum, you can’t’. He was determined to stick to this right to the end, of course, he put scarlet fever, it was diphtheria though, which was the worst of the two things, between that and scarlet fever. He took a long time to recover, he was on the critical list for a long time. So that’s why I don’t like red, red things.
CB: Amazing. Stop there a mo.
VS: Oh, ok, well —
CB: So —
VS: And sorry, then I, I was allowed to go, yes, so now, right.
CB: So recuperating.
VS: Yes, so we’re back now in, in Kirmington, having been released from the isolation hospital, to find the, the crew are on a short leave waiting for me to come back to join them. So I was off for two days, so I came back at the same time as they did, and we were back on operations. So we, we’ve finished the operations now, haven’t we?
CB: Well, we just got to you being German measles, so
VS: Yes I know but we, prior to that —
CB: Did you go back to operations, yes, prior to that.
VS: Prior to that we did finish.
CB: Yeah.
VS: We did finish on the 2nd of July.
CB: Right
VS: It was one, where are we.
CB: That’s because you became ill.
VS: Yes. On the 2nd of July we finished up with a daylight operations for a second time on Domleger.
CB: Yeah.
VS: OK. So that was the end of our tour. So off, off we went and I came back a day later than the crew, only to find to my dismay that the, the crew had left the previous day and they’d had pictures around the aircraft and all this, with the ground crew and so forth, and I was missing and wasn’t in that, so I didn’t see them off, but, of course I, I managed to link up again at the OA, but later on, I linked up with them, but not before staying on, being kept on at, at Kirmington as the flight engineer leader. Attending briefings, main briefings and at night time, on operations, joining up with the ground engineer in the control tower, well before start up time for operations. Start up of the Lanc engines out in dispersals, directly that happened, of course, we got the odd call from dispersal that, one, they were having trouble starting up somewhere or other in this dispersal, that dispersal, so the engineer and myself flew out in the five hundred weight truck and I got in the cockpit and he got on the starter machine, the acc - acc.
CB: Trolley acc.
VS: Trolley acc, that’s right, and most times we succeeded. I gave it a good thorough thumping and tried all sorts of things, and eventually got it going. I found that very, very interesting and rewarding really. I enjoyed that period. How long it lasted, I’m not too sure. I should think, maybe, six weeks, two months, two months I would think, and I found that jolly good because I didn’t get much sleep those nights obviously, it wasn’t worthwhile getting into bed, you know, and so I went to the Mess and had a jug, and then went to my room and just sat in a chair, and then went back to the Mess and sat in the chair, and then I knew it was time to receive them back again. I used to de-brief all the flight engineers, it was very, very interesting indeed. One of the things that had to be watched very closely with new crews, although I’m sure that they had this belted into their brains much earlier, but we didn’t, we couldn’t afford to guess that they had retained the, or realised the importance. We, we went onto from SU carburettors to [pause], oh dear.
CB: Bendix?
VS: You’ve got it, which was jet injection and so you had an idle cut off switch. The American design was a lever [unclear] where you revved up an engine, you tried to start an engine, sorry, and you turned and you had it in cold, cold position, the mixture control, it went up from nil to auto rich, try and catch it and it was that type of idle cut off that was on a switch in a Lanc. It was tied to the pneumatic system, break system and the, these idle cut off switches, they didn’t operate unless you had a minimum of eighty pounds per square inch pressure on, on the gauge, the pneumatic gauge with covered your breaks. So if you, you could start the engines with the idle cut off switches in the off position when the break pressure was less than eighty, and then when you got up to eighty plus, the engines would just stop. The idle cut off switch was off, so we had to make sure that the newcomers had that firmly in their mind, because that was a shocker if that happened. And such things like that, anything I got up in briefing and made sure that they knew.
CB: Now on a raid, the flight engineers had to keep a log, so when you did the de-brief, what did you do with the log?
VS: Well let’s put it this way. We didn’t have to keep a log, not just on the raid. All we had to do was to keep a log of our fuel consumption, that’s all, so that we didn’t get into trouble. So we were no more responsible for the keeping of a log of what happened on the raid than any other member of the crew. So it was general, we didn’t log everything in black and white. The chap that had the option of doing that sort of thing was, of course, the chap sitting at the desk, the navigator, and I remember the navigator thinking he’d come out and have a look at the, what it was like to be over a target on one operation. He came out in the front, behind me and had a look, came out from behind the curtain, had a good look, frightened him to death and he went back again and he never came back again [laughs], he never came out of his curtain on any of the following raids. It was laughable. He saw the funny side of it, of course, but so from then on, he was in his little shroud.
CB: We, we’re talking about what you did after operations, but actually, that’s back on it and another question, what, how often did the gunners have to fire their guns in defence of the aircraft?
VS: Oh, that’s a hard one. Many times, many times they gave a spurt, whether that primed off the fight or not, I don’t know. You, you had to remember that when a fighter gets into a bomber stream, he can have a poop at one, he misses, carries on, he finds somebody else and has a poop at them. In other words, they don’t have to go back on themselves. If you, if you just two or three, then perhaps they do or they think they’ve really got you running, you know, their winning, they’ve got, they’ve maimed you slightly and might comeback. I couldn’t answer it.
CB: How much did you know about scarecrows?
VS: Oh, we didn’t worry about them. We realised that they were scarecrows and not the real thing. I don’t know whether they, a few entangled your props with one, I don’t know. I don’t think they were dangerous at all. Have you got reason to believe they were?
CB: No, no. I’m talking about the, the description of the big explosions that the RAF turned scarecrow.
VS: They, they weren’t big explosions they, they were skeletons to frighten you.
CB: Oh right.
VS: You know, like, like, like just the bones of a human being.
CB: Right.
VS: That type of thing, just floating in, in the air.
CB: Right.
VS: I, I don’t know what happened if you got near them.
CB: Did you see any other bombers exploding?
VS: Oh yes, I already related that in the Nuremberg raid, of course.
CB: So, twenty-five you saw shot down?
VS: Twenty-five we recorded.
CB: But how many ¬–
VS: But we saw others after that.
CB: Yes.
VS: But we didn’t record them, so I, I guess afterwards if we were on a track where only about a quarter or a third of the actual outward bound track and lost – we saw twenty, twenty-five explode, it had to be three or four times that number.
CB: I was differentiating between shot down and actually exploding.
VS: These were exploding, these twenty-five.
CB: Right. So do you know why they exploded rather than just go down?
VS: Well I, I, I’ve got an idea because of what’s been written since in intelligence side that the fighters were colliding with something what they call some music or other.
CB: Schrage Musik.
VS: Yes, which is neither here nor there. It was an upward firing gun and they came underneath the bomber and that’s why we were rocking to and fro, so our mid upper gunner had a chance of seeing underneath. Besides the rear gunner.
CB: Oh right, right. Um. So we’re after the war, back to that and you’re, no sorry, after your operations, still in the war, you’re debriefing the engineers.
VS: Yes, yes.
CB: What sort of things would come up there that would be worthy of note after an operation?
VS: Nothing very much. The real, information that came up was given by the pilot and the, the gunners that were seeing everything. The, it was left to them mainly. The engineer came up with one or two things which, with regard, not regard to the operation itself, it was management of the aircraft that he would deal with and stick to that and only come up and talk about other things that the others hadn’t seen or –
CB: You mentioned earlier that one of the tasks of engineers was to manage the fuel consumption.
VS: Yes.
CB: So how critical was it to rebalance the tanks during a raid?
VS: I don’t think it, it was really critical, I don’t think it was really critical.
CB: Because there was a sequence?
VS: I would call it a routine thing to balance the tanks and to – we took off with all pumps on, on the tanks, so that if there was something wrong with one tank, the other one would still be pressurising the fuel system [clears throat], we started off with number one tanks with all pumps on, the others as well, and then we eventually went over to two, and we started on one, it was rather important because the overloading from the siphoning off and that goes on in the system, went into one of the tanks, number one I think it was. So we went onto that initially, and then went onto two and then from then on, as we got down on, on the two, we brought the others coming in so that they were in the centre of the aircraft more, instead of on the wings.
CB: So number one tank is where?
VS: They’re the two close either side of the fuselage.
CB: Right. So the numbers go up.
VS: No two, and then three.
CB: So the numbers go up as you go further out in the wing?
VS: Yes, that’s right and its two thousand one hundred and fifty-four gallons.
CB: In total?
VS: Maximum.
CB: Right.
VS: So obviously, dependent on your bomb load, so dependent on how much in fuel you had. The – all that weight for take-off initially, was about sixty-three thousand net, including everything, and that went up to about sixty-five with the mark 3s, I think. Eventually of course, we pushed and pushed and went up to about seventy thousand with the big bomb.
CB: How did the calculation for fuel requirements emerge? Who, who did the calculation on the fuel needed for loading for a raid?
VS: That was done by the, by the operations side of your, before take-off. The intelligence came through and they knew where the target was, then they worked out the distance, how long it would take and so forth, and so they knew, and a reserve of about two hundred gallons for diversion or something like that.
CB: OK.
VS: That determined the actual – how many gallons.
CB: So as the station flight engineer, did you do the calculation for the crews?
VS: No, no, wasn’t asked to, it was all done through the operations side and the ground engineers.
CB: Right. So after doing that, so you finished operations, you’re the, the man at the station, as the station flight engineer. How long did that go on?
VS: For about two months I should think about two months.
CB: OK.
VS: No more, and then I was posted to the heavy conversion, conversion unit at Blyton, where I took up instruction duties which I found not very rewarding, because I didn’t have much to do. The, there were many other instructors there, and as far as I was concerned, they were doing a reasonable job and I was really there to pass the time away, I felt.
CB: Yes.
VS: And it proved that way because they then sent me on a flight engineers leaders course at St Athan, and I found that a very good course because it was bordering on ground engineers training. It was very, very detailed and we, we had physical fitness half way through the, each day and it was about a two month course, and we had to detail, in drawings and words, something like two engines, two carburettors, two cooling systems, two oil systems and all this sort of thing and it was very, very good indeed. And I came out with an A, an A2, not an A1, so I just missed out on eighty percent. I was about seventy-eight point five or something which annoyed me [laughs] intensely, because I always think that I am experienced in marking papers and a lot depends on just how you feel at the time, you know, you, you can’t be accurate.
CB: Right.
VS: It’s impossible.
CB: OK
VS: I think you may be inaccurate by about two or three percent, if not five. Anyway, so then they posted me back there permanently, instructing on the flight engineers course, overall course of training and by then, they were well organised on the type training, it was straight through about eight, eight months.
CB: OK. So after eight months then what did you do?
VS: Well during that eight months what happened was, the war ended.
CB: Um hm.
VS: And the, the squadron leader, the engineer in charge of that training was posted, left the flight lieutenant and the flight lieutenant engineer was posted, and then I was in charge of type training as a flying officer. That lasted about two months but I got the shock of my life when I realised that there I was, in charge of training with Lancs, Halifaxes, Liberators, Sunderlands, Stirlings, at least that number if not more, and I ended up in the hospital with bronchitis because I’d frozen to death in the hangers in winter. This was all after the war and I remember that we were down – people had bread supplies one day because I was in hospital, and it was a time when we were flying – dropping food to the Dutch.
CB: Operation Manna?
VS: Yes, that’s right. And [coughs] what happened then was a visit, my pilot found out where I was and came to see me in the hospital. And there I was in bed and saying he wanted me to join him, flying to and fro to Australia, taking people back to Australia, would I join him. And I said yes, ‘I’ll, I’ll go with that’, but what happened was, my wife was expecting a child and I had to pull out and so that was me more or less finished, and the training finished. Oh, I remember before the training finished, we had surplus pilots coming through for engineer training, especially Canadians. Canadian pilots came to us for engineer training, and that was the last bit that was going on. The last little do that was going on before we closed down the actual training there. From then on, I was asked if I would like to stay in the Air Force and then I said no, but I knew what would happen if I’d said yes, I would have gone straight onto admin and been a flight commander or something, which didn’t appeal to me one bit. So I just left it and left it and then decided that I’d like to stay on, that was rather too late for the people that really knew me, so it took me some time before I managed to get a PC. But I transferred to the air traffic control branch, aircraft control branch as we called it, GD Aircraft Control, to stay with aircraft, sort of thing, and went out to Singapore and I was a joint sort of worker, operations room for HQ Malaya at Changi, at Block 36, and was in the operations room there and their job was air traffic control centre and operations, and we were briefing on radio as Spitfires and so forth, were flying north attacking [pause] the communists in the jungle. So I went out, first of all, when I went there I went up to north, to Kuala Lumpur, to meet up with the advanced headquarters and I was going to be in touch with telecommunications, getting the information that they required from the actual jungle, from the Army patrols asking for assistance. And that was interesting stuff and learnt a lot on that, and we were, the responsibility, I had a number of aircraft go in the sea. A number, I say, just a few. So we had search and rescue to do as well. We’d get out all the maps so we would see and [unclear] touch for search and rescue, and came away after about three years there, and went onto radar training, ground control approach radar at RAF Whitton and from then on, I really was in my element of, back really, in touch with aircraft and talking them down in bad weather and that was rewarding when you knew that if you didn’t do it, then they would be in real trouble. And [clears throat] from there, I was in charge of the, I was at, sent to Marham, with a new type GCA called CPN4 in, arghh, now, what year? Fifty, fifty-two. About fifty-three I went up to Marham with the new CPN4 GCA, and I was there until late fifty, fifty-six, fifty-six, that’s right. And during that time, we had a, a real terrible tragedy in the Air Force, we had the fighter leaders course at a neighbouring station, just ten miles from us at West Raynham, fighter leaders course and it came out quite clearly, behind the scenes, that their motto was, the last chap in, into dispersals, was the winner. In other words and also, unless you ran out of petrol by the time you got to dispersal, you were a chicken, sort of thing, and that was their motto. The last drop, it was actually crazy and that’s what happened to them one day, when they had, they put up eight aircraft, eight Hunters, and during that time my CPN4 GCA was ordered to go to West Raynham, and for their old, old the original, old fashioned and less efficient radar, GCA MPN1 was ordered back to me, so it was a swap and because the CNC had ordered the – he didn’t want his fighters by the squadrons without the best GCA, never mind about the fact that we, at Marham, were the master diversion airfield and took in, eventually it was turned round and realised what a mistake that was, but it was too late. Because they — what happened was that CPN4 GCA needed a contract with OTA Engineering at Kings Lynn to rebore them and keep them in decent condition. They’re a higher revving diesel electric generator sets because you couldn’t use mains, UK mains. It was American equipment requiring sixty cycles instead of fifty cycles.
CB: Yeah.
VS: And so, you had to run with the diesel electric generator sets until somebody came up with transformers and so they went, the equipment at, was now at Raynham, needed to go in for an overhaul, because they were wearing out again and on that day, they didn’t have a GCA, and they the weather was clamping, said to be clamping, but they still allowed them to go up and actually do their exercise in the water beach area. And then they came back and manning the control tower was acting wing commander flying, wing commander flying proper was out shopping with his wife, and he eventually ordered them to be let down [clears throat], knowing that Marham must be clamping exactly the same as Raynham, they were only ten miles away. Cloud was nearly on the deck and it was by the time the actual happening occurred [clears throat], and so he allowed them to come down, which is absolutely the worst thing you could do, unless you are sure of being able to land them because they didn’t have enough fuel to go anywhere else. So they let down and they were all diverted to Marham, ten miles away, with PEs around the airfield at Marham, going out to ten miles. So we couldn’t see the aircraft, whereas the other air, GCA, he could raise the antenna to get rid of the ground returns and still see the aircraft and we could have done something about it. But even then, it would have been too late, because as these were let down and in touch with Marham, Marham was sending them down wind for the GCA and they were running out of fuel, and four went in. The squadron leader on the course from Hong Kong with thirteen way in, underneath the cloud about twelve miles away on runway 24, and he went in to the deck and four others managed to, well should have been, three others managed to just stick their nose down and hope that they would see the ground before they hit the ground, and they managed to get in, and the others bailed out and that was the calamity of the day. And, of course, the board of enquiry came along very quickly, all group captains and the air vice marshal president [clears throat], I was OC to GCA and fortunately for me, which gave me a freehand, I wasn’t on duty, so I was confronted with this very quickly after it happening, and I was in a married quarter on the station [coughs], and Scottie the SATCO was a good one as well, and we told the truth as we saw it from Marham’s view point, even then. The following morning, I had a group captain come along from the board of enquiry before they actually left, having a look at our radar and that, and wanted to know what I thought of things. Pretty pictures made of the radar to take to the board of enquiry when I was interviewed, and I remember being asked [laughs] the question, and I was in the middle of answering it and one of the group captains didn’t like my answer, he asked the president whether he could change the wording of the question and he allowed him to do so and they said, would you carry on, and I said, ‘no way sir, the question’s been changed, the answer is totally different and so I wish the record to be expunged’, and so he agreed. The group captain said, ‘no, no, no’. Thank goodness the president was can, canny and realised what was happening and it was expunged and the truth was told, and a few people got black marks on that one but it, it was terrible, terrible management, terrible story for the Air Force.
CB: The, the squadron commander, the squadron leader, he stayed in his aircraft did he, he didn’t get out?
VS: Oh no, that’s right he went straight in, ‘cause he was floating underneath and when you make the mistake at that speed, if you touch the deck, you’re in.
CB: But he didn’t bang out, because he didn’t have a zero zero seat?
VS: No.
CB: And what happened to the planes that – where they did eject?
VS: They, they got away with it.
CB: The aircraft didn’t hit anything?
VS: No, fields, that’s right. Funnily enough, it turned out that, sorry, it’s ok, thank you, it turned out as, my pilot, Wiggins, had a daughter, or a sister, no a sister, had a sister who was married to a naval fleet air arm, funnily enough, strangely enough, she was married to the fleet air arm pilot that was on this course, the fighter leaders course and he was one of those that bailed out over Marham, and he told me in this house, when he visited for the first time, that he had no alternative to stick his nose down and hover as much as he could, and being directed to pull up rather sharply, which he did when he could see the ground. He was very nearly going in and he pulled up, screamed up high, ran out of fuel, bailed out, he got away with it.
CB: Amazing.
VS: He’s still alive now, at Chelmsford. Another story.
CB: Yes.
VS: Terrible story for the Air Force. I think it, I don’t think that will be on record [laughs]
CB: What happened in the aftermath of that?
VS: Well, one or two people had black marks, didn’t they?
CB: I was, I was thinking on equipment. Did they get proper equipment for both airfields then?
VS: Sorry.
CB: Did they get proper equipment for both airfields then?
VS: Oh yes.
CB: ‘Cause, if it had, if Marham had still got its CPN4, they could of got in on a GCA.
VS: No.
CB: Oh they couldn’t?
VS: No. The old one might have done, but their fuel was so short that they were running out as they were coming into Marham strip range. As I said to you, one was going down wind and he ran out so maybe the odd one or two on a thimble full of petrol might have been taken in, because with the CPN4, he would raise the antenna and obliterate a lot of the PEs, enough to see the aircraft to be able to take them into your precision talk down.
CB: The PEs being the ground returns?
VS: That right.
CB: Right. OK. We’ll pause there for a mo.
VS: You going to leave that in? Now, where are we?
CB: Right, so we’ve just done about the disaster at Marham. So what happened after that?
VS: Well.
CB: Where did you go?
VS: Soon after that, that’s right, we had, we had the Suez do.
CB: 1956.
VS: Fifty-six. And there I was on duty at night time, on the radar at Marham, got a phone call from Bomber Command, oh dear, great friend of mine, the names gone, anyway, they said ‘Vic, you’re urgently required at Malta, because no one knows quite how to fix the new MPN11 GCA that’s been delivered and been sited, but they’re not too sure about whether it’s been sited correctly and frightened that it might well break down, because its closer to the runway than the minimum distance laid down in the manual’ [coughs]. And so there I am, at one o’clock in the morning, in the married quarter, delving into my camphor chest for my car key and that, at eight o’clock, I was in a dispersal quite close to my married quarter in a Canberra, heading for Malta. Landed there at twelve o’clock, met up with my dear old SATCO, who’d been sent out earlier on, and he showed me around and had a quick, quick half and a sandwich and went out with CO Wright, checking the siting and the reflectors on the touchdown point approach and so on. And so managed to satisfy myself on one or two things, and it was a silly old type of war because civil aircraft was still landing and taking off there. The airlines and I talked a number of those down to prove that everything was ok and was able to report to the, dear old station commander at Marham, who was out there as the, the actual sortie commander, lovely fella, forgotten his name now. Anyway [clears throat], so went back to the Mess and had a meal, and off go seventy, four engine, no seventy aircraft, about forty, forty Avro Canberras and a smaller number of Valiants. Right. Valiants were just coming into use at RAF Marham at that stage. Thank you. And never the twain shall meet on the let down system, one catches up the other because they are not the same speeds for letdown. Anyway –
CB: This is the first of the V Bombers?
VS: Yes. So the seventy came back from a hit on Cairo and there again, Cairo was still open to civil aircraft. What a crazy war that was. Anyway, they came back and there was an absolute terrible thunder storm, and Scottie had devised a scheme, which was good, and he worked it good. He was the actual marshaller on radio and he was on a different frequency to me, on this three position GCA, and so I had two chaps that are detailed for actually marshalling and sequencing them, separating them and feeding into my own talk down, and he was fortunate that the actual returns, cloud returns, on our search part of our radar were in such a position that it helped. It didn’t hinder too much because that one was catching up with another, they went round the cloud and that showing on the search screen and that marshalling and then managed to sequence them very well, it worked very well . Forty went down the chute to me, Scottie put forty down to me and thirty to Hal Far, the naval base there and forty, they had a CPN4 GCA, so they were ok as well, and they all come, got down. But they were jolly lucky because the control tower didn’t see the aircraft until they were, just before landing.
CB: This is at Luqa? This is at Luqa?
VS: At Luqa.
CB: Yes. Right, we’ll pause there for a mo.
VS: [unclear] we were good, and -
CB: At Marham?
VS: Yes, at Marham. We were there, the weather was blooming awful and that night was our ball, the officers Mess ball and so I knew that we wouldn’t be very popular, the situation at Marham wouldn’t be very popular to have to get the admin side and all that all sorted out before two loads of aircraft with passengers, full of passengers.
CB: Civilian aircraft, yeah.
VS: Yes, civilian aircraft. So getting the customs in and that, and transport and all this sort of a thing, with a ball coming up and it was laughable afterwards, but it was serious stuff and the thing I had to impress on both pilots, and they took this very well, was that we were [pause] we, we were aviation red they called it, our airfield was, the — Marham was occupied by the Americans for a time. Then we took it back again and we had a funnel of aviation red lights, a funnel. In the meantime, others had progressed to other approach lighting and that lighting was said to line and bar, so I had to impress on these two airline pilots, if you see a light, don’t dive for it.
CB: When you —
VS: They’re either left of you or right of you, dependent where you are in relation to the centre line. It is not centre line and bar, it’s a funnel, a funnel of lights, they’d be either side of you and that’s where you want them, so don’t start diving for your lights because you’d be going away and in trouble. So follow my instruction, so I did that in the briefing I had before, and they took it and I talked them right down to touch down, but not very popular with the administrators [laughing] and all those, although all had a good laugh in the end. With all the passengers to deal with.
CB: So Marham was actually a master airfield, which it still is.
VS: Definitely, yeah.
CB: Was it used for any other airline emergencies?
VS: Well, yes, no doubt but I don’t recall them, not in my time. That’s the one I recall.
CB: Yes.
VS: Obviously, yes.
CB: When was that? It was in the fifties again?
VS: Yeah.
CB: Before fifty-six?
VS: I, I reckon that was, I had — in a married quarter at Marham and my wife caught TB, and she went into a sanatorium in [pause] fifty-four, fifty-five, she was there for fifteen months and it was quite a, a traumatic fifteen months, because I had two young children. So my mother and father came up from Worthing, who were quite old then, to keep house and I had a batman and given extra help and it worked very well indeed, and so I had worked extra shifts during the week day in order to have weekends off to get to see the wife. Now where is this leading? You asked me what?
CB: No, it was just when that was? So we know that.
VS: When that was, yes.
CB: Yes.
VS: So that was, that must have been around about early part of fifty-six
CB: OK.
VS: Because it was soon after that that I was whipped out to Malta.
CB: Because Suez was fifty-six. After that where, where were you posted?
VS: Oh excuse me, I’ve got cramp. Where did I go? I went somewhere that I wasn’t very happy about, but because I was GD, general duties, they’d never had one on, on, the, the calibration flight for radar and they wanted me to be the first one. So I was there for about a year, flying around in [unclear] and Canberra’s and being dropped off and jumping into radar positions and control towers and whatever, checking out their radar efficiency.
CB: Where was your parent unit?
VS: Watton, sorry.
CB: Watton, yes.
VS: Watton and — so I had, I was asked later on by air vice marshal [coughs] in charge of Task Force Grapple in London, how many hours flying I had had in the last year, and when I told him three hundred and seventy hours, he very nearly fell off his chair [laughs], and that was through chasing round in aircraft, calibrating radars and so I was a year on that and I was promoted, and I joined Task Force Grapple as a GATCO SATCO, and I was then in the underground vaults where Churchill was at Whitehall, we didn’t see daylight until we came up again during the day. Ferreting through files and what happened with previous testing , nuclear testing, I forget which went on and mainly in Australia before then, but there was one, one other, one initial operation that on Christmas Island called X-ray, in late, late, late, late, late fifty-seven or was it fifty-eight, I don’t know [pause] no, late fifty-seven because it was January fifty-eight, no hang on, hang on, fifty-six, fifty-seven, yes it was it was January fifty-eight when I joined them, that’s right, when I joined Task Force Grapple in London as SATCO GATCO. And I — going through files and that, and I was there for two or three days and along came the security officer, I think it was more like ten days, and asked if I’d been passed for top secret documents. I said, ‘no, no’, and there I was, with top secret documents in front of me. And so I thought that, that was a terrific check, you know, that says — Have you ever gone through that?
CB: Positive vetting?
VS: Yes, yes.
CB: Yeah.
VS: That, it, it’s just about three, three sheets together isn’t it? Lead to another, now if you’ve said something here and its put in another way, the other side, it shows up that you’ve told an untruth or —
CB: Yeah, yeah that you’re a fraud.
VS: Or a mistake. Yes, that’s right. It’s a very important check, there’s no doubt about that. Of course, there are some tricky people that will get away with it.
CB: Yeah
VS: But that was quite an experience because I had to ferret out what was there, all there on the air traffic control side, and did I need anything else, and if you wanted something to be sent out there for the first operation, which was for me Yankee, which was the first actual H-bomb test.
CB: Right
VS: The others were not H-bomb. And that was called Yankee, the 1st of April, so I had to get out there fairly early, but I had to get myself briefed, self briefed in London headquarters. Once out there, what did I need, and if I needed anything, get it on the ship because it would cost a fortune to send it out by air. It’s halfway round world, ten thousand miles. And so this went on and I, I went out there. I suppose from about February, March, I should think, late Feb, and gave me time to sort it, myself out from then on, on air traffic control before the first big one.
CB: We’re talking about nuclear weapon testing, Operation Grapple.
VS: That’s right, that’s right. Yeah [clears throat]. Oh I call him Dave. Air vice marshal was the chief in charge of that and he was the one that very nearly fell off his seat when he asked me the question, how many miles, how many air miles have you got in, and I said three hundred and seventy odd hours [unclear], three hundred and seventy hours and he fell off his chair. He— later on I met quite briefly at some special event attended by the Queen on parade. At, at Marham, I wasn’t there, I was, I think I was retired. Anyway, yes I was, I was retired but Grandy was there in a wheelchair, poor old chap, yes he was, he wasn’t too good. Anyway coming, coming back now.
CB: So we’ve gone through Grapple, then where did you go?
VS: Grapple, it would be, I, it was then, arghh, came back to London we were asked to say, yes we had Yankee and we had Mike, and Mike had two air drops and two balloon drops and that was the end. We came back, the Prime Minister had said we’re stopping all nuclear testing, that’s from the 1st of April, the 1st of October fifty, fifty-eight, that’s right. And so we came back, we all [unclear] in the specialisation to write a paper saying what should happen to our equipment we left there, bearing in mind, we might go, want to go back later but not at the moment and all that sort of thing. So myself and the group, navigation officer finished that and they were happy for us, just whilst, bide our time till we were posted. So where shall we go, Hank and myself. I said well what about the Parliament, I’ve never been in, in Parliament and I want to see something. So we went in and we asked a policeman what to do to get in, and he said, well you go over there, you fill up a [unclear] chit and if your member of Parliament is in the house, they’ll come out and take you in to the, this thing, the Strangers Gallery. So this we did and I said to Hank,’ I don’t know my MP, for goodness sake, I’ve got a house in [unclear] I don’t know the MP’, I said, ‘well what, what are you going to put down’, he said. Well it was the big chubby lady MP, I’ll think of it in a moment, she was a follower of amateur boxing and that sort of thing, funny remembering that.
PP: Bessie Braddock.
VS: That’s right, Bessie Braddock. You, we give him a clue and he comes up with the answers, there you are. And so Bessie Braddock came out and took us into this thing. I’m in Committee I’ve got to go, all of us are in Committee I’ve got to go an I’ll come back later on. And she did, dear old soul, anyway whilst we were there, in came Churchill, chubby faced, red complexion and of course, it was his latter few years, near his death really.
CB: Um.
VS: It was lovely to see. Lovely to see. And so what happened then? Yes. So then, ‘cause I was well known as being the radar boy I was posted to [pause] posted to the CNATS, National Air Traffic Services which was combined joint civil military headquarters for the whole base.
CB: West Drayton?
VS: No, no at [pause] London, London, Shell House at The Strand, just at the back near Charing Cross Station.
CB: OK.
VS: And I was [clears throat] C Ops 4, one down from a group captain, in charge of all the radar, area radar organisations. Now I think I’ve got that wrong. I knew there was something wrong. Before I went there, that, that comes out that later on. From the Task Force Grapple, I went on the area radar trials at London Airport, which was pre setting up an area radar service for air traffic control right across the whole of the UK, and it was radar that was used by 11 Group to control the aircraft on flights, flight paths over London for the Queen and various special occasions, and we, we took [coughs] this radar and did trials to, the whole essence behind it was that Group Captain Robinson, who was one of the leading lights of the air traffic control, managed to get a D Pack agreement with civil aviation that we could take aircraft through airways structure in this county on radar, maintaining a certain separation, without reference to civil controllers and that was a break through because that was essential, because at that time, the airways structure dropped, it increased their top limit of an airway became twenty-five thousand instead of eleven thousand and it was due to the introduction of the Comet. They raised the height of the airways.
CB: Right.
VS: And so our fighters couldn’t get through quickly unless something was done and done quickly. Because my experience showed that the GCI controllers were jolly good at looking, bringing two aircraft together, but they weren’t at separating them, they weren’t very good at that and they, they didn’t really keep an accurate line, on a, of the whereabouts of airways, they were very rough on radar on that one, between you and I.
CB: Um.
VS: Anyway that’s what proved that my trials. I was then sent down to Sopley to set up a radar service, that’s near Christchurch in Bournemouth, and the old GCI station which was still operating, so I had to pinch radar consoles from the GCI, they were all very reasonable about it and eventually took over the whole station and modified it to my requirements, and at the same time one was being, had been taken over at Hack Green near, in Cheshire and, of course, the, the [unclear] of radar on London airport, which was the start of things trials that was Heathrow, so we had three area radars covering the Southern part of the airways structures.
CB: Um.
VS: As good start. And I was taking aircraft off from [pause], what was the beacon and, in France and the French coast and was taking them off Comets, taking them off from there and straightening and aligning them. That was one of the first indications of, to our people that it was worthwhile. And taking the aircraft through airways and they could see how good that was.
CB: And the airways were amber 1 and amber 25?
VS: That right, green 1, amber 1.
CB: Amber 25?
VS: Yeah.
CB: OK.
VS: So that expanded all over the country.
CB: Right. Then what?
VS: So I left, I left, left there, I was posted to Heckle at NATO, which was field headquarters for the area radar field system at Stanmore, and a big country house outside Stanmore, RAF Stanmore [coughs], and there I was, the operations man and planning, helping to plan radar units throughout the country. In other words, taking old GCI sites or getting in on the sites already there whilst they were still operating and we took over three type eighty-two radar stations at Lindholme, Watton and North Luffenham.
CB: North Luffenham.
VS: Yeah. And so that was the situation. It was then that no one had my experience, so I was goaded to going to Singapore in Christmas of [coughs]of sixty-three and — to the, as CO of the air traffic control centre and building into that an 80CRU, in other words a radar unit, area radar unit and helping the civil aviation authority, the chief to set up and join me, in the radar consoles and set up in an operations, joint operations room. That took me something like eighteen months, and I came back as a wing commander and posted to take over one of the units I’d planned, mainly at North Luffenham.
CB: That was your last posting was it?
VS: No [laughs] then [coughs] I was posted to national air traffic services, that I went into too early with you, at Shell, Shell House, Shell Mex House no Shell House, The Strand and I was there as the C Ops 4 in charge of the military side of area radar and, and then I was posted back to NATO for a short period and then back again to C Ops 4 at, that’s now retired.
CB: When did you retire?
VS: It was really, well officially, early seventy-seven.
CB: OK. I think we’ve done really well. Thank you very much.
VS: [laughs]
CB: That’s really good, getting up to your retirement, but when was it first possible to keep tabs on the movements of aircraft over the whole of the UK on radar?
VS: Radar in a limited form was just a matter of thrashing on a screen to the layman. That was what [unclear] had in wartime during the Battle of Britain. It then became a precision, a cathode ray tube on which targets were shown, as blips that moved. And, so you can say that the first time that came in wasn’t for air traffic control it was for GCI, Ground Control approach.
CB: Interception.
VS: Interception rather. So it wasn’t until around about [long pause] the seventies, sixty-eight onwards or something like that.
CB: Um.
VS: That we, at ATCR, ATCRU, air traffic control side had access to some of the GCI radars for air traffic control purposes. It was only then that we really had, say three quarters of cover of the, the UK.
CB: I was thinking of when was it possible from the military perspective?
VS: Um.
CB: To watch the whole of the country?
VS: Never, never. And we’ve never had that and it’s possible we’re not completely covered now, we’re not far off it, we’re not far off it. We, we set up, set up a unit at Bishops Court in Northern Ireland, to try and cover over that side, the western side, but there’s always an area where you can’t see much.
CB: Um.
VS: There always is, there always will be with radar.
CB: OK. [bleep] We’re just going to do a few extra items for Wing Commander Stapley of Dersingham about his civilian activities after leaving the RAF.
VS: Quickly, I hope.
CB: So after you retired, Victor, from the Royal Air Force, you’ve done a lot of other things so what are they?
VS: Well I was taking stock to see the best thing for me to do and I thought in terms of, do I stay at Penn where I was living, which was a nice village but if I do, what do I do and I thought I’d be living on the golf course. And I thought that’s no good, I’d just taken up golf and I didn’t like it all very much and I always said I wouldn’t take up golf until I’d stopped playing cricket and of course, it was too late to take up golf. So I decided to move away, and we had the daughter down in Colchester and the son up at Newcastle, so we worked our way north from Colchester and came up with a house at the village of Ringstead, and that was in mid seventy-seven. And took over this old house and I was working on it when the, I was approached by the local representative of the council, would I put up at the next election of April seventy-nine for the District Council, not the Parish Council but that it included to be on the Parish Council as well, but the main thing was the West Norfolk Council was a District Council. And I thought, well that’s interesting because basically, I’d been a bit of a politician for a long, long time now, I’d been on NATs twice and having to go to see the Secretary of State for different things to do with military money, and I thought, well, yes, I think that’s a good thing, I’ll have a go. I was in the middle of replenishing, renewing various things on this country mansion, but I still took it up and I won and I, it was in the days of Thatcher taking office as well on the, in April seventy-nine and within a couple of years, I was chairman of housing, I was chairman of housing for about eight years out of the twelve years I was on the Council. I ended up as mayor of West Norfolk in my last year of 1990 to ninety-one, April to April, and retired as West Norfolk, West Norfolk mayor, mayor of West Norfolk. I then left the Council within months they made me a, an honorary alderman of the borough and here I have and had another decoration to a certain extent, I’m allowed to do different things within the borough, but that doesn’t mean a thing. Like a freedom of the borough. The aldermen were extinct, made extinct a long time ago. It’s just an honorary rank of appreciation. Now where did we go? From there, during my period on the Council, I had a doctor approach me from Heacham, I was councillor voted in, in the Heacham District here in Norfolk, and he approached me with regard to setting up a hospice. That was in 1983, whilst I was still on the council, he wanted my help. What I could do for him on the council. This I did, I joined him and I worked from eighty-three to ninety, no 2004, twenty-one years or something like that, as a Director of the hospice and Vice Chairman, I couldn’t take on the chairmanship because I had too much on my plate with other work things. I managed to get somebody to take over as chairman and we worked well together. Then I, when I left the council, also I had one or two organisations coming to me for, would I take over as this or that and the other, and one of course, that was dear to my heart was the chair, President of the local RAF Association, RAFA, Royal Air Force Association and I still am President and every year, I lay on a dinner in April and another dinner in September, and preside over the Battle of Britain memorial services at Tower Gardens in Kings Lynn, and various other aspects like that. The one for the [pause] Burma Star Association, they became extinct here as a branch and we took over that responsibility from them. We promised to do that, we still do that and of course, remembrance services and everything remembrance and such like. In addition being an honorary alderman, I get invited to all functions on the civic side, which are very nice to attend and see everybody again at each year and that is just about it, other than the RAFA. I preside over two dinners a year and also every other year, I lay on a big band concert, RAF the big band at the Corn Exchange at Kings Lynn. And that’s just about it.
CB: I don’t know how you have time to have your meals.
VS: I’ve finished [laughs]
CB: [laughs] Thank you very much indeed.
VS: You’ve, you’ve taken it all way.
CB: Wing Commander Stapley.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Victor Stapley
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Chris Brockbank
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
2016-08-02
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
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AStapleyVA160802
Format
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02:20:10 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Essex
England--Yorkshire
England--Norfolk
England--Rutland
France
France--Le Havre
Germany
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Stuttgart
Christmas Island
Egypt
Malta
Singapore
Malaysia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1956
1957
1944-03-30
1944-03-31
1944-06-05
1944-06-06
Description
An account of the resource
Victor Stapley was born in Ilford in Essex, where he was fond of playing cricket. He left school at fifteen and worked at a tobacco company. Then Victor became a shipping manager, a job in which he had to book shipping spaces whilst not having any telephones in his office. He joined the Royal Air Force at the start of the Second World War. After his training Victor became an engineer and went to work on the Mustangs of 2 Squadron based at RAF Sawbridgeworth. He tells of his first experiences with the Allison engine and Rolls Royce Merlin engines. After completing a flight mechanic course and becoming a fitter, he remustered as a flight engineer He crewed up at the Heavy Conversion Unit at RAF Lindholme.
Victor completed 28 operations, including Nuremberg, Stuttgart, Cologne, Essen and Frankfurt, but he missed out on his 30 operations when he contracted rubella. He tells of his experiences on his operations, and supporting the D-Day operations when he and his crew were sent to attack the gun emplacement at Le Havre. He mentions how he saw all the ships heading for the beaches. Victor also recalls being put in charge of training with Lancasters, Halifaxes, Sunderlands and Stirlings, before heading out to Malaya to work on supporting the Army.
He served during the Suez Crisis helping with issues concerning radar. Back home he served at multiple stations before becoming commanding officer at RAF North Luffenham. He mentions an incident at RAF Marham and joining Task Force Grapple which was involved with nuclear testing.
Victor retired in 1977 and then he became a parish councillor for West Norfolk Council, before becoming mayor of West Norfolk from 1990 to 1991. At the local Royal Air Force Association he takes part in events helping to organise the acts of Remembrance every year.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Vivienne Tincombe
aircrew
B-24
bombing
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
bombing of the Normandy coastal batteries (5/6 June 1944)
crewing up
fitter engine
flight engineer
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
mechanics engine
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
P-51
radar
RAF Lindholme
RAF Marham
RAF North Luffenham
RAF St Athan
Stirling
Sunderland
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1188/11761/PWayeJ.2.jpg
ecef38fda97f853a72c42f0b128d0a19
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1188/11761/AWayeJH171009.2.mp3
93369e73007e8bd2d54ac2dde5a14d7f
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
Waye, John Harry
J H Waye
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with John Waye (b.1923, 1803659 Royal Air Force). He served as an air gunner in the Far East.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-10-09
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
Waye, JH
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CJ: This is Chris Johnson and I’m interviewing John Waye today for the International Bomber Command Centre’s Digital Archive. We’re at John’s home in West Malling, Kent, and it is Monday 9th of October 2017. Thank you, John for agreeing to talk to me today. So, perhaps we could start at the beginning and could you tell us, please, where and when you were born and what your family background was?
JW: Well, I was born [pause] at Wickham as far as I, on my birth certificate that’s it. Wickham Place, which is nearby Borough High Street. And the whole area was erased and new houses put up in that place. And most of my knowledge stems from there ‘til I was, most of my knowledge stems from living in Mermaid Court. That’s a courtway between London Bridge and the Blue Eyed Maid which you’ll find in Dickens’ book. And from there well I went to Snowsfield School, the local school, until I was ten. Now, you want me to, do you want to go through what whilst I was there? That period?
CJ: Well, perhaps you could tell us a bit about what you did. Did you have any hobbies? What jobs mum and dad had?
JW: Well, as far as I can remember I used to have to toddle around to the shop to get a loaf of bread. I know that because I used to eat the crust on the way back home. And in those days each shop had its own particular business i.e. if you went to a shop you could only buy a dairy, dairy products. The dry greengrocer, not the greengrocer, the dry grocer he only sold you, sold tins. But he did sell bread about the thickness of your little, of your forefinger. And there was a little ridge there which probably denoted where it came from, you see. There were a few pubs around there. I know two shut down.
CJ: Did you have a job before you joined up?
JW: Well, oh yes, but prior to [pause] I’m going through the early stages.
CJ: Right.
JW: And my mother used to write out the paper what she wanted. A penny packet of tea or a pound of, a pound of sugar. We used to get butter. But that was during the Depression. But fortunately, my father worked on the river, and he would do a little bit of work here and there according to how much came up on the ships. If it came up light well he only had a couple of hours work. If it came up say in the summertime or the springtime they’d load up with tomatoes. Dutch tomatoes. See that goes back to economics and tax. Prior to that, stuff would come in from Spain or Canaries. Tomatoes. But then on a certain date tax, fourpence tax as far as I know went on to the cost of those tomatoes and the produce, put it that way. That went on and I used to run around at the end of the street. The street was only two hundred yards long. There was two bookmakers and my father used to like a bet. And he’d look, he’d come out of work at 12 o’clock because his working day was eight ‘til five on the docks. He was slightly later than that on other jobs. Like longer hours. And he’d write out a bet and I’d take it around to the betting shops one way or the other. If there was any money to come he’d show me how to work out a bet and I worked out there three cross doubles or trebles. Anything like that. Knowing full well that when I went around to the bookmaker and the bet came to, say two and fourpence ha’penny he would keep that ha’penny which was the usual practice of business. He wouldn’t give it to him. Give it to me. So, when I got dad I’d say to him, ‘I’m a bit short here.’ He’d look at me. He did no more. He put his hand in his pocket and gave me a ha’penny because betting was illegal before the war, you see. That’s why we had street pockets. Those, those people who could afford big money they dealt with turf accountants, you see. That’s the difference like between tuppence halfpenny and a few quid or something. So, that’s how I got on. Well, when I was at school when it comes to arithmetic and I get this, I only had a sheet of paper because you’d write down and they’re putting the thing on the board. There was a sum on the board. You had to work it out. Well, I could work it out and it was dead easy. I was doing it every day on the bet or something like that. And I’d be sitting there sort of say scratching myself. The teacher sent me out to make the tea. Or if I, if I happened to be in the playground or something they’d put it out and say, ‘Oi.’ You had to go upstairs, they’d say, ‘Go over there and get some biscuits,’ or something like that, over at the shop. So, I made sure I didn’t go, didn’t get to school too often early. Like lunch hour. Because you’d get, took an hour and three quarters for lunch. But most, most of the knowledge I have is up until 1933 because when I was ten I went into Hither Green Hospital with diphtheria. I had a sore throat one morning or one night or something like that. And I, the next morning I told them I’d got a sore throat. My dad whipped me round to Guy’s because Guy’s, Guy’s is just over the road from us, and he probably went to work or something like. He came back at mid-day, had a chat and I was whipped out the hospital straight away. And I finished up on my back in Hither Green for about six weeks. Couldn’t blooming move. You can’t move. All you can do is your eyes moving. Like that. You’re dead stiff on your back. And each morning at 7 o’clock the cleaner lady would come along. Oh, before that, at half past five you’d hear the night nurse on. Only one nurse on a ward. And she would, would be sitting there in case anybody woke up or was disturbed or something. Then at half past five the cups would rattle, and you’d hear the cups rattling and you’d know tea was coming around. So you’d get a beaker or something like that. And then at 7 o’clock the lady came in for cleaning the, polishing and cleaning the — and she opened the door and said, ‘Hello,’ or ‘good morning,’ or something, and you were pleased as punch to hear something different. You know, sort of I’m still alive at any rate. (Laughs). Yeah. And then when I got up from there I started, well I tried to race about. A bit stiff but I was all racing up and down as soon as I could. Get down in the yard there. Only between these two, like the two walls like. Racing back and forth. But in the meantime, going back, I’d come home. I’d come home from school and my mother would say to me, ‘Here take the bowl.’ We had a big enamel washing up bowl with a handle either side. The mission was to come over from Billingsgate Market. Well, that was only over the bridge to where we were living. Just below, near Borough Market. Go over there and they would, and they would have a number of like silver metal, metal dustbins. Not aluminum but steel but highly polished. Obviously for food. And in those days, there’d be the samples of different things depending which, who was the supplier. And we’d go over there and might get salmon or fish or something and come back with a big bowl or it might be tinned fruit. Anything that come in tins which they’d sampled or that particular area in it would come. And there is a book in the library, in the Southwark Library in the Borough High Street written by a young woman who lived opposite me. I lived in number 14 Mermaid Court. I can’t remember her name. But I know her name. Single name was Winnup. But I don’t know the married name. She’s probably down as her married name. But they got it there because when I asked some years back any information, the chap who was in charge of the library, he took out a book and put the folder right in. Put the pages in the book on the machines. And of course some of edges when it’s reproduced is not up to scratch. So, a little while, a couple of years later I happened to go up to Guy’s for my annual check and I popped in there. And somebody had taken all the pages apart carefully and put them in the right way. As you would making a new page, this booklet. But I’ve been up since. That chap has gone, and the newcomers are a couple of women. They don’t seem to know anything about the paper. The book. It’s in a book form but I don’t know who the author is or the chap who copied it. All I know is the person’s name is Winnup. The woman who wrote it.
CJ: So, John you were saying how you’d been in hospital for diphtheria and then you were cured.
JW: Yes. Yes.
CJ: And came out of hospital.
JW: Yes. At ten I was in, in hospital. So, then I was, I’d got, I was, I got well. Because whilst I was up each time I asked the nurse, ‘When can I go out?’ Because I felt I was being detained and I was alright. Seemingly. But she said, ‘No. You’re still not pro — ’ [pause] See, I can’t. I know what, I can’t find the words.
CJ: So, you still weren’t clear of the disease.
JW: Yeah. That’s the long phrase.
CJ: Yeah. Right. Ok.
JW: But there’s one word which in pro, not prominent. Something like that. I forget. And eventually I went out. And my dad came in. He was in black. All in black. But I thought, I didn’t take much notice of it since it’s cold. So, we gets down to London Bridge Station. We probably caught the train from Hither Green down to London Bridge Station. Walked out. We’re not walking down to Borough. Borough High Street where we lived. We’re going around to my grandma’s house. So, we were walking down the street and my aunt was walking on the other side of the street coming towards us. And when she got almost opposite she walked over to me. Took her purse out. Took her purse out and giv e me sixpence. Cor blimey. Sixpence was a heck of a lot of money. Thanks very much. Been in hospital. So, I gets around, gets around home and there’s, they lived just off Bermondsey Street, my grandma, grandpa. Then they told me my mum was dead. So, my life just, I didn’t know what day, what they meant. So, I had no reason. I couldn’t reason. What? She’s gone? She’s not here. So, with that went on and then of course I realised that I was, my mother wasn’t coming back because I had to pack in with my family and my grandma. So, that was that. But I couldn’t understand. I had two cousins. They were a bit older than me and they never seemed to play. I always used to be out on my tod in the street. If I went out to have a game there were always kids all running around playing football together. But I just couldn’t understand it. Whether they were told not to get too close to me or something I don’t know. You see in those days it was prevalent. Unsurprising, the number of people in the present day who speak out and say they had diphtheria. Because down where I lived the only flowers we saw were flowers on coffins. That’s something. Now, you go along you see shops in every High Street or something selling flowers aren’t they? That’s, that’s tough that was but anyway that went on like that and I didn’t, as I said when I was at school I, I was quite good at arithmetic and that type of work. Not, not so much English because they didn’t put too much into English. I think because we were close to the City and it was all quick-thinking money, the Stock Exchange type, I don’t know. Anyway, I tried to get in the Stock Exchange but I couldn’t get in when I left school at fourteen.
CJ: So, what did you do after leaving school?
JW: Oh, I, I got a job as, in the in the clothing trade, and we, we were making up stuff. I was making collars and nothing in particular…… and carried on like that, and after, after a couple of years I asked for a rise. Oh, my dad was out of work because — going back, I was working then when the war broke out. And the governor told us not to come in for a fortnight because he didn’t know what was going on. No work coming in. And went back to work, only for a while then they switched over onto war work. No extra money or anything like that and I asked for some. I asked for a rise and the governor was willing to give it to me but the paymaster wasn’t. So, I didn’t get any extra money. I was getting older. I packed up because my, my dad wasn’t doing too much work. Simply the traffic wasn’t coming up the river. He was a stevedore. So, and as he was, as he wasn’t he was able to work like odds and ends. A few hours or a day to cut a corner, whether the ships came up light or laden. So, we was either doing well or we wasn’t doing well. And that’s how, that’s how these things went. And he happened to be out of work at this particular time so I packed up. They didn’t give me a rise. Because the point is during the Depression whoever was working, they had to stay in work to support the rest of their families you see. And you can’t get cabbages growing in the streets in London. You can get them down here. You can, you can see them in the hedgerows or something. Get something to eat can’t you? But not in London. So, there wasn’t any extra food forthcoming that way. But I used to go to the market over, across the road in the Borough Market. And I used to take a sack, a small sack with me to school you see and at night when we finished I would race up over to market there and see if there was any carts left behind. Because if, say there used to be a sack or something burst open, there’s odd potatoes or a cabbage or something fell out or onto the cart or something they just used to kick it out off the cart because they can’t take them or they’d get pinched for stealing. You see. And if I, if I happened to touch lucky any particular day I got a good bag full of vegetables, I’d take them home and take them around to — oh that’s going back a bit farther really, take them all home to my mum. She’d take out what we needed and, ‘Take them around to grandma.’ So, I’d take them round to grandma and get a penny. Things were tough. It wasn’t for the laziness of the people. Everybody was out of work. Whether you were say a labourer or that type or whether you were an educated chap. There was no work for anybody.
CJ: So, were you still working up to when you volunteered to join up?
JW: Oh, yes. I was. I was working any odd job I could get hold of a few bob. It was a case of surviving in that respect. And as there weren’t much work in certain lines of business, because everything was geared to war work, it was like, tough. And the wages were still kept bottom because the production workers keep a lot of people going on top. Once the production worker goes their jobs go.
CJ: So, could you, could you tell us a bit about joining up, please, and how you decided on going for the RAF?
JW: Well, I was, I was interested in the, in aeroplanes and I went to the ATC. Joined up the ATC. So, I was ready to go in the RAF as soon as I was eighteen which I did do. So, I signed on straight away at eighteen. And during that short period we used to do a bit of training and like theory. See I can always remember how to fire an engine. You see you can’t go one two three four because of the alternate. Things like that you see. Little bits. Only little parts of aircraft and so on. In the end I went into the RAF. I went to [pause] I went to St Johns Wood, off Grosvenor Park, Val, begins with V the house I was in. It was in a little cul de sac with about three or four houses osn but it was, it was a modern, a modern place. A nice big bathroom. And there was only about eight or ten of us in a room. But it shows you how big the room was. All the beds were packed together like that. But the main thing was when you looked at the bathroom and the surroundings you could see how well off the occupants were in the past. Anyway, to get back onto what I was saying.
CJ: So, was this for initial training that you were in St Johns Wood?
JW: Ah, yes. Initial training. Yes. I, as I joined up and it was just you were drilled. Drilling and general get you in trim like. But after say 5 o’clock you had been to tea you could, you were free to go till 23.59, not twelve hundred hours, 23.59. So, we used to go swimming over the Seymour Road Baths. That’s only, that’s just behind Oxford Circus. And we marched, marched down there. I don’t know. I forget how many. Probably maybe about thirty or so. Something like that. We’d do that. We’d go, we’d go to Lord’s for drill. Lord’s Cricket Club. Up and down the slope like there. Marching up and down and doing all the drills and getting ready. Oh, I got fitted out. Fitted out but they didn’t have enough clothing there for the newcomers. So, all I got was a pair of boots, a black tie and I think there was a forage cap. So, of course I mean I had to wear that outfit whilst I was in the, in the RAF at the time. If I’d have changed into, into Civvy Street I would have been contravening the rules wouldn’t I? So, I goes home like that. Get on a bus and I just went home each night. Well, one day I gets on the bus to come back to the unit. There’s a chap sitting in front of me. He turned around, he says, ‘You’re improperly dressed.’ Who the blooming hell is that? He was a corporal. And I said, ‘I’ve just joined up and this is the uniform I got.’ Now, when I told him where I was going he was probably going to the same place. And it transpired that he was a publican in a pub about three hundred yards away from where I lived. On the old area where I used to live. Somewhere. I never saw any more of him and I had no, no more than that. One day I was on, I went, being home or I’d finished. Finished for the day and they had Nat Gonella playing some concert in aid of the Royal Air Force. So, I thought well I might just as well go there and pay the, contribute to the Air Force funds. So, I went there and I came back. 12 o’clock. ‘You’re late on parade, airman.’ It was just 12 o’clock. ‘You’re on a charge.’ ‘What for?’ You’re supposed to be in 12 o’clock. ‘You’re supposed to be here at 11.59.’ ‘Well,’ that’s 12 o’clock.’ ‘11.59 Air Force.’ So, a few minutes was three days.
CJ: So, where did you go after you’d —
JW: And what — go on.
CJ: After your initial training.
JW: Oh [pause] Oh, they shipped me down to Newquay. School like. To continue through you see. Well, I walked to work through there. And when they give you these papers to sign and I couldn’t understand some of the mathematics. How, how, how could A+B - equal that? A’s got nothing to do with figures. So I was stumped. Anyway, I failed that there. Then from there they sent me to Brighton. They got the same type of teacher on the board. On the book. A = Y Z and all that paraphernalia at the time mind you. I didn’t, couldn’t understand them. They didn’t come around to me and say here’s the, there’s a right-angle triangle. That’s the, that’s the adjacent, that’s the opposite and that’s the hypoteneuse. And if you use this one it’s not the same as that one. Each, each side indicates a certain type of system. We can come back to that after. I was beat again simply because they used, they used the letters A B C in algebra rather than show you how the job’s done. This is all what I’m recalling in my head and reasoning which is true. When you get older and you work that out. So, I went up to Bridlington. Then did the training up in Bridlington. Then I was shipped off to the Isle of Man.
CJ: I think you said that before the interview that Bridlington was a gunnery school. So, you’d been selected as an air gunner by then had you?
JW: I expect so. Because I had no say. You don’t have any say in the, in the services. You were a number [background interference] [unclear]
CJ: You had no choice.
JW: Had no choice. No.
[background interference] [unclear]
JW: You see. Anyhow, I went over to the Isle of Man. Did my gunnery course there and came back. Came back. I went on leave. And after the course I did about a fortnight, about a fortnight’s leave I think we got. And I got my marching orders to go to Harwell for operational training. So, I went on to Harwell. Did the operational training there and then that’s when they said, well I’ve got my log book. Told me what to do. Not to put any names down. They knew where I was going shall we say. I had no idea where I was going. So, I just had my log and from there I went — trip, trip, trip. Hurn. Hurn. Then from there to Porth, Cornwall. Porth to Gibraltar. Gibraltar to Fez in Morocco. Fez to Tripoli in Tripolitania then to, B26 Cairo. That was the aerodrome in the desert by the Sphinx. And that was that. I remember the number. It’s 26 Kilo it was.
CJ: So, were you flying out in the aircraft that you were going to be flying operationally?
JW: No. No. We went out as passengers. Myself and Nick Johns who was a pilot. We scheduled to go east on any command shall we say. We didn’t go by ship or anything like that. They probably wanted aircrew probably specifically because they’d got the B24s coming into operation. And as I said we went out there. The crew who flew us out they stayed on in the new Wimpy 10s. They were taking a new Wimpy out to replace the old 3s.
CJ: Wimpys are Wellingtons.
JW: Wellingtons.
CJ: Yes.
JW: The crew, they stayed on. They stayed on and they stayed on into 355 Squadron as well, and we went out as their passengers. Then we went to Cairo. Stayed there for a, for a week or two. Oh, about a month, I think. Then got shipped over to Tel Aviv. The old Lod. The old biblical name of Lod. I remember there we were standing there waiting. Waiting. There was supposed to be a bus or coach coming along. Don’t know how long we were going to remain on the station. Just, there was about half a dozen other chaps there, standing there. And the railway track passed the gate, the entrance to the aerodrome at the time. So, I stand there and the road comes parallel with the railway track and then goes diagonally straight across it. So, as this comes along I jumped out of the little crowd there, grabbed the tailboard of the truck as it went past and it yanked me along. Managed to climb up. It was very difficult. Tapped on the cab. The chappie looked up. You could see the fear in his face almost. He slowed down and I got in the cab. Apparently the Arabs at that time were having a go at the Jewish immigrants and there was turmoil out there you see. Apart from our war. I didn’t know that. So, we went there. Went to Tel Aviv. I always remember Tel Aviv. These low buildings. Whitewashed. Just the odd stone building which was the proper prefect’s place or offices or something, and a stony beach. Yeah. Stones like that which you get down the Mediterranean. You see the pictures now you might as well be looking at New York with all the skyscrapers there now and the cars flying along. Then, from there where did I go? From there to — is it [pause] it’s in the Iraq neck — what’s the capital?
CJ: Baghdad.
JW: Baghdad. Well, the RAF had a station there on the lake. I think it’s about a hundred yards from Baghdad. Before the aircraft were going they had flying boats doing the run across to Australia. So those water points, those flying boats could get down you see. That was before the aeroplane was strong enough to do the distance. What was the name of that?
CJ: Baghdad.
JW: No. No. The lake.
CJ: I don’t know.
JW: Habbaniyah.
CJ: Ok.
JW: Habbaniyah. That’s it. Habbaniyah. Habbaniyah. We stayed there for a couple of days or so. Then we got moving again on to Sharjah. That’s on the Gulf. There’s a RAF station. Habbaniyah, Shaibah which is in, which is Qatar. And then from there, from Qatar we went to Bahrain. They used to call them Trucial States, there were about five little States along the coast there you see up to the Horn. And we had stayed. We had bases there. Well, well after thoughts and knowledge Winston Churchill bought into that oil at Qatar in 1911. So you see where we got our fingers in the pie there. He was smart enough to know about the oil. But whilst I was at, what did I call that ‘rain? Bahrain is it?
CJ: Bahrain.
JW: Bahrain. In the souk. There was Americans. Oil. Then they were prospecting for oil around the area at that time. We used to hang an earthenware chatti up on the door in the sunshine to cool the water. It was, you could barely move, you know. It was an effort to move because of the moisture. What do they call it?
CJ: Humidity.
JW: Humidity in the air. Terrible it was there. Luckily we were away after a few days from there.
CJ: So, where did you get moved on to next?
JW: Karachi. From there we went straight over the bay of [pause] it was the northern part of —
CJ: Bengal.
JW: Bengal into Karachi. Stayed there probably about, stayed there about a month or more because the monsoon was on. Cor, you could see the train lines were up there like a boned fish. Sticking up out the ground they were. Water everywhere. Flooded. Terrible that. Eventually we got to Salbani. Into Calcutta. Then out again to Salbani.
CJ: Salbani was the RAF base.
JW: And that was, as I say the permanent operating base.
CJ: And were you the, so you were in 355 Squadron there. Were you the only squadron there?
JW: Well, when I was there the remnants of 159, 159 had moved from Salbani to Digri which was about twenty odd miles along the railway. There was no road. Very little roadways out in the area because they get washed away with the monsoons and so on. So, most of the aerodromes were on a railway track. And they were at Digri, which was about twenty or thirty miles farther on from where I am. Where we were at Salbani. They were operating from there, bombing whilst we were being trained by the remnants. Or shall we say a working party of 159. Because 123 chaps who were training us were ex, well when I say ex they were 159 people. And then we came into force as 355. And whilst we were training it was only 355. And then as the crowds came in 156 were training but we were operational then. And then that was Royal Air Force India. We came under India Command. On the New Year they changed it to South East and Asia Command with Lord Mountbatten as the CO. And I’d finished my time on there and all the, most of the chaps who did their flying there seemed to be moved off because some went down to Kolar. Oh, first off all the Aussies were being shipped back, back to Australia. And I was in the crew like an Aussie crew. Half Aussie in ours. Captain, he was Aussie, navigator was Aussie. Very very good. Most of the navigators were ex-schoolteachers. They came from Sydney. Mainly Sydney and the other southern Australia. South Australia. The whole lot. They’d come a roundabout way through Nassau when they did their training and then went on to meet us in Burma and that’s where we come together. Oh, and incidentally they were shipping them home. Time expired, and they shipped off at what, about three crews to my knowledge were shipped out to other units. Well, I went from there to Jessore. That’s it. I went to Jessore. Our crew, or more like the remnants of the crew, went with some others on air sea rescue to 91, I think it was, squadron.
CJ: Can I just come back to Salbani? So when? When was this roughly when you arrived there for your training after this long trip?
JW: Well, it was maybe about August or September. I don’t know. It was —
CJ: Of which year?
JW: ’43.
CJ: ’43. Ok. So, you were, before the air sea rescue you were flying bombing operations after your training from Salbani.
JW: From, from Salbani we, we were trained on four-engine bombers with the remnants of 159 Squadron. When that was done we still remained on the aerodrome as 355 Squadron, and 355 stayed on after I’d gone for a year or two to my knowledge. And when they found that we were time expired after six months trips or learned the whole kaboosh seemed to be shut down. As I said some went down to Kolar on, which was down in South Central India. It’s a rich town. I can’t think of it off hand. Some went there and they were obviously training new recruits because I read after, in say in in the books that these people were coming from Kolar to South East Asia in 1945. So, the remnants of our squadron were down there training them. And we were shipped out onto, I think it was 291 Air Sea Rescue at Jessore. Then we went up to [unclear] I think it was. We went to another squadron and that’s where I got my, all of us got our pass home.
CJ: So, when you were with 355 Squadron at these different bases you were flying bomber, bombing operations then were you?
JW: Well, at that time if you put your fingers out like that across Burma that’s how the mountains were. Fourteen thousand feet and upwards. Very very steep. Like that you see. As if something like a concertina had been pushed together and they gradually get narrow. Well, that’s Burma and they work from the Irrawaddy River towards the coast. And there’s only maybe two or three passes whereby you could come through. Otherwise you’ve got to climb over fourteen thou. Well, what had happened, we probably controlled those passes but the Japs came over the top. They were, they came through the jungle. Hacked their way through the jungle. And that grass is as thick as that. It’s called grass but you needed a mach, we carried a machete to cut our way through. But there was the coast road. A road came up from Rangoon up the coast, you see. And as they were getting quite close to Imphal and I can’t think of the name [pause] the British were holding them back. The Japs were pushing and pushing. And it was a seesaw seesaw so we were coming over and coming down and bombing the positions of the Japanese if they were there. Sometimes we’d get up to the runway and they cancelled because the British had pushed the Japanese back down the line and that position we were due to bomb was British held. My mate now he complains that we bombed his brother-in-law. His brother-in-law tells them that the blasted Englishmen were bombing us. You see. See that was going. Well that’s all we were doing, and then gradually in the meantime we’d go over to Mandalay or Pegu or some of the railway junctions. Nong Pla Duk, that was out near Bangkok, that one on the Siam Railway. And we’d be doing all those trips and that was our, my term back on the station.
CJ: So, which aircraft were you flying then?
JW: I flew. I was flying mid-upper all the way.
CJ: The aircraft. I think you said they were Liberators. B24. Is that correct?
JW: Oh yes. We weren’t flying. That’s why we went out there. To fly on it. To fly on the B24s.
CJ: So what were the crew positions on the B24s?
JW: Well, when we were flying we flew, we were still flying, taking out the old Mark 3s with the four machine guns in the back and a mid-upper turret. That was the aircraft. And then after about six months in come Mark 6s. Well, they had a front turret on. Or they might have been an earlier type. I don’t know. They had a front turret on and a rear turret. In fact I don’t think I ever flew with a chap in the front. I can’t remember anybody flying in it. Then we had 6s come in which had a ball turret. And I flew in that once. That was enough for me. I didn’t want to know about flying.
CJ: So, the other crew positions. You had a pilot. Co-pilot.
JW: No. No.
CJ: Flight engineer.
JW: There was a rear gunner, myself, wireless operator, flight engineer, navigator and a pilot. Didn’t have a second pilot. We had just a seven man crew.
CJ: You were mid-upper, you said.
JW: I was mid-upper. Yeah. But as it transpired later on they put other, as I say, ball turret gunner. A front gunner in. Then they put side gunners in from what I gather. From what I’ve read in a book. But that’s in 1945. Well, I’m home here.
CJ: So how many of these bombing operations did you do then against the Japanese positions?
JW: I don’t know, honestly. It never, it never bothered me. All I knew I was alive. So, I didn’t care where. I wasn’t in England. Would I like to get home? I was out there, so it didn’t make much difference how many trips. But I was tour, tour expired and they probably take in the number of trips plus the distance you had to fly on some trips. So say you do twelve, fourteen hour trips, you’ve got to keep your eyes open all the time to see, and you’re on, as I say you’re on your nerves with anytime someone could take a pot at you.
CJ: So did, was there much opposition on these raids from fighters or anti-aircraft fire?
JW: Not, not the, not on my particular trips, fortunately. It was other people who had the attacking by the aircraft. Now, most of ours was ack ack. We got caught in, over Rangoon. And oh, Joe [pause] Murdoch was second in command of the unit and he took over from Ercolani when he, not Ercolani, Dodson when he moved out. That’s right. And he took over the crew. And [pause] what were we talking about? Oh —
CJ: You were saying that when you’d been tour expired that they took into account the number of trips but also —
JW: Oh yeah. That’s it.
CJ: How long those trips had been.
JW: That’s right. And I suppose they just wanted the old, the old crews out and then the new lot were coming in. I’d read that they were already training. The Canadians already had a place out in Canada where they trained them on B24s, so there was no need for them to be trained up from two-engine to four-engine job because they were already experienced on it. Any rate, we we was over Rangoon and got caught in, the searchlight caught us, and it caught all the searchlights which were waving about. The whole lot. You couldn’t see a thing. You see that. See that edge. That’s all you could see. You can’t see the pictures on the wall. You can’t see yourself or anything. All you could see was a hairline of the outline of whatever the object was. The gun was just the shape of a hairline shape. A box. You couldn’t see what was inside that. It never denoted the frame or any bullet marks or anything on it.
CJ: So, when you were coned by the searchlights then they started shooting at you.
JW: Oh, they started shooting. We come straight down like nobody’s business. We got out of trouble, fortunately, but Joe was one of those chaps who wanted to be first home. And in the mean, in the meantime, I was sent to Bhopal on a course in central India. So I know the chap named Murphy. He was a rear gunner but he took over my place for the trip. And Joe, they come home and Joe ran out of gas over the Sundarbans. The Sundarbans are the mouths of the Brahmaputra River. Massive river that is. And it’s all like fingers of water going out. Some are deep and some are shallow. Well, he came down there and they all got out, but he went in with the aircraft and he got shot through the Perspex and it scalped him and, what I heard, that he was the first bloke who had penicillin in India. The first man to get it. I don’t, we don’t hear much of what goes on. Not much information what happened to him, but all those little things crop up. They’re not in a sequence to say it. Just something that reminds you during the conversation and you have to keep backtracking.
CJ: So, then, then you said you’d been sent on to another squadron for air sea rescue. This was still before the end of the war, was it?
JW: Oh yes. I’m still, I’m still in SEAC. I’m in SEAC now. And they trained, they seemed to clear the squadron out of the old hands. In the meantime, new crews had been coming in and a I suppose they were trained up, and it seemed to me that about a half a dozen crews had been shipped out. As I said some went to Kolar. We went, two crews went down to Jessore and another crew went up to Shillong on different units. But it was whilst we were in the, whilst we were in those squadrons, we all got notification that we were on a boat being shipped home from Bombay. But from the time we got notification till the actual move was a couple of months. As if someone got on the phone and said, ‘Five crews. Send them over. We’re sending them over to England.’ And when word goes around you expect you’re on your way. But no, it took a long time for papers to come through. Then we were at Bombay about three months waiting for a ship. Just hanging around. There’s no, no drills or anything. It was just a place to sleep. Somewhere to eat. Or if you’ve got the money and can afford the fare up to Bombay. Don’t forget the money was, was a pittance. God, it was terrible. And the army controls India at the time, and their monetary system was so poor they must have been about two hundred years back. You got, you want a week’s, a week’s wages to buy a cup of tea out there.
CJ: So, eventually a ship arrived to bring you back to England.
JW: Yeah. It was, it was a pleasure to come back on that ship. It was nice and sunny. See the flying fish coming along. And see that blue sheet? That was how the water was. Nice.
CJ: And did you know when you were on the ship what you were supposed to be doing when you got back to England?
JW: No. You’re just going back to England. You’re in the Army, in the Navy or the Air Force you was a number. Whatever it was. And you were being shipped from one place to another place.
CJ: So this was — when was this? It was still before the end of the war. Yeah.
JW: No. I was [pause] we were laying off. We came through the Suez and we were lying off Gibraltar. And I woke up this particular morning, looked out and saw all these ships. All these American ships out there. I said, ‘Gawd crikey.’ They must have sent them a convoy down towards the Mediterranean, right up to Gibraltar then come up that way to England rather than come in the northern. But it wasn’t until after a couple of days that they got the information that President Roosevelt had died. So I’m not sure what date it was. About 1944 I should think. But I do know where I was when President Roosevelt died. I was, I was just coming up the Bay of Biscay somewhere out of Gibraltar.
CJ: And then what happened to you when you got back to England?
JW: Well, we laid off. We came into Glasgow. Glasgow. And Burn, something Burn. The first bridge up in Glasgow was as far as the ship could go. Because you could stand on the ship and there was the bridge maybe hundred, two hundred yards away. It’s the centre of Glasgow. So we waited there and we were there a day or a bit more than a day. Then come late evening eventually we were told a train pulled in alongside the dock. We just walked down the gangplank and got the train. It was during the night. We were going through to Wirral. West Kirby. That’s in the Wirral. We gets there. We gets there at night time. No idea of the time. Didn’t have watches in those days. We were given, we were given, given something to eat, a meal, and packed off. Had some equipment and we went to bed. We got up the next morning. On parade. They took us up to, across to Liverpool. Jumped on wherever you were going. I, myself and the other chaps going to London or south got on the London train and that was that.
CJ: So, that was you being demobbed was it?
JW: No. No. No. This was 1944.
CJ: Right. So you were still in the RAF.
CW: Still in the RAF. Yeah.
CJ: So you were put on a train. You didn’t know where you were going.
JW: No. Not yet. Oh, we had a pass when we left the Wirral. They’d given us a fourteen-day pass. Call it leave, you see. Of course we went down there and I got a letter to report to — Harwell, was it. No. No. Somehow or other I was —I had to go up to (Shrivenall?). Up north of Shropshire. A squadron there. It was Rednal or Ridnal or something like that. An aerodrome, yeah. A nice wooded place it was, and I was put on flying control. So, I was up there for a couple of months and then the squadron was moved out from there to Wiltshire. Near Trowbridge. The aerodrome was near Keevil. Keevil. That’s Trowbridge. We was there a few months. Myself and another chap, Titch, and we were shipped [pause] shipped up to Newcastle. Now, what was that aerodrome there? It was north of Newcastle. Acklington. Acklington. That was the station there.
CJ: And what were you doing there? Was that aircraft control again?
JW: Aircraft. Aircraft. The two of us. And I was in charge of the ground aerodrome, you see. And one day, one evening Titch and I were in pairs and in control of the shop, and we needed a tractor so I said, said to Titch, ‘Go down and get one of the tractors, Titch’. We had a big Edsel Ford and it was useless it was. It had no guts in it at all. It just went along, put it that way. One day I got on and all they had was a piece of wire to stop it and start it. You pulled the wire out and it kicked over. You pushed it back it stopped. So, I had to go around the aerodrome and I’m driving around and down to, like the aircraft. They were putting it off the aerodrome. Turning it around and pushing it in to the, the hangar. And I’m coming along and I can’t stop this damned thing or do anything to slow it down. Luckily, they had to push it up. I went underneath them. That was a good job I didn’t hit it otherwise I’d have been up, right up the creek. And then I asked Titch to go down and get, to get a tractor and he went down there. I thought, ‘Crikey he’s a long time, isn’t he? I wonder what the heck’s happened to him.’ Couldn’t find out what was wrong. Where he was. Why it was. The next morning gets onto the sick bay again. ‘Oh, we sent him to hospital, Hexham.’ ‘Oh. Ok.’ Then we got information that he’d, they’d sent him to hospital which was at Hexham, that’s near Carlisle. Right across country to Carlisle, and I went in and I said, ‘What happened to you?’ He said, ‘Well, I swung, I swung the handle to start her up. It kicked back and smashed me — .’ Took two inches out of his arm. They had to shorten his arm. Take out all the smashed bone out and put that on. Never saw him again. Suppose when he got better I suppose he was demobbed. And I’ve heard nothing since.
CJ: So, were you doing aircraft control until the end of the war?
JW: Yeah. And then I was left there on my tod. The other, the officers, the two officers they never turned up. Well, I didn’t see them, put it that way. And I thought to myself, I never got a breather because it was a three, three shift system. By the time you got home and had a sleep and got up again it was time to get ready and go out again. And somebody wanted, somebody lived up north, was stationed at Tangmere and, and he wanted to shift up north. Well, I heard about it so I said, ‘Well, I’ll have it. I’ll change over. See if I can change my job or something, you know beside being nearer to London as I thought. Didn’t realise Tangmere was still seventy miles from London [laughs] So, we changed over and I finished up at Tangmere. I was demobbed from there up to London. Demobbed.
CJ: So, do you remember what you were doing, what the atmosphere was like when the end of the war came?
JW: I didn’t —
CJ: How you got the news?
JW: How the what?
CJ: How did you get the news that the war had finished? VE Day.
JW: Well, to be quite honest it had no effect on me personally. It did on some people. And you see them depicted in the paper or the news. Everybody enjoying themselves. I didn’t because I happened to be on leave and I’ve never seen such misery in my life. I went home. There was nobody there, only old women. And they didn’t have coats. Some of them had shawls. You see they moan about these, what do them call them? Muslims with these —
CJ: Hijabs.
JW: I’m not saying the ones with the high side and the hat and the pin underneath the chin. Well, some of the women dressed like that. Because they never had the money to buy. They were expensive. Women’s clothing. And I came home and I seen these elderly people walking about. Neighbours. No lights. And unlike India and places like that where there’s thousands, millions of stars up there just like lights shining down you could see your way about everywhere. You had lampposts and things like that on, in front of you. I went into a pub and there was only me and my father in there, and my stepmother. And I think the old-fashioned oil lamp on the counter. No noise. I thought, bugger this. I was glad to get back.
CJ: So was there a lot of bomb damage as well in that area?
JW: Oh, at Guy’s Hospital. They counted fifty six bombs in Guy’s Hospital. Where that Shard is at London Bridge Station. A bomb. On this particular night I went to the pictures. The Troc-ette up in Tower Bridge Road with my mates at the time. We went in there and when it finished we came out. My mate, he said, ‘Well, my mother and sister, are down in, down under London Bridge Station, in the shelter.’ And they had a huge massive steel door. You went through the front and behind. In the tunnel itself there was a massive door. They went down there. Myself and my best friends, we went home. We didn’t know until the next day that the bomb had hit that shelter and killed so many people. And also the secondary bomb which was dormant temporarily had exploded and killed the nurses and doctors who were out from Guy’s looking after the children, the people in there. So that part laid derelict, laid derelict until they built the Shard. That’s fifty years isn’t it? In the meantime the, the Post Office used, used the top to take their mailbags up. They made a path, a road up from the ground and they came up that way from, from the street. And I was opposite, in bed in Guy’s and I used to look out and on Saturday nights the bottom, bottom part there they used as a dance club. Rented it or something like that. And usually crowds of youngsters up there bawling and shouting because there was a dance on. We used to see that. Well, then they cleared them out and they put the Shard up there.
CJ: So, when was it you were demobbed, and what did you do after that?
JW: I went back on tailoring. That’s all I knew. If I’d have known [pause] If I’d had knowledge of what was, what to do through experience, as I said to you I was quite hot at arithmetic and figures. I’d have gone in, I’d have been better off going in the air in one respect. Because after going to school through the RAF I learned further education, you see. Which the children don’t get. Next higher up levels as you go up. So, in one respect I’ve never been lucky on raffles and things like that. You see. But, I’m still alive. Now, my mates we went to the pictures on that particular night. He went home. John. John Rose he was. My mate’s name. He went home. He joined up the RAF just after myself and he joined up as a aircrew. Volunteered for aircrew and you’d got to be able to pass an exam to get into aircrew and be fit. And he went to Pembrey. There’s a gunnery, a gunnery school there down in Pembrey in South Wales and so on. Then he was posted to 76 Squadron, Linton on Ouse. I had a couple of letters. I had them here. And he wrote back and he said, “Well, I don’t mind going to Berlin.” Now, Berlin was always splashed in the paper as a terrible place to go to for aircraft. I suppose it was just reassuring news that to the public at large. But he said his squadron were doing like the dirty work. The — what’s the word for it? Diversionary. And he got shot down and killed over Magdeburg. Don’t know. There’s no name of where he went. He’s one of the nine thousand odd missing. So, all I can figure out is that they’ve gone in to bomb. The shell’s done that. I only hope that he didn’t get damaged and come down in the North Sea because he’d just freeze to death in the North Sea.
CJ: So, did, did you carry on tailoring until you retired?
JW: Yeah. Yeah.
CJ: Or did you have any other jobs?
JW: Yes. I was tailoring. And [pause] some clothing if it had silks woven into it. Stripes, bottoms. Hundred percent tax. There was no turn ups. They were all straight bottoms where before the war they were turn ups. That’s one of the things that made it hard for tailoring to make a good profit. Also, if the cost of the primary object was increased all those people who get a cut all the way to the retailer, put the price up. So, it was to their interest that they kept the price down, so the tailors were always, as different jobs came in sometimes you were rushed. You would be working late into the evening and half the night with jobs. In that particular trade people would, businessmen would come in. Business people would come in. And they, they would make arrangements say for next year or sometime next year. Well, if you get one or two people come in at the same time and want, you’ve got the job half done. Like prepared. Not finished. Three of them come in and say well shall we say and all wanting in the one day or two you’re working half the blessed night. You see. That’s the, that’s the point when the chap works on his own on a business.
CJ: So, coming back to the RAF. Was there a Squadron Association that you joined and you went to any reunions? Or did you manage to —
JW: I was too busy.
CJ: Keep in touch with anybody?
JW: I couldn’t. The job itself, my job itself wasn’t a regular nine to five job. So, therefore I couldn’t. I couldn’t say well I’ll be in such and such a place at 6 o’clock three months’ time. I don’t know, I might be busy. And if I’m busy and I’m working there and I don’t do the job there was no work. You see. Whereas the chap who, say for instance the chap who works for the government he’s a salaried person. He walks, well he gets to work at a certain time, does his jobs and walks out. Finished. At the end of the week in those days, or a month there’s his cheque. If he goes to buy his house — ‘Who do you work for?’ ‘Oh, I work for this government place,’ so and so, and so and so. Income and all that. They’re guaranteed to get their money back in a sense because as long as you’re alive they’ll get their money back eventually and the profits on it. On the other hand, the manufacturer or the person working in manufacturing he could get the sack, the sack with an hours’ notice. There’s no, I can’t think of the word. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be working next week. He signed up today. He might be out of work next week and can’t afford, hasn’t got the repayments. So, they’re not going to take chances on him and they couldn’t give it. It’s only when that, do you want some money lark came in and they allowed people to buy their house it was like chancing it. It’s all changed.
CJ: I think you told me earlier that you’d been up to the Bomber Command Centre a couple of years ago. Was this the opening?
JW: Yes. That’s. Now, did I have it here? I don’t know whether I —I went up there. I don’t know how I got, I may have got it through the club. Oh, here we are.
CJ: But this was for the opening of the Spire was it?
JW: Yes. It may have been sent through them. I can’t remember but —
CJ: So, did —
JW: My mate. He’s mad on aircraft and anything and he’s, he’s in this here, the club at Shoreham.
CJ: The Friends of the Few.
JW: Yeah.
CJ: At Shoreham Museum. Yeah. Ok.
JW: You see. And through him he probably may have put my name down or something or the other. Anyway, I got that information and he himself was going up there so he said, ‘I’ll take you up.’ So, he takes me to Biggin Hill and, because I can’t get out of here. I’ve got no car and I don’t drive.
CJ: Did you get to see some other, to meet other veterans when you went up to Lincoln?
JW: No. No. I didn’t. I didn’t meet any, any there when I went to Lincoln. Well, that’s another point. I went to Lincoln. As I said there was this big marquee where all the ex-aircrew were and there was seating there for four hundred and only three hundred odd turned up. So, I’m sitting here, and my granddaughter took me up. She’s sitting there on my right, and there was an empty seat opposite me and a chap came in and he sat down opposite me. That’s right. I said, ‘Good morning,’ or made, to make a conversation. But he was dumb in a sense. Alright. We get our dinner. We’re getting through our dinner and my granddaughter, she’s asking him and talking to him and so on and so forth. I can’t hear because I’m partially deaf, and then the noise, the hubbub going on. And then I saw a woman slide in, in that empty seat opposite my granddaughter, and she put a paper in, about that size. A4 folder. Opened it up, and it’s something or the other and he started crying. Put his head down weeping. I thought, well what’s happened here? Well, it transpired that he’d have been involved in this Croix de Guerre or something which the Frenchmen put out. He’d been flying over Paris or somewhere in France and got shot down. He was captured by the Partisans but he managed to get away. The Partisans got shot by the Germans but he managed to get away. And then he, he got through somehow or the other. He got back to England. He went over again and he got shot down again. And something serious really upset him. Whether that was the first time he was manhandled by the Germans or second time, something like serious upset him and he was just shaking and crying there. His head was almost on the table. You couldn’t console him. Just let him go out. And she gave him this. She showed him this citation and the paper and she read it out to him. He was in no condition to read it all. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember whether she gave him the medal or if this was just the citation before the medal was presented. But I said to my granddaughter, ‘There you are. That’s, you’ve seen it with your own eyes what these blokes went through.’
CJ: So, how do you feel Bomber Command were treated after the war? Aircrew?
JW: Well, quite honestly I was too busy trying to make a living. I didn’t have a secure type of job. So, I was like in and out of work short time, because once you finished your job you were paid and that’s that. There was no, no signing on the dole or, or things like that which people get. That’s the difference between my way of thinking of the past, pre-war to those who were born after the war and always get these freebies. Think they’re hard done by if they have to work or something. But otherwise every time I have a flash, sometimes I might be half asleep and I have a flash come through and it reminds me of where I was or sometime or the other or what we were doing. But not just reading it off, like from a book. It’s gone out the back of my head. That’s why these are patchy like when the, as I’m talking. I’m talking at the present and something’s happened before that in in the past leading up to the present or the future. But I’m just my, the crux I have when I think of the children. How they’re not getting an education that they should be getting. Because there won’t be any work now when those ships come here from China with a million tons on board. Come up the Thames. Were they going to come up here with cars? You see Chinese cars on the market, or like pictures or films of them? We’ve been led to believe that the Chinese are a poor country or something. But when you, when you see the traffic around Beijing. Those places. It’s always us who are behind. Not them.
CJ: Well, thank you very much indeed, John. That was a fascinating interview. Thank you for talking to us today.
JW: Well, that’s quite, I’m glad to have a chance to talk about it. I’ll probably remember a lot of things when you’re gone. But that’s one of those things.
CJ: Well, thanks very much. You remembered an awful lot.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with John Harry Waye
Creator
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Chris Johnson
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-10-09
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AWayeJH171009
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending OH summary
Format
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01:31:46 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Description
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John Waye grew up in London. He was ten years old when he was hospitalised with diphtheria. When he was discharged he discovered his mother had died while he had been in hospital. John was working in the retail trade and was in the ATC before he volunteered for aircrew. He trained as a gunner and was posted to 355 Squadron at RAF Salbani. As a member of 355 Squadron he and his crew were involved in operations against the Japanese. He was then posted to air sea rescue duties from Jessore.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Chris Johnson
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
India
Iraq
Israel
England--London
India
Iraq--Ḥabbānīyah
Israel--Tel Aviv
Bangladesh--Jessore District
Bangladesh
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
Requires
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John was born at Wickham Place, London, and went to school at the Snowfield School until he was ten. His father worked on the river during the Depression. John tells of his live during that time including some illegal betting.
After leaving school he worked in the clothing trade until the Second World War broke out when John joined the ATC with the intention of going into the RAF as soon as he became eighteen. He was sent to St. Johns Wood for his initial training, with drill at Lord’s Cricket Club. John was sent to Newquay, Brighton and Bridlington which was where he learnt to be an air gunner.
In his logbook (not in the collection), he recorded the places he went to before arriving in Ciro, Egypt, and seeing the Sphinx. John He travelled as a passenger together with a pilot, in a Wellington 10. He finally arrived at RAF Salbani where he was in 355 Squadron. Here he was trained to work on four-engine bombers and flew B-24 Liberators operationally.
John describes the various crew positions and that they were a seven-man crew. He was a middle-upper gunner working to bomb the Japanese positions. Sometimes an operation would be cancelled because the British had already taken to target area from their opponents. John describes the opposition he faced both from enemy fighter aircraft and anti-aircraft fire. One of the returning trips involve the aircraft running out of fuel and the rear gunner seriously injured.
He was in India Command, which became Royal Air Force India, then Southeast and Asia Command. While there he met many Australians returning home. John was in an Australian crew, and they were sent to Jessore to go onto 91 Squadron – air sea rescue (SEAC).
John was shipped back to England before the end of the war (VE). He learnt that President Roosevelt had dies while between Gibraltar and the Bay of Biscay. 1944
Once in England he had to report to a base in Shropshire. John’s Squadron moved to a range of bases before working in charge of ground control at RAF Acklington Northumbria. John worked aircraft control until the conclusion of the war.
VE Day had ‘no effect on [John] personally.’ But there was much deprivation with the devastation from the bombing and the lack of money to buy clothing. John returned to tailoring after the Second World War, from which he retired. He didn’t join a RAF Squadron Association or go to any reunions because his was an unsecure job, so John didn’t have much time to think about how the members of Bomber Command were treated after the war.
John has been to the International Bomber Command Centre and was there at its opening the Spire). He found it difficult to talk to other veterans as he’s partially deaf now. He sometimes has flashbacks to his time in the RAF and feels that they should be learning much more of the Second World War.
Claire Campbell
air gunner
air sea rescue
aircrew
B-24
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/19/43/PAutonJ1503.1.jpg
fcd84ad8b587a4e098652670dd63b4c8
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/19/43/AAutonJF150608.2.mp3
6ee59b7c7d75a4b3e1001264485de6ae
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Auton, Jim
J Auton
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection relates to Sergeant Jim Auton MBE (1924 - 2020). He was badly injured when his 178 Squadron B-24 was hit by anti-aircraft fire during an operation from Italy. The collection contains an oral history interview and ten photographs.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Jim Auton and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Date
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2015-07-30
Identifier
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Auton, J
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CB: Well Jim, perhaps we could start with your date and place of birth please?
JA: Yes I was born at Henlow, my father was an officer in the RAF and he happened to be stationed at Henlow when I happened to be born.
CB: And what date was that?
JA: That was the 13th of April, 1924
CB: And what do you remember about your childhood?
JA: I remember when he was transferred to Cranwell, I started infant school at Cranwell and we had to walk across the aerodrome to school, and there were about twenty of us and we were told to walk in groups together and if you see an aeroplane coming in, stand still [emphasis] so he can avoid you and we used to see aeroplanes coming in to land on the grass field, they were bi-planes of course and we’d wave to the pilot and if he waved back to us that made our day because pilots were our heroes and we all wanted to be like daddy and join the RAF when we were old enough and next to the school playground there was an aircraft dump, old fuselages, they’d taken the engines out and the instruments but we’d climb into the cockpits and stand there and go ‘dud dud du du’, we were shooting down Germans when we were five years old, we knew the Germans were the enemy, I don’t think our government knew at the time.
CB: So you have happy memories of your childhood in Cranwell?
JA: Yes, and then of course we, he was stationed at Manston and we could go in the workshop and see the fitters working on the planes, they never told us to shove off, and we liked the smell of dope on the aircraft on the canvas and, but when they took an aircraft to the butts to synchronise the guns, they’d jack up the tails to get the plane horizontal and we’d stand around with our fingers in their ears while they were shooting into the pile of sand in the butts, and then when an aircraft broke down we used to rush out across the aerodrome to help the man, help the men push it and for kids it was marvellous, we loved aeroplanes.
CB: So do you think that’s what started your desire to join the air force later on?
JA: Well you see I was brought up on RAF stations, RAF camps and I didn’t know any other life, we were isolated from the outside community, we had free medical treatment, free dental treatment, we were in married quarters most of the time where even the crockery was provided, all the linen and everything, so our whole life was in the air force until we were adults, so naturally we all wanted to be pilots when we grew up, and when the war was announced I thought ‘oh good they’ll need more pilots now’ [slight laugh]
CB: So off you went to volunteer.
JA: Well when I was seventeen I couldn’t wait, I went to join up, and I registered as a pilot but I found later they put me down pilot navigator or rather pilot observer as it was in those days so they could change me any time they wanted, and I started flying training as a pilot and then when they introduced the four engine bombers they didn’t need two pilots, so they would have a pilot and a bomb airman who had done some flying training and he in an emergency would be able to take over from the first pilot so the bomber was a second pilot, but and [slight pause] I started flying in England but the German intruders flying over us, over England were shooting us down in our training planes, so the Government opened the Empire Air Training scheme.
CB: Where did you do your initial training?
JA: At Ansty near Coventry and then after much delay because flying schools were all full and there was a waiting time, I was sent to South Africa as a navigator and I trained there as a navigator, but I wasn’t very keen on being a navigator so I also trained as an air bomber, because I knew air bombers would be allowed to pilot the plane, in an emergency, and even during training the staff pilots would allow me to take out over and fly the Oxfords and Ansons because that’s all I wanted to do really and so I trained as a navigator and a bomb airman.
CB: What about your journey down to South Africa?
JA: That was marvellous, hundreds and hundreds of them on a small Liberty ship. We were told you mustn’t be below decks during daylight, so we had to stay on the top deck in all weathers and there wasn’t room for everybody to sit down, so if somebody stood up you immediately sat in that place and some of the troops perched on the ship’s rails until they broadcast anybody falling over will drown because the ship will not stop to pick anybody up, so we couldn’t sit on the rails so we had to stand up sometimes for ten, nine or ten hours, during the day, we were fed twice a day, seven in the morning and seven in the evening and the food was like an airways meal on a tray and it wasn’t enough to keep us alive and I asked the crew, it was an American Liberty ship and the crew were Filipinos and Negroes and I asked them ‘do you have this terrible food that we have?’ and they said ‘no we’ve got plenty of food’, they said ‘if you come and work in the kitchen for us, we’ll let you have our food’, so I spent couple of weeks washing up dirty dishes until the heat got too bad and I went back on the troop deck again, but during my time in the kitchen I was allowed to sneak some food out for my friends [slight laugh] who didn’t work in the kitchen, that was all unofficial of course.
CB: Was it better food in the kitchen or just more of it?
JA: More of it and better.
CB: So they were keeping you on starving rations basically?
JA: Yes, yes, eventually the doctor said I was suffering from severe physical debility but that was much later, we were on this ship for six weeks and they warned us we were in shark infested waters and the ship wouldn’t stop for anybody falling over board, but it was quite an interesting voyage except the sun was dreadful in the tropics and there was no shade, and the officer in charge of troops thought that we were cadet officers because we wore a white flash in our caps but we weren’t and when we got to Sierra Leone Freetown somebody must have told him we were not potential officers and he said ‘right, you’ll have to do all the duties’, fire picket, fatigues, peeling potatoes and all sort of things like that and guard duty for the rest of the voyage, another three weeks and my name beginning with an A, I was one of the first to be chosen for guard duty and it was a stinking hot day and we were anchored off Freetown to re-fuel and I found a hatchway and a collapsible chair and I sat in that hatchway and dozed off because I’d had no sleep, we couldn’t sleep on the deck as it was too hot and the smell of the engine oil, and I dozed off and suddenly I was awoken when the ship’s officer came round on his inspection with the ships warrant officer and they bellowed at me ‘what are you on? sleeping duty?’ and I said ‘yes, sir’ because I didn’t like to say no to anybody in authority and they said ‘you’re under arrest in five minutes’, ‘oh dear’ I thought ‘I’ll be all on my own in prison’, the brig, the ship’s prison was below the water line, it was nice and cool and I wasn’t on my own, there were eleven other air crew cadets in there with me and the police who looked after us took us round for dinner wearing their caps and then they said ‘you keep your mouths shut and we’ll go round again’ and they took their caps off and we had a second dinner, so being in the brig wasn’t so bad, except we were locked in and we were below the water line and there were submarines about, so we thought if, if a submarine hit we’ll certainly drown like rats in a trap but it didn’t happen of course.
CB: It must have been quite a relief to get to South Africa after all that?
JA: We anchored off in Table Bay about quarter of a mile from land and the dock workers had a big lump of rusty steel plate and they wrote on it in chalk: ‘plenty of food, plenty of women, plenty of booze’ [laughs] and the next day we docked in the harbour and we were told you will be discharged tomorrow, and there was nearly a riot because we’d been cooped up for six weeks and eventually they said ‘Ok, you can go into town but you must be back at midnight so we all went into town, it was paradise, things we hadn’t seen for years like pineapples and peaches and plenty of food and so we goaded a kind of a restaurant run by volunteers for service men and some old ladies served dinner, so we had a three course dinner and when we finished they said ‘would you like anything else’, and we said ‘could we have it again please?’, so we had another three course dinner, then we had half a dozen bananas on the way back to the ship [laughs] and we brought a coconut, it was paradise, but at flying school wasn’t so funny, the day we arrived we were told that five aircraft had crashed and twenty five air crew had been killed, that’s five pilots and two navigators in each plane and two bomber men in each plane, five men in each plane and the reason was the staff pilots had been low flying round a hospital where somebody’s wife was working and all five crashed (these would be Ansons?) they were Ansons and they, we were told report those pilots for low flying in future but we didn’t do that because we liked low flying because stooging about high up isn’t much fun, but low flying is exciting [clears throat].
So after training in South Africa [coughs] for nearly a year we went up by stages through central Africa, Rhodesia, Kenya, Tanganyika, Uganda, the Sudan to Egypt where we found we were going to live in the Heliopolis Palace Hotel, marvellous [emphasis] but when we entered we found there were no beds, no furniture of any description and we had to sleep on the marble floors and our kit had been left behind in South Africa so we only had the clothes we were standing up in, so I wrapped my shoes in a towel to use as a pillow and lay my uniform down on the marble floor and slept on that, I found that I had to sleep on my back otherwise my hip stuck into the marble and it hurt [slight laugh] and then, I was then sent to Palestine where there was a war, the Jews and the Arabs were fighting each other and both sides were fighting the British Palestine police and while I was there they blew up the radio station and they blew up hotels, and people were fighting in the streets and I thought ‘I haven’t got into the war yet but I’m going to get shot by our own police’, and they had said to us, because we each had a revolver, ‘hand in the revolvers in the armoury, so I went down to the armoury which was in the cellar of the hotel and I handed my revolver in, and I saw the men there were mounting twin machine guns on a platform to be carried on a lorry, so it was a war, but then we were then transferred to Lidder, after going back to Egypt and wasting some more time sleeping in the western dessert on the sand, we had to empty our shoes thoroughly because there was scorpions in the dessert and the sand was almost too hot to walk on and the authorities had laid a tarmac path but it never hardens and it was like sticky toffee so we couldn’t walk on that [slight laugh]
CB: And this was part of your flying training or were they just moving you from place to place?
JA: Moving us around, and then we went to Lidder for a conversion course, onto Liberators, about a five week course.
CB: Were you expecting Liberators?
JA: No, when we saw that we were going to fly Liberators, we thought ‘they are American planes, why haven’t we got Lancasters?’, ‘cause we knew about Lancasters we thought they were marvellous, Liberators were unknown and didn’t even know that the RAF had Liberators and we thought they’re gonna send us to Japan because the Americans had Liberators so we were a little bit frightened of that, because we thought we should be helping defend Britain, we thought the war in Japan is an American affair and we shouldn’t be anything to do with that, but after we’d been shuttled around in Egypt to Palestine for a bit we went to Algiers by air, nine hours, and we thought we were on our way to Italy, when we got off the plane we saw a French flag and we said ‘what’s this place?’ and a French airman said ‘it’s Algeria’ or at least he said ‘it’s Maison Blanche’, we said ‘where’s that?’ he said ‘it’s Algeria, it’s North Africa’ and we said we’re supposed to be in Italy but there was nobody to ask, we could ask any questions and he said ‘you can go to a hotel here and sleep in huts in the grounds’, and then you should go to Algiers’s downtown about twenty miles and report to the RTO, transport officer, we went to see him the next day and he said ‘oh bomber crews, you’ll be here for ages, you’re low priority’, he said ‘only fighter pilots are priority one’ and our navigator said to me ‘we are priority one, I’ve read the documents’ but I said ‘shut up, it’s nice here’ so I said to him ‘the French people don’t seem very friendly’ and one of the gunners said ‘no wonder, we’ve just sunk the French fleet in Iran, so [slight laugh] after three weeks we said to the corporal in the RTO’s office, ‘I think you ought to have another look at our documents’ and he stood and talked on the telephone for a few minutes, kept us waiting because we were so insignificant, a low priority, then he looked at the documents and nearly had a fit, he said ‘you’re priority one, you should have left the same day’ he said, ‘you’ll be on a plane this afternoon’, so we fly to Italy in a freight plane with a load of boxes and an aircraft wheel that wasn’t properly strapped down, it kept shuffling around and nearly run us over, we were sitting on the floor and when we got to Italy, no customs, no immigration, nothing at all, nobody to tell us where to go or what to do, so we, first thing a service man does when he goes somewhere new is look for a tea and a bun [laughing] or what’s called a ‘shy and a wad’ and there was a little sort of canteen with Italian girls serving and they were laughing and joking, I expected Italians to be hostile like the French but they were so friendly, I thought we’re gonna like it in Italy and they kept saying ‘capiche, capiche’, and I said ‘no, no cabbage thank you, just tea and a bun’ and they said they were saying ‘do you understand?, capiche’ but we didn’t know that, but we thought they seemed nice [laughs] hope there are going to be some women where we’re going.
CB: Is this around about Naples was it?
JA: It was in Naples, and then we were transferred to Portici to a, to a holding centre, and there were people there who’d done a tour of operations and they were going on a rest period, and they were so dejected, haggard and ill looking, and they wouldn’t talk to anybody and we thought it must be terrible on a squadron, that it was demoralising to see them, anyway we stayed there a few weeks and then we were sent to Foggia by train, and you understood that Foggia is a big aircraft base, there were thousands and thousands of Americans there, with Liberators and Flying Fortresses, B24s and B17s, and we had liberators but other squadrons, some of them had clapped out wellingtons obsolete or obsolesce wellingtons so the liberators were a bit better except they weren’t new machines, they were machines that had been damaged and done a tour in the American Air Force and were now in a sort of scrap yard called a maintenance unit, and the pilots would go and ferry them to our squadron and if we were lucky we’d get the one in reasonable condition but most of them had got terrible faults, some of them had even got twisted airframes, and engine troubles common, and our fitters worked in the open air, there were no hangars, and sometimes they worked through the night in all weathers, and we were reliant on them to keep us alive.
CB: Now your crew, there was the seven of you as in a Lancaster but in this Liberator is that right?
JA: Yes, when I talk about how when I won the war I always say ‘I didn’t do it alone, there was seven of us’, and three of them were Scotsmen, one was from the Shetlands, and it took me a few, few days to learn to understand them on the intercom, because the intercom system is not very clear, it’s like a poor telephone system, and their Scottish accents were very guttural and I knew my life depends on these fellas, so I had to learn [slight laugh] to understand them and the skipper was very pleased when I joined the crew because up till then he was the youngest member, he was twenty-one and I was twenty and of course as I trained as a navigator and as an pupil pilot I was a useful member of the crew, and I’d done a gunnery course so I could do anything if anybody was killed or injured, I could take over from them, I couldn’t land a Liberator of course but I could keep it in the air long enough for the others to jump out and I said, I think I was bombing I think it was Budapest and the flak was so thick I thought we couldn’t get through it without being hit, and I looked over the side and it was like black velvet, the sky was so dark and I thought I’d jump out if I dared but I had no faith in my parachute and as I said to a Polish pilot I knew, he had parachuted safely and I said ‘ I think I’d jump out if I dared, but I’d be scared’ and he said ‘you wouldn’t hesitate if your arse was on fire’ and he was speaking from personal experience.
CB; So, you were with this very close-knit group, you were a good team, a good cohesive team?
JA: Yes, yes, you see when we arrived on the squadron nobody would talk to us because they couldn’t be bothered with new boys and when we became senior crew, we couldn’t be bothered to talk to new crews because on average they were only doing seven trips before they got shot down, and it was bad enough if our friends got shot down, but we didn’t care much about strangers being shot down so we didn’t really want to make any friends, because it would be traumatic when they died.
CB: And what were the conditions like at Foggia?
JA: The conditions were absolutely terrible, we were in a field, there were no gates, no fence, we were in a field with one solitary brick building, and that was the orderly room, the medical offices office and something the commanding officer used, he lived in a caravan, we lived in little four man tents, bivouac tents, you couldn’t stand up in them and we had no beds, we had to make our own beds out of bits of packing cases, and I had the side of a packing case with a strut across the middle, in the middle of my back, most uncomfortable, covered in cardboard, the mid-upper gunner, had a sheet of corrugated iron, I said ‘that’s why, that’s why he walks so funny’ [laugh]
CB: But you’d have the heat, you’d have the rain, it must have been terrible.
JA: It was, we’d have the side of the tents rolled up and the end flaps were open because the heat was so intense and we’d get a couple of hours sleep at night, but we couldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours so we’d get up and walk around, and when the sun came up it was unbearable and there was no shade anywhere, there was a place that we called the dining room and it was a roof on six poles with no sides and we sat on forms at trestle tables, and the cook, had an outside kitchen arrangement made out of oil drums, and the first thing I noticed was his black arms and white hands, he was twenty-one, he never wanted to be a cook, we called him Gladys because he was a nice boy.
CB: And was the food any better?
JA: The food was terrible, you see sometimes the food didn’t arrive, the food was brought to us by a lorry from somewhere distant each day, only enough for one day and after everybody had had a bit of it on the way there wasn’t much left for us, and there was hardly enough to keep us alive and sometimes the food didn’t arrive at all and we’d have nothing to eat for twenty-four hours and one day we said to Gladys our cook ‘ God for Christ’s sake Gladys, find something, there must be something left over’ and he scratched around and he found an onion, a raw onion each and a mug of tea, and that’s what we had and we had to do a nine hour flight, on an empty stomach and of course I smoked twenty cigarettes on every trip because it took away the hunger pangs, and then the medical officer discovered that the cook was using some sort of cans of meat and vegetable stew that had blown, and most of us got severe enteritis and people couldn’t control their bowels and there were no toilet facilities in the air, so people were doing it in their trousers, and sitting there on it for the rest of the trip, and some of the crews were yellow with jaundice, we didn’t know if it’s contagious or what caused it but we were living in what they called a malarias area, there were boards around the perimeter of the field we lived in, saying ‘caution, malarias area, malarias area, area’ and everyday a bowser arrived, a tanker of water but we couldn’t drink the water, it tasted of chlorine it was terribly strong, so we could only use it for washing ourselves and trying to wash clothes but we had no washing powder, we’d save little scraps of soap and put a shirt in a tub and leave it for three weeks to soak [slight laugh] and then rub it, and then rinse it and lie it in the sun, and in the hot sun it was dry in about an hour and we had nothing to eat except a mug of tea twice a day, and when we came back from operations we went to the debriefing tent, and there was a billy can full of lukewarm tea there and half a dozen mugs, they were never washed they were just recycled, we dipped them in the lukewarm tea, but if we were gone for more than five hours on a trip, we were given five boiled sweets which we promptly ate on the ground before we took off, and we were given a gallon of tea between seven of us, in a thermos jug, but that got cold, we’d saved it for the return trip and Jock the wireless operator used to bring the tea round for us cold, cold as ice, and about once a month we got what we called a tuppenny bar of chocolate but it was tropical chocolate and it never melted and in the air, I would put a piece of chocolate in my mouth and chew it and it became like gravel and then it became like dust and then I swallowed it but it never did melt, and one day some, some things arrived at the cook house, we thought they were bails of straw but they were dehydrated cabbage and that’s the worst thing you can have when you’re flying because our stomachs swelled up and we had to loosen our belts and our flying clothes because our stomachs were expanded enormously and we farted furiously throughout the trip.
CB: Did you have proper flying clothes in all this?
JA: We had flying clothing, we just recycled, the only ordinary clothing we had were ones left behind by casualties and of course lots of it was very old and our kit bags were still somewhere in Egypt or South Africa, following on about three months later and when I was in South Africa, I brought thirty oranges for a shilling, no for three pence, you couldn’t buy less because they were in a net, thirty for a ticky it was called, a threepnee bit [sic], and my kit bag wasn’t quite full so I put thirty oranges in there thinking the kit bag would come with me but it followed on three months later and the oranges were well ripe by that time [laughs] they were putrid, and we were allowed to wear civilian clothes in South Africa, provided we wore our service cap, we could buy bush shirts and nice clothing in the gents’ outfitters, so if we took our caps off we looked like civilians, and that was good quality stuff and when that eventually arrived in Italy we were very pleased because we’d been dressed like scarecrows up until then with all sorts, I had a brown battle dress, it wasn’t khaki it was brown, a sort of teddy bear material, I don’t know what air force or army that was from, maybe Greek or something, and it was a bit big for me so I could wear two battle dress blouses, two pairs of trousers, two shirts, two vests and three pullovers, because sometimes it was twenty below in the air and then I’d wear my flying suit, going to the toilet to urinate was a bit difficult because I had so many clothes on, I couldn’t stretch my penis long enough in the cold air to have a pee in the pee tube, which was on the side of the fuselage with a tube leading out of the aircraft but usually they were blocked up with cigarette ends [laughs]. The Americans had had ashtrays in their Liberators, they smoked in the air, smoked cigars in fact but the RAF took the ash trays out so of course we smoked in the air, nobody knew and I would smoke twenty cigarettes during a trip and now and again I’d feel like another cigarette but I’d already got one alight and then I’d think, ‘what did I do with the last cigarette end, did I stamp on it? did I drop it?’ and I’d switch a torch on which had a bit of brown paper over the glass, inside the glass because that was regulation and try and find the cigarette end on the floor somewhere and, once we took a fitter with us to another airfield and he nearly had a fit when he saw me light a cigarette because you are not allowed to smoke within so many yards of an aircraft but it was alright, it was, smoking was less of a hazard than the flak, we were carrying a ten thousand pounds of bombs and thousands of gallons of fuel, petrol and oil and pyrotechnics, photo flashes, incendiary bombs so –
CB: A cigarette was the least of your problems –
JA: A cigarette was minor.
CB: What did you make of the Liberator as a plane?
JA: Well when I flew it, because I could fly it when the automatic pilot backed and the skipper said to me ‘you can take over if you like’, it was like, it was like steering the Queen Mary, if you wanted to change course you had a wheel instead of a joystick and you’d turn the wheel and wait and nothing happens for a few seconds and then suddenly it moves, and if you don’t turn the wheel back quick enough its gone too far, so it’s too sluggish and, of course my instrument flying, I only took over at night, my instrument flying wasn’t good enough, most of my instrument flying was in the link trainer under the hood, and instrument flying was tedious and I could only stand about half an hour at a time, then I was glad when the skipper came back and took over, we were all sergeants, we liked that, because it was awkward sometimes when there was officers in the crew, in one crew the tail gunner was an officer well that seemed silly because a sergeant in that crew was a skipper and he was in charge in the air but he had to salute the tail gunner on the ground, well he should have done if they hadn’t abandoned saluting, but there was so many American officers because all of their bomb aimers or bombardiers were commissioned and the navigators and the pilots, so they always, when they talked to me they always addressed me as lieutenant because they thought I must be an officer being a bomb aimer, bombardier, and I would say ‘no we’re not one, we’re sergeants’, but you see we didn’t wear rank badges because we hadn’t got any, when we qualified at flying school, they didn’t give us any sergeant strips and when we got to the squadron nobody was wearing any rank and the commanding officer said ‘you should wear rank badges’, we said ‘we haven’t got any’ he said ‘chalk them on’, chalk them on, well that seemed so silly we didn’t bother, we said ‘we can get some from the Americans’ he said ‘you’re not allowed to wear those’, so we didn’t wear anything.
CB: Did you get on well with the Americans?
JA: Yes, oh yeah they were lovely fellows, we went to a, about twenty miles away to Foggia, was a ruined town, it had been bombed by the Germans, the Italians, the British and the Americans so there wasn’t much left of it, but there was a bath house where they had shower baths, and when we had a day off we’d hitch a ride on a lorry, lorries were conveying chalk from the quarries and we’d hitch a ride on the back of a lorry carrying limestone, and then we’d get very dusty on there, the drivers were all American Negroes and they’d say ‘where you going, down town Foggia?’ and we’d say ‘yes’, ‘get aboard’, so we’d climb up on the limestone and go to the bathhouse which was a small with half a dozen cubicles which were meant for one or two people but there were always four or six people pushing in trying to get wet, under the water, and we’d be sitting there waiting to go in with our towels and our soap, all naked, and soon as someone came out we’d push our way in and try and get some water, and after the war I was invited by the Hungarian government to go, go to a meeting in Budapest, they’d invited all available flyers of every air force that was active over Hungary during the war, well Hungary was allied with Germany and I’d bombed Hungary but the Hungarian air force was very kind to us, they took us flying, you know in their aeroplanes and there were five Americans standing there, there were only two of us they could find from England, but I said to one of the Americans ‘do you remember the shower baths in Foggia?’ he said ‘yeah I must have seen you there’ but he said ‘I didn’t recognise you there with your clothes on’[laughing].
CB: So let’s turn to your missions, your operations, what were you involved in while you were there on your long range bomber?
JA: Well we could put most eighty aircraft in the air, RAF, Liberators and Wellingtons but the Americans could put up six hundred, or nearly a thousand, they flew during the day, we flew to the same time at night and of course we had the same opposition say for sixty planes as they had when they flew six hundred so our casualties were much higher than Americans but I liked the Americans, we got on well with them, they had a camp in a field not far from us and we went to visit them once, to compare their facilities with ours and they had tents with wooden floors and wooden walls and they had stoves, we had nothing like that, we didn’t have running water, they did, they had electric light, we didn’t, they had decent food, we didn’t, they had flak jackets to protect them when they were flying, we didn’t, they had an ice cream plant for making ice cream and when the weather was very hot, they used to take the ice cream up to about fifteen thousand feet to freeze it and they had a cinema on their site, we didn’t, so we felt really rather ashamed of our conditions compared with theirs ‘cause they didn’t know how bad ours were –
CB: I’m surprised there wasn’t mutiny but I suppose –
JA: Well we had some desertions, we didn’t, we felt mutinous but we didn’t actually mutiny, and our attitude was we want to get this bloody war over and beat the Germans, and get home, but after forty operations we should have six months instructing or some other job and then come back and do another forty so not many people getting through the first forty and by the time we’d done twenty we knew we wouldn’t survive, we were the most senior crew on the squadron, we lost the flight commander and all the senior people off the squadron and when people much more experienced than us were failing to come back, we thought ‘we haven’t got much chance’, and so we reconciled ourselves to the fact that we will die but everybody’s got to die sooner or later and we thought ‘we are gonna die now instead of when we are ninety-nine’ so that cheered us up the fact that everybody has got to go sooner or later anyway but what did worry us, is the thought that we’d be severely wounded and blinded and badly burned, that sort of thing and having to live with that from the age of twenty for the rest of our lives, we didn’t like that, we had been stationed in Torquey as raw recruits, and there was a hospital there for burned air crews, air crews that had had their faces burned off and they were disgusting to look at, and horrifying, and we didn’t want that to happen to us, it was very demoralising and it was happening to other men, it never happened to us, you know, we couldn’t understand how we keep getting away with it, the plane was hit, engines were knocked out, we were landing on one wheel and two engines and all sorts of things like that, but none of us were hit yet and we went on to, the skipper had done one air experience trip, before we started operating, so he was one ahead of us he’d flown with another crew for experience, we didn’t like that ‘cause we thought ‘if he gets bumped off we’ll have a strange pilot’, and anyway we went on, watching other people dropping like flies until our, until my, my thirty-seventh trip, and I was bombing German troops in Serbia, they were evacuating from Greece and the Greek islands, back through Yugoslavia, back to the home land, to defend Germany, and we were stopping them, and no matter how much we bombed them they never really took to it and they hit me, filled me full of shrapnel.
CB: Before we get to that Jim, your first operation I believe were against oil plants in Bucharest, is that right?
JA: The first one was an oil refinery in Fiume, that was an Italian port which is now Rijeka which Fiume and Rijeka mean river, and it’s now Yugoslav, Croatia now, and I know that oil refinery well, and I know a woman who used to go to school across the bay when I was bombing that oil refinery and I thought what a terrible thing it was she lived nearby and when I went past on the bus sometimes after the war and I thought I could’ve killed her and I would’ve hated to kill her she was such a nice person and, after the war I knew a lot of Germans, the German airmen, pilots, ‘cause I speak fluent German and they always thought I was German, they used to say ‘but your father’s German?’, and ‘no, no he’s English’, well your mother is German ‘no no’, ‘well where did you learn English?’, I was the head of the German department of import export firm for years and I had to learn German at school anyway, and I had a private tutors for languages after the war and, I even spoke Italian during the war, fifteen years after the war I opened an office in Milan, and I put a man there who was a Venetian, rather posh Italian, superior you know, and I said ‘hey Franco, have you changed the language?’ and he said ‘why?’ I said ‘well during the war we used to speak differently’ and he said ‘no we haven’t changed anything’ well he said ‘after Mussolini, we didn’t call people voy we said lay’ and I said ‘no it’s not that’ I said, I only speak these days when I’m on my monthly trip to Italy, to supervise the office, I only speak to bus conductors and waiters and people like that but they speak differently to the way I spoke, so I started talking to him in Italian and he said ‘for God’s sake don’t talk to the directors of Fiat, what you speak is Neapolitan dialect’, well I didn’t know that and I thought well if it was good enough for the girls in Sorrento, it’ll have to be good enough for the rest of the Italians, he said ‘you speak like those little black fellas down in the south’, ‘cause you know there was snobbishness between the north and the south but I liked the southern Italians, they were all nice jolly people you know, I’ve even got some distant relatives that are Italian, my, my grandmother’s sister married an Italian during the first war when the Italians were on our side, and they settled in England and had a multitude of children and I knew them all.
CB: So the operations, some of which were in Ploiesti in Romania, and they had a fearful reputation.
JA: It was the most heavily defended target in the world.
CB: You were bombing these oil plants, especially the one at Ploiesti at night obviously?
JA: Yes, yes it had tremendous defences you know, because it was the oil that was vital, what really finished the war was lack of petrol, they got, they’d run out of fuel for the tanks and the aircraft so all the war we should have only really been concentrating on oil refineries, oil fields.
CB: So the operation in October to do gardening or mine laying as it was properly known, mine laying in the Danube of which you reported was the most frightening episode that you’d ever been.
JA: Well the first time that we dropped mines in the Danube, we’d been told they are secret and you must make sure you drop them in the main stream, the Germans must not get the secret of the mines, they lie dormant for three weeks and they don’t go off until the second ship passes over them, so they are virtually un-sweep able, the Germans used to fly over them with special aircraft with a big magnetic ring on it to try and explode them, they’d gun barges adrift to go over them and nothing, they couldn’t sweep them and, within a few months we’d stopped a hundred percent shipping on the Danube, which was conveying oil from Ploiesti back to the German forces, so it was a very important thing and the fighter defences were enormous, we’d seen planes shot down every few minutes and that was a bit frightening, I used to think ‘I hope there’s not somebody I know in it’, because a plane would fly along beside us for seconds, it seemed like ages, on fire, and slowly descend in a curve and explode on the ground, and we were told, ‘don’t be distracted by crashes’ but you can’t stop looking at them, wondering ‘whose that?’ and thinking ‘why don’t they get out, don’t see any parachutes’, what we didn’t know was that the Germans had upward firing guns, and they’d creep underneath the plane in the dark and fire into the belly of the plane and nobody would see them, so the gunners didn’t open fire and wondered ‘why didn’t the gunners open fire on that?’, nobody told us about it, this was the secret.
CB: No, they were doing this to Liberators? They were certainly doing it to Lancasters weren’t they, they were doing this to Liberators as well?
JA: Yeah and you see we had no ball turret underneath, the RAF took out that bull turret, we hadn’t got a gunner for it anyway and then we had a gun turret in the nose but they took all the guts out of that, to decrease the weight, so we had no guns in the front turret, we had no gun underneath that could’ve seen these upward firing guns and we didn’t carry a lot of ammunition, mining the Danube we would use all our ammunition, immediately I’d drop the bombs, I would rush back to the beam position where I’d got two machine guns, one on either side, there was no gunner for those so in the event of an attack I would use those or when we were mining the Danube, I’d drop the mines, rush back there and use those guns to strafe the shipping on the water or any insulations on the banks, the banks were two hundred feet high, and the Germans used to stretch cables from bank to bank so we had to fly below two hundred feet so we normally went to a hundred feet in the dark above the water, and then we thought we’d be safe, except there was flak barges with barrow balloons and we couldn’t see the cables from those because the barrage ruins were too high up above us and you can’t see a cable in the dark, we were going too fast anyway and, I remember one time there was a man on a barge firing at me with an automatic rifle and I gave him a quick skirt, squirt from the machine gun as I went by, I would’ve like to have met him after the war if you lived to discuss that, you know I didn’t mean it really you know, I’d say ‘I’ve got nothing against you personally’.
CB: But if you’re going to fire at me, I’m firing at you, what was your bomb load on something like this?
JA: Ten thousand pounds, you see we couldn’t carry a big bomb like the Lancaster because we’d got the cat walk going down the centre of the plane, so the bombs had to be hung in rows one above the other on either side of the cat walk, so the biggest bomb we could carry was a thousand pounds, so we carried ten of those, ten thousand pounds, which is plenty anyway and we’d carry pyrotechnics, lots of incendiaries as well.
CB: And what was your job if there was a hang up, and the bomb hadn’t been released?
JA: I had to go along the cat walk, in the dark, with no parachute, and no oxygen, and holding onto the railings in the roof and skidding about on the ten inch wide cat walk, with the, the slipstream would take away my weight so I had a job to keep on my feet and when I got to the bomb which was usually the one right to the back, I would stand on the cat walk with one leg and kick it and it would never fall off, so I had to swing then holding onto the hydraulic pipes, which were not meant to be swung from they are only about an inch diameter, I’d hold them with two hands, my wrists would go like jelly, you know, I’d swing and kick with both feet and when the bomb eventually fell off it was like my stomach went off with it, ‘cause there was always lights twinkling on the ground and thousands of feet below, and one slip and I’m off to the ground you know, seconds to live, that was terrifying. The only other terrifying thing was throwing grenades when I went on an infantry tactics course during training and, swinging propellers, on tiger moths, on a wet windy and muddy day, I thought I’ll swing in to the propeller and get my head cut off, but when I was in South Africa a chap did walk into a propeller, a navigator, and it threw his head over the hangar, so propellers were a danger, you couldn’t see them rotating, they were invisible.
CB: So now you were also involved in what was known as the Warsaw uprising or the support of that, that’s right isn’t it Jim?
JA: Yes but to go back to the mining of the Danube, the first time we mined the Danube, I said to the skipper ‘we’re too low, we’re much too low’ and he said ‘we’re at a hundred feet’ and I thought ‘we’re bloody not’, I could tell by the droplets of water we’re not at a hundred feet, when we got back to base the compass was, the radio compass was checked and we’d been at thirty feet in the dark, if we’d touched the water we’d have been gone, so that, it was terrifying yet there was no, there was no pay off, if you dropped the bombs you’d see the explosions and things, you’ve done something but you dropped mines that are not going to go off for three weeks or more then there’s no, the stress is there, there’s no release from the stress except machine gunning like mad, and then of course on the way back you would get attacked by fighters so then I was stay by the beam guns or as the Americans call them the waist guns, and that was quite exciting really firing those, but the reflector sides illuminated, were too bright, they were meant to be used during the day and I couldn’t see through them at night so I switched them off and I fired watching where the trace goes ‘cause every fifth bullet it was a tracer, so I fired a gun like squirting a hose, and they’d burn out about I don’t know whether it was six hundred yards but up to that time I could see where they were going, firing like watering the garden it was, with a hose pipe [laughing] anyway you were asking me about?
CB: Supporting the Warsaw uprising, dropping the supplies?
JA: Yeah, I’d bombed a place in Hungary, we were pretty tired, it was the second of two nights we’d been in the air, and we eventually got back in the tent to go to bed and within three hours a runner, a runner arrived from the orderly room and he said ‘you’ve got to report for briefing’, we’ve only been in the tent for three hours and we were told you’re going on a secret operation, fly down to Brindisi, we didn’t know what it was all about, and in Brindisi we went into a hut and there was a big map on the end wall and it showed a tape going from Brindisi to Warsaw, we thought well it’s nothing to do with us, the Poles are on our side we’re not going to bomb Warsaw, but then we were briefed and told we’re not going to bomb, we’re going to drop supplies of explosives and ammunition and guns for the underground resistance fighters who were fighting in the city against the Germans and, they were expecting the Russians to arrive any minute so on the 1st of August they’d started to fight, and they were doing well for a few days, and the Russians stopped their advance so the Poles were on their own so they appealed for help, apparently Winston Churchill was in Italy checking the arrangements for the south of France invasion which was imminent and he said, ‘we must help the Poles, we went to join the war on their account, we can’t stand idly by’, our air officer commander told us this later and, so he said we should go with the special duty squadrons, there was an Polish squadron and an RAF squadron dropping supplies but they’d lost so many men so they couldn’t continue so three liberator bomber squadrons were called in to do the supply dropping, they said ‘you must, you must drop from below six hundred feet and the poles said ‘two hundred, otherwise the parachute containers will drift away’ and they said ‘we’ve been there, it’s safer at a hundred feet because then the Germans can’t bring the guns to there because at a hundred feet you’ve come and gone quickly’, but they said ‘there’s one building still standing and that’s sixty meters high, so don’t fly into that in the middle of the night’, when we got to Warsaw, the whole city was on fire, gun fire and everything was burning and we’d been told a particular street and squares where we were to drop the supplies but nothing was recognisable so I remembered them saying, Zoliborz, a district of Warsaw is still in the hands of the insurgents, well that was a few days ago and I thought there doesn’t seem to be any fires, or no fighting going on as far as I could see, we fly around for fifty minutes and planes were getting shot down all around us and I’d eventually counting the bridges, I knew where Zoliborz was, I dropped the supplies there and I said to the wireless operator, ‘we must be bloody mad you know flying around fifty minutes’ and he said ‘well we’re not going all that way to drop them in the wrong bloody place’, I thought we’re all crazy, the psychiatrist reported that we were crazy, in their official reports, which I read after the war, ‘they must be crazy and they all think it won’t happen to them’, it’s insulting, we knew it was going to happen to us sooner or later, why shouldn’t it happen to us, it did happen to me in the end, fortunately it wasn’t quite fatal [laughing] .
CB: Glad to hear it, so that was your philosophy really to imagine that you had been killed already basically?
JA: Well we knew that we would die eventually anyway, so it’s like people ask you ‘when did you have your holidays?’, when you’ve had it, doesn’t matter if it was June or September, its gone, so doesn’t matter when you die really, if you’ve got to die anyway what’s the date matter, we had to tell ourselves that sort of thing, but we had superstitions, we had lots of superstitions, my friend Deakey (?) the navigator, he had a lucky shirt and he couldn’t fly without his lucky shirt and if it was dirty he had to wash and dry it quickly ready for flying that night, we only fly once without his lucky shirt and we got lost, and that was on the way back from Warsaw, we went twice to Warsaw and each night we lost thirty percent and by the third night we’d lost ninety percent, ninety, the air force pretended it was seventeen percent but everybody knows it was ninety percent and there are plenty of documents saying it was ninety percent and our air officer commanding Sir John Slessor wrote a book in which he [said] the time of the Warsaw uprising was the worst time of his career and he mentioned it was ninety percent but after the war, Stalin had to be appeased so we didn’t want to tell, didn’t want to emphasize anything we did that he didn’t agree with, ‘cause Stalin was anti-Poles and he’d stopped his army to allow the Germans to polish off Warsaw, and Hitler said eradicate Warsaw, it was to be razed to the ground and he gave an order ‘all inhabitants to be killed’ and the new German commander who wrote a book after the war, he said ‘you don’t mean women and children?’ and he was told ‘yes’ [emphasis], the whole population is to be killed, that’s what was going on when we were flying over there, and we were told ‘if you get shot down near the Russian lines, they will shoot you, especially if you are dressed in blue’, well of course we were dressed in blue we were in the Air Force, so it was a bit late to tell us that now and, while we were flying to Warsaw we were being shot at by the Russians and the Germans because they didn’t agree with us helping the Poles, the Poles got a medal, the Germans got a special badge, the Russians got a medal, I’ve got one of them as a souvenir, and we got nothing, we got no recognition.
CB: Andy your pilot comes over as very calm.
JA: Yes, he was very determined, he was very stubborn and of course he was the skipper, he was in charge but I always felt that I was in charge you see and when we were lost on the way back from Warsaw, Deakey the navigator called me up and said ‘Jimmy can I have a word with you’, well I thought there’s something wrong and I just asked him a little while ago, ‘do you want a pinpoint?’ ‘cause I would navigate by map reading all the way there and back you see, but I hadn’t bothered because he, I said ‘do you want a pinpoint?’ and he said ‘no, no I’m alright’ now he says ‘can I have a word with you?’, so I scrambled up the front to the nose compartment and the tears were dripping off his chin and he said ‘I don’t know what country we’re over’, I said ‘give me the typographical maps, I’m shit hot at map reading, I could tell you in a few seconds where you are’ and I said ‘we’ve got no maps for this place whatever it is’, when we should be over the sea, we’re over land and when we should be over land we were over the sea of course we were over the Greek islands, they’re all messy you know, the little bits and we’ve got no map for that place and I didn’t know until after the way why we hadn’t got a map, the reason was he’d got diarrhoea and he’d used the map because there wasn’t any toilet in plane, and he wrapped it up and chucked it out down the flare shoot, that’s where the map was the Germans had got it, bit messy, and the plane had been on fire, the wireless operator had the wireless set in pieces and he was in his element putting it together, you know mending it, he was busy and I, went up the front to have a chat to the skipper with Andy, and I said to the flight engineer, he pushed past me to look at the fuel gauges, they were like a gauge on an oil tank, like a domestic oil tank, visual gauge with a bubble in tubes, I said ‘how we’re doing?’ he said ‘empty’, I said ‘we can’t be empty we’re still flying’ he said ‘yeah but I don’t know how long for’, we’re flying over aerodromes with German planes with black crosses on, they’re freight planes but we daren’t try and land there otherwise the you know the ground defences open up on us, so I said to Andy ‘we’re heading to the mountains’ and I said to him ‘land on this road’ I said ‘these strong, straight roads’ I said ‘we’re just flying over one now, look you can land here, that’s what I would do if I were you’ and he said ‘I think we’ll press on’, I thought ‘you’re mad, press on, [emphasis] we’re flying into the mountains and we’re out of fuel, and in any minute all the engines are going to cut out’, anyway he was right and we did press on and we got eventually over the sea and the radio operator had got the wireless together again and he always used to stand up and point when he was listening on the radio and he started waving his arms about and pointing and he said its Brindisi and we were facing the runway, we running up to Brindisi and we went straight in, if there had been anybody in the way we couldn’t have done round the circuit because when we got to the end of the runway the, all engines cut out, out of fuel, so we told the duty pilot where we were and that we were out of fuel, so they put some fuel in and flew back to Amendola near Foggia, of course we’d been gone so long we couldn’t still be in the air, our trip was eleven hours and forty minutes plus over an hour going to Brindisi over an hour coming back so we were so tired, I’d already dropped off to sleep for the last half an hour and when the plane landed I was still asleep and the ground crew got in and stirred me with a foot to wake me up, I was just dead tired, I’d been in the air longer than I’d been on the ground for about three days and no sleep at all you know (tired, hungry?) yeah but we were always hungry.
CB: And then you’d have to have the debriefing?
JA: Yes, that didn’t take long because we were always a bit impatient at debriefing, we’d answer questions, we didn’t volunteer any information and always something had gone wrong with the plane, like the guns didn’t fire, the oxygen cylinders were empty, all sorts of things, one engine cut out, two engines cut out and the ground crew would run out to us soon as we landed and they’d shout ‘any snags, any snags?’ and we’d swear and shout and say ‘this went wrong and that went wrong’ using lots of ‘f’ words but then we’d never report the snags, because we relied on those lads and it wasn’t their fault, the planes were clapped out anyway and they’d work through the night perhaps maintenance and they couldn’t get spares and some of the things they did were, were fatal, and they couldn’t help it, one of them said to me, ‘I don’t get very close to the air crews, I don’t make friends with them because’ he said ‘if a plane goes missing I’d wonder if I did something wrong or whether I’d forgot to do something’ and he said ‘I’ve been on a squadron a long time and lots of planes have gone missing and I always feel it might be my fault’ so he said ‘I don’t like to get friendly with air crews’, I can understand that, when I used to go to the, we weren’t allowed to take anything with us like a bus ticket or money or anything like that, and so I had a little wallet and I used to hand it to the sergeant fitter, ground crew fitter and I’d say ‘take that Jake and if I don’t come back you can keep it’, and he’d take it but he didn’t like touching it really and when I got back he’d shove it at me as soon as he could ‘cause he didn’t want anything to do with dead men’s property and I can understand that you know, he was squeamish and when I got wounded he was the chap who lifted me up and carried me out of the plane.
CB: So what happened on that your final operation obviously, what was it the thirty-seventh out of forty?
JA: Yes
CB: And what happened Jim?
JA: When we were told the target would be undefended, and for the first time ever you can bomb anywhere in the town, it’s just full of Germans, so I dropped a stick of bombs at predetermined intervals, and I hit about two or three blocks of flats right in the middle, the next one between two blocks of flats, the next one a road and rail junction, and then I said to the skipper, ‘hold this course for half a minute because we’re going into mountains now’, and we were low you see because the visibility you had to come down very low, ‘cause of the cloud, and just as I said that the tail gunner said ‘it’s flak, it’s stern’ and WOOF [emphasis to express being hit], and it’s a sensation like if you’re playing football and the football is wet and heavy and somebody kicks it and it hits you straight in the face, it’s a numb sensation at first and then comes the pain, well this was like a puff of wind, like being hit with something but no pain what so ever and then floods of blood, I seemed to be bleeding to death, and I felt for my parachute pack because I thought we were getting shot down but I was the only one hit actually, we were hit in one engine and me and the navigator wrote in his diary; ‘Jim’s eyeball is hanging out on his cheek’ [laughs] actually it wasn’t, I’d got a lump of Perspex because all the Perspex had become shrapnel, and there was a piece about four inches long stuck in my eyeball and of course all the blood was running down my face because I was hit in the head and the face and everywhere and the blood running down this Perspex made it look as though my eye was hanging out you see so he couldn’t look at me, so he tapped me on the head and I could see he was talking, we had throat microphones, American throat microphones, it were very efficient and he was telling the crew I’d been hit, I crawled under the flight deck and when I stood up in the well, the back of the flight deck, the wireless operator had got all the first aid kits open and he wanted to put one on my face but he was hesitant to do it and I thought ‘do it, do it’, but of course there was this four inch long piece of shrapnel stuck in my eye, and it wasn’t until it fell out that he could put bandages on and then he bandaged everything that was bloody including my right arm which was badly damaged and my left arm which I’d used to investigate my other wounds and that wasn’t damaged but it was very bloody so he bandaged that as well, he bandaged everything and then he said ‘I’ll give you a shot of morphine’, I said ‘I’m not in pain’, I had no pain what so ever and that frightened me because I thought, if you get your legs chopped off you don’t feel any pain, because the body reacts as though you get shock but you don’t feel pain and I thought I’m dying, I must be dying and I said ‘I’m not in any pain I don’t need morphine’ and he got some out the first aid thing and I’d got my eyes shut and he stuck the thing in my arm and the morphine came like a marble, raised up, it didn’t disperse and when we landed he said to the ground crew ‘I’ve tied a label on him saying I gave him morphine at twelve o’clock, but I know now that I shouldn’t do that because he’s got a head wound’ and ‘oh Christ he’s killed me instead of the Germans’ [laughing].
But anyway, all we did all the time was sing and tell jokes, and it was like a rugby club –
CB: In the military hospital?
JA: No on the squadron, we weren’t morose and we weren’t miserable, in fact everything was hilarious and because we had to keep flying it didn’t matter what we did, hooliganism didn’t matter, drunkenness, it didn’t matter, because we were either up in the air or we had a group stand down when we’d have two of three days off due to so many casualties, waiting for new crews and new aeroplanes, and we’d get drunk and forget everything you see, and if, if unexpectedly we had to fly after a night a free night in the mess and drunkenness, we’d have a headache like you’ve never experienced and I went to the medical officers little cubby hole and there was a youth leaning up the doorpost and I pushed past him and I was opening boxes and things looking for an aspirin and I said to this fella, ‘do you know where they keep the aspirins?’ and he said ‘yeah’ and he told me and I said ‘you know your way around?’ and he said ‘yeah I’m the medical officer’ [laughs]
CB: So you found yourself in this hospital?
JA: Yeah when, after we landed, I was put on a stretcher, propped up in a sitting position on some blankets, some blankets behind me and it seemed to take ages and the flight engineer said ‘what’s the bloody delay? Get him to hospital’ and they said ‘we’re checking the first aid kits’ which all had been opened and used and they said ‘there’s a pair of scissors missing’ and that’s why they were delaying and he said ‘if you don’t get him to hospital right away I’m gonna bloody do the lot of ya’, and he was a tough Shetlander and that made them pull their socks up, and they put me in the ambulance to go seven miles, no twenty miles into Foggia to the general hospital, military hospital, and the skipper said ‘I’ll come with you’, well he shouldn’t have, he should’ve gone back to be debriefed but I was glad he came with me, ‘cause I didn’t know what I looked like, I didn’t know if my ear had been chopped off or whether I’d got a complete nose ‘cause I knew a piece of shrapnel had creased the top of my nose and the bottom, I didn’t know how bad things were and he said I can show you and he and he got a little stainless steel or chrome mirror in his pocket and he showed me but that’s very distorting and I thought ‘bloody hell look at that’, and I heard the nurses talking and they were talking as though I was already dead and one of them said ‘he must have been a good looking boy’, he must have been? [emphasis] I’m still here, you know, and they stripped me, cut all me clothes off and I felt a bit embarrassed because I’d borrowed a pair of long johns from the tail gunner and I was stripped down to my long johns and I felt that was a bit embarrassing because long johns were a bit silly aren’t they, and then the skipper went back then but he had to hitch hike back and he was in his flying kit you know, and when he got back he got a bollock-ing ‘cause he should have gone straight back not gone to the hospital with me, and anyway he got over that and they decided as he’d done one more trip than me anyway and they couldn’t manage without me and they hadn’t got anyone to replace me, the crew could stop now and go for a rest period, and after a few days they did go, and so there I was in hospital four and a half hours, and a chap from the squadron had sprained his wrist or something and he called at the hospital, to see the medical officer at the hospital and he said, the medical officer said ‘we’ve got a chap from your squadron in here’ and he said ‘oh I’d like to go and see him’ and he said ‘no you better not he’s just recovering from four and a half hours on the operating table so you won’t be able to talk to him yet’, and I came round and it was evening but I couldn’t see and I was bound up like an invisible man, just all bandages and I could see a white apparition by the bed and I thought ‘I’m alive’, surprisingly and I muttered, [clears throat] ‘could you tell me if they’ve taken my ear off?’ and this thing said ‘what are you here for?’, and I said ‘I’ve been wounded’, and she said ‘well you’re have to wait until the day staff comes on, I don’t know anything about you’ so I had to wait the rest of the night to find out whether I’d got a nose and whether I had only got one ear and that worried my because in the day of short haircuts I thought I’d look a fool with only one ear [slight laugh] isn’t that silly and, of course I was blind in one eye and the, every hour they dropped penicillin in my eye, it was icy cold, they said ‘you’re lucky, you’re being treated with this new penicillin, new’, I’d never even heard of it and I said ‘can you warm it up, it’s cold’ they said ‘we keep it in the refrigerator’ [slight laugh], anyway, after a few days I was totally blind because my left, my left eye had been alright, well reasonable but then I was totally blind in both eyes and I heard them muttering about cross infection in the ward and I had to lie flat on my back for a month, thirty days I wasn’t allowed to sit up or move due to the eye treatment, they said ‘we’ve healed eyes before but usually they get an infection in the end and we have to remove them’ and I thought well if I can’t see with it it doesn’t matter, I might look alright with an eye patch, a talking point and they transferred me to another ward, they lifted me up flat, put me on a stretcher, wheeled me away, and all the others in the ward had thought I’d died and I said well nobody talked to me anyway, they said, ‘well when your eyes were bound up we didn’t know whether you were awake or asleep’, well I didn’t know what time it was or what date it was or anything and I used to doze off and come back to consciousness again all the time and I never knew whether it was morning or afternoon or evening and I used to listen to what was going on, are these night time sounds or day time sounds, very difficult to tell. Anyway I then after a while when I’d recovered a bit I had more operations on my eye under local anaesthetic, terribly painful, they picked out bits of steel, bits of Perspex and a piece of wood and the chap said to me, ‘what wood was there in the air craft?’ I said ‘well it was made of aluminium’ he said ‘well you’ve got a piece of wood in your eye, a tiny piece’, then I remembered, there was an air blower near the bomb airmen’s position and it would blow in my face so I used to put map over it and stand the astro compass box up against it and it was made of wood and of course that had been shattered and a piece of wood obviously went in my eye, and when they cut my clothes off in the hospital I’d got three pullovers on, lots of clothes you know, multiples of everything and two of the pullovers were air force issue but one I’d brought at Marks and Spencer’s before I joined up and I thought ‘steady on that’s my pullover they cut in half’ you know and that watch that got took off I brought that you know, got no compensation, but anyway it was terrible in the hospital because nobody had any time for me, I don’t know whether they were opposed to the bomber offensive or what it was.
CB: So what nationality were they, the nursing staff?
JA: British, in that hospital they were British, in a second hospital they had Italian nurses that was a bit better but the British nurses were quite cruel really and, except for one, she used to be on night duty and she’d come and sit on the bed and talk to me at night and bring me a cup of tea, I think she fancied me [laughing] and anyway when I could stand up, because I felt very dizzy, it was very difficult to stand up after being about six weeks in bed and I’d only got blood stained clothes on, ‘cause one battle dress was though the rats had eaten it, it just fell open, as I’d got more than one battle dress on, one of them weren’t too bad and, but it was all blood stained and my flying boots were all caped with blood and I felt stupid you know I wanted to have proper clothes, and I felt very truculent and resentful, and the nurse came round and she said ‘lie to attention’ [emphasis] and I said ‘what does that mean?’, she said ‘both arms above the sheets down by your sides, feet together, head straight’, [coughs] I said ‘I can’t do it’, can we wait a minute [pauses] and then got it up gradually from twenty to eighty percent.
CB: So you’re still in the hospital, how long were you in the hospital?
JA: Three months and I was transferred then to a place called Torre del Greco to another hospital, and we’d got Italian nurses there, very pretty, black hair and uniforms, white dresses with a red cross on their chest and their English was a bit faulty and they’d come round every day and ask me ‘lavatory?’ [puts on an accent] and I’d say ‘what’s that?’, ‘lavatory?’ [in accent again], that’s all they could say and I’d say ‘I don’t understand’, and then they’d write something down and go away and I was there for a month and then I was discharged and told you’re on twenty four hour stand by to go back to England wounded, never happened, after a few weeks, they put red crosses on my kit bags and loaded them on board a ship, I had a two week visit, sorry a two week voyage back to England through the, past Gibraltar, through the Bay of Biscay, submarine alert all the time, no beds no chairs and I sat on a form leaning on a table for two weeks.
CB: Still of course not a hundred percent?
JA: No I was ill, very ill and every now and then submarine alert and I’d got to scramble up on deck in a life vest and over coat and have to stand there in the drizzle and rain until the submarine alert was over, and I wasn’t treated as an invalid at all, I was just with the other troops, nobody had a bed, nobody had a chair, if some of them if they were lucky they could climb on the table and sleep on the table but I couldn’t get on the table so I had to sit on the form and lean forward on the table all night, and we put into Liverpool and we spent twenty four hours in the docks while the customs went thoroughly through the ship examining everything, I thought some people have been abroad for several years, what the hell are they looking for? and we’re all British anyway, and then I got off the boat and I had to carry two kit bags with the red crosses on, all to the station put them on the train unaided, I thought ‘what they hell are the red crosses for?’, and I reported to the Air Ministry with me two kit bags and they said ‘you’ve been sent back because they haven’t got the right facilities for treating you in Italy’, so I expected to go back into hospital again but they gave me five weeks leave, didn’t give me any money, they didn’t ask me where will you go on your five weeks leave but they said ‘every week report here again’, well my, fortunately my father was at an Air Ministry unit at Harrow and my parents lived in Hillingdon on the outskirts of London, so I could live with them, the morning after I arrived there, in my funny garb of odds and sods and I hadn’t got a proper uniform, I heard the first time of Doodlebug what we called pilotless planes (B1) I had heard about them, didn’t realise they were so noisy, I knew when the motor cut out they’d come down and one came over and the motor stopped and I said to my mother ‘what do you do?’ she said ‘don’t do anything’ and she went outside to peg some washing on the line and it just dropped at Greenford, which was not very far away from [pauses] not very far away from where we were living and then the rockets came and they were terrifying, the V2s, the rockets, because you’d hear terrible explosion and then hear them coming and in the newspapers and on the radio it was saying ‘gas mains exploding all over London’, well that was a lie, my father knew what they were and he was told ‘don’t evacuate your family as it will cause panic’ so he had to stay there, couldn’t tell his family the danger, it was quite silly during the war because when the Germans bombed a town we weren’t allowed to know which town it was, on the radio it would say ‘bombs were dropped at random’ and we thought ‘Random must be totally destroyed by now because its bombed every night’ [laughs], anyway my father said ‘haven’t you got a proper uniform’, I’d got this brown battle dress which I wore with a blue shirt and a black tie and a hat that had collapsed with a badge I had brought in a bazaar in Egypt which wasn’t a regulation badge, an air force badge it was sort of a souvenir thing bought in a bazaar ‘cause someone had stolen my badge and, he sized me up and brought me a tunic anyway but I was wearing a flying badge and strips on this brown thing and I was hoping people would ask me ‘what the hell are you?’ but nobody ever asked and I was passing military policemen, they should have said ‘excuse me, what air force are you in?’, nobody ever asked because there was so many foreigners in London of different armies and air forces that everybody looked different, anyway I realised I wasn’t, on my weekly visits to the Air Ministry, I wasn’t seen by what I would call proper doctors, I was seeing men in white coats, now psychiatry was in this infantry or psycho analysis and we were prime subjects for it because we were all bloody crackers, you see, so they asked me all sorts of questions, not about my injuries, no medical treatment but things like ‘do you like girls? What sort of girls do you like? Do you dream? What do you dream about?’ so I made things up, course the chap was writing things all down in long hand, ‘what sort of girls do you like?’ I said ‘girls with red hair’, well I had only known one girl with red hair, I nearly said to him girls who do or girls who say yes [laughing] but ‘what do you dream about’ so I made it up a dream and told him and it would amuse me to see him scribbling it all down, no medical treatment what so ever then I got a telegram, report to Innsworth, and I said to my father who’d worked his way up you see from being a corporal in the first world war to being a squadron leader, acting wing commander and he knew all the ropes, I said to him ‘god I could do with a few more days leave’ and he said ‘well send them a telegram’, I said what will I say?’ he said ‘wedding’, so I thought telegram style is quite ambiguous you see, and instead of saying ‘I request extension of leave for my wedding’ I just said ‘for wedding’, so it could be anybody’s wedding, they said forty eight hours granted and report to Manby in Lincolnshire, well I still hadn’t got proper uniform and everything, just one tunic my father had given me, this funny cap and other odd things you know, and I had to buy everything I needed to make it up, you should have three of everything, three pairs of trousers, three tunics etc. I had to buy it from the stores and a 664B which it the payment on clothing on repayment form, I can remember even the name of the form, form 664B, and I had it stopped out of my pay, so I was looking for a job, nobody knew what I was there for, there were people on a course, officers training courses and I said, they said ‘are you an instructor’ I said ‘I don’t know, can I look at your books?’ they showed me the books and I said ‘no I don’t know any of this stuff, it’s all up to date, you know I don’t know it so I can’t be an instructor’, ‘are you a pupil?’ I said ‘no I’m off flying so I can’t be a pupil’, I got pally with the armourist officer and I said ‘I’m sick of just hanging about, three weeks and nothing to do and have you got anything I can do?’ and he said ‘well we need someone to take charge of the low level bombing range but it’s night work’, I said ‘well I’ve got nothing to do during the day or during the night so I might as well be working at night, sleeping in the day’, so he gave me a squad of blokes and WAAFs and I was in charge of bombing range so after another three or four weeks he said ‘guess what, your documents have come through and you are attached to my section anyway, what would you like to do?’, I said ‘well what is there?’, he gave me two or three options and said ‘there’s a detachment on the coast with three bombing ranges, have a ride out there on the ration lorry, see if you like it, you can take charge of one of the ranges’, so I thought well anything to get away from the real air force, get away on a detachment.
CB: Your eyes were alright now were they?
JA: No, no I still couldn’t see out of my right eye, but they said, they introduced peace time regulations and things you see after the war had ended, and they said annual musketry, everybody must attend so I went to the rifle range and I fired off so many rounds and I didn’t get any bullets on the target at all, so they said ‘something must be wrong there, will you do it again?’, well I couldn’t see the target never mind hit it, and I was trying to use my left eye with the rifle on the right side you see and that’s impossible, anyway I was in charge of the bombing range for a year or two and I was sent for by the commanding officer, he was an air commodore and he said ‘air crews are allowed to take trade training’, and I said ‘well I don’t need any because I’ll be demobbed in about six months, demobilised, don’t need any trade training’, I said ‘what is there anyway?’, he said you’re only allowed to take group one or group two trades and I said ‘what are the group one’s and group two’s?’ he said ‘there aren’t any’, I said ‘well what is there then?’ he said ‘well if don’t volunteer for one of these I’ll damn well send you on one’ he said ‘there’s plenty of openings for cooks’, I said ‘oh I’d like to be a cook’, I thought you’re in the warm and you can get plenty to eat if you’re in the cook house, I said ‘I’d like to train as a cook’ and he was furious, he said ‘that’s a group five trade, you’re not allowed to take a low trade’ well I thought well it’d be nice you know in the winter in the cook house [laughing] so he said ‘I’m sending you on a photographic course’, so all the other people, I was in charge of the course of twenty five men because I was a senior man, and the others were people who had joined up to fly but before they could start training the war had finished so they got to go onto ground jobs, and the ones on the course were amateur photographers and they knew everything, well all I knew was you point a camera and press the thing and you send it off to Boots, and when it comes back it’s prints and how they do it I don’t care, but now I had to learn all about it, take photographs of things moving and you know all sorts, people walking, cycling, aeroplanes taking off and all that, I learned quite a bit actually and then I was transferred to Benson, near Oxford and I was put in charge of the photographic section, well I was the most naive photographer in the world because I wasn’t even interested, but I was put in charge and they were doing an air survey of the United Kingdom and Scandinavia, and doing hundreds of feet of film and it was all going through machines and it was all automatic, well I’d never seen such machinery and the photographic officer was always sliding off somewhere and he’d put me in charge and disappear and when he came back he’d say ‘hundreds of yards of film have been ruined’ and ‘how did that happen?’ and he said ‘you didn’t make them clean the film’ well I didn’t know they had to clean the film [slight laugh], so it wasn’t too bad because there was a lot of women there, WAAFs, they were quite jolly and I used to open the section at nine o’clock in the morning and they’d say ‘right we’re go off to breakfast now’ and we’d go down by the river, the Thames and have bacon and eggs and stroll back when we felt like it, and I hadn’t got the faintest idea, some of the people knew what they were doing and some didn’t you see, I didn’t know at all [laughs], so eventually I was demobilised from there and it took place at Uxbridge and I was given a chalk striped suit, like Max Miller I felt, and a hat, I’d never worn a trilby hat and we looked in mirrors in our civilian clothes and laughed like hell because we’d never worn anything like that before and when we come out the demobilisation centre there were chaps hanging around offering you two quid for the box of clothing, I offered them the hat, they didn’t want that, they wanted coats and trousers, ‘cause clothing was rationed you see, and the thing I would have really like to keep was an over coat because they had good overcoats in the air force and I hadn’t worn an overcoat you see, so I went to a market and they were selling second hand clothes which weren’t rationed and I brought a sailor’s overcoat [laughs].
CB: Did you keep in touch with your crew after the war?
JA: Up until the time they died, yes, except the one from the Shetlands who emigrated to New Zealand so we lost touch with him, but the rest of us stayed in touch until they all died, one at a time, not all together but they got heart attacks and cancer and things and I think that was through the stress they had during the war.
CB: You became a very successful international businessman after the war.
JA: I did, yes, I devoted all my time to educating myself, I attended a technical school, it was a commercial and technical school, they had commercial boys who did short hand typing and book keeping and technical boys, I was one, we did metal work and wood work and higher mathematics’ and science, advance subjects you know, we didn’t do the nice subjects like art anymore and scripture and things you know, easy subjects, we didn’t do that.
CB: There is one point I wanted to ask you, you were awarded the DFM, the Distinguished Flying Medal –
JA: Yes.
CB: Did you accept it?
JA: No I didn’t, I got a message, chaps used to come into town, my old friends who’d trained with me and were still on the squadron and they’d come in they said, one of them said, ‘see you got a gong then?’ and I said ‘I don’t know anything about it’, he said it was on DROs, daily routine orders, I did know about it because an officer appeared one day in the hospital and he sat on the bed next to me and I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t recognise him properly, because my eyes were badly affected and he said, in a very pompous way he said, ‘I have honour to inform you, that you have been awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal’ and it was as though I could hear a radio on in the background, it didn’t sound like me at all, and I heard myself saying ‘tell them to stick it up their arse, I don’t want a bloody medal, I want some clothes, I want a shirt and a tunic, and some trousers, I want some shoes’, because they hadn’t provided me with anything and another thing that upset me was a bitch had had puppies on the squadron, in the tent lines, and I’d got one of these puppies and that was the only thing I’d got in the world, I’d got the rest of the crew but I didn’t own them and the only thing I owned was this little Italian dog, he was a kind of Labrador and I used to save a bit on my plate from dinner or breakfast and bring it back for him, put it on the ground and he’d lick the plate clean, and the next morning I’d go to breakfast, forget to wash the plate and I’d remember later ‘oh god I forgot to wash the plate’, because it was always so clean, you see he’d licked it clean, and the lads came to the hospital and they said ‘the CO’s had all the dogs shot’, ‘what, why’d he do that, shot all the dogs?’, ‘cause they were good for morale those dogs and I used to look forward to my little dog you know when I came back from my trips, it might be the last day of my life, and he shot it, and that’s why I didn’t take the DFM, why I told them to stick it up their arse, now years after the war when I moved to Lincolnshire from London, where I live now, I was in Lincoln when I met somebody who turned out to be a flight commander from the squadron, and he was not the same flight I was in, we had A flight and B flight, he was the other flight and he said, I didn’t know him on the squadron ‘cause he came after I’d you know done most of my trips, he was the new boy, and he said ‘do you know the CO is still alive, he lives in Norfolk’ I said ‘no, I didn’t know that’ he said ‘I’ll give you his details, his telephone number and address’, so I phoned him and I said ‘I’d like to come and check a few things with you ‘cause I’m writing a manuscript for a book and the sort of things I’ve heard, I heard that you were a group captain dropped down to wing commander because you wanted what the Americans called some combat time, we thought you must be bloody potty,’ because he was non-compassionate at that time you see, I said ‘there’s certain things I’d like to check with you whether it’s true or not’, I went to see him, I said you never talked to us on the squadron because we were sergeants, he said ‘well I couldn’t because you were so much more experienced than me’ he said ‘I kept a low profile’ and I said ‘well you won’t remember me but I’ll tell you something now and it’ll remind you who I am’ and I told him about the DFM and where it should be stuck and he was flabbergasted, I had come back from dead you know to haunt him and he’d got a couple of dogs there you know, young two dogs, and how would he feel now if I shot his dogs –
CB: Did you mention that to him?
JA: I didn’t no, I just told him I was so embittered and outraged that I didn’t want the bloody medal but of course it was a mistake, looking at the Antiques Roadshow one day, I saw a few ordinary medals being auctioned and a DFM, and the DFM made about six thousand pounds or something put together with the other medals and I said to my wife what a fool I was I should’ve taken it, but it was involuntary you know when I said it, it was as though I wasn’t speaking, I was listening to somebody saying it, and I was in a bad way of course, I’d got no short term memory, for many months, I didn’t dare tell anybody because I wanted to get back on to flying you see, I thought you can fly with one eye, I’m not interested in anything else only flying, they wouldn’t have it, and [pauses] I was eventually, I was on this photographic course and coming out of a darkroom into the sunlight I couldn’t see I was blinded, my eyes are streaming, so I was sent to an army doctor in Aldershot, and he said to me ‘you’re up to British army standards’ and I said ‘maybe I am because you’re calling up people with one eye now’, they were towards the end of the war they called up people to serve with one eye. And I went back to my unit, one day I was called for by the medical officer and he said ‘you should have had a medical board last year’, I said ‘I did have one’ and he said ‘why do you say that? Nothing in your records about it’, I said ‘I went to Watchfield and I had a railway warrant for myself and a party of airmen and I was in charge, ‘and what do alleged happened?’, I said ‘well the medical officer who gave me a board he said ‘what’s your condition?’ and I said ‘about the same’ and he said ‘right we’ll leave it at that then, same’ and he said ‘I can’t understand you saying that’, and I said, he was flicking over pages in a file, I said, the pages are numbered, I said to him ‘there’s one page missing’ he said ‘it’s nothing to do with you’, I said ‘well it’s my records it’s something to do with me, that’s the page that gives you know, details of my last medical board’, he said ‘I’m a squadron leader, I’m competent to conduct medical boards, you are A1’, and I thought I can’t be A1, what’s their game, I thought, well they don’t want to pay me a pension for not being A1, so nothing I can do about it, I left the Air Force and I signed on with a panel doctor just before the National Health Service came into being, and he said I’ll just check you over while you’re here and he said ‘good God man you’re in a terrible state, what the hell has happened to you?’ I said ‘I was wounded when I was flying in the Air Force’, he said ‘well you should get a pension’ and I said ‘I can’t get a pension, I’m A1’ [laughs] he said ‘the bastards’ he said, ‘they shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it’, he said ‘I’ll get some British Legion forms and fill them in for you, you sign it and send them off’, so that happened, I took a day off, I thought this is a waste of time and they said ‘yes you are due for compensation’, gave me nine shillings a week, nine shillings, I didn’t need nine shillings anyway within two years I was an armour men’s designer working for the Ministry of Defence and from there I progressed upwards until I was managing director or chairman of three companies at the same time and I was making an awful lot of money.
CB: How do you look back at your time in the RAF? is it with –
JA: With disgust, you see when I was a child, daddy was in the Air Force, all his friends were in the Air Force, they were my heroes, we were, Douglas Bader was stationed on there and he used to come to my father’s house and I saw Lord Trenchard, he was going by in his car on the aerodrome and people who became very famous later and I admired them, they were all my heroes, Amy Johnson and Jim Mollison, all those people you know, civilian pilots, I didn’t know any other life so naturally I joined the Royal Air Force and when we were living at Cranwell, that time 1929 and then again just before the war, the Royal Air Force was known as the world’s finest flying club, it wasn’t very big, only about thirty thousand men in the RAF, they would join with no rank and they’d go out in seven years with no rank, there was no promotion, you see there’s no expansion until late 1930’s and everybody seemed to know everybody, my father knew every commanding officer throughout the world, and he was well known, when I was in the RAF people remembered him you know and they’d look at my name and they’d say ‘have you got any relations in the service?’, and my brother was in the RAF and he said ‘I always say no, ‘cause we don’t want to let the old man down’, ‘cause he was a bit of a scallywag, and anyway, I used to forget to draw my pension of nine shillings a week, forty five pence nowadays and it would go on for about three months and I had to write away for it, and I let things slide ‘cause I was making an awful lot of money, I was eating in the best restaurants in the West End and hotels all over the world, staying in the best hotels.
CB: What do you think you would’ve done if you hadn’t gone in the RAF?
JA: God knows
CB; Do you think you would have just brought your success as a businessman you just have brought that forward as it were and you would’ve started it straight away?
JA: I don’t know.
CB: Or did you need your time in the RAF to form and develop?
JA: I think the RAF made me very aggressive and when I went for a job after ready for coming out of the RAF, I was in uniform and I had an interview with the personnel manager of an engineering firm and he said ‘what were you doing in the Air Force?’ no ‘what were you doing in the war?’, well I was dressed in uniform, I’d got a flying badge and medal ribbons, I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing, I said ‘I was flying in the Royal Air Force’ ‘oh’ he said ‘not much use to us is it?’, I was very aggressive at that time, the war had made me a bit loopy, and I felt like I wanted to knock his head off but I thought just a minute he’s right, I’ve learnt how to fly an aeroplane, how to drop bombs, how to blow people up, how to shoot people, I’ve learnt nothing that’s of any use to a civilian employer, he’s right I’ve completely wasted my time, if I been a cook or a lorry driver I would have something to contribute, but that made me determined to overtake all the people who hadn’t served in the war so I started at the bottom in a factory, and I went to evening classes and I had private tutors, I spent all my money on tuition, I got language teachers, I leaned Latin, I learned Russian, and I perfected my German and within two years I was head of the German department in import export firm with only Germans working for me, because I was an engineer and a German speaking Englishman, so I’d got an advantage there, and the cold war had started, and I thought either there’s going to be a war with Russia or eventually the Soviet empire is so big there will be a demand for things –
CB: that’s where you did most of your trade –
JA: So I learnt Russian so I could negotiate contracts in Moscow in Russian –
CB: Tenacious, determined.
JA: Well I was determined to do better than everybody, I went for an interview ,when I first came out of the Air Force, because I understand the government were giving grants to ex-service men, and I went for an interview and they said ‘what were you doing before you joined the Royal Air Force?’ and I said ‘well I was in school until just before’, they said ‘were you not studying for a profession?’, I said ‘I was only seventeen when I joined the air force, I was studying higher mathematics and subjects that would get me through the selection board to be a pilot’, I said ‘the town was being bombed and I thought by joining the Air Force I could help to stop that’, they looked at me, they were thinking you simpleton, they said ‘we only give grants to professional people’, so few weeks later I made another application and the attitude to me was humiliating or intended to be humiliating, so I got, I was fed up with being humiliated so I told the interviewee off, I really told him off, in words, you’ve never heard before and the second man who was sitting with him, when I left, rushed out with me and jumped in the lift and he said ‘thank you for doing that’, he said ‘that was wonderful the way you told him off, I’ve had to sit there for weeks listening to his rudeness’ he said ‘you really fixed him’. When I got a job as an armours designer, because I’d been in the Air Force and been shot, not because I knew anything about designing [slight pause], all the other people in the department had gone straight from school, into the ministry and they’d all got a free education and got a higher national certificate which is what I wanted to do you see, so I thought they’ve never been in the service and they’re the same age as me and they’re well ahead of me, got their qualifications, I’ll beat them, I’ve got to be better than them, so that’s what drove me on, I was inferior and I became superior ‘cause I had to, I had to do it, I spent all my money on studying, spent all my time on studying.
CB: Well that’s been a fantastic story Jim, thank you very much indeed.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Jim Auton
Subject
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World War (1939-1945)
Great Britain. Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Jim Auton grew up on Royal Air Force stations and joined the Royal Air Force at seventeen. He trained as a pilot navigator and bomber at RAF Ansty near Coventry, then in South Africa under the Empire Air Training Scheme. He trained on B-24s at Lidder and after travelling up through Africa was stationed at Foggia in Italy, where he started his operations. He describes the tough conditions there, as well as the operations in which he participated, such as targeting an oil refinery in Fiume, now known as Rijeka in Croatia and Ploiesti in Romania. He took part in mining operations in the Danube as well as secret operations to drop supplies in Warsaw to support the uprising. Whilst on his thirty-seventh operation, he was injured and describes his time in hospital, the journey home and his ground jobs in the Royal Air Force after the war. He also relates why he turned down a Distinguished Flying Medal, and recounts his post-war career as a businessman.
Creator
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Clare Bennett
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-06-08
Contributor
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Emma Bonson
Heather Hughes
Language
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eng
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AAutonJF150608
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02:13:37 audio recording
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Warwickshire
Croatia--Rijeka
Danube River
Egypt
Italy--Foggia
Poland--Warsaw
Italy
Poland
Romania--Ploiești
Croatia
Romania
Danube River
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.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Type
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Sound
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
animal
B-24
bombing
coping mechanism
demobilisation
Distinguished Flying Medal
fear
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
RAF Ansty
RAF Benson
sanitation
superstition
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Warsaw airlift (4 August - 28 September 1944)
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1186/18578/SWatsonC188489v1-1.2.pdf
41dce93a36a706458878ffce711dc143
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1186/18578/SWatsonC188489v1-2.1.pdf
78bceef44f30c4e1a4f2d533cd690cd9
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Watson, Clifford
C Watson
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. Two oral history interviews with Flying Officer Clifford Watson DFC (1922 - 2018, 1384956, 188489 Royal Air Force), a memoir, his service and release book, and a scrapbook containing photographs and documents. He flew operations as an air gunner with 150 and 227 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Clifford Watson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-06-28
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
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Watson, C
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Photograph
JUST ANOTHER TAILEND CHARLIE
CLIFF WATSON DFC
HUNTINGDON
JUNE 1989
[page break]
[underlined] SEQUENCE [/underlined]
[underlined] File [/underlined] [underlined] Page [/underlined] [underlined] Location [/underlined]
[underlined] GROUP O [/underlined]
D 3 Joining up [underlined] AC2 [/underlined]
4 Babbacombe - 11 ITW Newquay [underlined] LAC [/underlined]
8 Troopship HMT Mooltan - Freetown - Capetown
G 7 Southern Rhodesia - Bulawayo [underlined] LAC [/underlined]
8 EFTS Belvedere Scrubbed TIGER MOTHS [underlined] AC2 [/underlined]
10 A/G Course, Moffat ANSONS [underlined] LAC-Sgt [/underlined]
11 Polsmoor Transit Camp [underlined] Sgt [/underlined]
J25 14 HMT Monarch of Bermuda
15 West Kirby - Bournmouth
17 25 OTU Finningley - Bircotes - WELLINGTONS
18 30 OTU Hixon - Sieghford
19 Leaflets to Paris
Wedding
J26 21 West Kirby - HMT Johan Van Vanderbilt
K1 23 Algiers - Blida - 150 Sqdn WELLINGTONS
K2 27 Fontaine Chaude (Batna) [underlined] FIt/Sgt [/underlined]
LT 32 Kairoaun
LU 35 On leave in Tunis, Chad in Jail
MT 46 End of First Tour - 47 raids
47 2 BPD Tunis - 500 mls. by lorry to Algiers
HXM Capetown Castle - Greenoch - West Kirby
NS 49 Screened 84 OTU Desborough
50 Norton, Sheffield Discip. course
53 W.O - 6th June D Day [underlined] W/O [/underlined]
OS 55 Aircrew Pool, Scampton - HCU Winthorpe STIRLING
56 Syerston Lanc. conversion LANCASTERS
P 57 227 Sqdn. Bardney – Balderton [underlined] P/O [/underlined]
60 DFC [underlined] F/O [/underlined]
63 End of Tour - VE Day
Q 67 Redundant - Photographic Officer, Farnborough
68 u/t Equipment Officer 61MU Handforth
[underlined] GROUP 4 [/underlined]
69 Lager Commandant, Poynton prison camp
2W 75 Civvy Street, Whitehaven Relay Service [underlined] MR [/underlined] .
79 Development Manager, Metropolitan Relays London
44 83 To Kenya, Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini Kitale
48 85 HM Prison Service Asst. Supt. gr2
555 95 Civil Aviation Radio Officer
556 Mbeya Radio Supt.
557 103 UK leave PMG1 – Flt/RO lic. C. & G.
670 104 Eastleigh - Mwanza
107 Royal visit
680 113 UK leave
114 Entebbe Telecomm. Supt
115 Kisumu
700 123 Nairobi Comm. Centre Ast. Signals Officer
720 129 UK leave
750 134 Nairobi HQ & retirement
800 135 Laikipia Security Network
96 151 Pye Telecommunications, Cambridge Project Engineer
[page break]
[underlined] ILLUSTRATIONS [/underlined]
12A Air Gubber Coiurse 24 CAOS Moffat
15A Finningley Reg. Whellams
20A Bride & Groom 1/3/43
CW in flying kit
CW & HF at Richmond
26A Stan Rutherford with Hilda & Cliff at Richmond
Bill Willoughby (NAV) at Whimpey port gun position
Bill Willoughby & Stan Chatterton in their pits at Blinda
44A Pantelleria target photographs
48A CW with Mum, Barnoldswick
Skipper & B.A. with Hilda at Richmond
Skipper & Hilda at Richmond
48B Skipper& [sic] B.A. with Cliff at Richmond
Stan Rutherford in the snow, at Bircoates
Outside Chalet at Blida
Wimpey at Kaircan
48C At Richmond CW & Hilda
52A Warrant Officer parchment
54A three of Aircrew peeling spuds at Scampton incl. Frank Eaglestone
56A F/O Forster DFM 2nd tour Nav.
C.W.
W/O Foolkes at rear of NJ-P
64A Crashed Remains of 9J – O
64B F/O Cheale, F/O. Bates
S/Ldr Chester DFA with F/O Cheale, W/O Foolkes & F/O Forster DFM
64C More of 9J – O
64D F/O Ted (Ace) Forster DFM, CW & W/O Pete Foolkes
64E CW with rear turret of 9J – O
CW with motor-byke
Sgt. Geoff (Doogan) Hampson, Flight Engineer
64F Newspaper cutting
Start of Second Tour – Frank Eaglestone, Ted Forster & Pete Foolkes
More of 9J – O
64G Ted Forster Ready for Gerry?
Lunchtime over Homberg [sic]
64H P/O Bates (My last tour Skipper)
Part of F/O Bates’ usual crew
64J F/LT. Maxted (Gunnery Ldr) Pete Foolkes and F/O Sandford (spare gunner or Sqdn Adj?)
More of 9J – O
64K Doogan again
More of 9J – O
64L DFC Citation
64M Apology from H.M.
64N F/O Croker’s Lanc. on Torpedo dump at Wyke
Christmas Dinner at Wyke
Reverse of Pete’s Xmas Card 1989
Part of F/L Croker’s letter with Xmas Card
66A-H Examples of Battle Orders
[page break]
[underlined] DEDICATION [/underlined]
The section dealing with my R.A.F. career is dedicated to Lady Luck who shows no compassion, is completely immoral and yet cannot be bought.
After a remarkable interview on television recently, Raymond Baxter asked of Tom Sopwith "To what do you attribute your tremendous and unparalelled [sic] success over such a long period?” In his 94th. year he replied “Luck, pure luck”. His reply was the same when asked again at his 100th. birthday party.
This must apply to every aspiring aviator, and I was no exception.
[page break]
[underlined] THE EARLIEST YEARS [/underlined]
My first ten year or so were spent in Yorkshire, having been born on the [deleted] 22nd [/deleted] [inserted] 11th [/inserted] of February 1922, at 45 Federation Street [inserted] the home of my paternal Gt Grandparents [/inserted], Barnoldswick almost opposite nr. 26 where my Grandparents lived, and about two years after my father was demobbed from the Kings Own Yorkshire Light lnfantry after the Great War. My sister Winifred Sofia was born almost two years later on the 2nd. of January 1924. About that time the family moved to a shop at 33 Rainhall Road where my father established a wireless business. I attended the infants school only 50 yards away, often joined by Winifred.
At the shop, my father built radio receivers of the "Tuned Radio Frequency" type, (TRF), a good 10 years ahead of the superhet. At the same time he held one of the first radio amateur licences in Yorkshire, with the callsign 2ZA. His aerial was a wire to the top of a 50 ft. pole in the back yard and starting with a spark transmitter his first radio contact was with another amateur in Colne, whose transmitter output was connected between the gas and water pipes, He had no means of measuring his frequency but thought it was somewhere around 300 KHz. (1000 metres) He soon progressed to using valves and gradually higher frequencies, though almost everything was really trial and error. When communication progressed to "working" other countries the prefix G was added to UK call-signs. He once told me that his first telephony transmission was achieved using a GPO carbon microphone in the aerial circuit. The only receivable broadcast wireless station at that time was the BBC's 2LO and when people heard it for the first tine there was indeed great wonderment and excitement
In 1926 came the general strike. Money was very scarce and people were hungry. There was no money coming in and the shop closed down. The family moved to a house in Rook Street, close to the railway bridge and opposite the cobler's [sic] wooden workshop. Most of us wore clogs in those days, with leather tops and laces, and iron-shod wooden soles.
Before going to war my father had served an engineering apprentiship [sic] , and worked with steam engines. With outstanding debts at the shop and a wife and two small children to support, he volunteered to work with L.M.S. railway company, and drove a train between Barnoldswick and I think Skipton. The engine was pelted with stones at some of the bridges and he was very unpopular with the strikers, althought [sic] many of them were quite happy to use the train. Thus the family was sustained and he received a letter of thanks and a medalion [sic] from the chairman of L.M.S.
When things returned to normal the family moved again, to nr. 14 School Terrace in Dam Head Road and Winifred and I attended the infants and Junior Schools across the back street. My mother was able to resume working at the mill as a cotton weaver with her sisters Molly and Annie. Their brother Jim -my uncle- was a 'twister', that is he connected the cotton threads on the warp to tails ready for applying to the loom for weaving. The noise. in the weaving sheds was deafening and weavers were quite adept at lip reading. This had a great influence on their broad northern accent. Most weavers operated six looms, loading manually the weft into the shuttles before changing them. My uncle Charlie -the brother of my paternal grandfather=- was a manufacturer employing about a hundred people running 500 or so looms. I remember the big warehouse doors and the lift which was operated by water pressure. To go up, just turn on this tap!. Going down transfered [sic] the water back into a holding
[page break]
tank. There were two offices, large wooden boxes, one on each side of the big doors and just under the ceiling. Accessed by ladders. One office was for uncle Charlie and his clerk, and the other for the more junior staff. When I called to see them in 1941 I noted the intercom. system between the offices. It comprised, at each terminal, two empty Lyle Golden Syrup tins one for speaking into and the other for receiving. they were connected by two lengths of taught string which vibrated the diaphragms being the bottoms of the tins. I was surprised at their effectiveness. There was also a loop of string pulled manually between the two places with a small box attched [sic] for transferring documents. I was impressed. Uncle Charlie said he would consider changing the strings after the war.
At School Terrace my father carried on building wireless sets in the attic and also helped his friend Tom Shorrock who owned the local radio relay service. This comprised a wireless receiver and amplifiers connecting some hundreds of houses with a pair of bare wires to loudspeakers at a cost of ninepence per week for each loudspeaker. The idea appealed to my father and he was able to instigate some technical improvements. By then the wireless manufacturing industry had become well established and radios became readily available. My father had paid off his debts and was discharged from bancrupsy [sic].
At this stage we moved into a new house at 25 Melville Avenue. which was nearer to Fernbank Mill for my mother but also had an inside toilet and bathroom. It also had electricity mains in place of the more customery [sic] gas lighting. An electric soldering iron must have seemed luxurious after heating a copper bit on a gas ring.
Our school was only a few minutes walk from home. Gisburn Road Council School. I remember it and the teachers very well, Mr Alfred Green Petty.the Headmaster, Miss Housen who tought [sic] music english and poetry, and above all Mr Heaton who tought [sic] arithmetic, citizanship [sic] and physics. Miss Housen did not think much of my efforts, I couldn’t sing and disliked poetry, but I got on fine with Mr. Heaton, who also tought [sic] my father over 20 years earlier. Over a fairly long period he gave me extra homework in arithmetic most nights, generally a problem or two and he checked the results next day. It was almost private tuition and thanks largely to him, I excelled in the subject. I think children’s attitudes' in the main were very different to those of the present day. Discipline was strict by consent, not fear. Reward was achieved by effort alone and there was friendly competition between us. Most of us got the cane for some minor offence like climbing over the school wall, in my case refusing to stand in the front of the class and recite ‘the wreck of the Hesperus’. We did respect our teachers.
About this time we moved to a house in Headingley for just a few weeks and then on to. Fence, which we knew as wheatley Lane. During that period my father was working in London at Stag Lane fitting the electrics in Rolls Royces. My mother worked at the cotton mill nearby and Winifred & I were looked after partly by Mrs. Ingham who had a sweet shop. Our stay in Fence was also [deleted] m [/deleted] of short duration.
Tom Shorrock was a friend of Mr. Ramsbottom who was struggling with a one programme radio relay system in Keighley. He already had thriving electrical business and Tom introduced my father to him. So we moved yet again, to Keighley, and my father became Engineer and Manager of Ramsbottoms Radio Relay Service in the centre of Keighley. From 33 Lister Street, the Receiving and Amplifying Station the wires branched
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out on the roof tops in all directions. By then there were two BBC programmes, Home Service on 342 mtrs, and the Light Programme on 1500 mtrs, so they converted to two pairs for two programmes. We were living at 25 Lawnswood Road but soon moved to a new house at 21 Whittley Road. I recall helping Leslie Wright – Dad’s foreman to erect a garage which cost £7.10.0 to house the new Austin 7 which cost £75 taxed and insured. The other personality I remember well was Walter Spurgeon, chief wireman.
Winifred and I attended Holycroft Council School. Some of the lessons were by listening to the radio, an innovation in those days, and it was my job to check the radio was working, each morning.
It was in Keighley that Mrs. Alice Kilham, my father’s secretary came on the scene. She lived in Oakworth with her daughter Mary, her husband being in a sanitorium being treated for TB. During very cold winter around 1933 the snow was six feet deep and they came to live with us at Wittley Road.
Winifred and I were in the Girl Guides and Boy Scouts respectively and we decided to take the Signaller badge which meant sending and receiving the morse code. We were told the speed required was 12. Having established a battery and buzzer, and a morse key and headphones by the beds in each bedroom, we soon memorised the code and communicated with each other, quickly reaching 12 words per minute. Eventually we progressed to 18 words per minute and then went to take the test. Only then did we find that the speed required was 12 LETTERS per minute, not words. 12 letters is only 2 words per minute. However this faux pas proved very useful about eight years hence.
After just a few years in Keighley, the system was working well and no longer presented a challenge. My father was approached by a group of businessmen from Norwich who were interested in the “wired wireless” system. They were owners of radio busineses [sic] who felt they shouId have a stake in the competition and bank managers hoping to earn a quick buck. All the bank managers were Yorkshiremen. So Norwich Relays Ltd. came into being with premises in St. John Maddermarket, and my father became Engineer and manager, taking with him his secretary and foreman Lesley Wright from Keighley. Allan Moulton joined the firm and was responsible for obtaining wayleaves, that is obtaining permission from owners to put wires on their property. He was a popular figure in Norwich, his main qualification for the job was that he played cricket for Norfolk and knew most people who mattered. Leslie died whilst in his thirties in Norwich.
Once again we moved house, to 119 Unthank Road, and Mrs. Kilham and Mary moved into a cottage in Blickling Court near Norwich Cathedral. Winifred I went to the Avenues Council School initially but not for long. I remember getting a prize for my ‘lecture' on how a TRF wireless worked, showing them the working radio I had made. Probably not very accurate but there was no-one present who could contradict me, fortunately.
At 13 I changed to the Norwich Junior Technical School in St. Andrews. Soon after we moved house yet again to a new house, “Wayside", in Plumstead Road, on the boundary of Norwich Aerodrome. Winifred then joined Mary at St. Monicas private school. On Saturday mornings I attended Art School on the top floor. I achieved very little there, the art master quite rightly concentrating on pupils who showed some potential. For an enjoyable two years we concentrated on technical
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subjects, woodwork, maths, physics, Chemistry, mechanics, technical drawing, metal and woodwork etc. The masters I remember well, ‘Chemi’ Reed the principle, Mr. Abigail, Mr. McCracken and Mr. Lishman. At the end of two-year course I transfered [sic] to Unthank College in Newmarket Road, joining the 5th. form. This was big change for me, the emphasis was on classical subjects, in English literature we spent a whole year studying Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night's Dream and Spencer's Fairy Queen. I couldn't: get interested in either but I later achieved a credit in the School Certificate by answering questions on A.G. Street’s Farmers Glory which I read in bed the night before the exam. Mr. Bertwhistle the English Lit. master was furious. For Physics and Mechanics I had tuition from Mr. Horace, the Principal's son and on Wednesday afternoons I visited “Chemi” Reed's house at 33 Britannia Rd. for tuition.
In early 1939 my father, Mr. Moulton and Mrs. Kilham acquired six run-down relay firms and the Nuvolion loudspeaker factory in South London from a Mr. Olivisi, a Frenchman. My father moved to Stretham to a flat in Pullman Court and Mrs. Kilham and Mary and to duCane Court in Balham where the Moultons also had a flat. My mother and Winifred moved to a house in West Norwood and I became a boarder at Unthank College. Soon after taking the School Certificate I joined my mother in London and we moved to a flat in New Southgate. I became articled to George Eric Titley, a Chartered Accountant in St Paul’s Churchyard, commuting to the city 6 days a week by underground. Rail fare was tenpence return per day and I was paid ten shillings per week. Fifty pence in 2004 currency The firm was Gladstone Titley and Co. at 61-63 St. Pauls Churchyard and I was the junior with qualified accountants Joe Oliver, Clarke and Jenkins, and Miss Miller the Secretary. It was amusing 6 years hence when I barged into a Board Meeting at 69 Lavender Hill, Sqdn/Ldr Jenkins still in uniform was sitting there when F/O Cliff Watson appearedstill [sic] in Battledress. Jenkins was called up in 1940 as an Account Squadron Leader.
On the 3rd. of September 1939 War was declared and any plans we all had for the future were kiboshed. During the blitz in 1940 to be nearer my father and to help out at Relays we moved home to Ascot Court in Acre Lane, Clapham.
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[underlined] JOINING UP [/underlined] .
The outbreak of war found me as a clerk articled to a Chartered Accountant in St. Paul's Yard. London. At the age of 17 1/2 it went without saying that within a year or two my occupation would be changed way or another. In the family Radio Relay business men were already leaving to join to Forces. My father was on an army reserve and expected to be called up at any time. I felt my best course was to abandon accountancy for the time being and try and help out; so I joined the firm as a General Factotum. During the Blitz on London my job was fault-finding and replacing the overhead lines, knocked down by Jerry bombers where buildings and whole streets were destroyed. The Radio Relay Service, a two programme four wire system in those days, linked the BBC with some tens of thousands of homes in South London, homes where the radio was never switched off. The system carried air raid warnings also. All too frequently the radio was interrupted by an announcer at Scotland Yard with “Attention please, here is an important announcement, an air raid warning has just been officially circulated". There were occasions when bombs were dropped before the sirens sounded, but never before the announcement was made on our Radio Relay System.
September, aged 18 1/2, I found my employers were trying hard to register me as being in a reserved occupation. The Manager, Allan Moulton, had already been successful in his own case, which was reasonable. Someone had to run the firm and my father had sailed off to Abbysinia [sic] in March. At the time I was working literally 18 hours per day and my fifty bob per week hardly paid for digs.
On a very rare afternoon-off I was walking down Kingsway and tried my luck at the R.A.F. Recruiting office. One look at an applicant for aircrew wearing glasses brought an instant decision from the man at the door. I walked along the Strand and down Whitehall, and having removed my spectacles tried the Royal Navy. I completed the application form and was told that I would be called for interview eventually, but there was a very long waiting list.
I tried the R.A.F. again about a week later having left-off my spectacles for several days, and an application form for training as a pilot was completed. Had I previous flying experience? Yes. Fortunately I was not asked for details, as a passenger with Alan Cobham's Flying Circus might not have carried much weight. - In 1936 we had lived at a house called "Wayside” in Plumsted Road, Norwich, on the Mousehold aerodrome boundary, with a panoramic view of the aerodrome, and I was fascinated by it all like most boys of my age. It was to be three months before I heard from the R.A.F. - the Navy had missed the boat – I was to report to the Aircrew Selection Board near Euston station, on the appointed day about a week hence, for 'medical and academic examinations'. The letter added that in the maths exam `log tables but not slide rules are permissable [sic] ’.
The great day arrived, and at 8.30 am. with about 80 other applicants we were told there would be three one hour written exams, Maths, English and General Knowledge, followed by a medical and a brief interview. Maths was a typical 5th. form end of term test, and English an essay with a wide choice of subjects. General knowledge was mainly common-sense. One of the questions I recall; "Is the distance from London to Warsaw nearer 100, 600 or 2000 miles?”. The Medical Exam was carried out by about 6 examiners, probably Doctors, on a production Iine basis.
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Then the interview after a delay of some hours. Three uniformed R.A.F. officers who had obviously been places in previous wars. "Why do you want to fly"? I have forgotten the particular piece of flannel I used, but it brought no comment and another member of the Board fired his shot, "Which is colder, minus 40 Centigrade or minus forty farenheit [sic] ? Instant answer to that, I'd hear. it before somewhere. The third member asked "that does your Father do" I replied "He is an officer in the R.A.S.C. fighting the Italians in Abbysinia [sic] ". This brought a chuckle from two of them for some reason and the interview was over. I would be advised by post of their decision after the exam. results had been studied.
A week later I was told to report to Euston for attestation, actual reporting for duty would follow after some weeks. There was a brief ceremony and I was given a document which stated that " AC2 Clifford Watson 1384956 has been accepted for training as a pilot in the R. A. F. and is to be prepared to report for duty of a few days notice". It went on to state further that his teeth should receive the earliest attention, one extraction and two fillings.
About three months later my call-up papers arrived, and meanwhile I had met two other local lads whose paths had converged with my own and were to stay parallel for the next six months or so. Raymond Colin Chislett, the son of a Battersea butcher, .and Tom King., of Wandsworth. The three of us reported to the R.T.O. at Paddington and joined a party bound for Babbacombe near Torquay.
During the week at Babbacombe we were issued with uniforms, introduced to drill and Service discipline, lectured on the history of the R.A.F. and told something of what the future held for us. We were made to feel that we really belonged and were indeed priveleged [sic] to be chosen to follow in the footsteps of 'The Few'. We were perhaps more than a little naive to think that we were all destined to become fighter pilots, but we were made to feel that the fate of England and the empire rested entirely with us. The Bombers were taken for granted and were not in the forefront of than news at that time. In any case we Londoners had seen our Fighters in action and - we admit it - imagined ourselves in their shoes. There was a tremendous urge to get on with it and to make a success of it. A great sense of urgency prevailed. I remember well that first day in the Royal Air Force. We were advised to write down our Service numbers so we wouldn't forget them, and above all, we had strawberries and cream for tea. The last I saw of strawberries and cream for about eight years, and as for forgetting one's Service number...! Perhaps it was intended as a joke, but we were taking everything very seriously. At the end of the week there was another Pep talk, very well delivered by a Squadron Leader - and equally well received. He remarked that about Babbacombe, people will say "Never in the History of human conflict, have so many been burgered [sic] about by so few". A misquotation of those immortal words. He went on to say that the two most important weeks in your R.A.F. careers are the first and last, and "you have already survived 50% of them, Good Luck chaps, and have a good trip". There was probably a lot more feeling and sincerity behind those words than we realised at the time. He had seen it all and been there 'in the last lot'. "Have a good trip” was to have real meaning in due course.
A short journey by train took us to no. 10 Initial Training Wing at Newquay for 8 weeks of ground training. We were accommodated in
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Trenance Hotel, one of many taken over by the R.A.F. Another hotel was used for lectures in Navigation, Airmanship, Aerodynamics, Engines, Aircraft Recognition, Signalling, R.A.F. Law and Administration, etc. etc. some drill and P.T., and swimming in the local baths. The sea and beach were out of bounds due to mines and other surprises awaiting the enemy. I had to concentrate hard in the classroom on everything, except signalling. The required speed for sending and receiving morse was 12 words per minute and I had been happy at 18 w.p.m. in the Boy Scouts.
The 18 w.p.m. came about through a misunderstanding. My sister Winifred (a Girl Guide) and I were learning morse for our Signaller badges and were told that a speed of 15 was required, so we practiced until we were competent at 18. It was only when we took the test that we learned the required speed was 15 letters and not words per minute. However this mistake was now serving me well.
The only part I did not enjoy was the cross-country runs, but someone had to be in the last three. After two weeks we were told now that we had smartened-up a bit we would wear white flashes in our caps so we would not be mistaken for real airmen.
There was great speculation as to where we would go for flying training. Maybe stay in Britain, or was it to be Canada, U.S.A., South Africa or Rhodesia, and was there not a possibility of it being Australia?. Meanwhile we must concentrate on passing the current hurdle, it could not by any means be taken for granted that we would all pass the course. In fact after only four weeks, four out of the original 50 were "scrubbed" - a new word to add to our rapidly 'increasing vocabulary.
After about 5 weeks we were issued with some flying kit, boots and Sidcot suits, goggles, helmet and a full issue of gloves - silk, wool, chamois and gauntlets. 4 pairs worn together, and a fifth, electricalIy heated, yet to came. We were not to know that it would be 15 months before we wore any of this. I doubt whether our destination was known to anyone at I.T.W. except that it was overseas somewhere. Seven days embarkation leave and the entire course was posted to West Kirby, no. 1 P.D.C., near Birkenhead on the Wirral. We were joined by about 300 other u/t Pilots from other I.T.W.s and it was just a matter of waiting for the draft. There were parades each morning and we were allowed out of camp at mid-day. It was here that Tom, Ray and I teamed up with John Heggarty, a u/t Pilot who had been at 11 I.T.W. in Scarborough. He was from Birkenhead, of Anglo/French parentage. The four of us visited Liverpool every evening, a place crowded with Navy, Army and Air Force types mostly in transit to somewhere or other. Scores of ships were loading in the Mersey, but after a couple of weeks it was a special train for us to Greenock on the Clyde for immediate embarkation on the "Mooltan", a merchant ship of same 30,000 tons. Our 350 were accomodated [sic] on "D" Deck, just above the water-line, where we spent most of our time, not by choice but by order. Some slept on the mess tables, others under them, with the top layer of bodies in hammocks, a crippling device. To realise that hammocks were the traditional sleeping arrangements for British sailors left me unimpressed and I felt that something far more superior could have been devised. However, navies of many countries seem to favour them. Once aboard, there was no going back. On the second day aboard we were tugged down the Clyde and next morning counted over 40 big ships steaming very slowly in a north-
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westerly direction out at sea. Obviously we were bound for Canada, hence the heavy flying kit .and four pairs of gloves. A week ought to see us in the St. Lawrence. How wrong we were. the convoy was shepherded by some very impressive naval ships, Cruisers, destroyers etc. and Sunderland flying boats were in constant attendance for the first few days. After three weeks of steaming in all directions, first into the freezing cold, then warmer and finally very hot indeed, at 0500 one day the engines slowed and finally stopped; a rattling of chains and then silence. All very dramatic but a buzz on the P. A. system told us we had arrived in Freetown. Portholes were to remain closed. We may go up on deck but on no account were we to remove our shirts nor buy anything from the natives. By mid-day the temperature below decks was almost unbearable and there was no respite from that for a further two weeks. Salt water showers were available at all times, it was just a matter of stripping and walking through the shower. No need for a towel, but in any case that was reserved for absorbing perspiration and we became accustomed to the salt water. Food on board was very good under the circumstances. Two orderlies from each "table" would collect it from the galley (vocabulary still improving) and dish up, and after the meal two more orderlies would clean the tables and wash up. The chores were shared on a roster basis at each table, and each had some duty to perform every few days. We were very fortunate in that we were cadets and not yet real airmen we spent some of our time attending lectures in the second class lounge. We estimated there were about 3000 troops aboard. There was lots of talent for the almost daily concerts. A daily newssheet called "DER TAG”, together with the P.A. system kept us up-to-date with the news. The 9 o-clock news was a must.
Five weeks out of Liverpool it who getting cold again, even below decks, and greatcoats were essential deckwear for the endless lifeboat drills. There were lifeboats but for most of us it was a matter of parading on deck near a stack of Carley floats. The subject was better not discussed, there was no satisfactory answer to abandoning ship.
The Mooltan carried one gun mound at the stern above the propellers, manned by a RoyaI Artillery crew in transit. It seemed to be of about 4" calibre but was not fired during our voyage. It was said the deck would cave in, but this might have been an exaggeration. There were also two ramps off the stern for depth charges of which there was a supply near the ramps. The sixth week was really cold and wet and we estimated our position as somewhere in Antarctica. We then turned more or less north and after a total of seven weeks dropped anchor late one afternoon a few miles out at sea, with much speculation about our location. At about 7 pm. the shore was like Blackpool illuminations. Wherever we are, don`t they know there's a war on? A buzz on the P.A. system told us we would be disembarking next day and our British currency would be of no use to us in this foreign country. We should hand-in all currency, and get a receipt which would be exchanged for local currency when we got ashore. Next morning we entered the docks and disembarked. It was only then we found we were in Durban and were taken straight to the Transit Camp at Clairwood. The army contingent remained on-board and were understood to be bound for action in the Middle
East. So we had arrived in South Africa, and a very congenial and pleasant place it turned out to be.
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[underlined] SOUTHERN RHODESIA [/underlined] .
Clairwood Camp was just a few miles from Durban and there we spent 7 days, very enjoyable, but for the first two days, stoney broke. We had handed in all our money aboard ship but it was to be 10 days before it was exchanged for local currency. However, we seemed to get into Durban every day and we were made very welcome in the Service canteens and clubs.
Before I left England, I was given a card which stated that LAC Cliff. Watson was the son of a respected member of the Battersea Rotary Club and any co-operation afforded to him would be greatly appreciated. I noticed the Rotary insignia at the doorway of a Barclays bank in Durban and asked to see the manager. Could I please borrow £5 and I would refund it as soon as I was paid. 45 years later I would certainly not undertake such a venture. It happened to be the first Friday in the month which was the day of the monthly Rotary luncheon. The three lads from Battersea were invited to lunch and each given £10 on condition that we did not refund it. This was hospitality indeed. Several times in Durban we were entertained by the local people, and of course the environment was completely strange to us, so were the bunches of bananas, pawpaws and other fruits.
After about a week to regain our land legs, we embarked on a train and steamed north. The train was a coal burner and we were aboard for 3 days bound for Bulawayo. Food on the train was really first-class. At one stage we were told to disembark for a spot of exercise [sic] and whilst this was in progress the train moved off. We were marched in a direction at right-angles to that of the train and met up with it about an hour later. This was my first experience of African trains, and the 4-berth cabins, rather superior to even today's "sleepers" in Britain. Looking back on it 35 years later when I was concerned with radio communications between trains and stations in the U.K., - my firm was trying to Introduce a communications system-, I recalled chatting with the Radio Officer in his Radio Cabin on the train whist he was on the morse key in contact with the station at Mafeking. It was many years later that communication with trains in Britain was established.
After a very pleasant three-day journey, we arrived in Bulawayo and buses took us to Hillside Camp, formerly the Agricultural Show Ground. We were accommodated literally in what had been the Pig Sties. These were merely wattle poles supporting corrugated iron roofs with hessian round the poles to represent walls. The whole structure was whitewashed and with plenty of fresh air the accommodation was ideal. There must have been about 600 trainee pilots at Hillside Camp, and we embarked on a second I.T.W. course of ground training. There was however a single Tiger Moth on which we learned to swing the prop. and start the engine. So at last we had sat in an aeroplane although it wasn't going anywhere. At least it was supposed to be anchored down, but an Australian did taxi it a hundred yards or so after an evening of celebration.
Our stay in Bulawayo was certainly very pleasant, we visited Cecil Rhodes grave at Matopas, the ancient ruins of Zimbabwe, spent weekends on farms, enjoyed the swimming and so on, but our minds were on the war of which we were not feeling a part. Pearl Harbour had brought the
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Americans into the fray, several Capital Ships had been lost and things were going badly 'up north'.
In January came a very welcome posting, to 25 E.F.T.S. (Elementary Flying Training School) at Belvedere, on the outskirts of Salisbury. Here the day started at 0400 and we enjoyed tea and toast of our own making before assembling at 0425 for two-mile march to the airfield. By 0500 half the course would be standing-by for flying and the other half lectures and more ground training. Breakfast was between 0900 and 1030 hrs. which included the 2 mile march each way, and after breakfast the two halves of the course changed over. Flying started on the sixth of Jan. with what was to be a typical day, with 30 minutes of flying instruction at 0515, and lectures after breakfast. Addresses by two ex-fighter pilots F/O Newton and a Flight Sergeant whose left leg was in plaster. The following day I managed to get in an hour’s flying with P/O Bentley, concentrating on turns, glides and climbing. From the outset the instructor frequently cut the throttle without warning sometimes deliberately putting the aircraft into a spin. then telling the pupil to get on with it. My next flying session was with Ft/Sgt Oates as P/O Bentley was on leave and in six weeks of flying instruction managed 12 hours with 7 different instructors. A final three hours was spent with F/O Newton in one hour sessions and I was full of confidence and looking forward to the C.F.I.'s test the following day.
Maybe in retrospect I was over confident, even though most of my friends had been "scrubbed", including Hancocks, Robinson, Morgan, King, Barlow, Vivian, Bolton, Friend, Britton, Jones and Fry. Having made what I thought were two acceptable circuits and landings, the C.F.I.'s final remarks were "Sorry old lad, but as a Service Pilot you make a bloody good rear gunner". I did not regard these as being the words of the Prophet, but so ended my career as a u/t Pilot after 9 months in the R.A.F.
All was not lost however, like all the others whose Personal file was stamped "wastage", I found myself at Disposals Depot, which also happened to be at Belvedere, and in good company. All of us were sadly disillusioned and disappointed at failing the Pilot's Course, and the reasons given for the apparent failure were seldom accepted. Where do we go from here in the long term was the main question, and the opportunity to influence this came at an interview at Group H.Q. in Salisbury. The only guidance came from others who had already had their interviews and were awaiting a posting. The alternatives appeared to be many, we could opt out completely and remuster to ACH GD, reduced to the lowest rank of Airman 2nd. Class and thence take pot luck with no trade and no personal ambition. But we had joined the R.A.F. with too much purpose for this to be acceptable. We could apply for training as Observer which at that time embraced both Navigator and Bomb Aimer duties, but we were meeting chaps just starting that course who had waited six months for it after failing the pilot's course, and this indicated that it could be a year more before we qualified. The most logical answer appeared to be the Air Gunner Course which lasted only six weeks, and apparently with hardly any waiting list, so in less than two months it seemed we could become a sergeant with half a wing, not quite what we set out to achieve, but a far cry from where we stood at the time.
At the interview at Group H.Q. I asked why I had failed and was shown the comments made by my instructors. With the exception of the
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C.F.I.’s comment they were all favourable and I became a little argumentative. For the first time I learned that on the C.F.I. test I had climbed at less than full throttle but at the correct air speed with the normal rate of climb. What I should have done apparently was give it full throttle, keeping the correct air speed and letting the rate of climb take care of itself. On the training aircraft the emphasis had been on speed and rate of climb whereas it should have been on speed only and full throttle.
I remarked that the C.F.I.'s aircraft was more like a Gladiator than a Tiger Moth. The alternative careers were as we had deduced amongst ourselves and I applied to remuster to u/t Wireless Operator/Air Gunner and to do the A/G course as soon as possible. This was approved on the spot, and my file was endorsed “Watson requests an A/G course merely for the quickness in getting onto ops." I was supposed to start the course the following week.
It was to be three months before I was actively posted to Moffat to do the Air Gunner Course, and the greater part of this was spent on leave, returning to camp periodically to check progress. We had only to walk along the road away from town to be offered a lift which generally meant spending the rest of the day with new friends, and quite often arranging to spend a week or so with them. It was on the 15th. of Feb. Tom King and I were spending 10 days leave with our hosts Mr. & Mrs. Bedford at Poltimore Farm, Marandellas that we listened to Churchill's speech, with the dreadful news of the fall of Singapore. This led to a general discussion on the likely future plans of the war and it was generally felt there would be an allied landing at Dakar with the assistance of the French, and the forces would move north and then east to catch Rommel in a pincer movement. Not too far out in our argument, only 2000 miles, but we had the general scheme and timing right. Later we were shown around the tobacco "barns" where 12,000 leaves were drying in each of 10 barns. My diary records that "one of the most interesting things we were shown was the castrating of 300 pigs" A rather messy business", perhaps I was less squeamish in those days. Later about 2000 head of cattle were dipped including 3 wicked looking bulls. The two children tried to keep us amused, and with great success. We repaired their bicycles, small car, swing and dolls' house furniture, the dolls house being about 20 feet square. We carved out the names Wendy (8) and Cliff (20) on a tree and really began to enjoy the Rhodesian way of life. We cycled over to Chakadenga Farm and had tea with Mrs. Nash and also met the local jailer. We tried to repay all this kindness by making ourselves generally useful, and I recall changing the oil in Mrs. Nash's Chevrolet and repairing the lights. We also refitted the long-wire aerial on the house radio and refurbished the engine house which accommodated the lighting plant and batteries.
We tried to spend.as much time away from camp as possible, our idea being 'out of sight, out of mind'. Occasionally the S.W.O caught up with us and we were detailed for guard duty on the aerodrome, a 12 hour guard working 2 hours on and four off. The complete guard comprised 6 airmen, 4 on standby in the guard room, one cycling around the aerodrome and one standing in a sentry box at the side of the double gates which were normally closed. There were neither fences-nor ditches linking the gate posts and it was easier to drive a car onto the airfield on the wrong side of the gate posts than to bother with the gate. Generally the Orderly Officer carried out his inspection about 7.pm. but on one
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occasion suddenly appeared about 3 am. from the direction of the airfield and drove up to the main gate on his way out, parking so near the gate it could not be opened. I turned out the guard, which took about 5minutes and we were treated to a tirade and lecture covering several subjects including how utterly futile the guard was. One of the chaps said “you are absolutely right Sir" which made matters worse and he stormed back into his car. The headlights had been left on and the car wouldn't start, so we leaned our rifles against the sentry box and pushed the car backwards so we could open the gates. Finally the entire guard pushed the car forward and it started without trouble, but headed back towards camp. We decided to remain at the open gate, and a few minutes later the car returned at great speed, and disappeared through the gate in a tremendous cloud of dust without further formality. We had good laugh but it did little for the morale of chaps whose ambitions had been thwarted and who felt they were wasting their time in the R.A.F. and, even more so in guarding a gate which had no real purpose with blank ammunition and rifles which it would be too dangerous to fire. By the end of March the aerodrome guard was taken more seriously and comprised 24 Europeans and about 60 Africans, which meant the remustering aircrew trainees were on guard every few nights. I was given the job running the Post Office and Stores which exempted me from guard duties but also curtailed my leave periods.
On the 3rd. April Tom King and 20 others were posted to 24 C.A.O.S. at Moffat, near Gwelo, about half-way between Salisbury and Bulawayo, for their Air Gunner Course. The intake was 50 per month and we wondered where the other 40 had come from. Meanwhile Ray Chislett the other member of the Battersea trio- was doing extremely well at Cranbourne flying Oxfords. Root and Robertson were killed the previous day in a Harvard whilst officially on practice instrument flying but actually beating up a tree and misjudging matters
On the 1st. of May, I was posted to Moffat and started the A-G course. Things seemed to be happening in our favour at long last; and had been delayed because of a large influx of remustered ground crews who had got out of Singapore just in time, and also another large influx of Aussies for Air Gunner training. It was good to see Tommy King pass out as a Sgt. A-G and for Cpl. Luck to receive his commission.
On Sun. the 10th. of May there was a church parade in best blues and khaki topee, held in Gwelo. Two days later L.A.C. Chick Henbest, u/t A-G ex u/t Pilot shot a large hole in his own aircraft's tail. When he as charged with the offence he brought an expert witness, the Station Armament Officer ! - to state that such a thing was technically impossible. The Air-Gunner training was partly intergrated [sic] with that of the Navigator's, and on the 13th. May on such an occasion 'Ace' Buchanan and another A-G, piloted by Sgt. Reed, force-landed near QueQue and were missing for 5 hours
In the four weeks at Moffat we carried out 9 hours of Air firing in Anson aircraft using a Vickers Gas Operated gun of .303 calibre. This was mounted on a Scarfe ring with the gunner standing and firing at a drogue towed by a Miles Master aircraft. 200 rounds were fired during each exercise [sic] , the 3 "pans" of ammo. having been filled by the gunner and then 'doctored' by an armourer with faulty rounds, and other simulated faults. The only turrets available were on the ground, and comprised an ancient Frazer Nash, Daimler and electrical Boulton & Paul. A total of 4 hours was spent in them. We were supposed to swing the
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turret aiming at moving light images on the wall but in practice the bulbs in the ring-sights were all faulty.
On the 29th. May we graduated and were presented with brevets and tapes. The course was posted to Capetown but I had to report to Salisbury to give evidence at Gooding's Court Martial. Gooding had stolen my Agfa Carat camera and scores of other items in Bulawayo. Meanwhile on the news, 1000 Bombers over the Rhur [sic] again and 37 missing. A few days previously the very first raid on this scale was made on Cologne with 44 aircraft missing. The Middle-East war was becoming more intensive and in Russia Jerry was in real trouble, but we seemed a very long way from it all.
One of my friends on the Pilots course was Ian Smith who lived in Salisbury and with whom I used to go looking for buck in the early mornings. Ian had failed the course like most of us but being a Rhodesian had obtained his discharge locally and joined the Southern Rhodesia Light Battery currently at the K.G. VI barracks. I went to the barracks in the afternoon and saw Norman, and was introduced to Solomon, Slim and other Rhodesians in the S.R. Army Medical Corps. After tea in the mess we went to the local bioscope to see 'East of the River'. On the 13th. of June I managed to get another 19 days leave which was spent with Mr. & Mrs. James at their farm at Gilston, about 16 miles south of Salisbury. With three Aussies we had a wonderful holiday, riding, cycling, tennis, swimming, all at the farm. We rode up to the bushman's caves in a copje 4 miles into the bundu and photographed them. To the Aussies it was like being home and I concluded there was no alternative to this sort of life.
On my return to Disposals Depot my stolen camera was returned to me and I found that Gooding was on yet another charge,- stealing a W/T Set - . A few more days leave to say cheerio to all my friends in Salisbury, and I returned to Gwelo to find that I was posted to Bulawayo to give evidence at the Court Martial. I stayed with Mr. & Mrs. Rose for a week or so and spent some time at the Cement works where Mr. Rose was Manager. I was offered a job there if I would return after the war and for a long time this formed the basis of my post-war plan, but a great deal was to happen before that time came. The Court Martial was a very formal affair, and Gooding was charged with theft on about 45 counts. He had not disposed of anything he had stolen for personal gain, and pleaded Kleptomania. He was sentenced to dismissal from the R.A.F. after immediate return to U.K., and recommended for psychiatric observation. He survived the war, certified unfit for Military service and resumed his career with a firm of solicitors in Surrey. The case was finished just in time for me to join the rest of the course on the 1st. of July at Bulawayo station. In Gwelo I had bought a tin trunk which was now nearly full of presents, pyjamas for Hilda, stockings for Mum, embroidering material, tobacco, cigarettes, jam and so on.
After a 55 hour train journey we arrived in Kapstaad and enjoyed Iunch with John Heggarty before joining another train to Retreat and the drive to Polsmoor Transit Camp by bus. It rained heavily for a couple of days and the activity was just one big reunion. I met friends I had not seen since Newquay. Dicky Aires and Jack Frost were there as Sgt. pilots, Howard Iliffe (1090111) and Bob Hildred also, having trained as pilots at George, in the Union. Arthur Brittain a Sgt. Observer and Stewart Evans who was in the Officers Mess at Kumalo. In the next four
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weeks we spent most of our time in Capetown, making a beeline for the Soldiers Club. The welcome we received from the South Africans was positively overwhelming, and people were literally queueing up to entertain us. On the 4th. of July a group of four of us including Ray Chislett and two Maltese soldiers met Mrs. Williams and had tea at her flat. After tea we motored out to a vineyard and got quite merry on four glasses of their own wine. On the way out one of the tyres was punctured and it took us less than three minutes to change the wheel. In the evening we went to the Odeon Bioscope at Seapoint with complimentary tickets which appeared from out of the blue. Howard. Iliffe, John Heggarty and I spent a great deal of time together in Capetown where Howard & I met two young ladies. One of them, introduced as Cheri de la Chene said she was French and had spent five years in Paris, but she could not understand my efforts at speaking French. John Heggarty had quite a brainwave and I introduced him as a member of the Free French Forces,-L'Aviation Francais Libre-. John was absolutely fluent in native French and soon discovered that Cheri was neither French nor a University student, but a schoolgirl of 14 at the Convent. Whilst in Capetown I met Binedall with whom I used to correspond before the war, and he gave me a large matchbox which I left with Mrs. Williams' mother to be collected after the war. I have left it rather too late. The climb up Table Mountain with Ray was very interesting and from the top we had a wonderful view of Muizeuburg. This reminds me of one night during a trial blackout at Muizenburg, Heggarty and I met Mrs. Macbeth who invited us to dinner on the following day. We gladly accepted and on arrival at the house next day referred to her as Mrs. Shakespeare. This was laughed off and we spent a very enjoyable evening. After dinner we went to a show in Muizenburg and met a lady who had lived near Battersea Park. In 1952 in Mbeya in Tanganyika I was talking to another 'Radio Ham' in Muizenburg arid mentioned my faux pas with Mrs. Macbeth's name. He said he was living in Mrs. Macbeth's guest house and she had related the story at dinner only a few days previously. Stuttafords of Adderley Street provided a very interesting experience for Heggarty and me. We wandered into a tea-room the likes of which we had never seen before, it seemed the ultimate in luxury. We asked mildly for just two cups of tea but up came the whole works of silver teaset with lots of pastries and cakes. We said no thankyou, really, just two cups of tea, but the lady was adamant. We said it was jolly nice but funds were limited and the cakes were beyond our means. She said she would be very cross if we didn't have at least half a dozen cakes and then gave us a bill -for 1/3d. Fixed charge for two, she said. Wonderful people, it was embarrassing at times. We called in a Milk Bar for a milkshake and they insisted it was on the house. We would buy a bunch of grapes for a 'ticky', -3d- and they refused payment. One Saturday Ray and I spent the day with the Brandt family who lived at Rosebank . We went for a run with them in the car in the afternoon, round Table Mountain and took some very good photographs. They also drove us to the Lion Match Company's factory in Capetown, where we were given a tour - and quite a lot of labels- a wonderful finale to my first trip to Africa.
After meeting up with our old friends whose paths had taken many different ways and finally converged, but not without the loss of several due to accidents, the resentment at failing the pilot's course had just about worn off. The original crowd of rookies at Newquay were still basically together and covering all aircrew 'trades'. Someone had
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[photograph]
[underlined] AIR GUNNER COURSE [/underlined]
[underlined] APRIL 1942 [/underlined] [underlined] 24 C.A.O.S. MOFFAT, GWELO. [/underlined] [underlined] S. RHODESIA [/underlined]
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[underlined] POSTSCRIPT [/underlined]
The A/G course was rather an anti-climax after the concentration and determined outlook on the pilots course. Most of us felt we had wasted our time and had been let down.
During a "lecture" on the Browning gun by Cpl. Paddy Gilligan he noticed correctly that my eyes were closed and pointing to me, yelled "You, what was I saying?", I replied "You were saying 'as the breach block moves to the rear the cam on the rear sear rides along that on the barrel extention [sic] . . . ' There followed a discussion on my detailed phraselogy [sic] and he wound up by shouting "Your problem Watson is you don't speak effing english". I replied that I try to speak the King's english Cpl! and that did it, he swore to fix me. Study of the Browning gun comprised learning parrot-fashion the sequence of events and other odd statistics such as effective range and rate of fire. There was a drawing on the wall which gave us some idea of what it looked like, but the Browning was something for the future, the R.A.F. currently uses the V.G.O. or so we were told. The following day Gilligan told me to go to the billet and make sure the African had cleaned all the lampshades, including the one in his little room. This I did and two hours later reported they were all clean. The next day with no preamble I was told to report to the Orderly Room immediately. I was marched in to the C.O. and charged with failing to carry out an order, and also making a false report. Gilligan gave evidence and said the lampshade in his billet was filthy, I could not have checked it. The C. O. accepted this and I was given a severe rep. and 7 days jankers. I went straight away to the billet and I asked the S.W.O. to accompany me. He delegated a Sgt. Clerk and together we checked the offending lampshade. Sure enough it was filthy. I found the african cleaner and he swore that he had cleaned the shade but the Cpl. had then made him change it for one in the next but where they were all dirty. We all trooped next door and saw that all were indeed filthy except one.
The Sgt. could see what Gilligan was up to and endorsed my written report addressed to the C.O. which also applied for redress of grievance. The result was that my Severe Rep. was cancelled and so was the balance of the jankers.
At the end of the course the exam. papers were marked by Gilligan and he gave me 61% in all subjects which was the absolute minimum for a pass. Again I wrote to the C.O. and he agreed that Gilligan was up to his tricks again. He changed the exam. results to an average of 93% If I had not been so argumentative I could very well have "failed the course"
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to fly the thing, but there was a lot of other work to be done also. A cutting from the Rhodesia Herald whilst at Moffat spelt it out:-
I wished to be a pilot,
And you, along with me;
But if we all were pilots,
Where would the Air Force be?
It takes guts to be a gunner,
To sit out in the tail,
When the Messerschmitts are coming,
And the slugs begin to wail.
The plot's just a chauffeur;
It's his job to fly the plane;
But it's we who do the fighting,
Though we may not get the fame.
If we must all be gunners,
Then let us make this bet;
We'll be the best damn gunners
That have left this station yet
Nearly half a century later it does seem somewhat corny.
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[underlined] OPERATIONAL TRAINING. [/underlined]
And so to the 2nd. August 1942; we boarded HMT J/6, The Monarch of Bermuda and were shown to our cabins, stowed our kit and were issued with passes to go ashore until 1500 hrs. A last look at Table Mountain and Kapstaad and at 1630 on the 3rd. we left South Africa, hoping and firmly intending one day to return. The 10 day voyage to Freetown was a very pleasant cruise, escorted by two Battle Cruisers and three Corvettes and accompanied by The Empress of Russia, we ploughed along at a steady 12 knots. Our favourite pastime was reading the inter-ship messages on the Aldis lamps. Among other things we learned that one of the Empress's boilers was u/s and shut down. Which limited the speed of the whole convoy. There were several U Boat warnings during daylight and these coincided with lifeboat drills, which were taken very seriously.
The accommodation was very good, all the R.A.F. NCOs being accommodated six in each cabin. The cabins were equipped as they had been for luxury cruising pre-war, each with a toilet room with saltwater shower. The portholes remained open the whole time, but this time we were on 'A' and not 'D' Deck. In the Sgts Mess Italian P.O.W.'s waited upon us, and make a very good job of it. All fatigues are carried out by them and they caused no trouble at all. The vigilance of the Polish guards probably influenced that, their bayonets being fixed ALL the time, and there were few words passing between the guards and prisoners, just a few gestures with the bayonet. The Poles had been in action since August 1939 and were a long way from home, first defending their country, evacuating to Yugoslavia, and then making their way to Abadan to join the British. There were 1800 Italian prisoners aboard, mostly captured in Bardia and Tobruk about two years previously. They were a meek and miserable-looking lot. One of our 'stewards' who we called 'Grandpa' was a Cpl Major, and had medals for the Bolshevist and Abbysinian [sic] wars. He spoke very little English, but excellent French, and in return for a few cigarettes made me a bracelet in which he put photos of my fiancee [sic] , Hilda, and me. The material was similar to duralumin and he claimed it was a piece from a shot-down British Bomber in Abbysinia [sic] , a most unlikely story. His only tools were a pen-knife, a razor blade and a 4” nail for engraving. The Italians were confident the Axis would win the war and were expecting Stukas, Fokker Wolfe Condors and 'U' Boats to appear at any time.
There were several hundred European civilians aboard, mostly evacuees from Alexandria and Cairo, who seemed to think they owned the ship. Many of them were ducked during the Crossing the Line ceremony, we claimed exemption, being old timers at that sort of thing!!
There was some form of entertainment almost every evening; mainly variety concerts organised by the troops. During one of these I recall a wounded ex 8th-Army Soldier impersonating Stanley Holloway in his Northern accent with a poem,
"The Reason Why"
The unity of Empire .is seen in ships galore,
As they plough in convoy fashion, to Britain's island shore,
Across the world's big oceans, around continents as well,
The Bulldog breed keeps up the creed that history will tell.
We've roughed it on this convoy, we've lived like herded sheep,
Yet all can see, it's got to be, if freedom's cause we'll keep
We're mixed like breeded cattle, the R. A. F. as well,
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That R.A:F. who two .years ago Just drove the 'uns to 'ell.
They say the good ship Monarch, J6 her tag, goes back to Afric [sic] shortly,
but always behind that Flag.
The Flag we're fighting Jerry for,
the Flag of which we're proud,
the Flag which may be a tattered rag,
but with honoured blood endowed.
In that environment and atmosphere this was pretty stirring stuff.
On the 14th. of August we dropped anchor in Freetown. Just as a year ago, it was very hot and humid, with an overcast sky. This time we were not restricted to below decks, but enjoyed the freedom of the ship and were able to trade with the natives. Sunderland seaplanes were seen patrolling out to sea, with Walrus amphibeans [sic] doing about 60. m.p.h., around the harbour. There was lots of signalling between ships and we could cope with the morse, but the semaphore was too advanced and clever for us.
Sunday the 16th at 0600 the Monarch and the Empress slipped out of Freetown and rejoined the Royal Navy out at sea. We were a little concerned for an hour or two, as the sun was rising on the port beam, but we eventually turned right and the sun returned to it's proper place, astern. We expected to reach England by thursday, but rumours of the invasion of France were rife and my diary actually records that this might delay us a little!. The general topic of conversation was what would it be like going through Customs. We were advised on the P.A. system to hand in any unauthorised arms and ammunition, including loot taken from the enemy. I had 3 kitbags, a tin trunk, suitcase and issue R.A.F. webbing and packs, and somewhere in that lot was 25 lbs. of sugar, 10 lbs of tea, 8 pairs of silk stockings, 2 dress lengths, 15lbs. of jam, lady's pyjamas, 2000 cigarettes and other dutiable material. I also had a very small .22 revolver in my pocket and decided to risk it. It was really a toy, hardly a weapon of war. In the very early hours of the 26th. of August we docked at Greenoch. An hour later our party of 240 or so assembled on deck with a mountain of kit, all newly trained sprog aircrew sergeants. The train pulled in to within 100 yards of the ship and in less than 30 minutes we were on our way by train to Glasgow, then on to London. Whilst changing stations in London, I telephoned the office, BATtersea 8485, at 0730 and was disappointed that Hilda was not yet at work!
We arrived at no. 3 P.D.C. Bournemouth and moved into luxury hotels, expecting to be sent on leave immediately, hardly worth unpacking, but this was not to be. We were interviewed several times, medically examined, kit reorganised and generally messed about for a week. According to my pay book, I was a Sgt. Air Gunner, u/t Wireless Operator, and at one interview I was told that this could not be so. Either I could stay as a Sgt. A-G or lose my tapes and become an AC2 u/t Wireless op., eventually doing a wireless op. course. It was emphasised that the whole business of training was highly organised into streams, and once in the main stream it was better to drift with it rather than to try and change course. Streams could not cross, but only merge. All very academic and enlightening so it was agreed that u/t wireless op. would be deleted from my paybook, and of course, having done a couple of tours as a rear gunner I could always apply for a wireless course.
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That's what the man said and I was in no position to argue, 'Just a couple of tours'.
A week later we were on leave, and Hilda met me at Waterloo after just over a year apart. We had a few hours in London before going up to Barnoldswick to take my mother by surprise. After five rather hectic days of visiting relatives and friends we returned to London and met Hilda's parents and relatives, for just one day before returning to Bournemouth.
We were billeted in an attic at Ocean Lodge and took our meals at the Vale Royal. The food was the most unappetising and uninteresting we had seen in the R.A.F. so far. Life in Bournemouth consisted entirely of parades, square bashing, P.T. drill, lectures and swimming, each activity taking place some miles away from the previous one.
Bournemouth was full of sprog air crews, 90% Sergeants, few realised what the future might hold, and; in retrospect, I don't recall even thinking about it.
We were clear of Bournemouth on the 2nd. of October, and posted to 25 O.T.U., Finningley. near Doncaster.
The first 14 days were spent in lectures, practical work on guns in the armoury, and in firing on various ranges. We were introduced to the FN20 rear turret and relieved to have the opportunity of stripping the .303 Browning guns. We who had trained in Rhodesia did not advertise the fact that we had never actually seen a real Browning gun, only a wooden model, all our air-firing having been carried out on V.G.O.'s [Vickers Gas Operated) guns. We had spent several hours in a turret on the ground in Rhodesia. A Boulton & Paul electrically operated mid-upper type as fitted to a Defiant but bearing no resemblance to the rear turrets of Wellingtons and Whitleys.
11th. November was relatively peaceful at Finningley. In the world outside the Allies had landed in North Africa and occupied the coastal strip from Casablanca, through Oran to 50 miles east of Algiers where the big build-up was taking place. Jerry was being pushed towards Tunisia and Rommel's Afrika Corps was in full retreat in Libya, having been pushed out of Egypt, The Huns marched into hitherto unoccupied France and hard fighting was still going on in Stalingrad. Madagascar was in British hands. My diary records that Jerry lost over 600 aircraft in two days, according to the B.B.C. Nearer home I also recorded that "I flew today for the first time with my pilot, Sgt. Rutherford, and with Sgt. Bishop, W/optr., on circuits and bumps. Our Navigator Allan Willoughby is at Bircotes doing cross-countries". For some of us the pace was slow, and some of the time was spent in 'Brains Trust' sessions. Here a team of experts would sit on the platform and questions on any subject would be asked by the rest of us. In reply to the question "How do you think we should deal with the Huns after the war?", the M.O. replied "Castrate the bloody lot, the R.A.M.C. could do that in only a couple of weeks". Most of the discussions however were in a more serious vain. Over this period the weather was not very good. No 14 Course crews have been helping the Landgirls digging up potatoes and 12 Course chaps were heaving coal, We then had coal and coke allocated and delivered to our billets, which eliminated the need to pinch it from the Officers' Mess. we were accomodated [sic] in the peace-time married quarters close to their Mess.
One of our Wimpies from Bircotes crashed into a Beaufighter near Caernarvon where my sister was stationed in the W.A.A.F. There were no
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[photograph]
[photograph] [underlined] REG WHELLAMS [/underlined]] 1333520
[underlined] AT 25 OTU FINNINGLEY [/underlined]
(10 FORSTER RD. WALTHEMSTOW E.17 )
16A
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survivors. A Defiant crashed near my home in Barnoldswick and we pressed on with the routine of local flying, stripping nothing more interesting than guns, and lectures and so on.
My diary records that on the 9th. December, after a little over two months we were taken by lorry to Bircotes to fly as a crew. Losses were high, on a Bullseye on London we lost three aircraft. One of them apparently ditched without trace near the French Coast, the only clue to this being their dinghy which would have been released automatically striking the water. A second crew headed by Ft/Lt. Anneckstein crashed into the watch office, killing the Bomb Aimer who was stretched out in the bombing position. A third crew crashed on landing at Bircotes, without fatality, but with the crew rather shaken-up. We were living Nissen huts about 2 miles from the 'hangars' and 3/4 mile from the in the other direction. The place was a sea of mud in parts and we generally washed AFTER breakfast for some reason which eludes me after 45 years
One point in favour of Bircotes, it was on the Great North Road and just before Christmas I enjoyed a 48 hr. leave with Hilda in London! I met Tommy King in Battersea who was a Rear Gunner on Halifaxes with three ops. to his credit, all to Italy. A brief respite and back to Bircotes. The flying aspect was proving more interesting now, I could see a little beyond my own situation and get involved to some extent in the general carry-on of working as a crew. We had a first-class Skipper, Sgt. Stan. Rutherford, a down-to-earth tough New Zealand sheep farmer. Our Navigator Allan Willoughby from the West country whom we regarded as the Academic member of the crew, but who suffered greatly from air sickness. On those occasions our Bomb Aimer Stan Chadderton from Liverpool took over the navigation without any problems. Stan trained as an Observer - which included both Bomb aiming and Navigating in the U.S.A. and we were thus very fortunate in having a standby navigator. Our Wireless Operator Harry Dyson was from Huddersfield possibly the socialite of the crew, and fancied his chances in the rear turret, giving me a welcome change on occasions.
I started the New Year well by having four runaway guns, over Missen, the bombing range, splattering a main road. The safety catches were 'off' and the guns ready for instant action almost all the time the air, and the reason the guns fired has not been fully explained. I vaguely put it down to a build-up of hydraulic pressure in the triggering system. This did not fool the Armourers who put it down finger trouble on my part - literally.
By the 7th. of Jan. we had completed all our day-flying details of cross-countries, bombing, air firing etc. and were suddenly posted to 30 O.T.U. Hixon, in Staffordshire to complete the night flying excercises [sic] . It took three days visiting various sections to obtain signatures on a Clearance Certificate before we were free of Finningly [sic] , and the after we arrived at Hixon, we were despatched to the satellite airfield at Seighford. A week later we were still without aircraft at Seighford and when the Skipper, Navigator and W/op went to Finningley to collect one, Stan Chadderton & I took French leave and shot off to see respective Hildas. It was on that leave that Hilda and I decided to get married and arranged for bans to be called in Seighford and Battersea.
On the 24th. Jan, our night-flying excercises [sic] almost completed we enjoyed a new experience. We were put on the battle order and briefed for an attack on Lorient. Everything was rushed and finally when
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boarding the aircraft -which was u/s-, the raid -or our part in it- was cancelled. We were to have dropped six 500 lb. bombs in 10/10ths cloud and were warned about the fighters and lots of flak. We found later that the Americans had bombed Lorient in the afternoon followed by 121 aircraft of Bomber Command that night. One Stirling was lost. In early Feb. we were doing a 6 hour cross-country operational excercise [sic] simulating a real trip and towards the end of it were joyfully bombing what was thought to be our target on the bombing range. After dropping two sticks of 11 1/2 lb. practice bombs the "target" lights were extinguished and although we remained over them for a further 20 minutes they did not come on again. Thirty minutes later "W" William landed at base amid great consternation. Apparently the O. C. Night Flying had thought we were lost and had been sending up rockets. These were seen by the Stafford Fire Brigade who came dashing out to Seighford expecting a major disaster. On reporting to the Watch Office the Skipper was congratulated upon a successful bombing attack on Hixon aerodrome.
A few nights previously Jock King and crew had crash-landed on the Yorkshire moors. They were over the North sea, badly iced up and losing height gradually until they ran out of it on the moor. The aircraft was a complete write-off and the Rear Gunner very badly injured by the Brownings crashing into his chest. On the 7th. Feb. the whole crew went to the local church and heard the Banns called. Two aircraft were lost from our unit the previous night, one piled straight in at Hixon, all killed, and Sgt. Browning bounced off the runway and finished upside down in the adjacent field. The 11th. Feb. was my 21st. Birthday and the Crew got absolutely sloshed in Eccleshall. It was a memorable party and the Skipper and Bomb Aimer got themselves lost on the way home and spent part of the night in a ditch. On the 14th. we completed the last of our cross-country details. The pages of my diary covering this trip are indistinct having been submerged in water in 1949, but there were problems. The first 4 hours were spent on accurately flown courses, but there was difficulty in keeping to specific heights. The aircraft seemed to climb and alternately lose height for no explicable reason and this distracted the Skipper from the required accuracy. Eventually with only 60 gallons of fuel indicated, the Skipper called "Darky Darky this is Nemo xx .....". Up came a 'gate' of two searchlights and signalled the direction of a friendly runway. 10 minutes later we all developed an instant inferiority complex, we had landed at Wyton, the home of 109 Squadron Pathfinders. One Wellington Mk.111 bombed up with four small practice bombs, was parked amid Lancasters, Mosquitoes and B17 Fortresses. However we were made very welcome and at 0400 hrs. thoroughly enjoyed the bacon, egg, fried sausages, toast and marmalade etc. Had I known then, that 40 years hence I would be retired and settled within 4 miles of Wyton I would have been a happier man. Aircraft on the first raid of the war had taken off from Wyton. The next two weeks were very active with little actually achieved. We were briefed almost every day for something which was cancelled every time but with one exception. We were told to do an air test on an aircraft which was parked near the perimeter fence. The rear turret was almost touching the fence at the other side of which was a haystack and chicken coop. The ground was muddy and rather more revs than usual were needed to free the wheels and move the aircraft forward. The hurricane strength wind created completely demolished the hen coop and the haystack, and many of the hens became airborne as never before. There
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was no time for recriminations however, on landing we went straight to the briefing room and learned we, were on a Nickel that night. The Oxford Dictionary gives a different meaning, but to Air Crews 'Nickel' is a generic term for a bum fodder or leaflet raid. It did imply that someone had some confidence in us, maybe. The target was Paris.
At last we were over enemy-occupied territory, still on our side of the Rhine, and still a long way from it, but we were getting nearer and there was no lack of confidence, at least initially. Problems developed, first my ring-sight ferrel broke off, so there was no hope of accurate aiming if attacked, then my intercom microphone ceased to function. The fault was later found in the Rotating Service Joint below the turret. We had a standby signalling system of push button and lamp, but that too was out of order for the same reason. I could hear the skipper calling me on a routine check but had no means of replying. Receiving no reply, Barry Dyson crawled back to the rear turret to check up, not knowing what to expect. He had overlooked the fact that we were at 15.000 feet - the highest we had been at that time- and almost passed out due to lack of oxygen. He reconnected his adapter to the system just in time. He was also inadequately clothed for a temperature of -18C but putting 1800 lbs of leaflets down the flare chute restored his circulation. Di banged on the turret door and we exchanged greetings. He returned to his office and reporting my situation to the Skipper. Meanwhile I was incommunicado for the rest of the trip, but I could hear the others conversing. Shortly after that I felt the rotation of the turret was becoming sluggish and I tried to fire a short burst. Three of the guns fired one round each and then stopped, but number one was working. I cocked and recocked the guns several times, tried firing them manually and eventually three were working. I fired a short burst and regained a little confidence. An hour after leaving Paris the turret rotation would not respond to the hydraulics so I ensured that manual operation was still possible. I knew that to bale out I would have to open the turret doors, then the aircraft bulkhead door, grab my parachute pack, drag it through both doors and into the turret, rotate the turret onto the beam, fit the 'chute, open the doors, disconnect the intercom and oxygen and go out backwards. I decided to give it a try except for actually bailing out - and decided it was probably not feasible in the time available, but I did get the parachute into the turret and tucked it down the side. I learned a lot that night, more had gone wrong in my department on that one trip than during all my training. Di learned the odd lesson too, to wear more clothing in case he had to move away from the hot air system under his table.
The following day we were advised that our O.T.U. course was completed and the Skipper was asked to state the crew's preference either to join a squadron bombing Germany or to go overseas. Our preference for Germany was unanimous; after all, I was getting married and most of us had already been overseas!. And so we went our separate ways on 7 days leave
March 1st, 1943 perhaps the most important day of my life, Hilda and I were married. Staying at Hilda's home I took my cousin Frank to Trafalgar Square and showed him the Lancaster bomber, then on to St. Pauls Churchyard where I used to work and showed him a Stirling Bomber. He was thrilled with London and with the aircraft in particular. At 1pm we met Mum and Topsy at duCane Court and lunched in Balham, and whilst Mum and the others went to meet Hilda's folks, I went on to the Church,
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St. Mary's in Battersea. Some years later when I saw the photographs I realised I was wearing a white shirt with my airman's uniform. Hilda joined me at the Alter [sic] and looked absolutely lovely in her white wedding dress. The service was grand and the organist played two hymns. The church bells remained silent, they were reserved for signalling a possible enemy invasion. We enjoyed a wonderful reception at Hilda's home and on Monday we went to Lancing on honeymoon, the guests of Mr. & Mrs. Pittock at 10 Orchard Avenue. After a few days at Lancing I returned to camp and somehow organised more leave. At 0300 on the 10th. however the police delivered a telegram-which stated "Report to Hixon immediately, posted overseas". I tried to convince them that it was a joke on the part of the crew, and I was not stationed at Hixon in any case. However, at 0700 Hilda accompanied me to Euston where we said goodbye on the platform for the last time for several months at least. One night spent at Hixon, and the following day we travelled by train with two other crews to no. 1 P.D.C. West Kirby.
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[photograph] [photograph]
1st. MARCH 1943 (WHITE SHIRT) 25 O.T.U. FINNINGLEY
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SECOND HONEYMOON SEPT ‘43
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[underlined] SECOND TIME TO AFRICA [/underlined]
At West Kirby we handed in our blue uniforms and were issued with army Khaki battle dress and tropical flying bowlers and helmets. Within a few days we embarked on a Dutch Vessel, the Johan van Vanderbilt in the Mersey, and were allocated first and second class cabins still equipped to. peace-time standards. Service in the Dining Hall was fabulous, staffed by natives from the Nederlands [sic] East Indies. The cuisine was superb, there was white bread and butter and sugar on the tables. A full breakfast at 0800, a peacetime lunch at 1300, tea at 1630 and dinner at 1900. Coffee was available in the Snr. N.C.O's lounge at any time during the morning. The Army Privates' quarters were similar to those we had experienced on the Moultan, sleeping in the same place as they eat, scrubbing everything by 0830 and with lots of bull. They had to wear greatcoats at all times whilst on deck and carry their life-jackets and water bottles. They not only manned the guns but were also detailed for lots of guard duties. Everything seemed to be guarded, but the reason was generally obscure. The cabins were shared with the Army Snr. N.C.O.s and they felt it quite a change to enjoy such comfort. The main topic of conversation was speculation about our destination, North Africa, Middle East or Far East? At a lecture on the 20th. March a senior Army Officer gave us a talk in the big second-class lounge, a very interesting run-down on the state of the war in all theatres. He dealt at some length with the North African campaign and said that very shortly the 1st. and 8th. Armies would meet and a few days after that Jerry would be slung right out of Africa. He wanted to dispel all rumours that we were part of a force invading the south of France. I cannot recall whether we were actually told in so many words, but we expected our destination was either Algiers or Bone.
The armourment [sic] on the Johann was comparatively small. We had about 10 Lewis guns, .303 calibre, and a naval gun at the stern, all manned by the army. There were about 16 ships in the convoy, with troops and cargo, protected by 5 Cruisers and Destroyers, and 2 Corvettes. Not as impressive perhaps as in August 1941, but a more wartime environment.
It was a feeling not entirely new to us, we knew by calculation that it was the 21st. of March and we were sitting comfortably in the First Class Lounge enjoying a coffee, but whereabouts on the Atlantic ocean was the ship? We know we had been heading east all morning so the chances. were we are heading for Gibralter [sic] , it was not warm enough for Freetown to be our destination. Where we were bound was open to speculation like most other vital factors affecting us. What were we going to do when we get to wherever it was? We were a Wellington crew which did not rule out finding ourselves on a Boston or Mitchell doing close army support work. And what after we had completed a tour of ops.? Chad the Bomb Aimer and Di the Wireless op. were both keen to remuster and train as Pilots. Allan Willoughby said he was 'marlish' and quite happy to carry on navigating. I felt the war would be over before we had finished our first tour. The Skipper said little but probably thought we were a bunch of dreamers, comparing us with his sheep back in N.Z.. We were not in fact approaching Gibralter [sic] , we had passed through the Straits during the night.
At 0300 on the 22nd. we were approaching the minefield off Algiers and were attacked by a Ju88 torpedo bomber. We heard the Johan's guns open up
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and the Windsor Castle received a direct hit from a torpedo on her stern, three members of her crew being killed. She also lost her steering and means of propulsion. Efforts were made to tow her into Oran without success but she sank at 1700 the same day. The Service personnel and remainder of the crew were taken aboard destroyers. Hurricanes arrived within minutes of the attack, but just too late and not ideal aircraft for the job at 0300 hrs. My diary - written up a few days after the event,- refered [sic] originally to The Duchess of Windsor and this was changed a few years later to the Windsor Castle.
There was no longer any secrecy about our destination. Di said the R.A.F. had opened an O.T.U. in Algiers, and we were destined to do another course. There were lots of rumours, but one fact was established, we had been in the R.A.F. over two years and we felt it was high time we did something towards the war effort.
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At 0300hrs. on the 23rd. March we were paraded on deck thankful for our greatcoats, which we were still wearing with great discomfort when we disembarked at 1100. A brief stop at an Aircrew Reception Centre, a large hotel on the sea-front, before going to the Aircrew Pool at Surcouf, about 30 miles from Algiers. There was no great feeling of urgency here, the Allies had landed at Algiers on the 6th. of November and the Germans had already been driven some hundreds of miles, to the East.
It was just a matter of waiting, something that most servicemen became very good at. We could not take the initiative and start our own war, but could only make the best of it. Quoting from my diary, "Life at Surcouf is perfect, we share the officers' mess and enjoy typical French peacetime meals. Lots of Bully Beef but the Chef - a French Civilian - certainly knows how to camouflage it. Our chalet is literally on the beach and the sea never more than 20 yards away. We could swim all day long without the formality of swimming trunks, or walk around the village. Sometimes we hitch-hike Into Algiers". There was very little to do in the village, and I recorded that I found the French very unhelpful and generally impolite. We all carried side-arms of course. There was practically nothing to buy except strange local booze, the Americans had seen to all that when they passed through, and the bars seemed to be open all the time. Algeria was, politically, a part of Metropolitan France in the eyes of the French, it was home to many Frenchmen, and they probably realised it might never be quite the same again. After a three-week rest at Surcouf we reported to 150 Squadron at Blida, about 30 miles south of Algiers. This place was most certainly at war, there were Wellingtons, Hudsons, Hurricanes, Commandoes and Albacores for squadrons of Bomber, Coastal, Fighter and Transport Commands, and the Fleet Air Arm. With the exception of Transports and 142 and 150 Wellington Squadrons, all aircraft were controlled by Coastal Command. We were part of the North Africa Striking Force - so we were told. Life was good at Blida, most of the food was tinned and we enjoyed eggs and bully beef every day in the mess. Generally in the evenings we would have a fry-up of eggs and bread with more bully on the primus stove in the billet. The Mess Hall was used as both dining hall and lounge. The arabs wandered round the camp selling eggs and oranges but prefered [sic] to exchange them for food -- more bully beef.
The currency in use was the French Franc with an exchange rate of 200 to the £1 sterling in which we were paid. BMA (British Military Authority) notes were also in use but the most popular currency outside the town was the tin of bully. We were billeted in chalets formerly the peacetime living quarters of the French Air Force. Each chalet had four large rooms-and accommodated two Wellington crews. It was very pleasant to sit out on the verandah [sic] . My rather battered diary records that on the 28th. March 1943 we were discussing what we proposed to do on completion of our first tour. Rather naive, we would have little or no say in the matter. We had been allocated an aircraft, "F" for Freddie, but it was a case of one crew to one aircraft and its present owners had not quite finished their tour and were reluctant to part with it. For two days they had been bombing and straffing [sic] a large German convoy bound for Bizerta which was not left alone even when part of it had docked. We finally took over the aircraft and for five days were airborne for several hours each day. On the afternoon of the 5th. April we took off
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in "F" for Freddie for an hour's fighter affiliation excercise [sic] with two Hurricanes. Employing violent evasive action to make things difficult for the fighters, we crossed the coast about 10 miles east of Algiers at 3000 feet and passed directly over a British destroyer. The Navy was wide awake and saw a heavy bomber being chased by two Hurricanes, immediately opened fire on us with considerable light flak. The pilot of a third Hurricane which was on an operational patrol saw the mini-battle and joined in. When he saw that one of his chums was only 100 yards from my rear turret and happy to stay there, he realised that we were in a different ball game, peeled off and, carried on with his patrol, finally returning to Maison Blanche.
On the night of the 6th. April we bombed the Marshelling [sic] yards at TUNIS, with 3500 lb. and 54 30 lb. incendiaries. We bombed in one stick from 8000 ft. and surprisingly were held in searchlights which we lost at 3000 feet. Not a very good effort on our part, the bombs overshot the target but hit the aerodrome 3 miles north according to the timing point photograph. All 28 aircraft returned safely, two of them damaged There was little light flak but some heavy stuff said to be radar controlled. For an hour on the return journey I changed places with Harry Dyson, our Wireless op. On the 7th. we attacked troop concentrations at night making several bombing passes at low level and finally coming in very low firing 7 Brownings. Chad the bomb aimer used the two guns in the front turret, I had four in the rear and we carried beam guns on these occasions. Only the front gunner could see what he was firing at. One aircraft of 142 Squadron, G George was shot down by light flak. On the 10th. we raided MONSERRATO aerodrome in Sardinia, an aircraft was seen over the target with navigation lights on, visibility was good and we moved away hoping the runway lights would be switched in. The aerodrome remained in darkness and we dropped our bombs singly. There was no light flack from the aerodrome to worry us, and the aircraft with lights on was not seen again. After a further 30 minutes of stooging about we returned to Blida. There was a reasonable amount of heavy flak which we learned on return had downed one aircraft of 142 Squadron. - 2 in 2 nights-. On the way back a searchlight opened up a few miles ahead and the skipper put the nose down so we were at 2000 ft. when we passed directly over the searchlight. Stan Chadderton in the front turret opened fire and the Skipper told me when to open up, aiming straight down. The light stayed on after we had passed, pointing vertically, maybe we did a little damage, probably not. Inside the aircraft however, the dive had caused the Elsan lavatory to come loose and scatter it's contents over the floor.
The following morning, fearing the wrath of the ground crew when they saw the Elsan, we stayed in bed until noon and breakfasted in the billet. Eggs and fried potatoes, fried bread and tinned pears and fresh oranges, served by the wireless op. and rear gunner to the Skipper and the rest of the crew still in bed. In the afternoon we were stood down and Joe Shields (Sgt. Rimmer's Rear Gunner) and I went into Blida to try and find presents to take back to England. The bigger French shops were all closed - no stocks- and we scrounged around the Arab quarters, without success. I mentioned earlier that we always carried side-arms and several times we were crowded by the Arabs. Production of the revolver dispersed them but it could have been very tricky.
On the 14th. April we raided MONSERRATO for the second time, the first run-in at 8000 feet and then 6000 feet. Direct hits were seen on
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the aerodrome this time with 1000 and 250 pounders. No incendiaries were dropped but 10 minutes was spent 8 miles north of the town dropping leaflets. The leaflets were the "laissez-passer" type printed in German instead of the more usual Italian. An aircraft over the target area sporting an orange light seemed to be signalling to a searchlight. We assumed it was acting as a decoy for a night-fighter and the only one of us keeping an eye on it was the navigator standing at the astrodome.
The rest of us searched the allocated parts of the sky according to the book!. All our aircraft returned safely and reported good aiming. Photographs confirmed the success, but we had borrowed "M" Mother which was without a camera. The return journey was uneventful and crossing Mare Nostrum Di tuned in to the 9 o-clock news from London. The announcer Alvar Lidell read "Algiers reports that the R.A.F. Strategical Airforce in North Africa has continued to batter aerodromes in Tunisia and Sardinia, damaging runways and destroying aircraft on the ground, without loss to themselves". Someone remarked "That's one way of looking at it"!. Actually a few nights ago 142 Sqdn. had lost 2 in 2 nights. 150 Squadron had lost one but the crew bailed out. Four of the crew managed to get through the enemy lines but the Rear Gunner was wounded and there was no news of him for several weeks.
The docks at TUNIS received our attention on the night of the 17th. April, with very careful placing of 500 and 250 pounders. Direct hits were observed in the docks area and there was concentrated heavy flack. It didn't worry us, we were well below it at 6000 feet. There was lots of light flack mostly concentrated on an aircraft displaying red and green navigation lights. At one stage this aircraft came to within 600 yards on the starboard beam and we converged to about 300 yards. We clearly identified it as a Wellington and gave it a long inaccurate burst from the rear turret. On this occasion every fourth round was a tracer. The nav. lights were extinguished and the aircraft was not seen again. There was no satisfactory explanation as to the identity of this aircraft. A captured Wellington perhaps acting as a decoy but attracting most of the flak. Possibly one of ours with the lights switched on accidentally, one shall never know. Two aircraft are missing, piloted by Sgt. Chandler of 150 and Sgt. Lee of 142. One sent out an SOS and ditched but there was no signal from the other. On our return to Blida there was a blanket of cloud over the whole area and our 23 aircraft were diverted to Maison Blanche. One aircraft was known to have a damaged undercarriage, which collapsed on touch-down and was a write-off but there were no injuries. Road Transport was waiting to take us the 30 miles or so back to Blida and we finally got to bed at 6 am. We shared the lorry with Sgt. Leckie's crew who had bailed out over Tunisia on the 14th. The Squadron Leader had flown to Sousse and brought them back to Algeria. Leckie had himself crash-landed the aircraft with no hydraulics and only one engine, somewhere in Allied-occupied Tunisia.
On the 23rd. April my diary records a tedious week of activity which achieved very little. Every day we were briefed for a night op. and every day we did our Daily Inspections and air tests, but in the late afternoon the Sirocco came up suddenly and the trips were cancelled. During the week, two Albemarles crashed on the runway, both from Gibralter [sic] carrying supplies which included mail from U.K.
Our uniform since leaving West Kirby has been British Army Khaki but with shoes and no putees. Our R.A.F. blue shirts with collar and tie and also blue forage caps were not exchanged. We have no tropical
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kit and it is getting very warm here. Our aircraft "F" for Freddie, has been grounded all week with "G" George, both with a trimming box problem. The policy is still one crew to an aircraft, and we enjoyed a very easy week. On the 28th. we managed to borrow "D" Donald and bombed DECIMONANU again, this time with a 4000 lb. 'blockbuster’ and a few incendiaries for good measure. After bombing we stooged around for 30 minutes having a close look at fires on the ground. Searchlights waved about apparently aimlessly and the light flack with tracer seemed equally haphazard. At 3000 feet we were caught by one searchlight and within seconds were held in a cone of five. The lights were dazzling and the three of us manning guns all fired point blank, it being impossible to aim. In theory a combined rate of fire of over 8000 rounds per minute should have hit something worth while, but after a very short burst my four guns jammed, a problem seldom experienced. At only 3000 feet we were quickly out of range of the searchlights. We were over Blida at 0700 hours which was covered in fog and diverted again to Mason Blanche. We were not very popular at Maison B, everyone had-their own problems which were not always appreciated by others on different types of aircraft performing widely differing types of work. We were in bed at Maison B. by 1000 hrs. probably without the knowledge of the 'owners' of the beds who had spent the night in then; and there we stayed until 1700. The tinned steak pie for tea made a very welcome change. Our aircraft "F" for Freddie still had a faulty-trimming box.
It was only in the air we were able to listen to the Radio News from London, although we had a reasonable supply of current newspapers brought out by the steady stream of aircraft from U.K. On the 29th. we logged another trip to BIZERTA, this time in "T" Tommy with a 4000 pounder. Take-off was at 0005 hours and the weather the worst for flying we had yet experienced in Africa. The target was the docks and all was unusually quiet. The coast-line was visible through about 4/10ths cloud and on our first run over the docks we dropped incendiaries. Positive identification of the target, so round again to release the 4000 pounder which the press were refering [sic] to as 'cookies'. It seemed that over Germany the lads were dropping 8000 pounders. The flak and searchlights opened up simultaneously and was relatively intense. We found later that we were the first to bomb. Some had difficulty in finding the target due to cloud and the enemy was trying not to attract our attention. Again there was low cloud at Blida and we were diverted to Maison Blanche. Two aircraft were lost on the Bizerta raid, one landed at Bone (now renamed Annaba) with one engine u/s, and a 142 Sqdn. aircraft did a belly-landing on the grass at Maison B. On our return we found that Sgt. Leckie, operational again after being shot down in Tunisia, had crashed into the mountain immediately after take-off. Another 150 Sqdn aircraft crashed on take-off, barely getting airborne, and it was assumed that he had engine failure. Two of the crew actually survived the explosion. It had been a fateful night, we were briefed for take-off from west to east, with a left turn onto course. Just before take-off a strong wind developed from the west causing the duty runway to be changed from 09 to 27 and we took off from east to west. Sgt. Leckie turned left instead of right, straight into. the Atlas mountains, all killed instantly. Our own Bomb Aimer Stan had flown on a raid with Sgt. Leckie only two nights previously. When I revisited Blida on business in 1978 I was astonished to appreciate just how near those mountains were to Blida aerodrome..
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[photograph] WITH HILDA & THE SKIPPER SEPT ’43 RICHMOND ON THAMES
[photograph] BILL WILLOUGHBY NAVIGATOR AT THE PORT BEAM GUN POSITION
[photograph] NAVIGATOR & BOMB AIMER IN THEIR PITS
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The following morning an aircraft of 142 was seen to be making a peculiar approach, and just before touchdown. one engine cut and the other was going flat out, resulting in a spectacular disintegration at the side of the runway, in which no-one was seriously hurt. By the end of April we had four aircraft all Wellington Mk.10s equipped for carrying 4000 pound bombs. Bomb doors had been removed and they were said to have a special main spar.
On the 5th. May it was farewell to Blida, the war was moving east. Each crew was issued with a First World War Bell tent and this together with official stores and personal effects was piled into the aircraft. I remember the Wireless Op. Di and I putting our (stolen) palliases [sic] aboard for our Ground-crew passengers to rest on during the flight. A very thoughtful act on our part said the Skipper. It was just that Di and I intended to sleep in the manner to which we were accustomed. Our destination was Fontaine Chaude, about 250 Kms. ESE of Blida. About half way in deference to our guests we opened a tin of spam and served slices of spam followed by stewed plums from a large tin we had been hoarding. Our destination was a stretch of desert near a tiny village. After landing we pitched our tent and organised our palliases [sic] into beds with the help of a dozen or so empty boxes. Meanwhile vehicles were arriving with our squadron personnel, more stores, aircraft and by late evening we had a small township. A small marquee served as a Sgts. Mess and on the first evening we enjoyed stew and green peas followed by pears and real cream. These had been provided by the Americans on an emergency basis. The following day was spent partly on an aerodrome inspection. The war had passed through Fontaine Chaude and it was possible the Arab scavengers had overlooked bits of war material which could do damage to aircraft, particularly the tyres. There were no runways, only sand with some coarse grass.
Back to war next day and Group Captain (Speedy) Powell briefed us for a raid on TRIPANI, a naval base in Sicily. We were 30 minutes late on take-off due to delays in bombing-up. We carried only six 500 pounders instead of eight, and some incendiaries. We were 20 minutes behind the bomber stream of 26 Wellingtons. 'The bomber stream'!. This was an expression used by a newly joined crew who were very displeased with having to finish their tour in North Africa after starting it over Europe. They treated our desert war with some contempt after their recent experiences over Germany, but were reported missing about three weeks after joining us. We were in cloud shortly after take-off and nearing the target came out of it at 12,000 feet. We moved over towards a concentration of heavy flak bursts and the bomb aimer thought he had found a pinpoint through breaks in the cloud. The bombs were dropped into the area of flashes and fires on the ground but it was not a satisfactory raid. We lost two aircraft. One was seen to go down in flames over the target having been coned by searchlights. Sgt. Pax Smith, a New Zealander and crew ran out of fuel in pitch darkness and had strayed too far to the west, over Algeria. My diary records "They bailed out in an airmanlike manner but the Bomb Aimer was concussed and the Rear Gunner broke both legs on hitting the ground and rolling down the side of a hill. Three of the crew are in the rest camp at Constantine and the two inured in hospital in Algiers".
The reader might be surprised at apparent navigation errors such as this, but the only nav. aid available was a QDM (course to steer) to reach in this case Algiers, which would not have helped. We had no M/F
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Beacons on which to take bearings. The Navigator worked on his dead reckoning plot backed up by a visual pinpoint from the bomb aimer map-reading if visibility was suitable. Quite often the only aid was the Rear Gunner taking a drift reading from his turret. Over the sea the Wireless op. would drop a flame-float down the flare chute, which would burst into flames on striking the sea. The Rear. gunner would rotate his turret and depress the guns, holding the flame in his ringsight for ten seconds, then read off the drift on the indicator by his side. There was sometimes a drift indicator in the 'Nav. Office' also. The same procedure was used over the desert during the day using a smoke bomb in place of a flamefloat.
We learned that Sgt. Leckie who was killed hitting the mountain was Commissioned two weeks before his death and had also been awarded a D.F.C. for his crash-landing in Tunisia. So Sgt. Leckie was really P/O Leckie D.F.C. and didn't know it, but the end result was the same. He and our own Skipper, Sgt. Rutherford 416170 R.N.Z.A.F. had been great buddies for a long time. (or what was regarded as a long time in those days)
May 10 my diary states, a Boomerang lastnight. We took-off with a 4500 pound payload for delivery to PALERMO, the Capital of Sicily. About 30 min. after take-off the petrol cover on the port fuel tank came open and the Skipper had great difficulty in keeping the left wing up. There was no option but to jettison half the bomb load in the sea and return to base. There was an enemy air-raid in progress at Bone and we kept a few miles to the east of it with the I.F.F. on. Our own night-fighters operating from Maison Blanche were known to be very active and we had great faith in our I.F.F. We were first back of course - not really having been anywhere!- and we waited for the others in the debriefing tent. To no avail, they had been diverted and returned the following afternoon. We enjoyed an afternoon and evening off, and went by lorry to Batna, a small town about 30 miles from our base. There was little to be seen and nothing to buy and no sign of any social activity. Conversation with the natives was difficult and they were not interested in the war.
On the night of the 12th. it was the turn of NAPLES again, 21 aircraft with 90,000 lbs. payload bombed within five minutes of each other. It was a lovely night, visibility 30 miles and not a cloud in the sky. As we approached Naples we could clearly see Mt. Vesuvius and convinced ourselves we could see the thin column of smoke drifting from it. Our last pinpoint on the way out was the Isle of Capri and we gave it a short burst of .303 for good measure. A futile act but the guns had to be fired occasionally. At NAPLES we went straight in, the target was clearly visible and the one stick straddled the railway yards and industrial area. My diary records that flak was intense and said to be some of the hottest in Europe, and reading that after a lapse of 45 years causes me to question the authority for such a statement. It was a small target compared to some of those in Central Europe, and the 40 searchlights at Napoli were quite effective, but would have been more so if it had been dark. All our aircraft returned safely after a 7 1/2 hour flight, not a bad effort for Wimpies with no overload tanks. As the W/op describes it, we climbed into our pits just as dawn was breaking. By 0900 we had the option of discarding our mosquito nets and being pestered by the insects, or enjoying a turkish bath due to the heat. Our 1916 vintage bell-tent was reasonable for our crew of five although in earlier times it accomodated [sic] , goodness knows how, 22 soldiers.
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At about 1400 we were happy to get airborne again on an air test where we could cool down, but at 1700 it was briefing again. A "maximum effort" - another phrase. imported from our colleagues bashing away in Central and Northern Europe, on CAGLIARI, a port and industrial town in Sardinia. All 26 aircraft were over the target area within minutes of each other, again visibility was near perfect. Bombing heights were staggered and we bombed from 6000 feet. Our 4000 pounder landed just north of the railway yards among some tall buildings and started a fire. Our W/op Harry Dyson claimed at debriefing that he could feel the heat from our own fire when we turned in again to see the damage. Di was prone to exaggeration by this time, perhaps due to frustration of monitoring broadcasts from Base and seldom touching the morse key. We came back over the target at 2000 feet and the flames were leaping high. We could still see the flames from 70 miles away at 8000 feet on our way home. Listening to the B.B.C. we learned that American bombers had raided Cagliari earlier that day, "wiping the place out". They also claimed they could still see fires burning when they reached the African coast. In daylight too; our W/op was not alone in the exaggeration stakes. However, it was a very satisfactory raid. We were in a shallow dive when the bomb was released and is thought to have scraped the fuselage under the aircraft where there was damage to the geodetics and six feet of fabric had been torn off.
On the 15th. our crew was stood down for 24 hours and I received four letters from Hilda, the first for many weeks. At this rate of completing ops I should be home in less than three months. It was very tiring night after night, particularly as is [sic] was not possible to sleep comfortably in the heat of the day. The target was PALERMO, and three of our 25 aircraft failed to return, including Sgt. Rimmer, and Sgt. Alazrachi, the latter a Free French pilot. It is not known what happened to any of them except that one aircraft was seen to go down in flames over the target. Rimer's Rear Gunner was Joe Shields, one of the best, and the crew had been with us since O.T.U. at Finningley. Polfrey the Navigator, Cave the Bombadier [sic] and Jack Waters the Wireless-op, all very keen types.
On the 16th. it was our turn to make a fragment of history. For the very first time, the R.A.F. bombed ROME. Rome, we were told was an open undefended city, and we were briefed to fly from the mouth of the River Tiber, over the city dropping leaflets, and return at 5000 feet dropping more leaflets, then bomb the LIDO DI ROMA near the mouth of the Tiber. Our first bomb went in the river and the last one in the sea, but the rest of the stick neatly straddled the buildings at the Seaplane Base. Over the city itself, there was considerable light flack with tracer, aiming point- blank without result. Not bad at all far an open undefended city, but we were forbidden to display any hostility except dropping leaflets. Even the lids of the Small Bomb Containers loaded with leaflets were secured with wire so as not to fall on the Romans. Later the B.B.C. claimed there was no flak over Rome.
An easier trip the following night which after the event gave me a slight suggestion of a guilty conscience for the the [sic] very first (and last) time.
"Your target" said the Group Captain, "is the German 'U' Boat refuelling Base at ALGHERO, in Sardinia, put paid to it". Our bomb load was 7 x 500 pounders, 4 S.B.C.'s of 30 lb. incendiaries and 2 x 250 pound bombs. We overflew the target at 4000 feet and first dropped several sacks of
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leaflets. These were in Italian and told the people of Alghera that when we very shortly occupied their country and liberated them from the beastly Germans, they would be treated better than ever before, provided with medical aid and food, and every other possible benefit. All we need is a little co-operation and understanding from them. Having spread the gospel, we made three bombing runs over Alghero, at 3000, 1500 and 700 feet, all perfect O.T.U. practice type runs. On the last bombing run, Allan Willoughby manned the port beam gun, Dyson the front turret and the [deleted] the [/deleted] three of us fired our 7 Brownings at point-blank range into the chaos below. The sole opposition comprised two small-calibre machine guns which were soon out of action. Maybe it was a U Boat refuelling base, but only in the sense that it was a small fishing village and happened to have a jetty where drums of oil could be trundled down to a U Boat at the end of it. Our vision of a Sardinian type Lorient or Brest was soon dispelled. The BBC reported 'our bombers based in North Africa attacked targets is Sardinia lastnight'.
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For a couple of days our conversation had centred around an incident over the Lido di Roma. A seaplane base consists mostly of water; on our first run over it we had difficulty in locating the buildings and were hoping to see a tidy straight line of parked seaplanes. The Skipper decided to drop a flare and asked the Wireless Op. to arm no. 1 of 4 already in position in the flarechute. As he removed the safety pin the flare ignited and the top part of it shot through the roof of the aircraft with flames pouring out of the lower end, streaking past the rear turret.
The blinding light startled Stan Chadderton at the Bombing panel and he instantly jettisoned all the flares, undoubtedly preventing a major disaster. How easy it was to be shot down by one's own flare.
According to Intellegence [sic] reports, there were 1,100 casualties in our raid on Cagliari on the 13th., most of them having been caught by a single bomb. This figure is highly suspect but it originated from an Italian report.
On the 21st. it was a stooge over Sicily with 18 250 lb. bombs.
A convoy was within range of the Ju88 Torpedo bombers based in Sicily and our task was to try and keep them on the ground, or if they did manage to take off, prevent them from making an airmanlike landing on return. Aircraft took off singly starting at 1700 hrs.; we were the 24th. at 2045 hrs., with two others to follow. A direct flight to Castelvetrano, identify the aerodrome and one bomb away, then set course for Ciacco, same procedure, and on to Borezzo. If a flare path is seen anywhere give it priority and stooge around in that area for a while. All the bombs were dropped on the three targets and no flarepaths were seen. We concluded there were no enemy landings or take-offs, but one aircraft was seen to go down in flames into the sea; probably Sgt. Williams of our squadron who was on his first mission from Africa, although he had done several over Germany. At Castelvetrano there was lots of light flak using tracer, and we felt the heavy flak in some areas was predicted. We were not experiencing the 'thick carpets' of flak ever-present over Germany, perhaps ours was more personal, just a few batteries carefully aiming at one or two Wimpies.
It was all go, and on the 23rd. we did an easy 3 1/2 hour trip. 2 hours of which was over Africa. We crossed the Tunisian coast and reached Pantelleria 20 minutes later, an island only 7 miles in length with an aerodrome on the western side. Visibility was poor, but we went straight in and dropped 4,500 lbs. in one stick. These were plotted later as just to the south of the aerodrome. We cruised around out at sea for 20 minutes at 7,000 feet, studying four barrage balloons clearly visible at 5000 feet. On our return however there was no support for this theory from anyone else and we were told it was only heavy flak. This was of course quite possible, in poor conditions and with tired eyes imagination can take over. Within a week however, it was generally accepted that the enemy were deploying barrage ballons [sic] although not in great numbers. Most of our aircraft were not fitted with cable cutters on the leading edge of the wings. Pantelleria was an easy trip and we were advised that it would count only as half a trip towards our 35. We had generally assumed the first tour was 30 trips but it did not seem to worry anyone. The day. after the Pantelleria trip, the Squadron mascot, Wompo, or Wimpy. a pedigree Heinz 69 was killed in action. Whilst he was
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merrily chasing some small creature he was accidentally hit by a jeep driven by F/O Langlois, a pilot of 150. He was so badly damaged that one of the lads put him down with his Smith & Wesson .38.
On the 24th. we staggered off the desert in "F" for Freddie heading for Sardinia carrying eight 500 pound bombs and some incendiaries and it seemed ages before we reached even 100 feet. I was not aware of the drama in the front office, both the Skipper and Bomb Air were struggling even to keep us airborne. At about 500 feet it was not possible to maintain height and the Skipper had no option but to lighten the load quickly. Two 500 pounders were released and seconds later there was a tremendous bang from down below, but the aircraft began to maintain height. We were just within sight of the Sardinian coast with the engines overheating when the Skipper jettisoned the remaining bombs and nursed the aircraft back to Fontain Chaude. That was our second boomerang. Had we been carrying a 4000 lb. cookie the episode would have had a very different ending. By the 2nd. of June we had completed 6 more trips and moved camp further east, to Kairouan. Our patch of desert was about 6 miles west of the walled City, said to be the fifth most holy in the Moslem world. The place was very dry, and the well 100 yards from our tent was out of bounds. The R.A.M.C. and the Afrika Korps had both marked it as poisoned by their repective [sic] enemies. It was said to contain human remains, but tests carried out just before we moved on showed the water had not been polluted and was 100% fit for drinking. Meanwhile our water was delivered by two water bowsers each of which travelled 30 miles east to Sousse several times each day. Many years later the record shows that neither the Germans nor the Allies polluted any water supplies. After all, both hoped to recapture them and put them back to their own use. On the first night from Kairouan we were credited with one more trip, having completed two halves! That is, two trips to PANTELLARIA.
We took off in waves of 3 or 4 throughout the night, arriving over the target 45 minutes later. Our aircraft was "C" Charlie which carried one 4000 pounder. On the first run in we overshot, but came round again and in a typical OTU practice run, Stan Chadderton placed the bomb neatly in the centre of the small town. A 45 minute flight back to base and an hour's respite whilst the aircraft was checked, refuelled and bombed up, then the mixture as before.
On the 27th. we were piling into a lorry to go out to the widely dispersed aircraft; the nightly German raid on Sousse was in full swing when a single Ju88 came over to look at our flare path. He was clearly visible and stooged around at will for about 10 minutes before making a run at about 1000 feet dropping 3 bombs in a salvo 300 yards from the Sgts. mess. Nothing was hurt except our feelings and there was no material damage. We had no A-A guns, so the Luftwaffe did not receive the same energetic welcome handed out to us. We relied on Beaufighter squadrons for defence. The R.A.F. policy was reasonable, as the aircraft were dispersed over a wide area and a single stick of bombs would be ineffective against a single aircraft as a target on the ground. We took-off half an hour later for a tour of Sardinia, again with a payload of eighteen 250 lb. bombs. Our only brief was to stooge around between aerodromes and generally make a nuisance of ourselves. There were no allied troops in Sardinia yet so no special care was called for. Our bombs were expected to be released on aerodromes, searchlights and guns. The
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main object was to keep the Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica on the ground. These trips were not very popular and provided good practice for Ju88 night fighters. We were stood down on the 3rd. June after doing two ops the previous night. We slept all morning and in the afternoon crowded into a lorry and went to the seaside. Monastir, near Sousse and we had our first baths since leaving Blida. We were in good company and had Mare Nostrum to ourselves with tens of thousands of other Allied troops. I have been there several times since and always think of the mass of naked troops in the sea. A good target for the the [sic] German aircraft? Not really, the scores of light A-A guns made it a very dicey target. The Allies must have had well over a thousand aircraft of different types in the area. The Arab town of Monastir was out of bounds to the Army but not, for some probably invalid reason to the R.A.F. We had a 'shufti' and two of us invested in a sort of haircut. Most of the inhabitants seemed to be French, Monastir having been the fashionable part of the Sousse area,
The night of the 4th. June was an unlucky one for 150 Squadron. We lost three of our 16 aircraft on the ground without intervention from the enemy. The aircraft were bunched fairly close together, having been bombed-up and ready for take-off. During a final check, a Bombadier accidentally released a flare which lay on the ground. He dashed off to find an Armourer to make it safe but within minutes the flare ignited. Within 15 minutes the whole area was ablaze and three aircraft, M Mike, A Able and P Peter, each complete with over two tons of bombs and full petrol tanks blew up. Our aircraft which was to have taken us twice to Pantelleria that night 'N' Nuts, together with seven others, was severely damaged. About half the squadron went to Panteleria [sic] , 2 half-trips and in full moonlight reported a couple of Ju88's circling the island. One aircraft returned with about 40
square feet of fabric torn off.
The following night a new target was added to our growing list, SYRACUSE in eastern Sicily, only a little light flak was encountered, and it was just a matter of bombing the water front. Our main task was in fact to drop leaflets on several of the coastal towns, working our way anticlockwise round Sicily. We passed slightly to the west of Pantelleria on the return leg and saw the Wimpies from the Western Desert squadrons bombing the island.
The exact words written in my diary are "bashing hell out of the island".
Our own Group Captain - "Speedy" Powell also went to Pantelleria but complained that his bomb did not explode. We riled him that it went into the sea. We were now seeing a great deal more of the British army and the Americans and we were realising just what small cogs we were in all the activity. We had an American guest with us when he ran us over to the Ops. Room in his personal jeep to collect lastnight's aiming point photograph. He noticed in the caption at the bottom of the photograph "280 deg.T" and remarked "Geez, mighty hot up there aint [sic] it?". It refered [sic] to our course, not the temperature, but we did not add any further complication to trying to explain.
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in the next 12 days we carried out only two raids, the first an easy one to PANTALARIA [sic], which surrendered the following day, and the second to a new target, MESINA [sic], the straits between the toe of Italia and Sicile [sic] . on the way out we passed very close to our favourite island and across Sicily to the target. The target was already marked with 14 flares by the Western Desert squadrons, and for the first time in North Africa that part of the job was done for us. I noted at the time that "the A-A defences were baffled by the number of aircraft over the target at the same time. There were 34 aircraft and only F/Lt. Langlois ran into trouble. He was caught in the searchlights from both sides of the straits and dropped from 11,000 to 2,000 feet to escape them. In doing so he flew through the balloon barrage, but without further incident.
My diary has recently been opened for the first time in over 42 years, so I have not pondered over its accuracy. 34 aircraft simultaneously over the target probably did seem like a thousand bomber raid to us!. Our Bomb Aimer that night was Ft/Lt. Casky, our own being in jail in Tunis. After our last trip to 'the' island we went to Tunis on a 48 hr. verbal pass. The Skipper had the trots, which we all suffered from time to time, and he tried to rest in the tent nearest the toilet trench. Willoughby the Navigator, Stan Chadderton Bombadier [sic] , Harry Dyson the Wireless Op and myself, Rear Gunner. We were each issued with two boxes of American "K" rations, and hitch-hiked first to Sousse and then to Tunis. The first leg was in the back of an Army lorry and the main leg up the coast road by R.A.F. "Queen Mary" which carried about a hundred of us. The whole trip took only 6 hours. The town of Tunis had been in Allied hands for 4 days and there were still a few Germans in hiding. We had given no thought to accommodation which did not seem to be important. Leaving Stan and Di in a canteen abandoned by the Germans, Wally and I eventually found an hotel near the docks area where we were able to book two rooms. I cannot recall the name of the hotel, but the address was 49 Rue de Serbie. The hotel was in very poor condition, no water, all the windows had been blown out, doors smashed, walls cracked and so on. No catering but we had our 'K' rations. Opposite the hotel was a bombed church and all around the buildings were either destroyed or severely damaged. The docks had been our main target in Tunis, and they were destroyed, with all the warehouses practically levelled out. One cargo vessel was beached and two others rested on the bottom. The Arabs were mostly friendly and told us the bomb damage in town was done mainly by 4 engined bombers is daylight, which let us off the hook. The European French were not so friendly, possibly many of them having lost comfortable homes. Some were quite abusive verbally but to others we managed to explain that we flew Chasseurs, pas des bombardiers. In our minds we had liberated the people of Tunis - and the rest of North Africa - from the Germans. We did not fully appreciate that the Arabs saw it differently. The Inglisi and Americans were no different to the Germans and Italians, and they in turn did no less for them than the French. They lived for the day when they would be left to manage their own affairs. In our wanderings around town we met a Tommy who was a Prisoner of War on a ship which had. been bombed at night a few miles out of Tunis. The ship was Italian, homeward bound and had been straffed [sic] by Spitfires during the day. The ship was spotted by two Wellington crews during a night raid on the docks, and the ship was
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bombed, then straffed [sic] from a few hundred feet. The vessel came to a halt and the 20 or so Germans and Italians abandoned ship. Three of the several hundred British prisoners had been regrettably killed in the action and all the others managed to get ashore in lifeboats and floats in the final days of the Axis evacuation of North Africa. The ship was without lights which should have been carried. Another 8th. Army private told us he was a P.O.W. being transferred from a lorry onto a boat about a week ago when about 30 Spitfires and Kittyhawks arrived and caused chaos with their 20 and 40 mm. cannon. The guards were overpowered and most of the 500 or so P.O.W.’s managed to get away. He spoke highly of the fighter pilots, convinced the attack was a very well-planned sortie to release the P.O.W.'s., not just to blaze away at anything German that dared to move. He could very well have been correct,
On our last evening in Tunis the four of us shared a battle of wine with a meal at a roadside cafe. When we were paying the bill we found there was money left over and asked for another bottle of their excellent wine. As the wine was brought over, a Sgt. M.P. standing behind us shouted "no more wine for them", after which Stan told him to mind his own business. The M.P. then grabbed Stan's arm and held it to his back, but seeing threatening movements from the rest of us, released it. Stan then turned quickly and thumped the M.P. who promptly disappeared. Shortly afterwards two R.A.F. Sgt. S.P.'s came is and asked if we had had some trouble and if so would Stan like to put in a complaint to the Provost Marshal? This seemed like a good countermeasure to a possible charge made by the Sgt. M.P. and Stan accompanied the two R.A.F. S.P.’s to the Provost Marshal's office. In reality this was the jail and as they entered the door the Sgt. M.P. set about Stan who gave as good as he got. But this was inside the jail, Stan was at a big disadvantage and about to spend the first of three nights in it. The jail was is fact next door to our hotel is Rue de Serbie. Willy and I did not suspect that Stan was in trouble, we assumed our S.P.’s were just being helpful, so we sat down again with the bottle. Perhaps Di's conscience was not quite so clear, and when he saw the S.P.'s coming he made himself scarce. We caught up with him later asking an M.P. where he could pinch a Jeep. The M.P. humoured him and directed him to an American car park with lots of Jeeps, but Di had seen a tramcar and decided to pinch that instead. Fortunately the tramcar was off the rails, and he changed his attention to the French tricolour on top of a derelict building. He climbed the building and removed the flag, then Willy and I managed to get him back to the hotel. Di's condition was not due to a session of heavy drinking, we had seen very little of anything alcoholic for a long time and two glasses of local wine would have been more than enough to really get him going.
The three of us hitch-hiked back to Kairoaun and reported the loss of one Bomb Aimer to the Skipper. The following day Squadron Leader Miller D.F.C. flew to Tunis and demanded Stan's release from jail. He had a major row with the same Sgt. M.P. who started it all and who was asking what authority the Squadron Leader had. The Squadron Leader pointed to his 2 1/2 rings of rank and the D.F.C. and asked the M.P. whether he thought they were scotch mist. Stan was released and back at Kairoaun was charged with causing an affray, resulting in a Reprimand. The Sgt. M.P. was charged and given a Severe Reprimand and reduced to Corporal.
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By the 16th. of June we were operational again as a crew. the target was again NAPLES, a 6 hour 15 min. stooge and rather tiring. There was a full moon and visibility was 25 miles. We could clearly see Pantelaria [sic] to port, and later, north of Sicily, the small island of Maritimo, just the tip of a mountain sticking out of the sea. The Isle of Capri provided a good pin-point. Over the target area there was 9/10ths. cloud so we bombed from above the flares. Flak was moderate and widely spread. There was slight consternation when one of my turret doors fell off for no apparent reason. I wondered what else would fall off but everything else seemed to be intact so it was just a matter of strapping myself in - which according to the book should be so in any case. Just after "bombs gone" I reported a twin-engined aircraft starboard quarter up at 1000 yards. The Skipper started to weave gently. and Di went to the astrodome position to search above the horizontal whilst I -theoritically [sic] at least-- concentrated on below the horizontal. This is not an easy task when the rear gunner is expected to ignore one fighter leaving it to his colleague whilst searching for others. Di became somewhat emotional to say the least, said it was not a fighter but merely flak, and then went on to give a commentry [sic] on searchlight activity and flak at least - by then- five miles away, and of only historical interest. Whilst in a turn to port the other aircraft was directly astern and I identified it as twin engined and without the high tail fin of the Wellington. The Skipper did a diving turn to starboard and we lost the other aircraft. Di claimed it was another aircraft not to be confused with the one he identified as flak! Normally Di stayed at his radio position, it was better that way. On the return journey, either there was a raid on Trapani or someone had strayed off-course. On the 18th. it was again to SYRACUSE, an exceptionally clear night, almost no cloud and a full moon. We could have dispensed with the flarepath on take-off and we felt as if we were doing a day trip. Over the target there was tracered flak up to 7,000 feet and we were geared up to bomb from 5,000 feet. We expected night fighters, and even day fighters, so went straight in at 5000 feet, bombed and straight out again, down to 3,000 feet for a quick tour of several nearby small towns and villages where we dropped leaflets. We were glad to get home that night, such met. and lunar conditions were hazardous. SALERNO again on the 21st, a routine trip, but on the 24th. of June I got a message to call at the 'Orderly Room', which in reality was the bell tent next to the C.O.'s tent. There was great discussion on which particular crime had caught up with me, but it was all very innocent. I came out of the bell tent as a Flight Sargeant [sic] much to the annoyance of the Sgt. Skipper and the three other Sgts. in the crew. It didn't help very much when I told them they need not call me Flight Sgt. ALL the time, just once in the morning and again in the evening.
In the early hours of the 26th. June we bombed the naval base of BARI in S. E. Italy, and it was an almost complete fiasco. It was not possible to see the ground due to haze, and the Western Desert aircraft had dropped the marker flares in the wrong place. Fires were started over an area of about 60 square miles, maybe one or two on the target by sheer chance. The target was a small oil refinery built especially to deal with the crude oil from Albania. Important to the Axis because that particular oil needed special treatment which, we were advised, only Bari could provide. We were now spending more and more time over the Italian mainland, for the first time we were seeing concentrations of
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lights in the form of a triangle which were assumed to be Prison and Internment Camps. On the way out we saw Trapani being bombed by our colleagues from the Western desert. The following afternoon it was too hot to sleep and I flew with Sgt. Whitehouse, a new pilot from Britain, in a brand new aircraft, 'D' Donald. We traced the path of the 8th. Army to beyond the Mareth line, at about 2500 feet. There were few battle scars; It was hard to appreciate that this was a place of such dreadful carnage so recently.
Kairouan was placed out of bounds due to Typhus, and there was nothing in the walled city to tempt us to ignore the order. The Arabs were less friendly and our revolvers were not looked upon merely as a taken of authoriity [sic] . According to a report in a Daily Mirror which took a few weeks to arrive, the lads were reported to have been given a hearty welcome by the French people in the Holy City of Kairouan. Actually there were only a handful of French remaining. Another Daily Mirror headline we found amusing was "BLOCKBUSTERS ON BIZERTA". It went an to say that "Lastnight our Bombers based in North Africa again pounded Bizerta; During the entire raid, blockbusters were dropped at the rate of one every two minutes. Absolutely correct, it was a raid from Blida, but it did not say that the raid was of 2 minutes duration and that we had only two aircraft able to carry the blockbusters. However, we looked forward to reading even an old Daily Mirror and to listen to the B.B.C. when airborne. Some of the stock phrases brought a chuckle at times 'Fires were left burning..', "Rear Gunners straffed [sic] the target..." "All opposition was overcome.." "Many two ton blockbusters ...." etc. etc, It appeared far more impressive in print than in reality doing it. Generally all we saw were explosions and dull red glows, tracer coming up and curving away passed us, and being blinded sometimes by searchlights. We did not picture at the time the loss of life down below and the damage caused to factories and buildings of all descriptions, in any cases, mostly houses. Straffing [sic] was invigorating and served to let off steam, but the supporting arithmetic was disappointing. An aircraft travelling at 180 m.p.h. (264 feet per second) over a target 360 yards in length would take 4 seconds to traverse the target. A .303 Browning has a rate of fire of 1200 rounds per min., the four in the rear turret having a combined rate of 4800 per min., or 80 rounds per second. There is time only for a 4 second burst of 320 rounds - not a lot - The Reargunner sees nothing of the target until it is passed and needs to be told when to open fire by someone in the front office. On straffing [sic] details it is likely the front turret with two guns, and one beam gun would be in use, increasing fire power by 75%, Possibly even a four-second burst once experienced at the receiving end might cause the enemy to duck next time we come by. This was an acceptable technique along a straight road. The aircraft was often fitted with two beam guns, one on each side, but only one was manned. Vision was poor from the beam positions and normally we would pass to one side of the target with one wing low. The gun on the other beam would have been aiming upwards. On the 28th 150 Sqdn. was stood down for 24 hours, but the previous night we paid a visit to SANGIOVANI on the southern toe of the Italian mainland: This was a daylight trip with four squadrons of Wellingtons to the train ferry terminal, a dock or lock which the ferry would enter and the water level be adjusted such that the level of the rails on land and ferry coincided. The train would then be shunted an or off the ferry as required. Flack was intense for
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Italian targets and there were trains both on-the ferry in dock and onshore. The whole lot was successfully reduced to a shambles but 6 of our aircraft failed to return. Our heaviest loss yet in a single night.
The 30th. of June was Willie's birthday and we celebrated it over MESINA. According to the B.B.C. we are blitzing both sides of the straits, Mesina to the west in Sicily and Sangiovani on the Italian mainland. The straits are only 3 1/2 miles wide, and carry the greater part of all enemy traffic to Sicily, entirely in German control with concentrated light flack [sic] from both sides and from ships in the middle. A trip lasting 5 1/2 hours.
The whole crew is beginning to feel the strain of long periods of intense activity. Although most of the memories are of the actual bombing ops., that was only a part of it. Aircraft had to be inspected daily on the ground and also air tested ready for the next trip, before bombing up. The Navigator had to prepare his flight plan prior to take off and this was done also on the many occasions when trips were later cancelled. All of us spent at least some time in the Intellegence [sic] Section to keep up-to-date with the position of the front line and the general trend. It was perhaps in some ways easier for us than for our counterparts in Europe. We had fewer distractions. There was no looking forward to a pint in the local pub. nor getting home to the family for a day or two. Not even the local cinema. There was very little booze to be had, I seem to remember a ration of one bottle of beer per fortnight which I used to take up on an air test to cool it down, and then give to the Armourers after landing. The batman was not going to ask "which suit and shoes are you wearing tonight Sir? " as he did later at Spitalgate. Evening wear was the same as for the rest of the day, shorts, perhaps a shirt, certainly no socks, and sandals on the feet. On the few occasions when we went out of camp we generally wore khaki battledress which we wore also of course on ops. I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open at night for long periods, and finding it very tempting to rest my head on the guns and have a doze, but to do so would be absolutely unforgiveable. The Skipper was under an even greater strain and a six hour trip was 6 hours of concentrated effort. On one or two occasions he dozed off for maybe just a few seconds, but fortunately by his side most of the time was Stan Chadderton the Bombardier who very quickly realised the position and watched points up front. The amount of nattering in the air was on the increase, also. It was standard procedure to use oxygen at night regardless of altitude, and the microphones with their electrical heaters were built-in to the mask. Everyone was connected to the intercom system all the time except for the Wireless op. who was able to switch out his own connection when using his radio. Microphones were switched as required by individual wearers. The Skipper's microphone was switched on all the time and so too was the Rear Gunner's in danger areas. Procedures were relaxed somewhat in our particular theatre of war; we could get along quite nicely without oxygen below 10,000 feet and I don't recollect flying much above that height. Whenever I reported anything Di dashed to the astradome [sic] and objected. If the rotation of my rear turret was not rythmical [sic] both the Skipper and Navigator objected. The turret and guns presented an assymetrical [sic] shape to the slipstream with a consequent rudder effect. If I kept the turret facing starboard for too long the aircraft would do a gentle flat turn to starboard. Meanwhile the Skipper was trying to maintain a course determined by the
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Navigator who was keeping a watchful eye on his compass, perhaps not appreciating that it was the rear gunner making things difficult. Although the sides of the turret were clad with perspex, it was difficult to see through it with the degree of clarity required. In fact the perspex in front of the turret had been removed to provide a clear vision panel. Even on the ground the whole crew was getting very irritable with each other. For almost a year we had lived worked, ate and near enough slept together almost without a break, the same endless routine, and anything to which we could look forward seemed an awful long way off. Whose turn to carry the water, became a very important issue at times and would lead to an argument [sic] . After some very harsh wards we would agree that it was stupid to argue about such a trivial issue, which in turn led to a bigger argument on who started the argument in the first place. I remember Chad the Bombardier putting paid to the row one day by getting off his bed - known as a pit - and announcing "Well, I've get to go for a **, anyone care to join me'? The loo comprised a trench, 20 feet long, several feet deep and about one foot wide over which one crouched. There was a choice of direction in which to face, and one or two of the bigger chaps preferred to straddle the trench. There was no need to interrupt a conversation in going to the toilet.
By the end of June the length of tour was clarified. First it was to have been 30 trips as in Britain, then it had been increased to 40 as some trips were not very hazardous, then some of the trips counted only as halves, and the tour was again changed to be 250 hours of operational flying. The Western Desert tour was said to be 40 trips or 250 hours, whichever was the less. However, there were other things to think about. Sgt. Lee and two other pilots were paraded before the whole squadron Air Crews and called "Saboteurs" by the Group Captain, having between them written off five aircraft in taxiing accidents. Group Captain 'Speedy' Powell was a very keen type and conducted all the briefings himself, was generally the first one off the ground and first back in time for debriefing. Whilst we were resting he would sometimes return to the target in an American twin boomed lightning to try and assess the damage - or find what we had actually bombed!
On the night of the 30th. June we were stood dawn and watched 142 Sqdn. take off for southern Italy. The starboard engine of one aircraft cut a few seconds before the aircraft should have get airborne. The aircraft swung and crashed into a jeep which was waiting to cross the 'runway', killing both American occupants and breaking it's back, a complete write-off. My diary makes no mention of the fate of the crew. We had just been issued with a new aircraft, 'B Beer' and I spent most of the day cleaning the guns and turret which were still all greased up as when they left England. Normally this work was carried out by the Armourers, but I was expected to take an active interest in the guns and turrets. The guns were removed, stripped, soaked in petrol, thoroughly cleaned and reassembled, replaced in the newly-cleaned turret and then harmonised. In Britain the harmonising of guns was carried out by placing a board at a predetermined distance in front of the turret and adjusting the ring-sight and guns to line up with specific paints or circles on the board. In North Africa we placed a can or any handy object on the ground 300 yards away and pointed the guns and ring-sight at it.
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Another day-off on the 2nd. July and Jumbo Cox, a Navigator on 150 Sqdn. and I hitch-hiked into Sousse and spent a few hours in the sea. After our dip we queued for 20 minutes at a huge marquee and enjoyed the most wonderful mug of tea of all time. I have thought many times in the last 40 years of that mug of tea.
The 4th. of July turned out to be the-hottest in temperature we had experienced for a long time. We had bombed TRAPANI in the very early morning. Intensive flack and searchlights with tracer up to 5000 feet. At 2000 feet the temperature was 95 Farenheit [sic] and not much lower at 9,000 feet, our bombing height. I was wearing only trousers and a shirt and was soaked in perspiration. Even the slipstream felt hot when I put one hand outside. Apart from the oppressive heat, it was a routine trip, and we managed to sleep most of the following afternoon, in 130 deg. in the shade. The wind was from the south-west, straight off the Sahara, and several airmen passed out with heatstroke. Metal parts of the aircraft were too hot to touch and a Wellington on the ground of 37 Squadron went up in flames. On the night of the 6th, we were briefed to attack aerodromes in Sardinia, and Sgt. Chandler piloted the first aircraft off. Both engines cut immediately after take-off whilst his undercarriage was still lowered. With full fuel and bomb load he somehow managed to avoid the inevitable and landed in a cultivated area at the end of the runway. Some of the crew suffered minor injuries, but it was 40 minutes before the rest of us were given a green to take-off. The wrecked aircraft was directly under the take-off path. Seven aircraft failed to get off the ground, including ours, all due to engines overheating after running for over 40 minutes on the ground. We had also lost air pressure for the brakes. Of the aircraft which did take off none was successful in finding the target, flouted by bad weather over Sardinia. Sgt. Valentine was above 10/10ths cloud with engines overheating and deemed it necessary to jettison his bombs "over the sea". We were not generally briefed with the positions of Allied shipping convoys, but were routed away from them without being given the reason. Sgt. Valentine decided to return by the shortest route and when has bombs whistled down on the convoy the Navies took a very poor view and let fly with everything they had. This was a well-established practice on the Navy's part, so there was no cause for complaint. In all, that night was a waste of 30 tons of bombs, 4000 gallons of petrol and over 150 flying hours.
On the 7th. we visited an aerodrome at COMISO in Southern Italy, delivering 4500 lbs, of bombs. It was a new target to the R.A.F., and apparently undefended, Only three of us managed to locate it and we were lucky in the timing of our 3 flares in obtaining a pinpoint. We obtained good aiming point photograph which showed our stick of bombs had straddled the dispersal area, with the last two landing in the olive groves.
Nearly half a century later I wonder why we did not use the radio for communicating with other aircraft in providing mutual assistance. We had no V.H.F. but the TR9 H.F. R/T would have been adequate. Observing Radio silence I feel was taken to extremes, our signals might indicate our presence to the enemy, but they were aware of that in any case. They might home onto us, but our transmissions would have been brief and on a frequency initially unknown to the enemy. They were not equipped to respond fast enough to information gleaned by monitoring, neither was the area covered with direction-finding
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stations. I feel this was one of the matters where a principle had been established and which was not reviewed often enough under changing circumstances.
On the evening of the tenth of July, just before briefing we heard aircraft engines and it was like being at a cinema show. Wave after wave of Dakota transports thundered overhead on their way to Sicily. It reminded me of the film "An Engishman`s Home" and the massive formations of German bombers, but these aircraft were American and British and were definitely not making a film. At briefing Groupie put us in the picture. "Accurate timing and accurate bombing, more so than ever before" was his opening phrase. We were briefed to bomb a specific part of SYRACUSE whilst paratroops were being dropped close by and other paras were already in position ready to capture our target immediately after the bombing. Flares were dropped accurately and the target successfully bombed, although some bombs went in the sea because of its close proximity. We noted a very large fire at Catania and "a number of queer lights which suggested fifth column activity" according to my diary. 45 years later I wonder how I reached that conclusion. Looking down from about 9,000 feet on the southern coast of Sicily on the return journey, we saw the Navy shelling the coast and several searchlights on shore began to sweep out to sea. One of the searchlights located a ship and held on to it, whilst the others went on sweeping. From another ship there were just three flashes of light, and seconds afterwards, three flashes on shore, one in front of the offending searchlight, one slap on it, and the third behind it. That was one searchlight out of action, and the others switched off in sympathy. The Navy carried on firing without further interruption. My panoramic view of the action from nearly two miles above gave no indication of the destruction and agony caused by those three shots.
The following, night it was the turn of MONTECORVlNO in western Italy, a new German aerodrome. Over the target we narrowly missed colliding with Jack Alazrachi in `Q' Queenie. His starboard wingtip scored our port wing and my diary records "a very shaky do". Our stick straddled the aircraft parking area and we took an excellent aiming point photograph of 15 aircraft an the ground. It was later confirmed officially that our two squadrons destroyed 40 aircraft and damaged many more.
On the 13th. at briefing, Group Captain Powell grinned and glanced down at his flying boots and said "Yes chaps, we are in for an interesting trip, Jerry is landing a massive convoy at MESINA and we are instructed to smash it." We went out at 6000 ft. above sea level which, over Sicily averaged about 2000 feet above ground. I found it difficult to concentrate on a formal rear-gunner type search, there was so much activity. Ground detail could be seen very easily and the Tactical Air Force was observed bombing all over the island. There were flares everywhere, bombs creating havoc, flak barrages and intensive shelling by the Navies. Over our target, the flak was intense but scattered. Sgt. "Pax" Smith's aircraft was holed, something went through his bombing panel and made two big holes in the front turret. This crew, like most did not include a full-time front gunner, the Bombardier occupied the turret as and when expedient and on this occasion had just returned to the second dickie seat when the aircraft was holed. One aircraft was seen to crash and another, in flames, exploded on hitting the ground. At debriefing we learned that one Wellington of 142 Squadron was missing,
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and this was manned by six officers, five of whom had completed one tour over Germany. The sixth, flying as 'second dickie' was on his very first trip.
Another new target to us, on the 15th, CROTONIA, an aerodrome on the east coast of the toe of Italy. A routine trip out, good visibility and straight in to the taget [sic] . There were four flak batteries, but Sgt, Mickie Mortimer was just ahead of us and his first stick silenced all four. Our single stick straddled the aerodrome and enlarged the existing fires among aircraft on the ground. We stooged around for a little while watching aircraft blowing up and more bombs adding to the havoc on the ground. When all was quiet we dropped to 250 feet and went in with guns blazing and between us fired about 4000 rounds into the fires, We must have hit something. There were dummy fires to the north and south-east of the aerodrome, very unreal and no-one was fooled by them. On the way out of the target area we were followed. by an aircraft sporting an orange light, and at one stage took light evasive action, but he did not attack. Several other rear gunners reported the same experience, non [sic] was actually engaged. We were routed back round northern Sicily, as usual Trapani was being attacked and other targets nearby were being bombed. We were hoping to see the 142 Sqdn. aircraft with the blue light which we nearly shot down returning from Salerno. The Bombardier in the second pilot's seat reported two aircraft ahead, one with a white light which we assumed to be a decoy. We expected the aircraft to allow us to overtake, and whilst the one with the light drew our attention his chum would sneak is from another dirction [sic] . We lost both the other aircraft for a minute or two, then the aircraft with the light - this time a blue one - reappeared on the starboard bow at about 500 yards. Meanwhile Chad had taken over the front turret, but held his fire. He identified it as a Wimpey. The Skipper altered course and we passed about 100 feet below the Wimpy. I got a plan view of him and confirmed the identification. As he fell behind I flashed dah dah dit, dit dit dit on my inspection lamp. There was no reply from the other aircraft but it landed 15 minutes after us and taxied towards 142 dispersal, On that same trip two of us saw an aircraft at 800 yards on our port quarter up which closed in to 500 yards. He was at too great a range for our .303s, but we were ready for an instant dive to port. He surprised us by turning away to port at about 400 yards, and again two of us identified it as a Wimpey.
Enemy aerodromes continued to take up most of our effort, and on the night of the 17th. it was three hours each way to POMIGLIANO near Naples, passing round Vesuvius with it's dull red glow. The target was initially very quiet and consequently not easy to locate. On our first run in at 6000 feet, we were a few minutes early, but dead on time at 4000 feet on our second run. We were caught and held in searchlights, and the light flak was point-blank. Allan Willoughby claimed he could smell it when the Skipper asked him for a course for home after the second run-in. When Stan the Bombardier announced that we still had nine 250 pound bombs aboard, someone suggested we should jettisson [sic] them on the town. Allan suggested we strike at a village a few miles ahead but Stan refused to drop them anywhere except the aerodrome at Pomigliano. The third run-in was at 5000 feet and the searchlights got us again as soon as the bomb doors were open. We were in a cone of eight and it seemed we had the aerodrome to ourselves. The bombing was accurate and we lost height to 2000 feet, all quiet again. My part in all this had
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really been that of a passenger listening to and witnessing the drama, and I was not popular when I suggested to the Skipper that we go back at low level and put a few lights out. Chad was in favour and had the front turret in mind, Allan was not keen and didn't like the smell of flak, and Dyson thought the idea was 'plain stupid'. Dyson was probably right for the wrong reason, but the Skipper was thinking we had got away with it for well over 30 trips so far, and there was no point in tempting providence. A three hour stooge back to Blida with nothing but silence on the intercom. Other aircraft were seen in the circuit and our TR9 radio was out of order. This was a very low power transmitter/receiver operating between 4 and 8 MHz. and used by the Skipper to contact Air Traffic Control at Base. If we still had an acceptable reserve of fuel we would have gone away and returned in 30 miniutes [sic] , but fuel was low and the Skipper decided to land without any formalities or delay. This aroused the wrath of the Flight Commander who tore a terrific strip off him next day. Our report at debriefing was very different to that of Sgt. Whitehouse and crew, who said it was a wizard O.T.U. run, bombs slap on the runway, no flak, no searchlights and the whole thing was 'a piece of cake'. He had in fact been to the wrong aerodrome, Crotone, which we had pranged on the 15th. where the defences stayed silent in order not to attract attention. - an old Italian custom -. The reason for the accuracy of the searchlights was a layer of cloud at 10,000 feet, a full moon and clear visibility. We were silhouetted against the cloud even without the searchlights.
Two nights later Sgt. Whitehouse, this time officially and with the rest of us, went again to CROTONE. We were all very tired and I found it difficult to keep awake. Visibility was 15 miles with a nearly full moon and on the way out for long periods we actually enjoyed the visible company of other Wimpies. On arrival at CROTONE we were surprised to see fires already started and spent a good five minutes in ensuring that it was indeed the target, Two bombing runs were made, at 3000 feet and 1500 feet, dropping nine 250 pounders each time. The bombs were seen bursting among aircraft on the ground, some of which were already ablaze. 400 yards from the burning aircraft was a small wood which had obviously been hit and was burning merrily. My diary records "from the ground it would have seemed like Nov. 5th.
Rockets were going up and verries by the score.
Someone had pranged a pyrotechnic store."
We made a third run at 200 feet and spent some 1500 rounds at the aircraft on the ground. Other gunners did the same. We were amazed to find everything so easy, and no opposition as far as we know, our raid on the 15th. should have given them a good idea of what to expect. There were no dummy fires and still they make no effort to disperse aircraft. The absence of fighters was strange; even day-fighters would have been very effective under those conditions. One crew reserved an odd bomb for the village south of the arodrome [sic] . It had a 36 hour delay and landed in the centre of the village. Not a very nice thing to do, and an act certainly not in accordance with our leaflets. Sgt. Pax Smith the intrepid Kiwi was on the last trip of his tour and elected to hit a railway bridge near the coast. It also had a' 36 hour delay fuse and missed the bridge by 50 yards. The British army was not at all happy with Smithy's effort, they planned to use the bridge within a week or two and were going to some considerable trouble to make sure the enemy
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didn't blow it up. They hadn’t counted on Smithy, but fortunately he wasn't quite up to scratch an that last trip.
One night off and then back try the 'Big City" , the capital of Italia, not to be confused with the really big one, the Capital city of Deutchland, with which there was absolutely no comparison. It was over two months since we had been to Rome, and it was still supposed to be an 'Open, undefended City'. Our specific target was PRACTICA DI MERE, an aerodrome just to the southwest of Rome. The Groupy had made it very clear at briefing, that nothing must be dropped on Rome itself. The target would be marked by flares positioned by W/O Coulson of 142 Squadron. We had no target map but the the [sic] aerodrome was plotted on the map of Central Italy - probably half million scale -. As we were passing the island of Maratimo, Chad was in the second dickie seat, map in hand and decided to get a clearer view of Maratimo by opening the sliding window at his side. The map disappeared out of the window, but with Allan's D. R. navigation we reached the target as Coulson's flares went down. Target marking at that stage of the war in Italy was in its infancy and was carried out with flares designed for lighting up the ground. These were very different from the coloured Target Indicators used to such great effect over Germany. Bombing was not particularly accurate, but well clear of Rome itself, where there was plenty of light flak and searchlight activity which exploded the myth about an undefended city. This activity extended down the Tiber to the Lido di Roma, where the Radio Station was still operating. The Vatican was blacked out very effectively
On the 25th. we started 8 days leave, taking an aircraft back to Blida for an engine change and major inspection. We took advantage of the stores at Blida and were issued with new uniforms, shoes and anything we wanted, just a matter of signing for it, it was two years before the system caught up with me and I was debited with the cost.
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[bearer document in English and arabic]
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[photograph]
[photograph]
TWO OF OUR AIMING POINT PHOTOS
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The first three days were spent in Algiers with Harry Dyson at the Hotel Radio Grand but the inactivity - or something - was too much for Harry so we returned to Blida, only to find the rest of our party had adjourned to the rest camp at Surcouf. I spent most of my time in the next few days in Blida, partly with a French-Arab family Iloupcuse Moka Mourice Bijoutier, at 11 Rue Goly, Blida. 30 years later I was able to find the area but no-one recognised either the name or the address. Like most places, Blida had changed a lot in the intervening years. I remembered it as an almost typical French village, beautifully clean, tables and chairs outside the cafes, and a very pleasant atmosphere. After 20 years or so of independence it was a very different story, and I thought a rather sad one. I made several excursions into Algiers where the Yanks had become very well organised. They had-taken over and re-organised six cinemas, all with continuous shows for about 12 hours per day, and open house to Service personnel. I visited all six. The N.C.O.'s Club in Rue d'Isley was our base camp in Algiers, where we enjoyed endless cups of tea and cakes. The Malcolm Club, exclusive to R.A.F. personnel provided a good hot meat each evening. It was on this leave that I visited the local Match Factory at Caussemille, being an ardent Philumenist - collector of matchbox labels-. The factory was at that time owned and operated by the French and I was given a conducted tour of the factory. Most of the labels presented to me at the factory are in my collection to this day. My next visit to the factory was 37 years later, when I met with a very cool reception. The French had gone long ago, only their name remained. In that area of Algiers, all the street names were written on the street signs in Arabic except one, Caussemille. This was the name of an old French or Belgian family of match manufacturers possibly difficult to translate into Arabic. I met several of the chaps from the Rhodesia training days, one had joined Coastal Command and was detached from 'U.K. to Maison Blanche on White Wimpies. It had taken him six months to complete 100 hours and he was rather gloomy about the next four hundred to complete his tour. He was in fact rather nervous, his job being mine-sweeping; I asked him "what height do you fly at?" He replied that `it was a two-dimensional job, no such thing as height'. Causing magnetic mines to blow up by flying over them at very low level could not have been very pleasant. Maison Blanche is now known as El Beda, the International airport of Algeria, not so well organised as it was in 1943, and not half so busy! Blida aerodrome is the Headquarters of the Algerian Air Force and is a prohibited area to foreigners.
At the end of our 8 days in comparitive [sic] civilisation, we were glad to collect our newly serviced Wimpey and return to Kairouan. I was immediately recruited to fly with Sgt. Stone to MARINA DI PAOLA. We stooged over northern Sicily is daylight and very close to Trapani our old favourite which had been severely bashed about. During the invasion it was subjected also to heavy Naval shelling. Being with a different crew perhaps made things more interesting, seeing how they reacted to various aspects, and I thought they had a rather strange and formal appoach [sic] . We did not see our bombs burst and our photoflash failed to go off. There was none of the usual binding we experienced with our own crew, everyone was pleasant, courteous and cheerful. At debriefing Group Captain Powell said "Good Show chaps, I expect you are glad to get onto ops at last, and that's the first one done". I was speechless but thinking about their next 44, maybe they were also. I can see "Speedy Powell" very clearly making
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that statement, a memory revived recently in the film "Target for Tonight" in which he was the Flight Lieutenant taking the briefing; the same very distinctive and distinguished voice.
On the night of the 4th., the crew not feeling particularly refreshed after its leave, our target was BATTAPAGLIA. It was daylight almost to the Italian Coast and we arrived with 20 minutes to spare, circling the target area. 'Bang on time we dropped the flares, but there were no bright lights'. The twenty minutes of sight-seeing had upset the routine and the flares were dropped on 'safe', and therefore failed to go off. We still had two flares so went down to 3000 feet and dropped the bombs through 9/10ths cloud using individual flares. 90 seconds after bombing, Stan identified the target 4 miles ahead. We had neither bombs nor flares left, and were depressed at putting up such a rotten show on what turned out to be the last trip of our tour. We could have done a spot of straffing below cloud, but instead called it a day.
The following night we waved the boys off to MASINA, and we felt rather sad that we were no longer operational. Sqdn. Ldr Garrad and crew were also no longer operational, having failed to return from MASINA. Someone suggested staying and doing another tour, but Dyson thought the idea was "stupid" - like most other ideas - and with deep regrets we said cheerio to our friends on 150 and 142 Squadrons, and climbed in the back of a lorry bound for Tunis. Pax Smith and Mickey Mortimer and crews were with us and we sat back and enjoyed the scenery, some taking pot-shots at nothing in particular with their revolvers. We had in fact lots of unofficial ammunition of 9mm. calibre, captured from the enemy. This fitted nicely into our .38 Smith & Wessons and differed from the .38 ammo. only in that it had no ejection flange at the end of the cartridge. This had the effect that we could use captured enemy ammo. but they could not use ours because of the flange.
We arrived at no. 2BPD in Tunis just in time for dinner and a cold shower, the first shower for about nine months. During our week or so in the Transit Camp, we had a sort of parade each morning and then were free for the day. It was on one of these parades that our Skipper's name was called to approach the C.O. "Sir, 416170". With no prior warning, the citation was read out and he was presented with the D.F.M. Next it was the turn of Mickey Mortimer to march up and also receive a D.F.M. I seem to recall that he did a somersault before saluting in front of the C.O., or was it a back somersault after receiving the award? either of which today seems quite incredible. Pax Smith had already received a D.F.M for his earlier exploits. My one other recollection of the Transit Camp was an old Italian Water Tanker which was used as a static water tank. It held 10,000 gallons of water and must have weighed over 53 tons when full. All 24 wheels were firmly embedded in the sand up to their axles. It was when we departed from Tunis by lorry for Algiers that one of the Canadian officers decided to hitch-hike back to U.K. and to rejoin the party at the Reception Centre. I learned later that he flew first to Algiers with the R.A.F. and then flew to U.K. with the Yanks. He was an old hand at that sort of thing, having hitch-hiked from Blida to New York and back with a colleague in less than a week.
Meanwhile the rest of us travelled the 500 miles to Algiers by lorry along the coast road, and after a few days in the transit camp boarded a troopship, the Capetown Castle, a passenger liner of the Castle line. We were accommodated in 4-berth cabins with full peace-time fascilities [sic] .
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each cabin was allocated one Italian P.O.W. who slept outside the door, and attended to the cleaning, dhobi etc. We were not impressed by the Italians as fighting men, but had no complaints of their ability and willingness in the job they were then doing. It was a very comfortable voyage and we lived it up in a manner to which we were certainly not accustomed.
After a very pleasant and restful 10 days or so we disembarked at Greenoch and I recollect forming up on the key [sic] prior to joining a train for Liverpool and West Kirby. A rather pompous redcapped Military Policeman called us to attention, right turn, at the double, march! It was more astonishment than lack of discipline which caused everyone to stay put. He was told to get his knees brown and get a few other things too, and we walked to the train, deliberately out of step. Our first steps back in England were certainly not going to be at the double ordered by Red Caps.
This was my fourth visit to West Kirby, where we were rekitted, saying cheerio to our Khaki battledress and tropical kit, documents checked, medical exam. and then disembarkation leave. It was at West Kirby that our Crew was really disbanded, very sad after working as a team for so long, but another phase of our careers was completed.
Of the Crew? Stan Chadderton was commissioned on his second tour and we have met several times in the past 40 years, but I have no news of the Skipper and the rest of the crew. Stan met the Skipper, then a Flight Lieutenant at Brise [sic] Norton at the end of the war on his return from a German P.O.W. camp. We can only hope he returned safely to New Zealand and was able to return in the farm. Allan Willoughby is thought to have ended the war as a Squadron Leader.
My association with the Wimpy was not yet over, however, it was still in use in large numbers in the U.K. for operational training, and was to remain so until the end of the war. More "Wimpys" were built than any other operational. bomber.
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[document from C-in-C]
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[photograph] C.W WITH MUM BARNOLDSWICK
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[photograph] HILDA WITH THE SKIPPER AND BOMB AIMER
48A
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[photograph] [underlined] WITH THE SKIPPER & BOMB AIMER – SECOND HONEYMOON SEPT. 1943 [/underlined]
[photograph] [photograph]
[underlined] AT OUR CHALET AT BLIDA [/underlined]
WATSON – RUTHERFORD- DYSON – CHADDERTON & PADDY (MORTIMER’S FRONT GUNNER)
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[underlined] OUR 150 SQDN. SKIPPER SGT. STAN RUTHERFORD 416170 RNZAF [/underlined] [underlined] A WIMPEY AT BLIDA [/underlined]
48B
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[photograph] AT RICHMOND SECOND HONEYMOON
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48B
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[warrant officer parchment]
52A
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[underlined] Screened [/underlined] .
September 1943 saw me at 84 O.T.U. Desborough, a Flight Sgt. with 43 ops under my belt, and that wonderful feeling of being ex-operational. For the next six months or so I was to be a "Course Shepherd", responsible for 12 Air Gunners. Desborough was a typical Operational Training Unit where, in the main, newly-trained aircrew were introduced to operational aircraft and the techniques of dealing with the opposition which was by no means limited to the Germans. There were three courses running simultaneously which gave ample scope to the Captains in making one of their most important decisions, that of selecting their crews.
For the first two weeks or so the training comprised mainly lectures and familiarisation with equipment. Air Gunners were generally able to make an early start with the flying where even on circuits and bumps an extra pair of eyes was to advantage.
The Course Shepherd ensured the smooth-running of the Air-Gunners training. There were specialist instructors for lectures on subjects such as guns, turrets and tactics, but the C.S. supervised their flying aspects and work on the range, in detail.
I particularly enjoyed the Fighter Affiliation sessions, where trainee gunners would take over the rear turret whilst being attacked by one or two Miles Masters or any other "Playmate" who could be cajoled officially to co-operate.
I would stand at the astrodome guiding the gunner with the timing of his advice and instructions to the Pilot. The standard evasive action (referred to later in 5 Group as "Combat Manouvre [sic] ") was the corkscrew, well known to, and anticipated by, the enemy, I might add that until I arrived at 84 OTU I had never even heard of the corkscrew. During the OTU excercises [sic] the fighter pilots were generally sporting enough not to press home their attacks with too much determination, but to allow the bomber sometimes to 'escape', thus giving the rear gunners - or some of them-- the false impression that they actually stood some chance of survival.
I felt quite at home in the "Wimpy" and encouraged the pilot to throw the aircraft around, and make the corkscrews rather more violent to simulate a real attack, where a quick getaway was the only solution to survival. For fighter affiliation excercises [sic] , the turret was equipped with an 8mm. Camera Gun, fitted in place of one of the four .303 Browning machine guns, the remaining three Brownings being de-armed. Each gunner plugged-in his own personal film cassette, and results were assessed the following day in the cinema.
Air firing excercises [sic] were supervised, where the speed of the Wellington was reduced, and a Miles Master would overtake about 3 or 400 yards abeam, towing a drogue. The gunner would be authorised to fire when the towing aircraft was outside his field of fire. He would then fire off about 200 rounds from each gun (five 2-second bursts), at the drogue. It was more than likely that air firing during his initial training had been carried out using a single gun not mounted in a turret. Air to ground firing was limited to a single exercise on a range near the coast, there being little scope for this type of work for heavy bombers over Deutchland.
Not very popular with the coming of Winter weather were the exercises at the firing butts or range. Six trainees would each be given a rear turret, together with four belts each of 200 rounds. He would
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mount the guns and fit the ammunition belts. Take-off procedure with safety catches 'on', then firing a few short bursts, landing procedure, clear the guns, etc. . Generally a few faulty rounds were deliberately built-in to create gun stoppages which the trainee had to clear. Finally he removed the guns from the turret and stripped and cleaned them ready for the next trainee.
All this took about three hours and it was on one of these sessions that unpleasantness developed with one of the trainees. Of the 12 Air Gunners in my little flock, eleven were Sergeants and one was an Acting Pilot Officer on probation. Like the others, his previous flying experience was limited to about 8 hours, and he had not yet been within 10 miles of an operational aircraft. He had been top of his course at Gunnery School and granted a Commission. I found that one of the Sergeants had fitted the guns in the turret and armed them with the belts of ammunition for him whilst I was busy with the others. He had managed to fire-off the rounds, and eventually, with some assistance the guns were removed. He flatly refused to clean the guns, claiming that it was an inappropriate task for an officer. I put it to him that although on a squadron the guns would be lovingly cared for by the armourers, he must still be fully au-fait with every aspect of guns and gunnery. He firmly refused to touch the guns and soil his hands and I told him that unless he gets on with it, we should be late for lunch. Four of the sgts. each took a gun and cleaned them. Some very cryptic comments were made by the Sergeants and I told the Ag. P. O. he was foolish. Later that day, to my absolute astonishment, I was marched in front of the C.O. and charged on a form 252 with insubordination. I was advised that an N.C.O. does not give orders to officers and I replied with something to the effect that I was the instructor and the officer the pupil, giving orders was an essential part of the job. Nevertheless, I was severely reprimanded. I had on several occasions applied for a posting back to operations, and the following day the Station W.O. told me my request had been granted and I was going to a squadron at Norton, near Sheffield in Yorkshire. Which squadron and with what type of aircraft was unimportant. I had never heard of Norton, bit hush-hush they had said. I should have realised that something was amiss, I was not being posted, but only detached. On arrival at Norton I found I was on an Aircrew Refresher Course which I was slow to realise was a correction or discipline course, a form of punishment. There were about 150 aircrew at Norton, from Flt/Lts to Sgts, almost all operational or ex-operational. At least I was among friends.
The day started with a call at 0600, on parade at 0630 , march to breakfast and an inspection at 0730 with greatcoats, followed almost immediately by a further inspection without greatcoats. This was followed until 1800 by sessions of drill, P.T. and lectures, with a break for lunch. Drill was just ordinary uninspiring square -bashing, wearing aircrew-issue shoes, and not boots. The instructor, said to be an L.A.C. Ag-Sgt. shouted commands and abuse, and was indeed very smart and probably efficient at his job, but utterly ignorant and useless off the barrack square. There was no rifle drill, and requests to introduce it were rejected. It was too easy for us to obtain .303 ammunition. P. T. was equally uninspiring and great emphasis was placed on recording improvement in performance as the training progressed. Lectures were farcical and covered most aircrew subjects, including navigation, gunnery, bombing techniques, target marking, etc. etc. There was not a
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flying badge among the instructors and obviously none had any flying experience in any capacity. No-one could possibly take the lectures seriously and there must have been some hair-raising answers in the written tests. The main problem was that at the slightest provocation one could be put on C.O.'s report. This was not a formal charge - which would have been on record - but an interview with the C.O. which would generally wind-up with an award of an extra 3 weeks at Sheffield. My policy was to keep my head down, or in modern parlance, to maintain a low profile. I generally managed to be near the back of the classroom and in the rear ranks on the drill square trying to be invisible. We were allowed out of camp after 1900, with an inspection at the gate, but lights out was at 2200, not allowing much scope. Most evenings were spent in the mess comparing notes and discussing our "crimes"; the instructors were conspicuous by their absence. I recall no-one admitting to flying or taxiing accidents, or misdemeanours whilst flying. Most of the reasons seem to have been absence without leave probably through boredom-, saying the wrong thing in an off-guarded moment or making someone more senior look silly. There was no connection between Norton and aircrew who were alledgedly [sic] L.M.F. or those who were reluctant to fly. Rather than charge a man formally with an offence, the easy way out was to send him on a "refresher course" with no reference to alleged crime or punishment. Operational aircrew discipline is often quoted as having been unique. All jobs were carried out with the same degree of dexterity, and responsibilities in the air within a trade were the same irrespective of rank. The Pilot was the Head Man, whether Squadron Leader or Sergeant. In the air, there were no formalities. The Pilot was 'Skipper' and no-one called anyone 'Sir'. This was generally so on the ground within the confines of the crew, but if it was a non-crew matter or there were V.I.P.'s about, a low-level type of formality might be introduced. Neither was there time for formality in the air where an attack may start and finish - one way or another - in seconds or less. On sighting a fighter at 300 yards a Rear Gunner in a film picked up a microphone and was beard to say "I say Skipper, I think we are being followed". A Guardsman might come up with "Permission to speak Sir", but life's not like that in the air.
Nearing the end of the 3-week course at Sheffield came the farcical final exams. I sailed through everything except P.T. where we were required to run 100 yards in 14 seconds. I was feeling fitter than I had for many years, but that 100 yards took me 17 seconds. Not good enough, try again. The second attempt took 19 seconds and the third attempt 24. I was told that "we would keep doing it all bloody night until I achieved it in 14 seconds". I merely said there was no point in attempting the impossible and I refused to carry out an unlawful order. So for me it was C.O.'s report next day. The C.O. said it was within his power to grant me an indefinite extension to the length of my course. I realised that to argue was probably futile and I recall being contradictory by saying something to the effect that "I have nothing to say except to remind everyone there is a real war going an out there and the sooner some of us get on with it the better". I don't know why I said it or thought what it might achieve, but I was easily provoked. I was awarded an extra 3 weeks at Sheffield, and was very surprised next morning when I was issued with a railway warrant to leave that morning with the others on my "course". I was convinced this was a mistake and succeeded in remaining invisible until I was well clear of Sheffield.
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Most of us felt the invasion of Europe was imminent and we had discussed our plans in the mess within earshot of the 'instructors'. When the balloon goes up, we return to base regardless of the opposition on the grounds that it was our duty to escape from captivity. In retrospect this was not entirely logical thinking but it might have influenced the C.O., I don't know. As far as I know there was no mass exodus and I have no idea how or when R.A.F. Norton was finally closed down. Suffice to say that it was a disgrace and an insult to aircrew, it would have been far more British to charge a man if he had allegedly done something wrong rather than take this easy way out. In general, training and lectures were taken very seriously by air crew and it could be claimed that the type and standard of lectures at Norton were in fact dangerous. Most of us realised it was just a load of absolute rubbish and did not take it seriously, and we had learned long ago to assess the value of the spoken word relative to the background and qualifications of the speaker.
The question of L.M.F. is an even more deplorable but entirely separate subject. Books have been written about it and it became a highly controversial issue. There were indeed some chaps who took such a bashing they felt they had had enough and to continue would increase the risk to the aircraft and crew or even crews. Most other operational aircrew have no less respect for them for admitting it and asking to be excused. L.M.F. and R.A.F. Norton were totally unconnected.
However, feeling very fit physically, and mentally ready to deal with the Ag. P. O. who knew all about the form 252 but couldn't strip even a Browning gun, I returned to 84 O.T.U. Desborough. A written request for an interview with the C.O. was given to the S.W.O. within minutes of arrival. I saw the Gunnery Leader and learned that I was to resume charge of the same course but less the sprog officer who was last seen on his way to Eastchurch as L.M.F and unsuitable for operations. I found later that he had been reduced to the ranks. It seems the other instructors had given him a very hard time all round, and particularly with combat manouvres where he was sick every time he flew. It was just not done to issue 252's but his chances of survival were improved. The C.O. agreed later that a mistake had been made and on paper my case had been reconsidered and the severe rep. withdrawn. Sheffield could not be undone and would have to be written off to experience, but he would see if he could hasten my promotion to W.O. and a posting to a real squadron.
At this time, the O.T.U. instructors were all crewed up and ready to back up the operational squadrons if necessary. Many of us were getting restless seeing a great increase in ground activity to the south and southeast. Lots of real aircraft, Lancasters, Halifaxes, Mosquitoes, Gliders etc. etc. and our status with the Wimpies as ex operational did little for our ego, making us feel like the 'has beens' we really were.
At about 0200 on the 6th. June, now a Warrant Officer, I was Orderly Officer and asleep in the duty room. The Duty Officer, a Ft/Lt. was flat out in the other bunk. A message was delivered marked "Top Secret" and I awakened the Duty Officer. He told me to open it. The message caused his to open a sealed envelope from his pocket and his exact words were "Christ, it’s started". 'It' was "Operation Overlord". Within a minute the Tannoy was blaring "All Duty Flight personnel to their flights immediately" 'All sreened aircrews to the Briefing Room
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at 0500," and so on. There followed a day of intense activity; air tests, bombing up, briefing, changing the bomb load, rebriefing, and the job of Orderly Officer went completely by the board.
In July, the great moment arrived, and our complete second tour crew of five was posted to Aircrew Pool at Scampton en route ultimately to a 5 Group Squadron.
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[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph] AT AIRCREW POOL SCAMPTON AUG ‘44
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[underlined] SCAMPTON [/underlined]
For Wellingtons we were indeed a complete crew, but we were not destined for Wellingtons, but Lancasters, and we needed either a Navigator or Bomb-aimer and another Gunner. Our Pilot and Observer had already completed tours on Blenheims and were good material for Mosquitos. They said cheerio on our third day at Scampton and were posted to a Mosquito Conversion Unit. The remaining three of us had ceased to exist as a crew and had become “odd bods”. We began to feel like members of staff but eventually we went our individual ways. Indeed I was put in charge of the Night Vision Centre for two months, until I met a pilot who was a Flight Lieutenant with a tunic that had obviously seen some service, and he had over 3,000 flying hours to his credit. With him was a Flying Officer Observer plus DFM, obviously clued up and who looked the academic type, a cheerful Flying Officer Bomb aimer and a Pilot Officer Rear Gunner. Four clued-up characters forming the nucleus of a gen crew. Somehow or other I became their other gunner and we were joined by a second tour F/Sgt Wireless operator and a Sgt. Flight Engineer ex fitter. A few days later we were posted to Winthorpe to 1661 Heavy Conversion Unit and settled into a course on Stirlings, flying together for the first time as a crew.
Familiarisation with a four-engined aircraft was the main purpose of the course; important to the skipper F/Lt. Chester who had been a Flying Instructor on Tiger Moths in Canada for a long time. He was about 8 years older than the rest of us and we were happy with his rather more mature approach to the job. The Flight Engineer, Sgt. Hampson, whom we called Doogan for no apparent reason, had flown on Liberators over Burma and nothing seemed to worry him unduly. F/O Pete Cheale was successful on two or three practice bombing sessions, and to F/O Ted Foster DFM it was all just routine stuff. F/Sgt. Frank Eaglestone’s radio was the same as on his previous tour, the good old R1155 and T1154 (still in service in 1960). The Rear Gunner was P/O Harvey who nattered endlessly about a chunk of flack [sic] still embedded somewhere about his person, and his first tour in general. He knew it all, or thought he did, but it soon became apparent that his experience was very limited and he had yet to do his first trip against the enemy. Because of this I insisted that he should have the mid-upper turret, and as Senior gunner, pulling a negative seniority in rank, I would take over the rear turret. He didn’t like that at all, and he left the crew. What became of him I don’t know, but Flt/Sgt Foolkes appeared from somewhere and took his place. Pete was one to take everything in his stride and was welcome to either turret. He preferred the mid-upper, possibly finding it more comfortable, being much taller than the average rear gunner. As for me, one rear turret was very much like another, the same Frazer Nash FN120 we had used on the later Marks of Wellington. A few mod cons perhaps, such as Hot air central heating in the turret. I recall that when we touched down on the runway at Winthorpe, the rear turret was still over the graveyard on the other side of the main road.
Whilst at Winthorpe, I found that 150, my old squadron, was about 20 miles away at Hemswell. I paid them a visit, but their only real link with the 150 of North Africa was the squadron number. 150 Squadron had been disbanded in Algiers though it’s final station was Foggia in Italy. I left
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it at Kairouan just before the move to Italy. Later it was re-formed with Lancasters and in theory had been in action since the beginning of the war, having been at the forefront with Fairey Battles in 1939-40 in France.
After about three weeks of routine and not very demanding training we graduated to the “Lanc” Finishing School” at Syerston. There we converted to Lancasters with about 14 hours flying, circuits and bumps, the odd practice bombing exercises, fighter affiliation and a Bullseye over London, co-operating with searchlights. Just what the Londoners down below thought of this aerial activity without an air raid warning was probably misconstrued. We were still in one piece, feeling fit, very confident and ready to join a squadron.
Our next move was to Bardney, near Lincoln, about 160 bods, and judging by their ranks and gongs, a rather experienced bunch, mostly second tour types. Bardney was the home of 617 and 9 Squadrons, rumours were rife of course. Were we obvious replacements for 617, where prestige was high and directly proportionate to the losses, - the highest in the Command? Our luck held, we were to become a new squadron, 227, just an ordinary Lancaster Squadron to enhance the might of 5 Group. It transpired that we were to become “A” Flight, and the Skipper was promoted to Squadron Leader. Meanwhile “B” Flight was forming at Strubby.
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[underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
The first op. by aircraft of the newly-formed 227 Squadron was on the 11th. of October 1944 and most of us at Bardney were not even aware of it. Only three aircraft of "B" Flight, forming up at Strubby, were involved, a short early afternoon trip to FLUSHING. Three nights later "A" Flight provided three aircraft and "B" Flight four aircraft on a more typical raid by 240 aircraft of 5 Group on BRUNSWICK. The Squadron was beginning to take shape and on the 17th., two aircraft of "B" Flight joined 47 others on a short excursion to breach the dyke at WESTKAPELL. Two nights later was a 5 Group effort to NUREMBURG, with "A" and "B" Flights providing seven and five aircraft respectively. This fourth raid by 227 aircraft was only "A' Flight's second involvement, the aircraft and crews really becoming attached for this purpose to 9 Squadron.
On the 21st. October we were transferred to Balderton, at the side of the A1 near Newark and joined the crews of "B" flight.
Our Skipper had been promoted to Sqdn/Ldr. in command of "A" Flight, and was very such absorbed in getting his half of the squadron organised and operational, with little time left for actual flying. Our crew was kept busy in their respective sections, particularly Navigation, Bombing and Wireless, but there was not a great deal to be done in the Gunnery office: The Gunnery Leader was Flt/Lt. Maxted who occupied a small office in a sectioned-off Nissen hut. It was barely furnished with a desk and a few chairs; posters on the wall amplifying the vital issues and a notice board. The state of readiness of each aircraft and gunner was displayed with a record of daily inspections completed. The D.I. 's were an important part of the routine, and the gunners generally took part in the air tests prior to bombing up.
Our first mission as a crew was to Bergen in Norway. It was also a personal first trip for the Skipper, Bomb aimer and Flight Engineer. It was my 46th. op. but also my first in the mighty Lancaster. The Navigator, Wireless op. and Mid-upper gunner were all veterans having carried out their first tours on Lancs.
Our flight out over the North Sea which used to be called the German Ocean by some was uneventful, and Bergen was approached from the east at 10,000 feet. With the target ahead and in sight to those in the front office, all was quiet except for engine noise through someones [sic] microphone which had been left switched on. Peace was shattered by an almighty bang and shudder, confirming we had been hit, and the nose of the aircaft [sic] went down. I was forced against the left side of the turret unable to move, and found later the speed had built-up to over 370 mph. The Skipper was shouting for assistance. Ace the Navigator somehow managed to crawl forward a few feet and found Doogan with his head in the observation blister admiring the view of Bergen above. The Skipper had both feet on the dash trying to pull the aircraft out of the dive. The only control Ace could reach was the trimming wheel on the right of the Skipper's seat and he turned this to make the aircraft tail heavy. The nose came up and so did the target. The Flight Engineer added his contribution by exclaiming "Coo, i'n' [sic] it wizard". That was his opinion, but we were heading straight up the fiord and Ace brought this to the attention of the Skipper very smartly. Our height was down to 1500 feet and Ace and the Skipper somehow managed to turn the aircraft through 180
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degrees without hitting either the sea or the hills. Still tail heavy, we gradually climbed away to the west, and for the first time I saw the target, dead astern, always a welcome sight, and I set about sorting myself out from the intercom. leads, electrical heating cable, oxygen pipe and also checking that the turret doors would still open. Silence was broken about 100 miles from Bergen by our brash young Canadian Bomb Aimer, Pete Chiele, "Skipper, we still have the bombs-aboard". I think It-was Ace, who pulled the jettison toggle. At least my turret seemed intact and I took the opportunity of the lull in the drama of opening the turret door with my elbows, leaning backwards into the fuselage and making sure I could reach my parachute pack. Then a quick reversal and I was again "on the job” after a break of less than ten seconds. On the Wimpey and Lanc. the Rear Gunner had a choice of exits, either through the rear escape hatch inside the fuselage, or direct from the rear turret. I was well rehearsed in the latter method, first to rotate the turret dead astern, using the manually operated handle if there was no hydaulic [sic] pressure, then to open the sliding doors. These never failed to open on practice sessions, but an axe was provided inside the turret just in case. Then to remove the parachute pack from its housing and drag it carefully into the turret, placing it above the control column. Off with the helmet complete with oxygen mask, intercom, 24 volt supply and associated pipes and cables and also the electrical heating cable connector. The parachute pack was then clipped on, the turret rotated onto either beam, lean backwards and push with the feet. The alternative exit gave one more room to manouvre [sic] , but the escape hatch itself was rather narrow for a Rear Gunner wearing his full flying kit, particularly the 1944 version of "Canary suit", so-called because of its colour. There was also the phsychological [sic] aspect of deliberately entering an aircraft which was probably on fire. On the Wellington Mk1C with an FN20 turret and only two guns, there was provision to stow the 'chute pack inside the turret. Also the doors were hinged, opening outwards and they could be jettisoned. Although I mentioned being well rehearsed, drill was carried out with the aircraft stationary and upright, not quite the same as in an anticipated emergency bale-out. My only excuse for claiming the checking of my 'chute as practice was that I felt I should be doing something more useful than just sitting there, whilst there seemed to be so much happening up front. There was even more drama unfolding, the Wireless op. had passed a coded message to the Navigator instructing us to divert to Holme on Spalding Moor in Yorkshire, but only the W/op was issued with the code-sheet of the day. The Skipper did not receive the message in plain language until we were in R/T contact with Balderton, which was closed due to thick fog or very low cloud. However, the Navigator knew our exact location and there was fuel in the tanks. Eventually we re-joined the tail-end of the gaggle and landed at Holme. I recall spending the rest of the night on the floor in the lounge of the Sgts. Mess. The following morning we took a walk around the hangars and Doogan chatted with some ground crews who were changing an engine on a Halifax. He actually told then they were not going about it properly and their reaction was quite startling and informative.
Our second trip as a crew was two days later, to WALCHEREN in daylight. This was more reminiscent of our raids from North Africa except that 110 aircraft, including 8 Mosquitoes, took part. From North Africa our "Maximum Effort" had been two squadrons, a total of 26 aircraft, which
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seemed a lot at the time!. 12 aircraft from 227 took part, each having its own specific target, ours being a gun battery which was already completely submerged in water when we arrived. Just ahead several aircaft [sic] were bombing the sea wall and the Skipper decided to back them up, bombing from 3500 feet. The wall was breached and the sea poured through, but our bombs were all fused for delayed action which would not have amused the natives. In fact too much damage was done which, according to a story in Readers Digest, took over six months to repair. However, the main object was to silence the German artillary [sic] and this was achieved. This particular trip had been our introduction to the "formation" known as the "5 Group Gaggle". Pilots were not very practiced at Straight and level flying, it had been seldom recommended, and it seemed to me as a Rear gunner that everyone weaved along in the same direction, taking great pains to stay as far away as possible from other aircraft, but remaining in the stream.
Two days later Ches. and Co. joined 16 other crews from 227 on an afternoon excusion [sic] to an oil plant at HOMBURG. The ground was mostly obscured by cloud and visibility at 17,000 feet was poor, about three miles. Approaching the target a Lancaster in front of us was hit by flak and one engine was on fire. The aircraft passed below us and the fire was extinguished, but its no. 2 engine was stopped. It remained just behind us until we were over the target. The target was marked by 8 Mosquitoes of 8 Group, but marking was scattered over a wide area and out of the 228 Lancasters only 159 bombed. Results were poor, a recce. next day showed that most of the bombs had hit the industrial and residential areas. One Lancaster was lost, due to flak.
The following night 15 aircraft of 227 joined a total force of 992 aircraft on DUSSELDORF. Our Skipper flew as Second Dickie to F/L Kilgour, and the rest of us kicked our heels. This was the last heavy raid on Dusseldorf by Bomber Command, and 18 aircraft were lost. F/O Croskell and crew failed to return, our first 227 Sqdn casualties, but news was received shortly afterward they were safe in Allied hands. They were operational with the squadron again in Feb.
On the 11th. of November, we surprisingly found ourselves on the Battle Order for an evening raid on the Rhenania-Ossag oil refinery at HARBURG, close to the battered Hamburg. This was a 5 Group effort with 237 Lancasters and 8 Mosquitoes. 7 Lancasters were lost, including 9J"S" with F/O Hooper and crew. F/O Bates' crew reported that "oil tanks were seen to explode at 1924 hrs". but German records make no reference to the oil tanks, only that 119 people were killed and 5205 others were bombed out. Flak was not intense and the bombing appeared to be mainly on target. There were fighters about but the return journey was uneventful for us. Once again we were beaten by the fog at Balderton, and as our new F.I.D.O. was not yet operational, we were diverted to Catfoss. The night was spent in the chairs in the Sgts. Mess, but the officers among us were luckier to find beds.
For most of the following four weeks we were without either a Skipper or a Navigator. The Skipper was detached "on a course" and then spent a couple of weeks on a Summary of Evidence. Ace the Navigator was detached to Newmarket racecourse to clue up on some new equipment or technique. For three days I was detatched [sic] to Waddington as a Witnessing Officer at a Court Martial, which I found depressing. It seemed that at Waddington there had been an old car which was used by anyone who could find some petrol to run it. It was the property of an unlucky aircrew
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member who failed to return one night. The car was very useful, but whilst having neither licence nor insurance it was eventually involved in a serious accident, and the R.A.F. took over where the civilian court left off.
0n the 6th. December I had a letter of complaint from my mother, enclosing a newspaper cutting from the Barnoldswick & Earby Pioneer, showing a photo of me and referring to my award of a D.F.C. Why had I not told her? I don't think she ever believed me when I claimed that her letter was the first I knew of it. On Dec. 11th., with Ace still at Newmarket, we became 'Dambusters' - of a sort - for the day. Bomber Command Diary states " "233 Lancasters of 5 Group and 5 Mosquitoes of 8 Group took part. Hits were scored on the dam but no breach was made. 1 Lancaster lost". The squadron diary reflects a successful sortie, in that direct hits on the dam wall were observed, but the 1000 lb. bombs were too small for the purpose. My own recollection of the raid was quite different. We were stooging along just above cloud in company with scores of other Lancasters when the others were seen to be doing a 180 degree turn. Within seconds the sky within my range of vision was empty and in all directions no-one could see another aircraft. The mid-upper and I advised the Skipper that we were now unaccompanied and for 20 minutes we tried to impress upon him that we were extremely vulneruble [sic] (or words to that effect). We were just a few hundred feet above and silhouetted against a layer of stratus and I asked him to fly just inside the cloud, or at least just to skim the tops, but he replied that it was too dangerous, too much risk of collision. The mid-upper gunner agreed, collision from Gerry fighters. Vocabulary worsened and finally the Skipper realised we were 40 minutes and over 200 miles from the rest of the gaggle, we turned round. It has been suggested that as Flight Commander he must display a press-on attitude, and we were all in favour of this, but there was no-one around to impress and it was pretty obvious to the gunners that either Frank had missed a diversion message or we were in the wrong gaggle. Bomber Command Diary disproves the latter, but there is still uncertainty in my mind about that particular operation. Both Pete in the mid-upper turret and I realised that if we were attacked by fighters the Skipper would not take the slightest notice of our requests or advice. We were not disputing that the Skipper was in charge and the one who makes the decissions [sic] , but in our situation he had no choice other than to take advantage of the cloud. We regarded this as an expression of no confidence in the gunners, and we made it very clear to him both then and later that it was no way to finish a tour.
It was 10 days before we flew again, our 6th. trip with 227 embarking on their 22nd. trip as a squadron. The target was the synthetic oil plant at POLITZ, in the Baltic. 207 Lancasters and 1 Mosquito were detailed, including 13 Lancasters of 227. Two from 227 experienced mechanical failure and aborted soon after take-off. This was a long stooge, and 3 Lancasters were lost, plus a further 5 which crash-landed in England. The raid was successful, the main chimneys having collapsed and other parts of the refinery being severely damaged. On return to eastern England we were again unable to land at Base due to weather, and were diverted to Milltown, in Scotland. Fuel gauges were reading zero or less when a weary Ches. and crew finally landed after a trip lasting 10 hrs. and 15 minutes. F/O Croker in 9J"K" wound up at Wick, in Morayshire, his aircraft being so badly shot-up it was declared
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a write-off. The following morning we flew to Wick to join F/O Croker and crew and give then a lift back to Balderton. Among others, there was a Met. Flight at Wick, equipped with B17s, Flying Fortresses. It was their job to climb to a great height, making Met. observations, and some of their trips exceeded 12 hours duration. I recall the armourers at Wick cleaned and polished our three turrets and 8 Browning guns without being asked, and making a very good job of it too. Everyone was provided with beds, and it seems the officers were so comfortable the Skipper decided to stay at Wick over Christmas. The town of Wick was "dry', no pubs, but among the N.C.O's, this made no difference, we had no money with us. Normally on a diversion we didn't need any money, but for a several day stop-over it was embarassing [sic] to be absolutely without. We would like to have taken our turn in paying for the drinks is the Mess. I seem to recall trying to obtain an advance from Pay accounts without success, accompanied by the other two W/Os in our crew. I was reminded of one incident at Wick by Ace, our Navigator; We were not like most other crews, sticking together as a crew. The Commissioned officers kept to themselves, the three Warrant Officers maintained their own little triangle, and Doogan prefered [sic] his own company despite the W/O's efforts to get him to join us. It seems that one night at Wick we carried him and his bed outside and he awoke next morning in the middle of the parade ground which was covered is snow. I have no personal recollection of this, but there it is in black and white in Ace's book, 'Just Another Flying Arsehole'. We returned to Balderton on the 27th., with 14 of us aboard, and did not see the ground until we actually touched down. For the first time we landed with the assistance of FIDO, which was probably very scary for the pilot. In the rear turret I just got an impression of landing in the middle of a fire.
The following night we missed a trip to OSLO, our squadron providing only 5 of the force of 67 Lancasters. On the afternoon of the 30th. we were briefed for an evening take-off to HOUFFALIZE, a total force of 154 Lancasters and 12 Mosquitoes. German Panzers had broken through the American lines in a desperate attempt to thwart the Allied advance, in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge. The weather gave the Germans the advantage, low cloud and thick fog prevented the 2nd. Tactical Air Force from playing its part to the full. With almost 100% Allied air superiority in the area, Typhoons and other fighters operating on a cab-rank principle responding in seconds to detailed requests from the chaps below, Gerry was learning what it was like to be at the receiving end of the slaughter he started is 1939. But not for that few days at the end of 1944 in the Fallaise gap. The close proximity of Allied troops called for great accuracy in bombing and straffing [sic] , and this was not possible in the prevailing conditions. Because of the bad weather in the target area, take-off was postponed every few hours but we were eventually relieved to get airborne about 0230. Conditions over the target were quite impossible and the flares dropped into the murk below probably caused hearts on both sides to miss a few beats. Some crews did bomb, but Chas. quite rightly felt it was too risky. We had not been briefed for any secondary target so our bombs wound up in the Wash. Finally, we landed at about 0830 after 24 hours of effort of one sort or another. Nothing really achieved, but at least we had tried.
It was about this time that my father visited the Squadron for a few days. He was a Captain in the R.A.S.C. recently returned from East
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Africa and awaiting release on medical grounds. He was very impressed with what he saw but we could not obtain authority for him to actually fly with us. On the Sunday morning he watched our parade and later mentioned that as the W/O called out names, one Ft/Sgt responded to at least five of them. Also that some were in best blues, some in battledress, one or two with greatcoats and one even with a raincape. Two were actually standing on parade with bicycles ready to shoot off somewhere immediately after the parade. His thoughts at the time were how can such an undisciplined lot perform any serious task. Later that morning sitting in the Gunnery Office, gunners came in with more of a wave than a salute, a brief word from them and I would put a tick on the board against their aircraft. I explained to my father that this was their way of reporting that their turrets and guns had received and passed the daily inspection. After lunch in the mess he noticed a great deal of activity and movement, and a clear but quiet sense of urgency. He asked what was happening and I showed him the Battle Order.
The following day he said how wrong was his first impression. Everyone had a job to do, they know what was required of them and they got as with it without any shouting of orders or people stamping around. I was Duty Gunnery Leader that night, as was my lot quite often over that period, and was able to show my father what made a squadron tick. He thoroughly enjoyed his stay, but I don't think he met the Skipper. In fact I don't think we saw anything of our Skipper during the whole month of January, by the end of which 227 had completed 33 ops. "A” Flight Commander's crew had totted up only 7 as a crew and some of us were not at all happy with this performance. On the 2nd. Feb. F/O Bates was short of a Rear Gunner and I could have kissed him when he asked me to deputise for WO Bowman. This was an experienced and popular crew who had already completed 14 trips of their second tour. Bowman was in fact the only one outside our crew I had known a year ago. We had carried out our first tours together on 150 Sqdn. Wellingtons, and he was the only other 227 bod with an Africa Star. I cannot recollect why he was not available that night. Our target was KARLSRUHE, a 5 Group effort of 250 Lancasters and 11 Mosquitoes, of which 19 were from 227. Cloud up to 15000 feet and the consequent difficulty in marking caused the raid to be a failure. 14 Lancasters were lost, including 9J"D" with F/O Geddes and crew. The total effort of Bomber Command that night was 1252 sorties. Targets included Wiesbaden's only large raid of the war, and Wanne-Eickel, neither attack was regarded as a success. Very little was achieved that night for a loss of 21 aircraft.
On the night of the 7th. Feb., F/O Bates was airborne again with 11 others from Balderton in a total force of 188 aircraft, to the Dortmund-Ems Canal. All 227 Sqdn. a/c returned safely, but 3 were lost in all. I was not with him this time although W/O Bowman was not available. After about 5 hours sleep the Battle Order for the coming night showed 18 crews from 227 sqdn., including F/O Bates, with F/O Watson as Rear Gunner. It felt great to be doing something useful. The weather en route was clear and there were still fighters about, largely responsible for the loss of 12 Lancasters, but the bombing was extremely accurate. According to Speer, the German armaments minister, the oil refinery was kaput for the reminder of the war and a big setback to the German war effort. All 227 sqdn aircraft returned safely, one, F/O Edge's 9J"B" having aborted with problems on 2 engines and landed safely at a farm in Norfolk. It was in fact F/O Bates’ 18th. and final trip on
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227 sqdn., a very satisfactory finish. It was a satisfying night too for 'our own' Navigator, Ted Foster who flew as a 'spare Bod' Navigator with F//Lt [sic] Pond. On the 14th. Feb., 6 weeks into what surely must be the final year in the war against Germany, we were no doubt startled to see our Skipper and crew on the Battle Order. A 5 Group effort, the target was ROSITZ oil refinery near Leipsig [sic] , a force of 232 Lancasters and Mosquitoes, including 12 from Balderton. Our aircraft was 9J"H" and a couple of hours or so after take-off the Skipper found he could not come to terms with his magnetic compass, the performance of which was erratic. An hour or so later the Giro compass also started to play up and fortunately the Skipper did accept the advice of the Navigator and turned back, navigating solely on "Gee" back to base. It was not possible to carry-on navigating to the target on "Gee", we would have [inserted] 14/2/45 Rositz [/inserted] been out of range long before the target was reached. 9J"G" skippered by F/O Tate had engine trouble just after take-off and returned on three engines. We were the second aircraft to abort on that trip. There were some ribald comments next day when the Instrument Section reported there was nothing wrong with either compass. The comments were not facetious however, no-one would seriously accuse either the Skipper or an experienced Navigator like Ace of pulling a fast one. Both I am quite sure would have preferred to take part in the destruction of Rositz This was in fact the Skipper's final trip, although we did not realise it at the time and still regarded his as our Skipper for the next two months.
The record shows that in the following four weeks Ace did three spare bod trips whilst the rest of the crew passed the time somehow. The spell was broken for me when F/Lt Hodson asked me to take over his rear turret on the 14th. of March. Ace had already done his last bombing raid although he too might not have realised it at the time. His grand finale, quite fitting was a daylight 1000 plus Bomber raid on DORTMUND on the 12th. of March, as Wing Commander Millington's Navigator. It was also to be the Wingco's final trip before swapping his duralumin pilot's seat with a little steel armour plating at his back, for I think a wooden one in the House of Commons where his back was probably just as vulnerable.
Our target was another oil refinery, at LUTZKENDORF, a typical 5 Group effort of 244 Lancasters and 11 Mosquitoes, 15 of the former being from Balderton. We enjoyed the company of F/O Howard as 2nd. Pilot. In fact five aircraft from 227 Sqdn. carried 'Second Dickies' that night. Out of a total of 18 aircraft lost, two were from 227 Sqdn., both with Second pilots. It was feared by many that carrying a Second Pilot increased the risk, but I did not share this concern. The Second Pilot it is true would take the place of the Flight Engineer who would either stand between the two pilots or sit on the dickie-seat. Some drills had to be slightly modified for the occasion, but I would have thought the presence of an extra bod would tend to put the others more on their toes. The crew I was with were on their 18th. trip and had been with the Squadron from the outset. Nothing untoward happened to us, there was the usual flack and searchlights, maybe fighters but one saw none. Bombing seemed reasonable well concentrated and photo-reconnaissance next day showed that 'moderate damage' was caused.
On the 7th. of April the squadron completed its transfer to Strubby, and was detailed for action the same night. I was favoured to fly once more with F/Lt Hodson and crew, LEIPZIG again, this time to the
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Benzol plant at MOLBIS. 13 Lancasters of 227 joined 162 others and 11 Mosquitoes, all from 5 Group. The weather was good, bombing accurate, and the oil plant put completely out of action. No aircraft were lost and the raid was considered a 100% success.
After a few hours sleep we were briefed for an attack on LUTZKENDORF, the same target as on the 14th. March. It had been attacked the previous night by 272 aircraft from 1 and 8 Groups who caused only moderate damage. I was detailed to fly with W/O Clements and crew who were on the 5th. trip of their first tour, in 9J"Q". On take-off the starboard outer engine failed and Ace who waved us off said he saw the aircraft sink to within a few feet of the ground; but that few feet made all the difference and the Skipper was able to gain height gradually until it was safe to jettisson [sic] the bombs in the sea. The trip was aborted and a safe landing made at Strubby. Subsequent inspection showed a fuel leak from no.2 port tank and oil leaks from the two outer engines. 242 aircraft were on this raid, and 6 were lost, but another oil refinery was put out of action for the rest of the war. The 19 aircraft put up by 227 all returned safely and were diverted to the west because of weather.
Two nights later, on the 10th. I was again with W/O Clements, to the Wahren Railway yards at LEIPSIG. The force of 230 aircraft comprised 134 Lancasters, 90 Halifaxes, and 6 Mosquitoes, of which 1 Lancaster and 1 Halifax failed to return. Immediately prior to take off I had trouble with the turret sliding doors, they wouldn't close, but I rotated the turret onto the port beam as was general practice for take-off with the doors open. This was spotted from the ground and the Skipper was told on R/T soon after we were airborne. I had to get out of the turret and through the bulkhead door to fix them, but finally managed to get then to slide. If I had failed to fix then nothing would have made me admit it, it would just have been a little draughty. The trip went very well, the marking was accurate and the bombing concentrated. Some flak and plenty of fighter flares about but we saw no fighters. It was a quiet return trip and all 227 aircraft returned safely.
That was my last trip and also the last for W/O Clements and crew. It was the 57th. involvement by 227 Squadron which was to carry out 4 more bombing raids, terminating with BERCHTESGADEN itself, on the 25th. of April. The war in Europe was virtually over, but our impression was that 5 Group was to form the nucleus of Tiger Force to help finish the job in the Far East and we would be a part of it. It was with these thoughts that I went on leave on the 26th. April, a spare bod without a pilot, but still expecting to fly again with the squadron..
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[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph]
64A
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[photograph] [photograph]
F/O. CHEERFUL CHEALE R.C.A.F.
[photograph] [photograph]
F/O BATES F/O PETE CHEALE (BA) W/O PETE FOOLKES
S/LDR CHESTER (PILOT) F/O FOSTER
64B
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[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph]
64C
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[photograph] F/O. TED FOSTER D.F.M.
C.W. PETE FOOLKES MID-UPPER
[photograph] [photograph]
64D
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[photograph] CLIFF’S OFFICE
[photograph]
[photograph] OUTSIDE OUR DES. RES.
C.W. & GEOFF HAMPSON (FLIGHT ENG
64E
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[newspaper cutting of D.F.C. award] [photograph]
227 SQDN W/OP – NAV – MID- UPPER
[photograph]
64F
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[photograph] [underlined] TED (ACE NAV) FOSTER D.F.M. BALDERTON NOV 44 [/underlined]
[photograph] [underlined] RUNNING UP ON HOMBERG 1/11/44 AT LUNCHTIME [indecipherable word] [/underlined]
64G
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[photograph] [underlined] F/O. BATES [/underlined]
[photograph] [underlined] F/O BATES W/O JENNERY (NAV) SGT. WESTON (FLT. ENG) [/underlined]
FEB 45
64H
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[DFC citation]
64L
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[letter from HM George VI]
64M
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[Sgt Mess Wick Christmas Menus 1944]
[photograph]
F/O CROKER’S LANCASTER AT REST IN TORPEDO DUMP XMAS ‘44
64N
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[inside of christmas card]
CHRISTMAS CARD FROM PETE IN CANADA
64P
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[photograph]
STIRLING AT H.C.U. WINTHORPE
[photograph]
AT BLIDA
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LANCASTER AT SYERSTON
74A
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[letter of introduction to airfield manager in Iran]
154A
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[photograph]
F/LT. MAXTED (GUNNERY LEADER) PETE FOOLKES & F/O SANDFORD (SPARE GUNNER OR SQDN ADJ)
[photograph]
TED FOSTER WITH BITS OF 9JO
[photograph]
64J
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[photograph]
GEOF. HAMPSON FLT. ENG.
[photograph of 9J-O]
[photograph of 9J-O]
64K
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[christmas card]
CHRISTMAS CARD FROM PETE IN CANADA
64P
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[typewritten letter]
[underlined] PART OF F/L CROKER’S LETTER WITH XMAS 1990 CARD [/underlined]
64Q
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[location map for 1994 reunion]
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[underlined] FINAL LEG [/underlined]
Recollections of events in my final 15 months in the R.A.F. are reasonably clear but somewhat hazy of detail and of the order in which they took place.
I was still with the Squadron on VE Day, the 5th. April, on leave in London with Hilda. I recall going up to Leicester Square by tube train with my father, Alice and Hilda to join the celebrations and actually walking back the five miles to Lavender Hill in the early hours. This would explain why I had no knowledge of the Victory Parade at Strubby until I was shown a photograph of it many years later. I was on leave again in London in early August when the Americans dropped the two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and suddenly the war was over. I was still in uniform and had to await my turn for demob.
I have no recollection of attending a Reselection Board when I was made redundant from flying, nor of actually leaving the Squadron. I think my first posting after the Squadron was to Gravely, as a Squadron adjutant. I had always thought that the Squadron was 106, but according to the Bomber Command War Diaries 106 was never at Gravely [sic] !. There is no mistaking the actual station, however, it is only 4 miles from my present home and parts of it are still recogniseable [sic] . I was astonished to find many years later that 227 Sqdn had transferred to Graveley about the 8th. of June and was disbanded there on the 5th. of September. I was there for about 6 weeks during which time we closed the Sargeants’ [sic] Mess and did a very little paper-work. We had neither aircrews nor aircraft, it was just a matter of holding office and very little else!. I probably spent most of it on leave.
I then became a Photographic Officer u/t and did a very interesting course at Farnborough which lasted 8 weeks. One of the instructors was a Sgt. Peter Clark, a leading Saville Row fashion photographer before the war and Hilda’s first employer. I went on leave yet again and was eventually told to report to 61 M.U. at Handforth in Cheshire as a u/t Equipment Officer. I duly reported to the Station Adjutant at Handforth feeling very much out of place. Of the hundreds of service types around only the ex-Air-Crew were in battle dress, the others were either in best blues or dungarees. I had always thought that battledress was the working uniform of the R.A.F., but it was not so at Handforth. I felt more as if I was in the Luftwaffe. The Station Adj. took me to see the Chief Equipment Officer, who was a Wing Commander and this feeling became even stronger. I reported formally and the C.E.O. said “And what the hell are you supposed to be?”. Those were his exact words and I did really wonder whether we were in the same air force. I replied that “I am here as a u/t equipment officer Sir”. “MM what’s your trade?” “Rear Gunner” – without waiting for the ‘Sir’, he exploded and almost shouted “That’s not a trade, it’s General Duties”. He was technically right but raising his voice unduly went on to add “You are supposed to be able to sit here and do my job, you’d feel a bloody fool doing my job, wouldn’t you!”. Fascinated by the smirk on his face and hypnotised by the Defence medal on his breast I just stood there in disbelief at this outburst and quietly laughed. “Well?” He wanted an answer and I said in a rather light vane “Yes Sir I would, but less of a bloody fool than some would have felt doing my job for the last three years”. That was it, he stood up and said “Right, come”. We went along the corridor and straight in to see the Station Commander, a Group Captain. The WingCo[sic] was very agitated and without preamble
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told the Groupie of my ‘gross insubordination’. He recited the dialogue in accurate detail and the Group Captain asked for my account. I agreed with the C.E.O.’s account but said that I was provoked, there was no reason for his outburst and I grinned only because I didn’t think he was being serious. Invited to comment the WingCo said he had been affronted by my being improperly dressed. I made no further comment and the Groupy told the WingCo that he would deal with the matter. The WingCo saluted and left, and I thought I was for the chop. The Group Captain sported R.F.C. wings and had obviously seen his share of action. He stood up and extended his right hand in friendship. “Sorry old chap, I didn’t get your name, do sit down”. I was back in the R.A.F. He asked “Where were you in Africa?” Not an idle question, followed by “Did you know Group Captain Powell?” Yes Sir, he was our Base Commander of 142 and 150 Squadrons, Speedy Powell of “F” for Freddie”. Speedy had been the Briefing officer in the film ‘Target for Tonight’. I mentioned some of his exploits and finally his loss, and the Group Captain was distressed. He told me that like the other 12 ex-Air Crew on the station, I was a square peg in a round hole, but to make the best of it and to go back to see him if I had a problem. In the mess that evening I met the others and soon found we were all on duty every day and every night. u/t Orderly Officer, then Orderly Officer, and through the whole range of Asst. Duty Officer, Duty Officer, Fire Picket, in-line Fire picket, Cyphers, Security, etc. etc. Only the ex Air-Crew Officers performed these tasks and after two weeks of this we agreed something must be done. One period of 24 hours I was Duty Cyphers Officer. This was just a title, there was neither Cyphers Section nor Intellegence[sic] Section and I found that for almost all the duties we were allocated there were no instructions. Several of us individually addressed the Station Adjutant in writing and one even enquired whether he should draw-up his own set of procedures for inclusion in Station Standing Orders. For reasons that could only have been sour grapes, there was a measure of ill-feeling between the ‘permanent’ equipment and Admin officers, and the air-crew types. Many of the former had spent the entire war at places like Handforth, and there is no doubt they did a vital job, and maybe were still doing it. In our case, the war for us was over, and after our experiences of the last few years there was a limit to the amount of being messed around that we were willing to accept. We discussed having fire drills with real fires and creating a few incidents for practice, but finally we drew lots and two of us applied through the C.E.O. to see the Group Captain. The C.E.O. refused permission so we made our request through the Station Adjutant. This was approved and we told the C.O. what was happening, we were being “imposed” upon from a great height. He called in the Station Adj. and told him that all Air Crew Officers would go on indefinite leave the following day. He told the two of us to ensure that all application forms were with the Station Adj. by 3 pm. And for me, it was straight to Whitehaven, in battledress.
I had applied for release from the Service under “Class B”, having an immediate job to take up which would in itself create work for 5 other ex-Servicemen. Hilda was in fact holding the fort in Whitehaven, and nothing came of the application.
It was about four months before I was recalled to Handforth, and immediately detached to no. 7 Site at Poynton to take over as Equipment Officer i/c and also as Officer i/c. the Prison Camp. There was an Equipment W/O running the Stores with about 200 Airmen and I agreed with him that it could
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stay that way. The Stores comprised 8 massive hangars full of equipment. I regarded my main job as O.C. the Stalag with its 1000 P.O.W.’s (750 Italian and 250 German) and my staff of 15 Air Crew N.C.O.s who had all been kriegsgefangener themselves. The Senior German prisoner was a Warrant Officer who spoke excellent English having studied it for 5 years in prison camps. Most of the prisoners, including the Italians, had been taken in the Western Desert. The Germans were very smart indeed, in contrast to the Italians, and the two axis partners had as little to do with each other as they could arrange. Gangs of prisoners were guarded by some of the 200 Airmen, supervised by ex-AirCrew NCO.s. The prisoners were not interested in escape, there would have been no point, but I put an immediate stop to their sneaking out of camp at night to try their luck. The German and Italian messes were separate from each other and staffed by R.A.F. cooks. The Germans asked if they could do their own cooking and I agreed but with nominal supervision of two airmen in case we had visitors. I made the same arrangement for the Italians but initially they refused. I appointed one of the Corporal Majors as Senior Iti [sic] and made him responsible. I threatened to fully-integrate them with the Germans if there was any nonsense, and with that some of them nearly burst into tears. They were a lazy shower. I had the Officers’ Mess all to myself, but that’s another story. It was a very cosy three months, with most long week-ends spent in Whitehaven where Hilda had taken-over the Relay system. It was also a tremendous anti-climax to the previous five years.
Eventually when the magic number 26 came up, I reported to R.A.F. Uxbridge for demob. and collected my pin-striped suit and a cardboard box to put it in. I realised then that my career in the R.A.F. was initially over. Straight to Whitehaven by train, still in battledress.
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[underlined] FIRST TOUR TARGETS [/underlined]
[table of targets and bomb loads]
71
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[table of targets and bomb loads continued]
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[underlined] 2nd TOUR [/underlined] [underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
[table of targets and bomb loads with additions]
[underlined] 227 SQUADRON [/underlined]
After flying Beaufighters from Malta the Squadron folded in August 1944. The new Squadron was formed in 5 Group on 7/10/1944. Flying Lancasters from Bardney, Balderton and Strubby. Flew 815 sorties and lost 15 aircraft (1.8%) in 61 raids. 2 were also destroyed in crashes.
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[underlined] Back to Civvy Street [/underlined]
By early 1946 the great transition from War to Peace was taking place and many of us were gradually realising that we could now plan some years ahead with a very good possibility of surviving to carry them out. Of my colleagues at Metropolitan Relays, only Reg. Weller had paid with his life, having been killed in action in Italy, with the army. Allan Cutbush had been taken prisoner at Tobruk and spent some time in a prison camp in Italy. Eventually he escaped and spent a couple of years as an Italian farm worker. Soon after the invasion at Anzio he rejoined the Allies and had the greatest difficulty in convincing them that he really was a Private in the Royal Signals. Alan was first to be demobbed and rejoined the firm as manager of a newly aquired [sic] group of branches in the Mansfield and Retford areas. George Holah had left in 1939 to join the army, and spent the next six years in India, returning as a Major in the Indian army complete with an Anglo-Indian wife and family. George did not return to Relays, but joined the Metropolitan Police, and in 1975 was a Clerk in the Central Registry at New Scotland Yard. How he managed to transfer from being a private in the British army to a Commissioned Officer in the Indian army I don’t know, assuming it actually happened. I have not met George since 1939.
In June 1945, my father, Mrs. Kilham and Mr. Moulton bought privately another run-down radio relay system, West Cumberland Relay Services, Ltd., in Whitehaven, and I was invited to develop it. Although Germany had capitulated, the war was not yet over. Japan might have seemed a long way off but was still our Enemy and the job had to be finished. Meanwhile Hilda moved to Whitehaven and set-up home in the flat above the shop at 49 Lowther Street. Colin was then 9 months old and it was a further year before I was demobbed, but during that period I seemed to have spent most of my time in Whitehaven. Hilda kept the Relay ticking over, with very limited assistance from the staff, until March 1946 when I was given indefinite leave on compassionate grounds.
The relay was well and truly run down, with about 400 subscribers each paying 1/3d per week for two radio programmes. It was losing money fast, the entire network needed rewiring and the amplifiers and other equipment were just about a write-off. I had with me the name-plate from my office door at Poynton. One of the German prisoners had made it for me, a notice which proclaimed in Gothic characters
Obr. Lnt. Cliff. Watson D.F.C.,
LAGER COMMANDANT EINTRITT VERBOTTEN
I put this on my new office door, but drew a line through the bottom line.
Sorting out a fault on a 100 watt amplifier, I asked the engineer, Joe, for a soldering iron, and he said he never used one but preferred the special solder in a tube, which he handed to me. In that single sentence he had proved to me that his technical knowledge was just about zero. I demonstrated the solder’s futility by proving that it was not even an electrical conductor. Consequently all the equipment was full of dry joints and I spent a whole night in soldering connections. The stuff Joe was using out of a tube was for repairing small holes in pans and kettles. I was very disappointed in Joe, his technical
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knowledge was effectively less than zero. The next weekend he claimed to have worked all day Sunday clearing a line fault. He had deliberately caused this fault on the previous morning and I traced and corrected it myself within an hour of his doing so. He had shorted out two wires on our own roof and on Monday morning went straight onto the roof to remove the short. I was there waiting for him and sacked him on the spot for sabotage and dishonesty.
I thus took over the technical side but also looked closely at the system of collecting and keeping records of accounts and customers. The only record of payments was in the collector’s field book and there was no record of where the customers or relay installations actually were. I spent a week with the collector who was very reluctant to assist, and Hilda and I drew up a set of records and established a working system. In the next two weeks I found so many fiddles and had proof of so much skulduggery that I sacked the collector without notice. I found installations where the user claimed to have made one outright payment to the collector who had pocketed the money, a hundred or so loudspeakers recorded as being “on loan” which had in fact been paid for and all manner of other private arrangements. The collector was easily replaced, and Mr. Fee joined us. I was fortunate too in meeting Bert Wise, ex Royal Navy P.O. Telegraphist who had been on Submarines, and who took over the technical aspect including the outside lines. Bill Campbell, ex Royal Army Service Corps driver/mechanic was very quickly trained on installations and line work, assisted by John Milburn, a school leaver. John had a very broad Cumbrian accent and initially I found communication difficult, “As gan yam nar marra” meant “I am going home now chum”. I felt I ought to be replying in French or something other than English.
Bill Campbell’s first job was to take the train to London and bring back a vehicle. It was a new Hudson NAAFI wagon completely fitted out by Met. Relays and full of cable, bracket insulators etc. My first act was to buy a set of maps covering the area to a scale of 1:10,000, and display it on the wall. The idea was that if we could establish exactly where we were we stood a better chance of knowing where we were going. A basic plan for the overhead lines was derived and we worked as a team, stripping out old wiring, checking and replacing where necessary, and keeping a record of installations connected. When an installation was serviced and documentation complete we fitted a capacitor in the loudspeaker for technical reasons and a new programme selector switch. The capacitors were to prove very useful later. The service we had to offer at that time was poor, and although it was gradually improving, we were spending far too much time on fault-finding, diverting us from the main program. Within a month it was very clear that our top priority was to rewire and re-equip. I managed to convince the London Office of this and they sent me a team of 3 wiremen from London, led by Dennis Horton who was inherited as a foreman at Mansfield, complete with two Dodge trucks and tons of installation materials. For four months this team concentrated on rewiring for four programmes, gradually reducing and finally almost eliminating the line faults.
The receivers and amplifiers were at Harras Moor in a cottage, but this was at the end of a two mile line, too far from our main load. We ran a 6-pair cable the whole distance and used these as 600 ohm lines, to feed five 1 KW amplifiers at Lowther Street. A bank of 6 AR88 receivers was installed at Harras Moor and two “straight sets” on loop antennas for the BBC Home and Light programmes. In town we had 210v. DC mains and had to fit rotary
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invertors. We also installed a 9KVA petrol/paraffin engine-driven alternator for use during power cuts, which were all too frequent. I could never understand how the grid system could sustain power through seven winters of wartime industrial production and as soon as the war was over we had to live with power cuts. Harras Moor was providing us with four good radio channels, Home, Light and Third BBC, Radio Eirein, Luxembourg, Paris, New York and others from around the world. We were getting organised and I was able to concentrate on sales, keeping our own gang of three busy on new installations. Within two years we had 2,200 installations, including the two Music Halls, cinemas, and all the factories. In addition we were doing more than 90% of all the Public Address work in Cumberland, some of which were quite memorable. At Grasmere Sports the events included a Fell Race and the first year we gave a running commentary over our P.A. system. The runners were out of sight near the top of the fell, so for the following year we applied to the Post Office for permission to use an H/F radio link to cover the gap. This was refused, “you will have to apply for a telephone”! The following year Bert Wise and John Milburn climbed the fell with an Aldis Lamp and battery, and established themselves where they could see the runners at the top and the ‘ops room’ on the showground. I too had an Aldis lamp and Bert flashed me the numbers of the runners as they reached the top of the fell. This delighted the spectators but completely upset the bookies who alone had the complete information in previous years.
The Post Office were also upset, claiming they had a monopoly on signalling, but declining to put it to test in court. I suggested that to try and licence boy scouts to signal in morse code with torches was ludicrous. I enjoyed the atmosphere of these events and went to quite some lengths to obtain the appropriate marshal music. At a Conservative Party fete one particular rather rousing piece was played several times and I was asked by a retired General why the Hell I kept playing the Red Army March Past.!!
A month after taking over, Hilda and I went for a walk - with the pram - to Hensingham, about three miles inland, and I was surprised to see Relay wires between chimneys and lots of downleads. I had not expected to find another system so close and I checked at some of the houses, asking who provided the system! I was told it was owned by a builder called Leslie but it hadn’t worked for several years. Leslie was the fellow from whom the company had bought West Cumberland Relays, and on checking with him I found it was part of the ‘system’ we had taken over. Further search showed a line of poles stretching for about two miles across the fields which had originally linked the village to the lines in Whitehaven. It also showed that a whole area of Hensingham had no electricity, ideal for relay. There was already a big housing estate and this was being extended, and I decided there was adequate potential in the village, but to replace the trunk route to it would be too expensive. We compromised by obtaining four modified 50 watt Vortexion Amplifiers and four receivers from London. Fred Wright brought them by road in his small van, the logo on the side of which was “Radio Trouble-shooting Service”. I did my very best to put up a case for keeping the van, to no avail. The next day we installed the equipment in an air-raid shelter at Hensingham, as a temporary measure, and immediately started connecting subscribers. Within a few weeks the wiring reached the side of the village where the lines from Whitehaven went across the fields, and we began to replace one pair all the way to link with Whitehaven. With this in operation on the third channel we were able to switch
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off one of the Hensingham amplifiers. Later all four programmes were fed from Whitehaven and the station in the air-raid shelter dismantled. The amplifiers were put to use at Whitehaven Hospital and the Workhouse. Both places were wired for 4 programme relay, but at the flick of a switch microphones could be switched in for announcements, and in the case of the latter, to broadcast concerts from the stage.
It was at Hensingham that I found a row of about 30 terraced houses, all without electricity and all wired with three twin cables of different sizes. This rather intrigued me and I enquired further. Most of the houses had battery driven wireless sets which used a 75 volt dry battery for H.T., a 2 volt accumulator for L.T. and a 9 volt grid bias battery, and in one case I found one of these sets without batteries but connected to the 3 pair cable. The old lady owner said it had not worked for several years. I quickly found the man who recharged the accumulators and he confirmed that the cables I had seen were once used for providing power supplies to radios. I think the system must have been quite unique. Shortly afterwards, the houses were connected to the relay system. My only regret is that I didn’t buy up those radios and store them for 50 years. As more and more installations were connected on the Woodhouse estate, the load on the five mile line gradually became too heavy with a corresponding reduction in line voltage and therefore volume. To overcome this we rented an air-raid shelter from the British Legion on the estate and fitted 4 amplifiers to take the load. These were fed from the incoming line itself, but for emergency use we also fitted receivers. Later the receivers came in useful for about three months during reconstruction of an area over which our main line had been fitted. One of the radio dealers found that we were using local receivers and that they were subject to radio interference from vacuum cleaners, so he had a sales drive in the immediate area of our receiving station with rental vacuum cleaners at 1/- per week. Reception gradually deteriorated but after three months of emergency operation our main line was again complete and the receivers switched off. Reception then was near perfect on our system and dreadful for the rest when the vacuum cleaners were being used. He had put a lot of time and money into trying to wreck our system, and had a double-fronted shop in Lowther Street, but I was sorry to see his shop with a bicycle in one window and a Bible in the other when I left Whitehaven..
On a new housing estate where 5 new houses were commissioned each week, we took a gamble and wired them all. When the first tenants moved in the loudspeaker was playing and the tenant’s radio problems were resolved. After 3 or 4 weeks I would go along and generally sign them up. Some of them of course compared it to their own ‘wireless’ if any, which could not possibly reach our standard of reproduction and reception. There are very few places in and around Whitehaven where we had not fitted microphones and radio, and after reaching near saturation in two years there was little scope for further development.
Whitehaven had been a very satisfying experience, but was marred by the Williams Pit disaster where 160 miners were trapped underground and lost their lives. John Milburn’s father was among them. It was traditional for the eldest son to take over where the Dad left off, and we were very sorry indeed to lose John. Hilda had run the office and “showroom” assisted later by Connie Sim from St. Bees. Bill Campbell was still our mainstay on the lines.
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I handed over to Bert Wise, still wearing his Navy P.O.’s hat, and moved to Wandsworth as Development Manager for Metropolitan Relays. A flat was available for us above the shop at 111 Garratt Lane, but on arrival we found it occupied by squatters. For several weeks we lived with Hilda’s parents until the squatters moved to the second floor and we took over the first floor. They were a decent couple in their forties, and had been desperate for accommodation. Our shop had been empty so they moved in, knowing that when an eviction order was issued by the court, they would be allocated a council house or flat. It was a short-cut to the top of the housing list, and the firm had to go through the motions of demanding court action. The ground floor was established as a showroom, even with T.V. in the window, an impressive amplifier room and an office with the same old sign on the door, Lager Commandant!
The original plan was to develop the area working outwards from Garrett Lane and to use the linesman from H.Q. at Lavender Hill, but there was line work to be done from the very outset and it was this part of the job which would be the limiting factor in our rate of progress. I insisted that we employed our own gang of wiremen. Bill Cutler was my wayleave expert, and having planned the main basic routes of our main lines, it was Bill’s job to find out who the landlords were and to obtain their formal permission to fit our wires on or over their property, generally between chimneys. The easiest way was first to sell the relay service to the tenants and their order was used as the reason for our request to fit the wires. We started to run four main lines, no.1 along Garrett Lane to link up with the Lavender Hill system at West Hill. No 2 made a beeline west along Garrett Lane to a Council-owned housing estate which at the time had no electricity. No 3 went due south to Southfields and along Merton Road, over the Redifon buildings and on to Putney, and No. 4 went north towards Wandsworth Common. Everyone on the staff except me, but including Bill Cutler and the linesmen was given five shillings commission for each new customer they signed up. The average wage at that time was £7 per week (in London) and there were few days when the gang did not hand in the paper-work and deposits for customers they had signed up and probably already installed in addition to the day’s work allocated to them. Quite often we would have thousands of leaflets distributed to houses in a particular area which was proving difficult but which they needed to cross.
At about this time, my father retired and went to East Africa, settling at Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini, 10 miles west of Kitale on the Kakemega Road, and about 260 miles from Nairobi.. He sold his controlling interest in Metropolitan Relays to Seletar Industrial Holdings, Ltd. and their representative, Colonel Slaughter, took over as Chairman. Mr. Moulton became Director & General Manager and I was Development Manager with sufficient shares to qualify for a seat on the board. At the time T.V. was still in its infancy, though beginning to catch on, but the main background entertainment would be the wireless for some time to come. Transistors were still in the experimental stage and Radio Relay provided an alternative to cumbersome and relatively expensive valve radios, with near perfect and trouble-free reception. As Development Manager I made sure I was not bogged down with routine day to day running, and at the outset established a reliable Manager at Garrett Lane, Jack Thompson, whose knowledge of the business was gleaned entirely from Bill Cutler and myself with on-the-job training. Bill had been with Radio Relay since about
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1930, except for during the war when he was a technician in the R.A.F. on Link Trainers.
I was asked to have a look at Yeovil in Somerset and see whether it appeared suitable to establish a relay system, and if I felt it so justified, to spend some time there making a detailed study. I spent a week studying the layout of the town, types of housing, probabilities of future development, the people and their attitudes and in discussion with the Borough Surveyor and Town Clerk’s office staff. I realised that Colonel Slaughter had been a senior army officer and also a senior civil servant for a long time, and that my future relationship with him depended to a large extent on the impression he gained from my first formal report. I recommended that it was a border-line proposition and included a financial budget for 5 years. It would be three years before the system was breaking even and this was too long. The Capital required was too high unless the system was subsidised by another well-established branch. I felt we could find better places to apply our efforts. The Colonel decided to have a look for himself and I went with him to Somerset a week later. Alone, he met the Council officials concerned and one of them agreed to support our application if a relative of his was given a seat on the board of the new company!. I had known of that before the meeting but thought it better not to be involved, nor to include thoughts of that nature in my report. The Yeovil proposal was dropped and I turned my attention to Maryport.
Whilst Bert Wise was on holiday Bill Cutler and I went to Whitehaven for two weeks to relieve him and also to investigate Maryport.
I had known Maryport for some years and I already knew that it would be a goer from the outset. With lots of Council houses (no wayleave problems on them), a working type population, even with an element of communism. It had known major unemployment and soup kitchens and was still a little Bolshie.
We had many friends in the area and a good popular working system in Whitehaven as an example. In that two weeks I produced the same type of report as for Yeovil, but recommended we should go ahead immediately. We saw the Council Officials and agreed a draft agreement with them, found suitable accommodation for a shop in town and a receiving station just out of town to which we could run our own lines. Two weeks later I returned with the Colonel and together we met the Council Committee and completed formalities. From then on it was all systems go. Bill Cutler asked if he could get it organised and he did a very thorough job, using the labour and resources from Whitehaven. He stayed on as Manager and a few years later took-over Whitehaven also when Bert Wise ran-off with his secretary, Connie Sim.
Meanwhile Garratt Lane was running smoothly, and number 1 line had reached East Hill. In a junction box on the wall of a block of flats we had two four-pair cables, one from Lavender Hill, and the other from Garratt Lane, and on an experimental basis we linked the two together, isolating the line at Garratt Lane. We were thus able to monitor the Lavender Hill system in our Control Room, providing their service to our installations on the way. The Garratt Lane amplifiers were fed by Post Office line from Lavender Hill, and each amplifier could provide 1 kilowatt of audio power, sufficient for 3000 loudspeakers. Most of the loudspeakers were switched to no. 2 channel, the Light Programme, still referred to as the Forces programme by the majority. Channels 3 and 4 were very lightly loaded and we were able to switch off the Garratt Lane amplifiers on these channels for most of the time. At that time my family
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home was the flat above the showroom at Garratt Lane, and was guarded by Rex, a huge Great Dane/Alsation [sic] hybrid. Only Hilda and the children could handle it, presumably because they fed it regularly, but everyone else - including me - had to be very cautious.
Eventually it took a bite out of the Manager’s wife and was returned to Battersea Dogs’ Home.
I was spending more time at Garratt Lane where progress was losing momentum, and extending our no. 3 line over West Hill to East Putney was proving difficult. Near Putney Bridge, still a mile from our lines was a highly suitable area of small houses and it was going to take a year to reach them at our current speed. Without much fuss we established a station in the basement of a shop in the middle of this area, using 4 receivers built by Fred Wright’s dept. and 4 small 50 watt Vortexion amplifiers. This station was identical to the one fitted at Hensingham. We then had a sales drive in that part of Putney with the emphasis towards West Hill, and in 4 months were able to link the two systems.
I was interested to recall that for monitoring our four programmes we used a modified aircraft type automatic bomb release mechanism. This was a uniselector type of relay unit which clunked round and changed programme every 30 seconds instead of releasing bombs.
All my staff were ex-Servicemen and there was a dynamic no-nonsence [sic] approach. In contrast to this, our General Manager Allan Moulton based at Lavender Hill, had a stock answer to any serious proposal for action put to him, of “Wait a little while and see what happens”. My attitude was that we know what we want to happen and it wont unless we make it. He didn’t like my Lager Commandant notice on the door either but there it stayed. In 1948 the war was not forgotten by most of us and many satisfactory business deals were made in that spirit of comradeship and trust.
In Feb. 1949 I found that someone called Fry had studied Belfast on our firm’s behalf and had strongly recommended starting a relay service there. The report came to me quite by accident and at the same time I found he was surveying Bath, introducing himself as Development Manager in Relay Association circles. I tackled Colonel Slaughter about it and he said it was news to him, but he took it up with Moulton to whom Fry was reporting. I found that Moulton resented the fact that I was responsible direct to the Chairman, and also that my contract detailed my renumeration including commission which was the £1500 per year, 4 times the average wage. To clear the air we had a formal meeting and I put forward my prediction for future development. I forecast that within 2 or 3 years a general rundown of the system would be inevitable with the increase of television; further that it would be prudent to reduce expenditure on “wired wireless” and to develop the rental side of both radio and T.V., but to reconsider with Fred Wright - who was not at the meeting - the policy of manufacturing T.V. sets. My prediction became factual and was influenced also by transistor radios of which we had no knowledge at that time. There was 33% Purchase Tax on most things including T.V. sets. This was payable at the point of sale and not on rentals. As our sets were never sold but remained the property of Met. Radio & T.V. Rentals Ltd. no Purchase Tax was payable. This loophole was soon to be closed, as forecast, and tax was payable on the rental itself. It became cheaper to buy sets from the big manufactures than to actually make them.
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The Colonel remarked that as Development Manager I was really saying we should stop developing, and I agreed. This set the scene for further discussion well outside the intended scope of the meeting. The Chairman asked Moulton for his views on likely technological advances, but Moulton had none and said we can only try and stay afloat, seeking support from Fry. The Colonel shot down Moulton completely and asked Fry to detail his relevant qualifications. After a silence Moulton was told to study the content of my prediction and not to go off at a tangent on development nor without reference to him. Fry was sent packing and the meeting was closed. I learned quite a lot from Colonel Slaughter, he had spent a long time in the Royal Engineers and one of his attributes was building a flat-bottomed boat on the Nile, one of the biggest in service. His personality was such that when he looked up and down disapprovingly at an obvious ex-Serviceman leaning over a bar, the man immediately took his hand out of his pocket and squared himself up. I actually saw this happen in Maryport, he had that effect on people. (That was in 1948, it might not be the same over 40 years later).
No more was heard of Fry, and I never did join the Board, I was too busy getting on with the job, but it was time for reflection. I realised that when my father was Chairman he had the engineering and technical aspects at his fingertips and he took care of them. He was succeeded by the Colonel who was a business-man but who had no backing on the engineering side. My brief was the Development of the Radio Relay Systems, I regarded technological changes as a matter for the General Manager, Moulton, but I was not responsible to him.
I met the Colonel again privately and I said it seemed that I was Development Manager in a firm which was not going to develop any further. Although there was plenty of routine work to be done I felt the Electrical Trades Union would soon start making things very difficult as it was doing in the Post Office. In view of the probable technological changes, I felt that Colonel Slaughter would rather sell-out than try to steer a ship without a rudder. I was being rather outspoken but straightforward and the Colonel approved of this. I told him I would like to call it a day and try my luck in Africa, Kenya was said to be a land of opportunity. If that failed there was always a job in Bulawayo 2500 miles further south of the Cement Works with Mr. Rose.
The Colonel agreed I could leave when convenient but if I wanted to return within 6 months, to drop him a line. It was four years since the war in Europe had ended. Britain was changing and so was the attitude of many people some of who were very disillusioned. Hilda and I agreed it was time to make a move.
And so in July 1949 I went to Africa for the third time, but with Hilda and the two children, not knowing what sort of a career I was seeking, but nevertheless full of confidence, and still with my Lager Commandant board.
The following year, Colonel Slaughter retired and Seletar’s controlling interest in Metropolitan Relays was sold to British Relay Wireless which later became Vision-Hire. Within a further 12 years the wired-wireless or Relay industry in the U.K. closed, being overtaken by technology.
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[underlined] KENYA [/underlined]
The flight to Nairobi was a very pleasant trip by Argonaut, calling at Rome, Benina, - which we had known as Bengazi [sic] -, Cairo, Khartoum and Entebbe. On the last leg of the flight we flew very low at times, quite unofficially to give us our first views of big game from the air. The flight was very enjoyable, in very easy stages, and in retrospect the Argonaut was about the most comfortable aircraft we were to fly in, in our many subsequent flights to Africa. It was I think the first and only time we travelled in first class.
We were met in Nairobi by Duncan Fletcher, a friend of my fathers, and spent the night at Torr’s Hotel, in Delamere Avenue, the leading hotel at that time. The Stanley Hotel across the road was being refurbished to become the New Stanley, and within a few years Torr’s was closed and became the Ottaman [sic] Bank. I recall the strawberry and cream cake for tea at Torr’s for which it had been famous for many years. The following day we journeyed the 260 miles by bus to Kitale. This was a road we would take many times in the years to come. The first half was tarmac, 100 miles of which from the top of the Nairobi escarpment, through Naivasha to Nakuru, having been built by Italian prisoners of war. From the top of the escarpment there was a wonderful view of the Rift Valley and Mount Longenot [sic], an extinct volcano, and to the west over the plains towards Mau Forest and Kisumu. The bus took us down the escarpment, dropping about 2000 feet to the floor of the Rift Valley, passed the little Italian church built by P.O.W.’s, and northwards past Lake Elementita and Nakuru, then the rough murram road to Kitale. The journey took about 10 hours, but was far from tedius [sic], there was so much to be seen.
Kitale seemed like a typical american western type of small town, the roads were not made up and the sidewalks were made of wood. Many of the buildings were made of timber clad with mabati - corrugated iron - and most europeans wore khaki drill. We were met at the bus station by my father and completed the remaining 9 miles of our journey to our new home, Kirksbridge Farm, Kiminini where a guest house had been built for us, about 100 yards from the main house. Colin and Wendy, aged 6 and 4 were introduced to the Ayah, the african nurse, called Nadudu, who spoke only Swahili and her tribal language, Kitoshi, but within a matter of days was communicating without difficulty with the children. Nadudu had her own rondavel, a thatched roundhouse on the lawn at the side of the guest house, and took care of all the children’s needs.
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[underlined] Hoteli King George [/underlined]
Life on the farm had provided a welcome anticlimax to just about everything that had gone before, but it could hardly be a long-term solution for a young couple with a growing family. We did not appreciate at the time the serious effects of the political unrest and changes which were beginning to take place. We thought that common sense would prevail and most of us felt we had a good working relationship with the Africans; only a misguided few claimed to really understand them! Neither Hilda nor I felt we were achieving a great deal on the farm and we agreed it was time to look further afield.
In April 1950, after almost a year in Kitale, I responded to an advert in our national newspaper, the East African Standard, for Prison Officers. Salary £550 per year, uniform and furnished accomodation [sic] provided, generous leave etc. Military experience advantageous, with the rank of Asst. Supt. of Prisons. One pip! At least the job would get us to Nairobi where most of the action was, and we would have an opportunity to look around, but it was also to give me an insight into a very different and often sordid aspect of life. My application was successful. Our family, Hilda and myself, Colin and Wendy, with Paddy and Jeep our two Alsations all crowded into the Austin A70 and once again made the now familiar safari to Nairobi. 150 miles of murram road, through the Transnzoia, and the plains around Eldoret settled almost entirely by South Africans from the Union, winding around ravines to Mau Summit, up and over the 11,500 ft. mountains at Timbarua to Nakuru then 100 miles of luxurious tarmac through Naivasha with its flamingoes [sic] , passed Elementita an extinct volcano, up the escarpment to Nairobi. The tarmac road was built by Italian prisoners of war in W.W.2, the best stretch of road in East Africa. We also took with us Edward Ekeke, an African driver who had been with my father in Abbysinia [sic] during the war. Although a Kikuyu he was a trusted servant, and if left alone by the politicians and other agitators would have stayed loyal, but tribal and other pressures on chaps like Ekeke were great, and in retrospect it was foolish of us to trust them. Ekeke returned to Kitale with the Austin for more personal effects and re-joined us after a few days. I think he must have finally returned to the farm by 'taxi', as the african buses were called.
As it claimed in the advert., accomodation [sic] was provided. It could have been described as a three-bedroomed chalet, the walls and roof being of mabati (corrugated iron), and was built on stilts about a foot off the ground. We learned that is [sic] was originally built at the other side of the prison and had been carried to its current location by 200 prisoners. As far as I remember, we moved straight into the 'house', and roughed it until Hilda made it comfortable. There was a bathroom, but the loo was a 'thunderbox' at the end of the back garden with a bucket which a gang of prisoners dealt with about 5 am. every day. The kitchen was a Colonial type near the back door, with a wood stove, and an adequate supply of kuni (firewood) provided by more prisoners.
The prison was totally enclosed within a high stone wall, designed to hold 700 prisoners, but with a prison population of about 1900 Africans, 180 Asians, 20 Somalis and 12 Europeans. Quite separate was a small compound for the Wamawaki, (women), with about 20 African and 1 Asian inmate (in for murder but only men were eligible for hanging, so she was serving life). The whole 2000 or so were in the care of about 9 European officers and 200 African Askari. The
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Officer i/c was 'Major' Martin M.C., W.W.1 Veteran,as [sic] Snr. Supt., his number 2 was Henry Thacker with 3 pips as a Supt. Henry spoke fluent Kikuyu in addition to Swahili, and in fact had a Kikuyu 'wife'. He had been in the Prisons service for 36 years at that time and sported one medal ribbon, on his right breast. Legend had it that it was awarded by the Royal Humane Society after he saved a cat from drowning, but Henry was on a totally different wavelength to other Europeans. Sid Swan with 2 pips was i/c the stores and accounts, having spent the war in the Kings African Rifles, and having been demobbed as a Major. Other junior officers like myself included Bunty Lewis, rather effiminate [sic] but nevertheless an ex Royal Artillery officer who had a Kenya-born wife; Paddy McKinney, a large hairy ex Irish Guards Sergeant; Jimmie Vant, ex Kings African Rifles, the son of a Keswick lawyer turned Kenya farmer. Jimmie and his wife Dulcie regarded themselves as Kenya settlers and claimed to spend most of their time at the ranch on the Kinankop, hence their landrover vehicle. Another officer, Whitehouse who joined about the same time as me seemed to spend most of his time off sick and did not stay with us very long. There were three other officers whose names elude me but they were all ex-service, and all lived just outside the wall of the main prison.
The Duty Officers i/c worked a shift system, 0600 to 1800, assisted by a "day-duties" officer during more or less office hours. The Duty Officer was responsible for the day to day activity in the main prison. We were each armed with an enormous ancient revolver of 0.45 calibre and six rounds of ammo., issued by Mr. Thacker. I objected to the rounds of ammo., pointing out they were dum-dums, the bullets having been filed down to within 1/8" of the cartridge cases., and they contravened the Geneva convention. I remember Henry saying "there is nothing in the Prisons Ordinance about the Geneva Convention, and that's all that matters"! We were ordered in writing to wear the revolver in its holster at all times when on duty, and I thought of my four Brownings of long ago to deal with one enemy, compared to a ridiculous revolver in a compound with nearly 2000 potential enemies. It was in fact general practice, strictly unofficial, to carry the revolver but to leave the ammunition in the safe, and the prisoners knew this. I did carry a loaded Czech. .25 automatic in my pocket of which the prisoners were not aware. Some months after I joined, the Snr. Supt. inspected Paddy's revolver and put him on a charge for not carrying ammunition, "contrary to station standing order number something or other". Paddy was eventually charged before the Commissioner of Prisons and pleaded not guilty, asking to see the written order. This was produced and the charge dismissed. The order refered [sic] to the revolver only, and not ammunition. All very childish, but Paddy of the Irish Guards was not one to be messed about. He produced his dum-dum bullets to the Commissioner who was astonished, and all the dumdums were withdrawn. Paddy also pointed out how ludicrous it was for a lone officer to carry firearms in a crowd of hundreds of prisoners, but the order remained. He was a likeable fellow and when the C.O. quoted the book of rules, Paddy made a detailed study of it. In addition to the Prisons Ordnance, we also had Station Standing Orders which gave Paddy ample scope for playing the barrack-room lawyer. He was seen one night at a party in the Military Police Snr. N.C.O.'s mess, and was put on [deleted] a [/deleted] two charges by Martin. Before the Commissioner he was charged with sleeping off the station and drinking whilst on duty. Again Paddy asked for the rule-book and pleaded not guilty. The book stated that an officer would not sleep off the station whilst
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on duty. Paddy agreed he had been at the dance all night and did not in fact sleep anywhere! case [sic] dismissed. Station standing orders also stated that an officer would not partake of alcoholic drink whilst on duty, but a further order stated that an "officer was deemed to be on duty at all times". It therefore followed that all Prisons Officers were required to be completely teetotal, and that was an unlawful order. Martin had met his match and was told to edit Station Standing Orders.
The day started at 0630 by unlocking the European cells and counting the inmates, whilst the Askari dealt with all the other prisoners. There was no point in an escape attempt by Europeans, they would not have got very far before being picked up, but for other races it was a different matter. They were guarded very closely. The four main racial groups were quartered separately for sleeping and eating, their customs and diet and indeed their whole culture differing considerably. Only the Europeans slept on beds, the others were not interested and prefered [sic] the floor, some with very thin mattresses. The Europeans wore shoes, the Somalis heavy boots, Asians wore flipflops and the Africans stuck to their bare feet which were generally tougher than any footwear. European food was probably similar to that in U.K. prisons, and with each race having its own traditional food, this was not a case of discrimination, each prefered [sic] its own. Each group also provided its own cooks. Some of the Asians in fact opted out of Prison food and had it sent in, but it was very thoroughly checked. Uniforms differed too, some compromise between standard prison garb and ordinary native dress. Europeans wore K.D. slacks and shirts with arrows printed on them. Africans wore white shirt and white shorts held up by string.
Two or three hours were spent in the early morning preparing prisoners for court, generally about 50 of them. Some were on remand, and others were convicted prisoners who were required to give evidence in cases where they were involved as witnesses. In the late afternoon all were returned to the prison possibly with changed status. The paper-work had to be watched very carefully, confusion could arise where one prisoner might have a conviction warrant on one case, a remand warrant on another and possibly a production order to appear as a witness in an entirely different case. It was not unknown for a prisoner to be involved in two cases under different names. Language sometimes presented a problem. The courts conducted the business in English and Kiswahili, but there were many tribal languages and quite often interpreters had to be employed. One such case was when 60 prisoners of the Suk tribe were charged with murder having massacred the District Commissioner and his staff of 12. The only interpreter who could cope with the Suk language translated into Kitoshi, and a second one translated from Kitoshi into Swahili. All 60 were hanged at the prison in due course. They seemed very young to me and I doubt if they really knew what it was all about. They were the ones rounded up by the Police after spears had been thrown at the D.C.'s party from a crowd of 2000 whilst he was reading the Riot Act -literally-.
Relationships between officers at the prison were generally very good, with the exception of Martin who thought he was playing soldiers and Thacker for whom we felt rather sorry. 36 years as a prisons officer must have warped his mind somewhat. After about two months I decided to be like the other officers and wear my medal ribbons, and that was when I first fell foul of Major Martin. He asked me what the first medal was and I told him. He said he
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had not authorised me to wear it and I laughed and said I didn't need his authority, the King's was good enough. Shortly after this I was on duty when 45 new African prisoners were admitted, but there were 50 warrants. Some were convicted on Capital Charges, (murder, manslaughter, rape etc). My Chief Warder had signed for 50 bodies and 50 warrants, but there were only 45 bodies. It was 5 pm and my obvious priority was to determine which 5 prisoners were missing. It took until 6.30 to sort it out, no-one was missing, the Court was at fault in issuing two warrants each to five prisoners, instead of one warrant and one production order each. Only then did I get around to locking up the European prisoners for the night, 30 minutes late, and I entered this in the log. The next day an Asian prisoner complained to an Asian Official Prison Visitor that the Europeans were not locked up until 6.30 whereas the Asian prisoners were locked up on time. This was racial discrimination and the official visitor reported the matter direct to the Commissioner. I was charged by Martin for failing to carry out a particular standing order in that I failed to lock up the Europeans at 6 pm. 'How do you plead?' saith [sic] the Commiss. 'I don't', I replied, 'I request the case be taken by the Member for Law & Order'. He was the member of Legislative Council equivalent to the U.K. Attorney General, and this was a genuine option available to an officer charged before the Commissioner, same sort of procedure as an Airman on a 252 asking for a Court Martial rather than take his C.O.'s verdict. The Commissioner suspended the charge for the time being and asked Martin why the charge was brought. I was then asked why I had failed and I said that I was the Officer responsible and in unusual circumstances I concentrated my action in what I considered the most important aspect, which was resolving the problem of the 5 apparently missing prisoners. I consider I acted correctly, regardless of Station Standing Orders. Martin said he had not known that and I suggested that he should read the duty log before signing it as seen, next time. I also suggested that an amendment be made to the standing orders to the effect that nothing contained therein would prohibit an officer from using his initiative when he felt it necessary. Anyhow, I went on, it is an unlawful order in any case, and that will be my alternative defence with the Member for Law & Order. The commissioner was intrigued and read out the order "You will lock-up the European prisoners at 6 pm.", looking to me for comment. I said it was an impossible order, locking-up people involves work which takes time, 6pm is a moment of time in which by definition no work can be done. I said the whole set-up is childish and the Commissioner asked Martin to withdraw the charge. It seemed I had joined Paddy in his war of attrition against Martin.
Our two alsations, Paddy and Jeep had settled-in very nicely, with only their hereditary training. Their self-appointed task of guarding Hilda and the children was unending. When the family was inside the house, one guard would remain with them whilst the other maintained watch on the verandah [sic] and patrolled outside in the garden. When the children were in the garden whilst prisoners were working in the area, either Paddy or Jeep would deploy themselves between the two groups. Only by instinct our dogs knew the prisoners were not to be trusted and were watched very carefully, but the African askari were regarded as allies. The prison was very close to the boundary of Nairobi National Park, and grew cabbages two feet in diameter in what must have been some of the most fertile land in Kenya, receiving all the effluent from the 2000 odd inmates. Late one afternoon an african prisoner in a work gang fancied his
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chances and made a run for it, sprinting along the road passed [sic] the house hotly pursued by about six askari. The askari were at a disadvantage wearing heavy boots and jerseys, but they were joined by Paddy and Jeep who caught up with the prisoner and arrested him in the Game Park. When the askari caught up with them they found the prisoner literally with his pants down, leaning exhausted against a post supporting a notice "Stay in Your Car, Beware of Lion".
It was essential but sometimes difficult not to become involved emotionally with the prisoners, almost all of whom had in their eyes suffered a grave injustice by winding-up in jail. One afternoon whilst I was on duty the Chief Immigration Officer, a Mr. Pierce, came to the prison and required me to serve a Deportation Order on a European Prisoner, Major Melbourn. I read the document first and found that Melbourn had been declared an 'undesireable [sic] immigrant' and was therefore to be deported within 5 days. Melbourn had in fact served about 12 months of a three year sentance [sic] for bigamy and would be required to complete the term in the U.K. He was 'undesireable [sic] ' because he had changed his job without permission. I remarked that this was a very lame excuse for such drastic action. After an exchange of views I said I had not sought his permission when I joined the Prisons Service and he advised me to do so without delay! A few days later I was detailed to escort the prisoner to Mombasa, and hand him over to the officer i/c of the prison at Fort Jesus. Meanwhile I had studied all the Melbourn files and they showed a good example of how a fellow could slip up over small technicalities which produced major consequences. Melbourn was a British Army officer serving overseas for almost the entire war. During the Blitz, his wife was in a Convalascent [sic] home in Liverpool which received a direct hit and she disappeared without trace like many others. He had been drawing a marriage allowance in the normal way and eventually reported to his C.O. that it should be discontinued because he believed his wife had been killed in an air-raid. He was advised that until he had proof of this the allowance would continue. He should have applied to the courts for it to be deemed that his wife had been killed but the environment of the Burmese jungle and other wartime pressures were not conducive to that sort of logic and he let the matter rest. After the war he made enquiries in Liverpool without result, and was eventually released from the Army having served for 30 years. Several years later he became engaged to the daughter of the French Consol [sic] in Nairobi, and when they were married he declared that he was a bachelor. They were Catholics and had he referred to himself as a widower, there could have been difficulties and the authorities would have required proof in any case, which he could not provide. Soon after the wedding someone who had been a clerk in the Pay Corps spotted the reference to 'Bachelor' and thought it rather odd that Melbourn had claimed a marriage allowance during the war. He reported this and the subsequent enquiry led to Melbourn being charged with bigamy and convicted. Whilst it was essential that justice must be seen to apply equally to all races, Europeans were the Bwana Mkubwas and were supposed to set an example. White men in jail were an embarassment [sic] to Government and wherever possible they were returned to the U.K. Melbourn had slipped-up on a second trechnicality. [sic] In the U.K. After [sic] demob. he and two ex-Army colleagues, all of whom had served in East Africa in 1945, decided to establish a business in Kenya, and the three applied for Entry permits, Employment passes, Dependants [sic] passes in two cases, and Residence permits. Complete with ambitious plans for the future and proper documentation
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the trio arrived in Nairobi and set about organising their new enterprise, one of the first acts being an application to register the name of their company. Whilst this was 'going through channels' problems came to light which could not have been foreseen and their plans had to be abandoned. Melbourn remained in Nairobi and obtained employment, and his two colleagues returned to U.K., disillusioned by the red tape. Whilst looking for a reason to declare Melbourn an undesireable [sic] immigrant the application for permission to work with a firm which did not exist came to light and provided the necessary ammunition.
On the night train to Mombasa Melbourn was very chatty, we were both in civvies, he was allowed to use his own money and I felt the best policy would be to let him have a few drinks and to sleep it off. He undertook to behave and understood that at the first sign of being unco-operative he would be handcuffed to his bunk. He told me his story which was the same as gleaned from the files, and added that he had made arrangements to escape at Suez and join the sister of one of the Somali inmates. I handed him over at Fort Jesus, wished him luck and had a look around Mombasa before returning to Nairobi on the night train. About two months later we learned that he had indeed jumped ship at Suez and was working as a Newsreader at Oomdemaan on Egyptian International Radio Broadcasts. I bought some brass plates from him in Nairobi which today are displayed at Wendy's home in Cherryhinton [sic] , and which remind me of the injustice metered out to one who served for 30 years in the British Army.
Another European prisoner, on remand, had been arrested for vagrancy. He was a British merchant seaman who felt like a change, had legally entered Kenya with proper documentation and had taken a job driving a native bus. The authorities deemed this was not a suitable job for a white man, declared him undesireable [sic] and deported him, by ship. He would have been quite happy to have joined a ship at Mombasa as crew-member or paid his own passage. He most certainly did not meet the definition of vagrancy, he had more than adequate means of support. I recall his bitterness when he said it was fair enough to drive a bloody army lorry for five years but not an african bus.
For nearly six months I relieved Ron Woods as officer i/c the Tailoring section of Prison workshops, whilst he was on home leave. In the workshop 200 prisoners beavered away sewing and stitching, 100 with sewing machines and the other half working by hand. We produced uniforms for all Government departments and also for prisoners and were allowed to undertake private work for anyone willing to provide their own material. One of the European prisoners had been a tailor in civvy street and he was very helpful. There was also a 'mechanical workshop' employing about 100, mostly producing articles in metal for Gov't departments, but also repairing and generally working on motor-cars. I took the opportunity of turning them loose on my father's Packard and they did a very good job. The Tailoring section even produced some seat covers for it without being asked. Shortly after the car was finished, a Salvation Army Major came to me and said that Johnson, a European prisoner who had worked on the car, had seen the light after several months of Bible study and was now determined to go straight. He was serving five years for armed robbery, having held up a taxi in Mombasa. The Major asked for my support for his application to the Parole Board and was in fact going to great lengths to secure the Prisoner's release. I declined my support, and told the Major he had been spoofed, Johnson would never go straight. However, the appeal
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was successful and Johnson suggested to me the night before his release that for a small fee he could arrange to 'steal' the car and drop it over Nairobi escarpment for me. Such were the people we were dealing it, [sic] [inserted] with [/inserted] but what finally became of him I don't know.
After several months we moved to a much nicer house in the prison officers' compound. Hilda was doing photographic retouching and finishing work in the city for Arthur Firmin, and life was without undue pressures. On saturday [sic] evenings we occasionally went to see our friends George and Iris Dent at the Oasis pub. George was an engineer with the Army Kinema Corporation and a very keen 'ham', VQ4DO, ex ZS6DO. At their parents' Pub George showed films which provided entertainment. This was before the days of television in Kenya. It was on the evening of one of our visits we were sitting in the Dent's home, Wendy was stretched out asleep on the couch and Iris's little boy was playing with his toy cap-gun. This reminded me that the pain in my rear was caused by my .25 automatic in my trouser pocket, so I moved the gun to my jacket pocket. Iris saw this move and said it looked a far nicer gun than her .38 and asked to see it. I handed it over, having checked there was no round up the spout and it was on safe. To our absolute astonishment, Iris cocked it, off with the safety catch and fired. The bullet demolished the leg of the couch less than a foot from Wendy's head. The song "Pistol-packing mamma" didn't seem at all funny any more. Colin was with us and had attended Nairobi Primary School for about two months. Wendy was looked after during the day by Nadudu, the Kitoshi ayah we had taken with us from Kitale. The children called her Bundudu.
With the withdrawal of the British Army from Kenya, George and Iris returned to South Africa, George taking up employment with the S.A. Broadcasting Corporation. Today the Oasis pub is thriving, still on the main Mombassa [sic] Road and close to Nairobi airport at Embakasi.
I was concerned only with Nairobi prison, but there were prisons in 8 or so towns, backed up by several camps. Later when Mau Mau really got under way, there were many more much bigger 'internment' camps. Some of them in my day were known as rather tough places. Hard Labour was still the prerogative of the courts; It meant exactly that, and was invariably stone breaking. A gang would be given a task of smashing up a number of very large boulders and feeding the fragments through a screen before putting them onto a lorry. Only when the task was complete would they be marched back to the living area. One of our camps was at Lokitong, about 450 miles north of Nairobi, and it frequently happened that prisoners had to be returned from there to Nairobi to attend court. There was no telephone, the only communication with the camp was was [sic] by a telegram to Kitale prison and thence a letter by bus and camel to the camp. It was generally a three-week process, so six weeks was needed to produce a prisoner from Lokitong to a court in Nairobi. I put up a written suggestion that in the absence of telephones we should establish a number of radio stations. I could undertake to establish the stations myself using ex-army 21 sets, maintain them and also to train the operators. The suggestion was submitted through Mr. Martin but addressed to the Commissioner, and according to the Chief Clerk went straight into Martin's waste paper basket. A few days later I delivered a copy direct to the Commissioner's office with a covering letter with my estimate of costs, about £100 per station plus my time and travelling.
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I promised instant communication with the camps but it was too revolutionary and there was no provision in the budget for it. About four years later the job was done for them by the Police at a cost of £700,000 with recurring annual expenditure of over £100,000. A lot of money in those days. Jimmie Vant became the Prisons Dept. Telecommunications Officer with no knowledge whatsoever of the subject. He didn't really need any, all the work was carried out by the Police which was staffed entirely by technicians on secondment from the U.K. Home Office. Such is the price of progress and sophisticated over-engineering. No doubt in the 1990s they will be able to spend even more millions and do the job via satelite [sic] .
Returning home one afternoon having collected Hilda and two other ladies from the city, and Colin from school, we found the prison surrounded by armoured cars and light tanks with hundreds of Police and Army personnel. Apparently there was a rumour of a pending mass breakout, but it was only a rumour. I regarded it as a show of strength for the benifit [sic] of the unruly.
The job in the Prisons Service was like no other I have held either before or since. It was work which started and finished according to the duty roster and activity was determined and limited by the various orders laid down. For every minor detail there had to be a written authority. The Prisons Service had become established about the turn of the century and the antiquated system did nothing to inspire enthusiasm. On one occasion Paddy Mc.Kinney and I were taking a five minute breather in the office and enjoying a coca-cola, when Martin came in and without preamble ordered us to put leg-irons on Mchegi, then stormed out again. Mchegi was a "casi kubwa", a 6'3" Kikuyu in a condemned cell. The leg-irons were a reprisal for Mchegi's offensive the previous day. Martin, on his round of inspection had moved aside the 6" square observation panel in the door of Mchegi's cell to look inside, and received the full force of the contents of the choo (night soil!) bucket in his face. Mchegi was awaiting hanging and had nothing to lose. He was a very dangerous individual who had already killed and because of his violance [sic] often remained in his cell during excercise [sic] periods. Putting leg-irons on this tough character was a formidable task and Martin knew that. Paddy startled me by suggesting that I should open the door of Mchegi's cell, and he would wait at the open end of the corridor where it entered the prison yard. I replied that I would rather he opened Mchegi's door and I would wait in the yard. However, Mchegi had no personal animosity towards me and Paddy's complete plan appeared rational. I opened the cell door with the greeting "Mjambo Mchegi", and he stepped out of the cell, seeing a clear passage to the prison yard and beyond to the open gate in the outside perimeter wall of the prison, with neither officer nor askari in sight. Mchegi recognised his chance to escape and made a dash for it. It was at the end of the corridor that Paddy stepped out hit him and simultaneously an askari tripped him up. Before Mchegi recovered four askari had rivetted on the leg-irons and dragged him back to his cell. A few minutes later Paddy and I were finishing our cokes in the office when Martin came in and remonstrated, "why haven't you carried out my order?" Paddy said we had done so and Martin exclaimed "impossible". When Martin was told just how it had been done we were both on a charge once more. The Commissioner reminded us that striking a prisoner was a very serious matter but when Paddy said it was the preferred alternative to shooting him, there was no answer, and the matter was dropped. Mchegi gave no more trouble and apologised to Martin for his indiscretion, and
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Paddy saw to it that Mchegi received his full ration of excercise [sic] time in the prison yard. It was about three weeks after the choo bucket incident that Paddy was in the yard and attacked from the rear by a prisoner with a pair of 12" scissors. Fortunately Mchegi was watching and although still in leg-irons tackled the assailant, overcoming him just in time. Paddy was still cut, but there was no doubt that Mchegi had saved his life. He took a great interest in Mchegi and asked why he had been a condemned prisoner for so long, just waiting for the death sentance [sic] to be carried out. Paddy saw to it that the stabbing incident received a great deal of publicity, and eventually Mchegi was released from jail. Some years later I found he was a Snr. Warder at the prison.
About the same time, a new recruit joined us, with the same rank, Asst. Supt. Gr.2, but we found his salary was in fact 2 increments (£120 per annum) higher than ours and we wanted to know the reason why. We were told that he had been in the armed services and was awarded two increments for war service. We, apparently, had been under the average age of entry for the Prisons service at the time of our war service. Our next move was to try and compare our respective efforts during the war, but the new recruit was very reticent about his service career, and somehow didn't seem to speak the language of the soldier. It was several weeks later we found he had been in the German Army and the rest of us felt this really was too much. Regulations on war service increments however did refer to the "armed services" and made no mention of which side a fellow was on. We were not still fighting the [deleted] a [/deleted] war, but we were a uniformed service after all. The Gerry could see he was not wanted and resigned.
After 12 months as a Prison Officer I was very disgruntled with the way of life and went to see the Commissioner and gave him one month's notice. This he accepted and on my return to the prison I was handed a letter terminating my appointment with immediate effect, signed by Martin.
I then set about thinking of another job, there was lots of scope and on the air next morning my father suggested I should go and see Joe Furness who was Director of Civil Aviation. Later that day, in prison uniform, I called to see the Personnel Officer of D.C.A., one Bert Leaman, and found there might be a possibility of joining the Telecommunications section, and arranged an interview for the following day.
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[underlined] CIVIL AVIATION [/underlined]
In April 1951 I joined the E.A. Directorate of Civil Aviation as a Radio Officer on a salary of £610 per year. I had no relevant qualifications for this job but I could cope with the morse code at 25 words per minute and had aquired[sic] a general background of aviation during the war years! The first two weeks were spent at R.A.F. Eastleigh studying the workings of the Telecommunications and Air Traffic Control systems, after which I was posted to Mbeya near the Tanganyika/Northern Rhodesia border at 6500 feet above sea level. The journey down to Mbeya was by road, 900 miles, and in the middle of the rainy season. Much advice was received, “all the hotels are closed”, “the roads are waterlogged and blocked”, “there is no petrol beyond Arusha” and so on. We decided to do the trip in four short stages of between 200 and 300 miles per day, with night stops at Arusha, Dodoma and Iringa.
Our 1949 Ford Prefect, KCC13, with 60,000 miles on the clock was reshod at a cost of £10. Recapped tyres were the vogue at that time, a practice which has since stopped, being said to be dangerous. However, those recaps. did 22,000 miles on some of the worst roads in the world, without problems, before being replaced, a better performance than the original new tyres. With the car loaded with household equipment, and with Colin and Wendy lying on blankets near the roof of the car we headed south down “the Great North Road”. The first 100 miles was tarmac and no problem in the pouring tropical rain. Always to the south of us -dead on track- were towering thunderheads of cumulo [sic] -nimbus, but nearing the end of the tarmac the rain stopped. Indeed for the next three days the rain stopped falling about twelve hours ahead of us, but also remained on our tail. On the second day, deep ruts in the road caused a broken rear spring near Dodoma, but this was repaired overnight at George’s Garage; very well equipped with spare springs was George. Crossing the hundreds of fords, or drifts was exciting and at times quite hilarious, many being over 100 years wide and comprising merely a strip of concrete 10 feet wide on the bed of the river. Most of them were covered by water, hiding the concrete and the only clue to its location was provided by the poles at each side of the drift. More often than not the river bed at the side of the concrete was worn away creating a drop of a foot or so. A piece of thick wire fixed to the front of the car together with a vertical line on the windscreen, could be lined up with the centre of the two distant poles. By ignoring everything else and having implicit faith in the navigational instrument, we always reached the other side without going over the edge. Without this blind faith there would have been a tendency to keep a little to the up-stream side of the drift. To go over the edge on the other side could have been disastrous. In two places on the second day we were really bogged down in mud but we quickly mastered the technique of driving in reverse over the worst parts, thus becoming front-wheel drive. The most interesting village we passed was Kondor Arangi, between Dodoma and Iringa, on the third day. A beautifully painted and spotlessly clean Arab village, probably unchanged for centuries and almost completely independent of the world outside. After over 35 years I can still recall the aroma of freshly-baked bread, and the welcoming atmosphere of the village. On through Iringa and the final leg of 250 miles of the beautiful scenery of Southern Highlands, completely unspoilt by development. After a night at the Iringa Hotel, we had made our usual early-morning start and reached Mbeya by mid-day. Straight to the Railway station in
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Mbeya, a typical East African Railways and Harbours station complete with platforms, but the nearest railway lines and trains were over 400 miles away. A search for Paddy and Jeep, our two alsations, which had been put on the train five days previously in Nairobi, was to no avail. It was to be a further three days before they reached Mbeya, very hungry and very thirsty. After a night in ‘Links’ Salter’s Mbeya Hotel we inspected our new home at the airport. Known as Wilson Airways Rest House, built in 1932 for use by British Airways – before the change of name to Imperial Airways, and B.O.A.C. – It was ‘U’ shaped with 2 kitchens and 10 bedrooms. No electricity of course but a dozen or so paraffin lamps took care of the lighting problem. An african [sic] was provided to carry water from a tap about four hundred yards away to keep our small tank topped-up. The house was very convenient at the side of the runway, actually the grass landing area. It was very pleasant to sit on the verandah[sic] where there was a wonderful view of Mbeya Peak. We had only two neighbours, the Claytons from Burnley who were ‘refugees’ from the groundnut scheme at Kongwa and now in charge of a tipper unit with the Public Works Dept., and Bwana Grigg, an old-timer who had been a prospector and was then a Weights and Measures Inspector.
Mbeya was our home for 2 1/2 years, the aerodrome had been up-graded from a one-man to two-man station open from 0600 to 1800 hrs. every day. My colleague was George Hanson, who originally hailed from Selby in Yorkshire, an ex-wireless operator in Royal Signals during the war who had joined E.A. Posts and Telegraphs as a Radio Officer in 1947. George had spent 3 years in Burma during the war and returned to Selby in 1946. To find his fiance [sic] in the arms of two Italian prisoners. According to George he gave the Italians a thrashing – which would have been very true to character – and left them with their heads jammed in the railings, to be released later by the fire-brigade. The Law caught up with him and George was given a dressing -down by the magistrate who said “We don’t want ruffians like you in this country”. George claims he told the magistrate to get some service in and his knees brown and the case was adjourned. At that time the Crown Agents were recruiting for East African Posts & Telegraphs Dept. and George felt it was time to emigrate. All aeronautical communications were handled by E.A.P. & T. until the end of 1950 when they were taken over by the Directorate of Civil Aviation. George and I had to cover 84 hours each week between us, thoeoretically[sic] a 42 hour week, but there was no provision for sickness, local leave, and the many chores which required both of us, like being in three places simultaneously. We were assisted by an african [sic] wireless operator, a Kikuyu 1200 miles from his home, a cleaner, a watchman, and a diesel mechanic, Kundan Singh Babra, all of whom lived on the station. George and I agreed our individual responsibilities, we would each carry out our 42 hours per week on watches, which included R/T to aircraft on HF and VHF, an aerodrome control function, W/T to Nairobi as required, originating meteorological reports each hour and coding them into Aero format, and customs duties. In addition, he would deal with all the admin., and I would see to the technical aspect of keeping the station on the air.
The station had been established in 1932 and the original Marconi M/F Beacon, a type TA4A was still in use and in immaculate condition. We had a stock of MT16 valves enough to last for another 30 years. We also had an ex-South African Air Force T1190 of 1933 vintage, fitted in 1940, and four ET4336 transmitters for working aircraft on R/T and Nairobi on W/T. Everything was in very good condition and gave me no problems. Our “office” was at the D/F
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(direction finding) station, and was fitted with one of the original DFG10 Marconi recieivers [sic] .
We could not see the runway from the office, which rather limited our scope in controlling it.
Each week, Mbeya had only 4 East African Airways scheduled Dakotas and Loadstars, on the Nairobi-Dar es Salaam route, plus a Beaver of Central African Airways from Blantyre in Nyasaland and one R.A.F. transport from Johannesburg to Nairobi. There were also up to a dozen or so charters which sometimes arrived with little or no notice. Our M/F Beacon was the only navigation aid for some hundreds of miles in all directions. The D/F Receiver was not in use and had a faulty power unit. This I serviced and used the receiver for monitoring Tabora’s M/F Beacon. We were operating also on 6440 KHz, the Salisbury F.I.C. channel, unofficially, to keep in touch with the Beaver aircraft which were not fitted with Nairobi F.I.C. channels. This proved very useful and also gave us a rapid link with Salisbury Ndola and Blantyre. One day and R.A.F. Anson called on [underlined] 6440 [/underlined] and reported his MF/DF receiver, - in his only [inserted in margin] NOT 6440 BUT 5190[?] [/inserted in margin] navigational aid – out of order. He was over mountains, - he hoped – in cloud, could we give him QDM’s, (courses to steer) on M/F ?. I told him to transmit on 333 KHz, the standard frequency for this purpose, and it took only a few seconds to retune the DFG10 to this frequency. For the next 2 1/2 hrs. I gave him a QDM every three minutes. The weather was bad and the aircraft eventually landed at Mbeya, staying overnight. The Navigator was visibly shaken, he did not know his position, only that if he acted on the QDM,’s he would eventually reach Mbeya. Only after landing could he calculate his ground speed, about 70 knots. On arrival over Mbeya the crew were able to see Mbeya Peak above cloud, This was five miles to the North of us and with a cloud base of 3000 feet above the aerodrome they were able to descent and land. All this would of course have been totally unacceptable to a civilian aircraft which would have possibly returned to it’s starting point. The R.A.F. aircraft without any Nav. Aids had really no option. Some weeks later we received a letter from the R.A.F. thanking us for the assistance we had given the Anson crew in providing M/F bearings thus preventing a possible disaster, etc. etc. Unfortunately this letter was also copied to D.C.A. H.Q. with another asking if the facility could be retained. The next mail brought a letter from our own boss, the Director of Civil Aviation.. “Whilst complimenting and thanking you for taking the initiative on this occasion…”. The letter went on to point out the legal significance of giving information to pilots and of undertaking to provide a direction-finding facility with 20-year old equipment and no spares. I made sure I could provide an alternative power supply of 2 and 130 volts which did not take much imagination and adapted some modern valves – type 6C4 – with bases to replace the original 1930 vintage triodes. There were not used in my 2 1/2 years in Mbeya and we continued to give bearings to the R.A.F. unofficially. About 2 years later a Pye VHF set was fitted together with a D/F antenna and also a modern Redifon M/F Beacon, both with an effective range no better than 25% of the 1932 equipment. This was not the fault of the manufacturers. In the case of the D/F the reason was the difference in propagation characteristics and with the M/F Beacon it would have been better to retain the original 1932 Marconi type antenna.
I have no notes of this period, but memories are many. I recall seeing a Cheetah on the grass landing area we called a runway, whilst carrying
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out a runway inspection. As I approached, the cheetah ran off. My foot was hard down doing 58 m.p.h. just behind it, but the cheetah gradually drew away. Daily inspection of the ‘runway’ was necessary. Ant-Bear holes appeared quite often, and just one of these was sufficient to wreck an aircraft. Africans had free access to the runway except when aircraft were actually using it. One evening a grass fire started and swept first along the windward side of the runway where the grass was long, and then crossed it in a line of flame and black smoke the whole length of the runway. Hilda and I were on foot at the other side of the runway and witnessed literally hundreds of snakes fleeing from the fire. There were lots of snakes and other creatures in that area which after all was open African bush. This was again highlighted at 6 am one morning when I drove to the D/F station and opened up the radio. It was still dark and there was a very pungent smell of pigs. I assumed there was a dead animal outside but within a few minutes it was daylight and having established contact with Nairobi on w/t and confirmed there were no overnight disasters requiring my attention, I went outside to investigate. There were elephants all over the place, standing there, and looking just as surprised as I was. I made a strategic withdrawal smartly into the D/F station and bolted the door. On my way to the office I had met the African nightwatchman who was waving his arms about and saying something about ‘tembo mningi sani”. The word Tembo was generally associated with Elephant Brand Beer, which was more a part of everyday life in our immediate area than the animal after which it was named. I assumed he had been drinking and thought no more of it. The africans too were soon awake and trying to chase the elephants out of the maize, throwing tin cans, stones and even pangas at them. Three africans were killed in the process. Meanwhile I telephoned the police who said it was not their shouri (affair), “tell the Game Warden”. It was then 6.15am. and the Game Warden would not take the matter seriously, claiming I was drinking too much, “see the M.O.”! There was a scheduled Dakota due at 7 am. and I asked the pilot to overfly the runway and make sure there were no elephants on it, and this he agreed to do. I gave him the surface wind and QNH and landing clearance, and he came straight in and landed, without checking. He too thought I was not being serious about the elephants. It was mid-day before the elephants left of their own accord and moved back towards the mountains to the south. The Africans said the elephant movement was a sure sign that Rungwe, our local dormant volcano was about to erupt, and the elephants had already received warning. They took me to the fire trench round the Shell petrol dump which was 10 feet deep, and showed me the alternate layers of volcanic ash and sandy soil, starting at the bottom with four inch layers. At the 5’ level about 8” layers, gradually thickening as compression decreased to a 12” layer of ash and finally, 18” of soil at the top. There was no record of the date of the last erruption,[sic] probably some hundreds of years ago. We did experience several earth tremmors [sic] in Mbeya, but it was a nice life and we decided to stick it out!
Colin and Wendy were attending Mrs. Maugham-Brown’s infants school in the town and were making very good progress. Hilda was doing retouching of photographs for Arthur Firmin which were sent to and from his Nairobi office by air mail. It was in Mbeya that I built my first amateur transmitter with bits and pieces from the junk box, and was soon in daily contact with the outside world on the morse key.
On the sixth of Feb. 1952 I called my chum in Liverpool as usual and he told me that all U.K. stations were closed for the day in deference to King
[inserted] G6YQ George [/inserted]
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George VI who had died during the night. Later that day Hilda and I went to Mbeya School to see Colin, expecting the football match to have been cancelled. I expressed my surprise to the Provincial Commissioner (the King’s direct representative) that the Union Jacks were not at half mast and the game still on. He told me not to spread rumours and he would deal with me after the game. Just after half-time a Police askari despatch rider drove onto the field and gave the P.C., who was referee, a message. The P.C. stopped the game and announced that the King was dead. He was very annoyed indeed that I had received the message direct from U.K., many hours ahead of the official channels. Mbeya had a local telephone service which did not connect with any other. It was also at one end of a single-wire line of about 1000 miles which was used for passing telegraph messages. This linked about 30 places ‘up-country’ with Dar es Salaam, the Capital. There was no other way officially of telecommunicating with Mbeya. It so happened that I had a pair of ex-military amplified telephones, which were battery powered, press-to-talk operation and which gave an amplification each of 20 dB (100 times). I sent one of these to Jimmie Waldron in Dar es Salaam and by arrangement he called me one morning at 0545 on this line. We had a first-class conversation which was truly remarkable. This was possible only because the operators at the 30 or so other stations were still asleep, and not interfering. I have no doubt this particular exploit would compare very favourably with the record longest telephone conversation over a single wire and earth, if indeed a record has been established.
George Hanson and I got on very well with each other, both being from Yorkshire and both being ex-Service, but eventually his tour of 2 1/2 years was completed and he was succeeded by Doug. Clifton, who was ex-PTT and R.A.F. ground wireless operator. We moved into the cottage vacated by George and family, near to the transmitting station, and I ran a mains cable underground between the two. This gave us 230 ac. Power for 12 hours a day and at night whenever the radio beacon was required for overflying aircraft.
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One quiet morning the Provincial Commisioner [sic] asked me to his home to discuss a problem, and on arrival I was told that the Governor, Sir Edward Twining was convalescing in Mbeya, having just arrived, but could stay only if he could speak regularly with the Chief Secretary in Dar es Salaam. The Police and Posts & Telegraphs Departments had already been approached and could not assist. I was authorised to cut clean across any rules and regulations in order to set up a communications channel. Back at the D/F Station I sent an official message on the Aeronautical W/T channel to CHF ZHTD (Officer i/c Airport Dar-es-Salaam) asking him to pass a message to Jimmie Waldron, P.T.T. Chief Engineer’s office. I told Jimmie of the Governors request and the powers bestowed upon us, and that I would call him on 7151 KHz which was just above the upper limit of the amateur 40 meter band. I would install a receiver at the P.C.’s house. Would he advise me of his transmitting frequency. Meanwhile I got the local P.T.T. to connect my second aerodrome telephone line to the second line to the P.C.’s house. This automatically provided a microphone for the P.C. and enabled me to make a simple connection to my amateur transmitter at the airport. Half an hour later I received a message on the aeronautical channel “Loud and clear on 7175, Dar es salaam calling you on 8775. A check on my local receiver and indeed there was Jimmie. I then drove to the P.C.’s house and retuned the receiver to 8775, and we had first class duplex communication. A lady’s voice came on “Is that you George?” “No Love, this is Cliff”. “Oh dear, this is Lady Twining, is my husband George there please?” I handed him the telephone and restrained myself from saying “It’s for you George, I thought your name was Edward”. For the next two weeks the link was in constant use and another letter of thanks was sent from D.C.A. in Nairobi.
Why the fuss one might say, but in 1952 it was the very first time [inserted] H E [/inserted] H.H. the Governor had spoken by private radio telephone to his Chief Secretary from outside Dar es Salaam. This was another ‘first’, also on an amateur basis.
At Mbeya Post Office I was introduced to the Manager of New Saza Gold Mine, which was about 100 miles north of Mbeya. He said his radio link with Mbeya had not worked for four years although experts from all over East Africa had tried to fix it. It was a simple w/t link to Mbeya Post Office where there was an operating position and transmitter set up on 3900 KHz which seemed to be a reasonable frequency for the job. “Fix it and you can name your price”, and I agreed to have a go on a ‘no pass, no fee basis’. I first set up a spare DCA transmitter keyed from the D/F station, rather than rely upon co-operation from the Post office. My own DCA operator would monitor. I called the local Post office from the aerodrome but there was no reply. This was the rainy season and it would be a three hour drive through the bush to New Saza, so I lost no time over the Post Office and set off in my Ford Prefect complete with two amateur transmitters and two receivers, any combination of which could do the job if all else failed. On arrival, their station appeared to be working and with adequate output, but I soon found the output stage was doubling to 7.8 MHz. and not amplifying straight through 3.9. A higher tapping on the coil fixed that and I called Mbeya Post office. No reply. Then I called ZEQ3, my own office at the D/F Station and my operator came up trumps. We were in contact with
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Mbeya. I asked my operator to ring the Postmaster asking him to kick his wireless operator. He found the transmitter had the wrong crystal in it and the receiver was also detuned. Having corrected this, all three stations were in contact. The station receiver at New Saza was a pre-war ‘straight set’, that is, not a superhet, and was not ideal, so I added one of my own receivers. In addition, I fitted a second operating position, with my own equipment and separate aerial, as a standby. The manager was delighted and I was rewarded handsomely. Only once in the next 18 months did I need to visit New Saza for a minor fault. Electrical and mechanical power for the mine was derived from a very old wood-burning steam engine of pre-1914 vintage and German manufacture.
On the road about half way to the mine, was Chunya, a typical American-type western one-horse town, the main street being unpaved and 200 feet wide. The place was almost derelict, a few prospectors still panned for gold in the stream, but in years gone by it had supported a population of over 2000. There was a Police post which sported a telephone connected to Mbeya Post office. The overhead line ran at the side of the ‘road’ and I had this in mind for emergency use. A field telephone was part of my standard safari equipment in the car. Later on I carried a transmitter on the aeronautical H/F channels in addition. Communications was often the key to survival.
One very hot day, about noon, George Blodgett, an American tourist, took off from Mbeya in his Cessna 180 with his wife and another passenger, continuing their round-the-world holiday. The aircraft carried the same load as when it took off from Dar es salaam without problem a week or so previously. But Dar was at sea level, and Mbeya at 6500 feet. Dar had a proper concrete runway with a clear flight path. Mbeya had a grass ‘runway’, much shorter and with a small hill at one end and a mountain within 4 miles at the other end. It was the slight banking to avoid the small hill which caused the aircraft to stall and plough along the ground, writing itself off. It took me several minutes to reach the wreck, to find a bewildered trio shaken-up, but physically unhurt. There was a strong smell of petrol which came from a 5 gallon can INSIDE the aircraft. The can had a hand pump and hose which fitted on the drain cock of a fuel tank inside the port wing. Transferring the petrol was achieved by opening a window and leaning out to fix the pipe. This rather surprised me as George was a very experienced pilot and was in fact the first to cross the Andes in Peru, solo, where some years later he went missing without trace. His life-story was written up in Time & Life and referring to his accident in Mbeya, it said he had crashed in the bush and the Despatcher from Mbeya trecked [sic] all night to reach the aircraft, to find George and his passengers surrounded by lions and tigers. Lions were a possibility but the only tigers in Africa are [deleted] a few imported ones in captivity. [/deleted] [inserted] in West Africa and are not tigers as we know them. [/inserted]
Mbeya was a peaceful place, and to a large extent we were able to plan our lives. Occasionally we became involved with the local tribesmen, particularly after one of their frequent skirmishes. Generally a small group would appear at the house bearing the injured on bicycles with blood all over the place, and asking me to take the casualties to hospital. The first time this happened I took them by car to the African Hospital and not really knowing the system, gave them my name. Some weeks later I received the bill. Subsequent deliveries were made in the name of Ramsey Macdonald!
Soon after joining DCA I noticed on one of many flight plans received the name of Iliffe as Captain of an incoming Dakota. When the First Officer
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called me on VHF I requested him to ask the Captain if the number 1090111 meant anything to him. Back came the reply, affirmative. I gave him my first service number 1384956 and after he had landed, went over to the Terminal Building to see him. There wasn’t much time for reminiscing but he marvelled that I had remembered his first service number. It was on a pay parade in Bulawayo that Howard’s name was not called with the others in alphabetical order. It was called at the very end when he gave his ‘last three’, somewhat disgruntled, as “Sir, One one bloody one”.
We had seen a great deal of each other on the troopship going to Durban and until our ways parted at Belvedere where Howard got his wings and my records were stamped ‘Wastage’. After his training at Belvedere, he completed S.F.T.S. on Oxfords and in U.K. converted to Dakotas. His war was on Transport Command, flying Dakotas. We met several times in the next 15 years, the last time being in 1965 when Howard was the Captain of a Comet of East African Airways returning to the U.K.
After 2 1/2 years in Tanganyika our tour was finished and we were due for 6 months leave in U.K.. We opted to travel by air rather than sea but did not realise when making the decision that this referred to trunk travel to U.K. from the International Airport of the territory in which we finished our tour. It was unlikely that we would return to Mbeya after leave, my successor expecting to stay for the full 2 1/2 years. All our effects were crated up whilst we spent the last week in Mbeya Hotel. The car was left with the Postmaster and Paddy our Alsation [sic] boarded with Mrs. Maugham-Brown. And so with four children, Christopher a baby of 4 months, we said farewell to Mbeya at the railway station, not by train but by diesel-powered bus - referred to as a ‘taxi’ by the Africans. The first leg took us the 250 miles through Southern Highlands to Iringa, where accommodation was reserved at Iringa Hotel. The next day was very similar, by another ‘taxi’ to Dodoma. The drivers were Africans, probably ex-Kings African Rifles, and their driving was of a very high standard considering the state of the road. There was some tarmac in the towns, but otherwise the road surface was graded murram, a well-packed reddish sand. This was apt to become corrugated after rain and scarred with deep wheel ruts. Ruts made by lorries could be quite deep and dangerous to cars with little clearance below. The ‘taxi’ took us direct to the railway station at Dodoma where we had been advised to request compartments as near to the engine as possible, where the sway is minimum. The first job was to wash all the nappies and as we had two compartments it was easy to sling a couple of lines and hang up the nappies to dry. It was very hot in Dodoma, and the carriage windows were all open because of the heat. In the evening the engine got up steam and the train moved off amid clouds of thick black smoke, most of which seemed to come in at the windows. For 18 hours we chugged across the plains with its tens of thousands of many different types of wild animals, gradually descending to the coast and becoming progressively hotter. Arriving in Dar es Salaam at about 4 pm., the temperature in the shade was 120 deg.f. and it was a great relief to flop onto the beds in the air-conditioned hotel. The evening was spent in trying to clean up our clothing and indeed ourselves, with Christopher’s nappies hanging on lines in the hotel room. The nappies dried within an hour but were still filthy. After a browse around the big stores in Dar, we handed in our 480 lbs. of baggage and placed ourselves in the capable hands of B.O.A.C.
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Our flight home was by Arganaut, [sic] 16 hours flying, stopping at Nairobi, Entebbe, Khartoum, Benghazi and Rome. Plenty of seat room, excellent food and a very comfortable flight. One engine developed trouble approaching Italy and we were delayed for 24 hours in Rome. The Romans were hostile to the British at that time, I cannot remember why this was so, but we enjoyed a conducted tour of Rome and first-class hotel accommodation. At breakfast next morning I thought I recognised a fellow at the next table. He was under the same impression and when he spoke to us there was instant recognition. He was the B.O.A.C. Rep. in Rome and we had seen a great deal of each other on the squadron in North Africa. He was then W/O Woolston, a pilot on 150 Sqdn. We arrived in London 24 hours late, but there were no complaints. B.O.A.C. had made the trip very enjoyable.
The greater part of our leave was spent in London with Hilda’s parents, and I took the opportunity of spending 12 weeks at the School of Telegraphy in Brixton, for an Intermediate C. & G. in Telecomms and a P.M.G 1st. Class licence. I was also on a course of Dexedrine to reduce my weight, eating very little and actually losing it at the rate of 1lb. per day, for 44 days. Peter Gunns, another D.C.A., Radio Officer had been at the school for 6 months and was doing the complete 12 month course for a P.M.G. second class licence. I decided to give it three months and take the first class ticket. The Principal at the school advised against it, almost everyone first obtained a second-class ticket before trying for a first. For three months I swatted hard, long into the night and then went to Post Office H.Q. in St. Martin-le-Grand and applied to take the P.M.G.1 licence. The Chief examiner asked to see my second-class licence and when I said I didn’t have one, he said “look son, try for a second class and if you pass, come back in a few years time and try for a first”. I replied that I was not interested in anything second-class and he shrugged his shoulders and booked me to take the exam. three days hence. The exam. took from 9 am to 5 pm., written and practical and was quite intensive. The final part was the morse test at 25 w.p.m. and the examiner was wearing an R.S.G.B. tie. I took a chance at the end of the test and sent, on the key ‘QRA? De VQ4BM’ and after an exchange of greetings he asked me if I was returning to Kenya. I replied “yes, but only if I pass this exam”. He sent QRX3 and left the room, returning with a smile and said “strictly off the record, you could book your ticket”. The next three days were taken up with City & Guilds exams, and I was delighted when my P.M.G. licence arrived by post. The following day, feeling on top line, Hilda and I went to M.C.A. Headquarters at Berkeley Square and I applied to take the Flight Radio Officer’s exam. I found this was held only twice yearly and by sheer coincidence the next one was the following day. I was told to just fill in the form, pay £3 and come back at 0830 the next day. I saw the Chief examiner and told him I wasn’t quite prepared for the exam. at such short notice, it was many years since I had studied the S.B.A. and Navigational aids. He told me not to worry about them and to check through the last 5 exam. papers, copies of which he lent me. They could be bought openly from the “shop” downstairs, but this was already closed. He also said “bear in mind that everything has its own natural frequency”. I spent until 5 am next morning making sure I could answer all the questions on those papers, and doubly sure of the compulsory questions. I noticed that
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year 4 had the same compulsory questions as year 1, and year 5 the same as year 2. Year 6 was to be my lot and if this was to be the same as year 3, on cathode ray tubes, all would be well, and I had a couple of hours sleep. It had taken me a long time to realise what the Chief Examiner had meant by “it’s own natural frequency”.
The exams were spread over a period of two days and I failed two of them. The first was a three-minute test writing down the phonetic alphabet and I wrote “Alpha bravo coca delta foxtrot golf hotel etc.” The examiner looked over my shoulder and remarked “what on earth have we here, have you never heard of able baker Charlie?”. I thought this was a catch and I said “yes but that went out three years ago when I.C.A.O. introduced this one”. It seemed that Britain was three years behind the rest of the world on this simple issue. I had however quite rightly failed on R/T procedure. All went well on a simulated flight from Manchester to Jersey when I received a chitty that both engines had stopped and we were on fire. There was already a M’iadez in force from another aircraft and I broke radio silence and put out my own “M’aidez” without the Captain’s authority and that was the end of the exam. FAILED! on two counts. I had passed two three hour written papers, a two hour practical exam., an hour’s morse at 25 w.p.m. and failed on two ridiculous details. I said I was sufficiently experienced to anticipate the Captain’s instruction to send out an SOS but the book does say that only the Captain has the authority. However, I paid another £3 which I could by then ill-afford and resat the two parts the following morning. The licence came by post a few days later. The R/T Procedure test was the same as before, and when we reached the point where I had put out my M’aidez I just sat tight. I heard the other aircraft transmit his SOS again and it was acknowledged by Jersey Approach. Without authority to transmit an SOS I could not break radio silence according to the regulations and I continued to sit tight. One minute of real time was equivalent to 10 minutes of ‘flying’ and after 30 minutes of theoretical flying time I removed my headphones and placed them on the table. The examiner did likewise and asked me what I thought I was doing.
I just said “swimming to the surface”. He laughed and said O.K. at least you didn’t originate a M’aidez. In the practical M.C.A. exam the equipment in use was the T1154 and R1155 and the main object of the examiner seemed to me to be one of getting me confused, argumentative and thoroughly rattled. Thanks maybe to the dexedrine I realised what his game was and remained very calm indeed. He admitted afterwards that he was trying to get me rattled, remaining calm and composed was all important in the air!. I cast my mind back 10 years but said nothing.
Meanwhile Peter Gunns was still plodding on and becoming very discouraged. I urged him to take the PMG2 the following week, there was little point in further delay. I spent a week with him going through every paper set for 5 years, and he was successful in the exam. A few weeks later we returned to Nairobi together. About 10 years later Peter died of a heart attack whilst on night duty in the Nairobi Communications Centre. He was taking a short break and read in the newspaper that Pinnocks had folded up. He had £15,000 invested with them, and the loss was too much to bear. After a few weeks at Eastleigh I was posted to Mwanza on the southern shores of Lake Victoria, again in Tanganyika.
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Our car, a Ford Prefect KCC13 (new price £400) and Paddy our alsatian, were nearly 1000 miles away in Mbeya and I was able to scrounge a flight as supernumery [sic] crew with East African Airways. The return journey by road with Paddy took 30 hours non-stop except for refuelling and for half an hour at dawn when driving was dangerous. The work in Nairobi was operating air/ground channels on R/T and W/T and also at the D/F station giving H/F bearings to aircraft on the Khartoum and Johannesburg sectors where navigation aids were few and far between. It transpired later that the D/F station was adjacent to the Mau Mau graveyard. I recall one day looking out of the door and seeing the police askari guard fast asleep with his loaded rifle on the ground beside him. More for security reasons than mischief I took the rifle inside the building and it was still there when I closed the station at 1830. But there was no sign of the askari, so I put the rifle in the loft of the small building, intending to do something about it next day. Somehow I forgot all about it for two weeks and then handed in the rifle at the R.A.F. guardroom and questioned why the police had taken no action. The askari had just disappeared without trace.
Once again our household effects were packed into crates, and despatched by ‘rail’ to Mwanza. We had exchanged our Ford Prefect for an Austin A70 and motored via Kitale (my father’s farm) to Kisumu where we boarded the M.V. Rusinga. The Rusinga ploughed clockwise round the lake shore calling at Musoma, Mwanza, Bukoba, Entebbe, Jinja and complete circle to Kisumu. Her sister ship the M.V. Usoga called at the same ports, but went anti-clockwise round the lake. A third ship, the M.V. Sybil was smaller and more or less a reserve vessel. Lake Victoria was the second largest inland sea in the world, and became the largest when its level rose 8 feet with the building of the dam at Jinja a few years later. The voyage of about 200 miles took a very pleasant 30 hours with one halt at Musoma. We were met at Mwanza Port by Johnny King who I was relieving. He said he expected to return to Mwanza in 6 months as it was his station and his wife’s father was Government entomologist permanently stationed there. His wife’s family were German, very domineering and forceful. I didn’t mind the mother’s clay pipe but took an instant dislike to her Bavarian-type husband. I insisted upon a proper formal take-over at the airport which was just as well, and the proper storage of King’s personal effects at P.W.D and not in the transmitter room. For a couple of weeks we stayed at Mwanza Hotel and then moved to a delightful house at Bwiru, facing north with a wonderful view over Lake Victoria. Palm trees in the foreground, paw paw trees in the garden and - we discovered much later - leopard in the hills at the back of the house. The water supply came from a storage tank half a mile up the hill via a metal pipe on the surface of the ground, and was always hot enough for a bath without further heating. The water had to remain in our roof storage tank for some time before we could regard it as being a cold water supply. Water and electricity could not be taken for granted in East Africa, but the house was connected to the town electricity supply.
The airport was a fairly new one about 10 miles east of town, by the lake shore, the single runway 18/36 being of grass. It was a neat little place, the transmitters being in the room below the Control Tower with two diesel engines and fire station being in a custom-built building 50 yards away. The
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transmitters were two RCA ET4336s, a G54 Redifon M/F Beacon and an ex-R.A.F. T1154. In the Control Tower was a Pye PTC704 VHF set with a direction-finding antenna. There were only 6 scheduled aircraft per week and an average of about 10 charters. This was a ‘one man’ station and my working hours were long. Perhaps the highlight of the tour was the four-day visit of H.R.H. Princess Margaret. The ten mile road to town was ‘tarmaced’ [sic] a few days before her arrival. The original murrum (red sand) surface was first graded and then covered by a quarter inch layer of chippings and sprayed with tar. The cost was £11,000 which was charged to my aerodrome maintenance vote. For the few days of the visit the road looked really superb, and then just a few days later it rained and the remains of the “tarmac surface” were cleared away by grader, the surface reverting to murram once more.
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Every effort was being made by the Administration to make the Royal Visit a success and the costs were covered somehow. The M.V. Sybil was in dock for 6 months at Kisumu being completely refitted so the Princess could spend just a few hours on the lake. An R.A.F. Shackleton flew down from Aden to provide an escort for the Sybil. Four radio stations were established on the boat, each with an operator, to contact the Police on H/F W/T, Aircraft on VHF, Mwanza Airport on H/F R/T, and E. A. Railways & Harbours. Just about every vessel afloat on Lake Victoria seemed to be milling around outside the harbour waiting for the Sybil and the Princess. A Widgeon aircraft, the only amphibean [sic] in E. Africa, was detailed to position itself at the end of the runway at instant readiness for take-off. The Shackleton took-off to patrol an hour before the Sybil was due to leave harbour, Captain Chris Treen positioned his Widgeon and stayed put with engines idling. All the Sybil's radios were tested and people were getting excited. We were then advised that it was a case of not tonight Josephine, H.R.H. had a headache, the trip was cancelled. The Shackleton, looking remarkably like a real Lancaster landed on my murrum runway, and the Widgeon had to be towed in backwards, the engines having over-heated.
In company with all the other Colonial officials I had been given six pages of foolscap telling me how to address the Princess and how to conduct myself in the Royal presence. There was also an application form for a Permit to be at the airport for her arrival and another application form regarding my being presented to the Princess. It was the two application forms which bugged me. I refused to apply for a permit to enter the airport where every aspect was my responsibility, if anyone denied me access, be it on their own head. "Before applying to be presented", the write-up stated, "You must qualify under at least one of the following headings:-
1. Be a Government Servant on a salary exceeding '£x'
2. Be a serving officer of H. M. forces,
3. Be a retired officer having held a rank above 'Y'
4. Hold a Civil Decoration equivalent or senior to an M.B.E.
5. Hold a military decoration.
6. Have already been presented to another member of the Royal Family.
There was virtually an order to apply if one qualified and this decided me to ignore the whole issue. I was not in favour of the pomp and circumstance and the relatively vast expenditure involved, and I was never any good at playing charades and other party games.
Just before the Royal Visit a gang of workmen turned up at the airport and were starting to fit a toilet suite in the 'Crew Room'. This was a small room where aircrews could relax and enjoy a little privacy between flights. Toilet facilities were quite adequate without specially converting the crew room for the Princess. I vetoed the plan, and finally the toilet wing, already with four Asian type and four European type loos was enhanced with one new and rather superior loo. The superloo did come in useful however; whilst the Princess was inspecting the guard of honour, the bare-chested Engineer of the Widgeon aircraft appeared inside the Terminal building,
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looking quite incongruous in his filthy shorts and sandals. I told him to keep out of sight until Princes Margaret had left. He did, and hid in the superloo. After the visit, someone fixed a royal coat of arms an the door to which I had the only key. I was tempted to replace the heraldry with a replica of the board made for me by one of the German prisoners at Poynton. written in Gothic characters "Lager Kommandant, Eintritt Verbotten".
The Royal Visit was the highlight of the decade for Mwanza, the road to the aerodrome was closed for three hours and all the Police were concerned only with the visit. It was during that three hours the villains broke into many European houses. We lost all our shoes which were not actually being worn at the time, some clothing, and all our clocks including a time-switch I had just repaired for someone.
There was one charter aircraft based at Mwanza, the Widgeon piloted by Chris Treen. It was a very busy aircraft, being an amphibean [sic] , going relatively short flights mostly around the lake shore. Chris had a full-time engineer who was not very co-operative, and the operation proved to be uneconomical although Chris tried very hard. He was on Transport Command during the war and later flew in the Berlin Air Lift, then flew the Widgeon from U.K., 6000 miles to Mwanza. The airline had its moments, on one occasion the Provincial Commissioner was climbing out of the aircraft at Ukerewe Island into a dingy which collapsed and he was nearly drowned. Submerged rack. and crocodiles added to the excitement
One of the busiest aircraft at Mwanza was a Miles Magister which, was owned privately and which has also been flown out from England by its owner, an official of the Lint & Seed Marketing Board, who also had an Aircraft Maintenance Engineers' licence. It became the main asset of the Mwanza Aeroclub and was very active at weekends.
The tribe an Ukerewe Island had it's own language, and the story goes that the District Officer studied the language and wrote a dictionary and grammar for it. Having done so he applied for the £60 per year "language competency allowance", and to qualify had first to pass the Official Colonial Office exam. in the subject. The Colonial Office department which organised such matters was duly asked to prepare an exam. and find an invigilator for it, but was not given the identity of the candidate. There was no record of anyone being able to speak the language, and they approached the obvious source, the District Officer Ukerewe. As a part of his normal chores he was pleased to prepare the two papers as 2 hours of translation each way between English and the native language of Ukerewe. On arrival in U. K. on leave, he received a letter from another Colonial Office department, addressing him by name and asking him to invigilate at as examination, giving the venue and date. Shortly after, yet another office wrote to him advising him that an examination had been arranged and wishing him luck in the exam. He hardly needed it, reporting as directed in his official capacities as both invigilator and examinee. Not only that, but he had also prepared the examination papers. He was the only European who knew the language and he got his £60. per annum. The common language with the natives was of course an up-country impure Swahili, as in all parts of East Africa.
I had studied Kiswahili in the Prisons Service and from books, but the grammatical version was spoken only at the coast and on the radio. The
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Africans in the Prison Service and those I worked with spoke the up-country version, almost completely ungrammaticaI. The further one went from the coast the more it became a matter of joining words together. Nevertheless, it was an interesting and descriptive Ianguage. Beautiful words like 'maradadi' which in fact is an adjective meaning 'beautiful', and 'tafadahali', said to mean 'please' , but I never actually heard an African use it. ' Asanti' meaning thankyou was frequently used. Calling someone a "shenzi" hardly needs translation.
The Caspair Lake Service operated daily. Based at Entebbe, a DeHavilland Rapide flew to Kisumu, Musoma, Mzanza, Bukoba and back to Entebbe. It called at Mwanza three times weekly and remained on the ground for 4 hours. Paddy O'Reilly was the most colourful of the pilots and on one occasion was missing when the aircraft was due to take-off. He had borrowed a native canoe and paddled out into the lake for some peace and quiet. He was very soon asleep and when he awoke he found he was two miles off-shore without a paddle. He was soon rescued and took off two hours late.
I had a very good African Assistant at Mwanza, Zepherino Shija, and he was a tremendous help in making things run smoothly. In fact my African staff were all good types, far from home, politicians and the trouble-makers to be influenced by them.
It was at Mwanza that I really became involved with radio repairs, and once I had repaired a few, word quickly spread and I was inundated with them. Many of the 'dukes' -shops- in town sold radios but hadn't the vaguest idea how they worked or how to repair them. Most of the radio owned by the Africans were powered by dry batteries, using a 4-pin plug on the power lead which was very often forced the wrong way into the socket on the battery. This instantly blew all four valves for which the shops charged 25 shillings each. I bought valves for 3 shillings each in quantity and sold them in sets of 4 for forty shillings, throwing in a new and better type plug. I must have repaired over a thousand radios in two years, plus many bigger sets for Europeans. Before very long I met Mr. Manning, the American Head of the African Inland Mission in the Province, and he showed me a room full of equipment, domestic radios, car radios, record players, tape recorders, transmitters, P.A. ampIifiers etc. etc. Every item was faulty. I was invited to repair what I could, keep what I wanted and throw out anything that was past it. Three trans-receivers were very attractive and they needed only setting up. Independent transmitter and receiver units powered from 115v a.c. but with rather limited frequency coverage of 5 to 8 MHz. I used them on the air for a couple of weeks and they were then taken by road to African Inland Mission stations in the Belgium Congo where they had a network on 7150 KHz. These sets were to prove very useful within a few years during the Congo rebellion which came with "Independence". It took me 6 months to empty the room, and all except three or four units were returned to use within the Mission organisation. Those three or four units caused a misunderstanding with Mr. Manning. I said "These units are U/S, best place for them is in the lake", and I could see that I had upset him. He associated my expression 'U.S' . with Uncle Sam, or the United States, but when I explained it meant ‘unservicable’ in English Service jargon a crisis was avoided.
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I met a fellow called Nawotsey, supposed to be a Belgian, who was making a fortune killing crocodiles for their skins. He had just about wiped them out on Lake Rukwa. His technique was to use an infra-red lamp and sniperscope at very close range, typically six feet. His equipment gave a lot of trouble and I charged him well over the odds for repairs. In reality he was German, and ex-German army. There were many of them in ex-German Tanganyika but few had the guts to admit it, and there was not a nazi among them, in theory.
Eventually one of the dukas offered me £50 per month cash if would stop doing radio repairs. This was not far short of my salary and quite a compliment, but not accepted.
We became very friendly with one German, Dr. Schupler, who had been a wartime Medical Officer in the Luftwaffe. He was serving in Dresden the night of the 13th. of February 1945 when it was attacked by over 800 R.A.F. bombers, followed by over 300 American Fortresses the next day, causing between them 137,000 casualties including an estimated 50,000 killed. A doctor somehow seemed to be in a different and acceptable category, but our talks had reminded one of a period I had almost forgotten, and about which I had stopped thinking. One good point in East Africa's favour, there was very little to remind us of the war. A row of ribbons perhaps on a police uniform, or a retired senior type using his old rank, but there were few occasions when we compared, notes on our respective war efforts. The Germans were supposed to be super-efficient, a myth already exploded, but in the main they were still mostly distrusted.
Mwanza was a peaceful place, there was only one murder during our 2 years residence, and that was committed by a mad african from Dodoma, 400 miles away. I could not have visualised at the time that within twentyseven years this nice little airport would be bombed by the Uganda Air Force. I can picture now the little bakery where the murder was committed. It was in same road just before we left that a hyena was running down the road to meet us. We were in the Austin A70 which already had a damaged right. wing and I put on full speed. We met the hyena head-on, relative speed about 70 and he was thrown completely over the car. He lay on the road for about two minutes, then picked himself up and loped off into the bush. We had ringside seats watching an interesting battle between hyena and baboon one evening. Our bungalow was on the hillside and the bedroom windows on one side were 15 feet above ground, and level with the tops of the pawpaw trees, heavily laden with fruit. The baboon were taking the fruit and being attacked by about a dozen hyena which were being thrown around by the baboon. The fight finished suddenly for reasons best known to the combatants. They might have sensed the presence of a leopard, which was very likely, but we were not aware of the leopards ourselves until a few weeks later. In the middle of one night we were awakened by a scuffling outside the window and there was the most obnoxious stench. There was the so-called laugh of the hyena and a deep sawing sound which we were told was a leopard. It seemed that a hyena had been dragging an old carcass along when it was disturbed by a leopard. The carcass was dropped outside our bedroom window and later one of them returned to collect it. Apparently baboon are the favourite diet of the leopard and everything including baboon and leopard dislikes the hyena. One of them cornered a neighbour’s dog in our garage and
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chewed off it’s vital parts before help arrived too late. Snakes too were in abundance around Mwanza, and a European girl had been crushed, but not fatally by a python near the lake shore. One of the houseboys hacked a monitor lizard to death, thinking it was a snake. Hilda recalls the occasion when I encountered a leopard on the driveway to the house and I got out of the car to tell her!. There was the occasion too when Paddy, our Alsatian was aware of a leopard outside the front door and Paddy's hair literally bristled. The leopard was probably aware of Paddy's presence also. I was away in Nairobi at the time
Some months before the end of our tour, we received a telegram from Les with the sad news that Hilda's father had died. At about the same time the Kenya Education authorities informed us that as we were no longer resident in Kenya, Colin and Wendy would have to leave Kitale School. The alternative was Kongwa, a school established at the time of the groundnut scheme, a British Government fiasco then almost fully wound up after wasting eighteen million pounds. Kongwa was about 400 miles away and difficult to reach from Mwanza, and as it would be only a temporary measure in any case, we felt it better that Colin and Wendy should return to U.K. We saw them off on the Dakota on an hour's flight to Entebbe where they were met by Flossy and Pi Reed. The following day they flew to London and stayed with Mum at Korella Rd., in Wandsworth.
In early June `57 it was time for home leave again and once more we packed all our household effects into huge crates ready for shipping to our next station which had not yet been decided. I had been promoted to Radio Superintendant [sic] in Mbeya and later to Telecommunications Supt. having passed departmental exams for the two lots of promotion. I was finally relieved by Sailor Seaman who immediately objected to the long working hours. The way of life on the outstations had a great deal to commend it. There was no television but we always had a good radio set. There was not the pressure we were to experience in later life and we made our own entertainment. It would be nice to go round again.
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Before leaving Mwanza I had ordered a VW Beetle on the home leave scheme stipulating the date and time that I would collect it in London. This resulted in a considerable saving. The cost was £330 delivered London whilst the price in East Africa was £1250. Colin and Wendy were already in Britain, only John and Chris were with us on this trip. From Mwanza we should have returned via the capital, Dar es Salaam, as we did from Mbeya, but for some weeks I had been pointing out the futility of the extra 1600 miles via Dar, when the the [sic] aircraft would go via Entebbe in any case. Sanity prevailed and we flew by DC3 to Entebbe, a nice lunch at the Lake Vic. and a 10 hour flight to the U.K. with one stop at Benghazi. I think that was our first trip by Jet aircraft, a Comet. I have flown in many jets since then, but none as comfortable and roomy as the Comet. The following day we went to Lower Regent Street and collected our new VW Beetle, which came into the showroom one minute ahead of schedule. I was very impressed by the German organisation. I was taken into a workshop and given some useful tips about the car which was to serve us well for over 200,00 miles most of which was on murrum, our reddish East African sandy soil.
In the following six months we made good use of the car, visiting my mother in Barnoldswick, the Yorkshire Dales, and whilst up north had a rendezvous avec Ace (Ted) and Mary Foster, Ace having been our second tour Navigator. Ted recalled this many years later and remembered an incident in a Southport restaurant. We were sharing two tables with Ted and Mary and their three children, making a party of 4 adults and 7 children. Ted alleges the waitress exclaimed “By gum are these all yours?” and claims I replied “No, they are from the local orphanage, we are just taking them out for the day”. She said that was right champion and gave us a discount! I went to Liverpool also and en-route noticed that a Police car had been right behind me for several miles. I slowed down to 30 for the next five miles and eventually the blue light came on and I was stopped. “What speed were you doing Sir?” An instant reply, “29.5 m.p.h. “The officer agreed with that and said “Why, it’s a lovely road and there’s no speed limit. When you slowed down from 80 to 30 we thought you had a problem, enjoy your visit Sir”. I had a “Visitor to Britain” sticker on the back which was supposed to help a little. In Liverpool I met Stan Chadderton, our First tour Bomb Aimer. I called at Stan’s house and his wife Hilda directed me to the Gladstone Dock where Stan was working, I seem to remember being introduced to his boss and Stan was given the rest of the day off. We adjourned to the Lord Nelson Pub and reminisced well into the night about our efforts in North Africa.
We had made another acquisition whilst in Mwanza. Clearly a base was needed in Britain even if my work was to be in East Africa. Les told us of a house in Glyn Neath called Glaslyn going for £1850 on the balance of a 999 year lease. I offered to buy it if the freehold was available. It was very quickly ours at a total cost £1910 and £25 solicitor’s fees. Hilda’s Mum moved into Glaslyn and Colin and Wendy had already joined her. Glaslyn was a comfortable and handy sort of place, only a few hundred yards from Aunt Doll’s cottage.
In early December I was told to report direct to Entebbe Airport to relieve Henry Day in charge of Telecommunications. I wrote to P.W.D. in Mwanza and asked them to send on our boxes and car by Lake Steamer to
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Entebbe, and completed other arrangements. Just before Christmas I handed over the new car to the A.A. near Tower Bridge and paid £75 for shipping it to Mombassa [sic]. Then with our four children and a mass of baggage we once again booked-in at Victoria Air Terminal and shortly afterwards we realised we had just been home for six months and were then in Entebbe. The Comet aircraft was flown by Howard Iliffe, 109011! but I discovered this too late to meet him.
At Entebbe we were met by Henry Day who had been in charge for six months in an acting capacity and he made it clear that as he was now demoted – with loss of acting pay – I could not expect any co-operation from him. For 10 days we stayed in the Lake Victoria Hotel, luxurious but not at all homely and with it’s population of some hundreds of cats living on the roof. We then moved into a house with a red mbati (corrugated iron) roof. Between the ceiling and the roof was a foot of sand and if the builders had been designing an oven it would have taken some beating. The red iron absorbed the heat from a tropical sun and it was retained by the sand. Entebbe was a pretentious place, not the capital of Uganda, which was Kampala 20 miles north, but where most of the senior Gov’t officials lived. The airport was a minor one to U.K. standards but trying very had [sic] to appear important. I found the whole place docile and yet offensive, “toffee-nosed” is the phrase which comes to mind. The job itself was not at all demanding, I had a team of about 8 Engineers including Frank Unstead and Gibby. Also three Radio Officers including Henry Day and several Africans to operate the teleprinters and radio links to Nairobi. There was little for me to do personally. Airport Management was taken care of by Uganda Government officers. The East Africa High Commission, of which the Directorate of Civil Aviation was a part, was responsible for Air Traffic Control and telecommunications. About six airlines had their own Station Managers and there was a great deal of empire building which led to over-manning and inefficiency. An individual’s importance was determined by the number of his subordinates and the extent of his warrant to incur expenditure. There was a great deal of ill-feeling too, between the officers of Government and those of the High Commission, later more appropriately renamed the East Africa Common Services Organisation. The latter was responsible for all communications in Kenya, Uganda and Tanganyika, except for the actual maintenance of roads. It included E.A. Posts & Telegraphs, Railways & Harbours, Fisheries, Meteorlogical [sic] Depts., Civil Aviation and several Medical Research establishments. Politically, the scene was complex, Kenya was a “Colony & Protectorate” – some of each – Tanganyika was a Protectorate with a United Nations mandate and Uganda a combination of twelve Kingdoms formed into a ‘State’ with 12 Kings, a Prime Minister and also a President. It had its political problems but they were not mine. Dickie Dixon was Senior Air Traffic Controller and therefore Officer i/c Navigational Services in which capacity I was his deputy. As I was not at that time a qualified Air Traffic Controller, this led to friction, and as I have already implied, Entebbe was not a happy place. The crunch came when I was told by Dickie to compile all the Annual Confidential reports, including those for Air Traffic Controllers. I told him that I did not think it proper that I should report on officers whose qualifications I did not hold myself. He should do them himself and I would write them for all the Telecommom [sic].
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staff. The previous year he had reported on the Telecomms staff and I disagreed strongly with his findings in one case, that of Gibby who, he wrote, “was slow in carrying out a job”. He was indeed slower than most, but was also the most thorough engineer in the Department. When repairing an equipment he not only repaired the current fault but also brought it right up to the manufacturer’s specification. My personal relationship with Dickie deteriorated rapidly, and rather than speak to me he would write me memos. In one of his many memos he “required” a technical explanation of a particular problem, and I replied to the effect that “as the conductivity between the two points was less than half a mho, this was inadequate for proper operation”. He wrote to my Chief in Nairobi complaining that I was taking the Mickey, and this brought him a rude reply. I could have referred to “a resistance greater than 2 ohms” instead of “a conductivity less than half a mho”, which would have been more helpful, but I made my point.
One major problem at Entebbe was the absence of schools for European children, and Colin and Wendy had to go to Nairobi and Kericho respectively, as boarders. This would have cost little had I been stationed in Kenya and paid the statutary [sic] Education Tax, but as I was stationed outside Kenya and had not paid the Kenya tax I had to pay the full boarding fees. I was not alone in this of course, it was a problem for all families of the E.A. High Commission living in Uganda.
However, I learned that in June 1958 Dinger Bell was finishing his four year tour at Kisumu in Kenya, and I managed a transfer for myself, handing-over Entebbe to an officer returning from a U.K. leave. At that time we had two cars, and I remember taking the Austin A70 to Kampala and selling it in a bar to a consortium of five Africans for £25, each chipping in with a hundred shillings. We travelled to Kisumu by road, our effects going by lake steamer. It was an easy day’s drive round the north-east shores of Lake Victoria, through Jinja, with its crocodiles at the source of the Nile. This was in the days before the level of the Owen Falls dam was raised by eight feet. It was refreshing to arrive at Kisumu, and we were pleased with everything we saw. We spent the first week in the hotel, then moved in to Dinger Bell’s house at 55 Mohammed Kassim Road, near the African Broadcasting Service transmitting Station.
Kisumu Airport had been established about 1932, and had, like Mbeya been a scheduled stop on the Empire Air Route of (the original) British Airways. The lake was ideal for the Empire Flying Boats and our staff pilot, Capt. Casperuthus had many stories of flying Hannibal biplanes into Kisumu. During the Second World War it was taken over by the R.A.F. and used extensively by Catalina amphibeans [sic] and Sunderland seaplanes. R.A.F. aircraft of most long and medium range types were regular visitors, together with the 3-motor Junkers 52 transports of the South African Air Force. With two excellent murrum runways and four hangars, it had seen some service one way and another.
The Control Tower was a small two storey building of 1932 vintage, the ground floor being taken up completely by the transmitting room. The first floor comprised the Control “tower”, a small office, and store. Originally there had been a second floor with a glass top for good all-round vision but this had been removed at the end of the war and replaced with a tiled roof. The second floor became the loft and housed the VDF antenna. I
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found the transmitters had been sadly neglected for many years. Two RCA 4336 types were used on R/T., a third on W/T., and a new Redifon GR49 NDB. There was also a dual transmitter which was not on the inventory and which had in fact been ‘liberated’ from a Catalina, before it joined the other two scuttled in the lake at the end of the war. This set was the best of the lot, and certainly my favourite. It was complete with a 110v ac supply of 600 Hz, not 60 and within a month I had modified an old T1190 power unit to drive it. The M/F section was put into use in place of the Redifon beacon, and the H/F section performed wonderfully on the amateur bands.
Being a ‘one-man station’ my working hours were long, 7 days a week and seldom a whole day off, but I had a workshop and bench and put my waiting-for-aircraft hours to very good use, mostly repairing domestic radios. The transmitters were giving a lot of trouble. As an example, whilst tuning a rotary inductance on a 4336, a two inch nail providing an electrical contact dropped out and had to be bodged up again. The GR49, although nearly new, was using modulator valves at the rate of a pair every two weeks due to a missing relay and associated wiring which had actually been left out at the factory during production. Fortunately there was a good old T1154 which acted as a standby for all transmitters except VHF, so I was able to take each transmitter in turn out of use for as long as was necessary whilst I overhauled them. As this progressed I was enjoying the practical work and decided to make use of a three-foot cabinet which was not on charge. (I inherited quite a lot of useful ‘junk’ at Kisumu!). At the Fisheries office on the lake shore, also on the airport, I found that a vehicle had demolished a rondaval (a 12 ft. diameter building constructed of aluminium). I volunteered the services of my crash-tender crew to clear up the mess and to take away the wreckage. A few days was spent by the crash crew in cutting the best of the aluminium into 19” panels of standard sizes, and suitable chassis. One of the ET4336 transmitters was going to be off the air for several weeks waiting for spares, and in order not to delay my overhaul programme I built a two-stage transmitter on one of the 3 1/2” panels. This was a 6V6 crystal oscillator driving an 807 to a dipole antenna. The operator at Nairobi reported our signals as very good and better than they had been for a long time. 20 Watts in place of 400, but it was the dipole antenna in place of a random length of wire which made all the difference. Within three weeks the 3’ cabinet contained 4 transmitters and was providing all services except VHF and M/F Beacon. The overhauling programme was completed, the official transmitters finally tested and then switched off. For the next 18 months we operated almost trouble-free. My monthly engineering reports to H.Q. in Nairobi were mainly negative and referred to “routine preventative maintenance only”. However, Sid Worthy, Chief Telecomms. Engineer was not fooled, and in due course he wrote and asked why my monthly electricity bill was only a quarter of what it had been for many years. Before I had plucked up enough courage to reply, Sid arrived unannounced and went direct to the Transmitter room, finding the four big transmitters switched off. In the Control Tower he saw my all-purpose cabinet, and to put it lightly, he was not amused. I suggested to Sid that we should make our own single-purpose transmitters and dispense with the old uneconomical general-purpose types. He agreed there was no good technical or financial argument against this but what would he do with his army of 50
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or so engineers? He compromised and allowed me to leave my own equipment in use provided I removed it a month before I left Kisumu.
One of our friends at Kisumu, Jimmie Sanson was a very keen constructor of model aircraft and several he had made were lost in the lake. His final model was a rather superior type with six-foot wingspan and single engine using alcohol as fuel. The rudder was radio-controlled on 27MHz. and the aircraft made some very impressive flights at the airport. On one occasion it went up to about 2000 feet before it ran out of fuel and for almost an hour Jimmie kept it turning over the airport. The aircraft was trimmed slightly nose-heavy but apart from turns, he had no other control. Eventually it was so far down-wind that it was lost to sight and last seen heading for the mountains. After a period of calm, the wind changed in the early evening and Jimmie and I were standing outside the Control Tower lamenting his sad loss when one of the crash Crew shouted “Bwana, Ndegi ndogo narudi”. His eyesight was far superior to ours, we saw nothing until the aircraft appeared over the end of the runway and actually landed, after a record flight of over three hours. Up-dating the radio control was the next stage and two months and about £200 later an eight function system was completed, giving control of the engine, elevators, ailerons and rudder. The machine could then be made to taxi out, take off and carry out aerobatics. The engine was used in short bursts and as there appeared to be a permanent thermal over the runways during the warm days, thirty minute flights were quite routine. Eventually the aircraft was lost over Lake Victoria and probably joined the three Catalinas on the bottom. Perhaps one day a Catalina will be recovered from their fresh-water grave, but the Sanson special was lost for ever..
My official work ran quite smoothly, with a little excitement occasionally. At 3 am one night, Nairobi Flight Information Centre phoned and asked me to open up the VHF and call Alitalia 541 which was three hours overdue in Nairobi, from Khartoum, and with no radio contact for four hours. I sped through town doing over 70 m.p.h. to my Control Tower, switched on and called the aircraft. There was a weak signal in reply and I managed to get a class C bearing of 270 degrees. A second transmission confirmed this and I told the operator he was probably over the Congo, but certainly well to the west of Kisumu. I told him QDM Kisumu 090, but the pilot would not agree and said he was east of Kisumu, not west, and approaching Mombassa [sic]! His signals faded right out and I telephoned F.I.C. asking them to log the QDM of 090C that I had passed to the aircraft. After half an hour, whilst F.I.C was sending frantic messages to all points west, I heard the aircraft calling Kisumu and was soon in good contact giving QDM’s, his signals gradually improving. It was just 0530, 20 minutes before first light when I heard the aircraft and sent out the boys to light-up the gooseneck flares. Then he was overhead and decided to carry on to Nairobi. This was rather disappointing, and in fact the wrong decision, his endurance being insufficient for any further diversion. I was told much later that the Captain and Navigator had a row before take-off and were not on speaking terms. The aircraft was a DC8 and the Italian crew and passengers had been very lucky indeed. The police followed me through town and I was charged with speeding, but the fine of 60 shillings was refunded later by the court when the urgency became known.
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Some weeks later Nairobi F.I.C. phoned again, about 4 am., an Air Liban DC6 from Cairo was lost and was not within the scope of Nairobi VDF. The aircraft had made a brief contact on the area cover VHF through Lodwa, and another aircraft north-east of Kisumu had heard the DC6, but of course had no idea of range or direction. This time I went through town at a more reasonable speed, opened up the radio, and called Air Liban. The crash crew was called out and the boys started dispensing paraffin and setting out the flares right away. I called Nairobi on 5680 H/F R/T to establish my station was on the ball, and every two minutes called the Lebanese Airlines aircraft. About 20 minutes later the aircraft replied to my call and I gave him a QDM of 225, and was satisfied there was no risk of it being the reciprocal. Three minutes later I measured 230 and then 235. He said his Giro compass was u/s and his magnetic compass erratic, and that he would use a standby giro, set to my figure. He turned 10 degrees to port and the QDM increased, 10 degrees to starboard and the figure decreased, so he was heading for Kisumu, and not going away from it. The bearings were given every two minutes and were reasonably steady, and after about 25 minutes the pilot said he thought he could see the coast, meaning the shores of Lake Victoria. It was still very dark but a clear night (not a contradiction of terms) and the boys hurtled out to light up the goosenecks. I told the pilot the wind was north-easterly at 15 knots, he was down wind, duty runway 06. I reminded him of the very high ground 2 miles to the north of the airport and he replied “O.K. Bud, Thanks a lot, I’ll come straight in on 24, hope youv’e [sic] got some gas, we shure [sic] ain’t [sic]”. A few minutes later he made a good landing and parked outside the 1932 wooden terminal building. The Captain of the Air Liban DC6 was an American pre-war Veteran. I had completely forgotten to tell the East African Airways agent but did so at 0545. There was no catering at the airport so he found some buses and the passengers were taken to the hotel. I was also late in phoning the police who dealt with immigration, but they hadn’t a clue how to deal with 60 international transit passengers. Similarly, it was a new experience for Customs, so both departments decided to pretend it hadn’t happened.
The Captain asked me to tell the non-English-speaking African Shell Assistant to put 3000 gallons of 100 octane into the tanks. I translated to the startled assistant “Bwana Mkubwa anataka gallon elfu tatu, pipa sabini na tano”. That was 75 drums of petrol to be pumped by hand. Finally he compromised with 400 gallons, but it was still quite a task, even with only 10 drums.
The Captain was concerned about the limited fuel and lack of a reliable compass and we double-checked that the met. conditions to Nairobi were near perfect. A scheduled DC3 of East African Airways came in at 10am. And was taking off for Nairobi at 11 am. The two pilots talked together at length and studied the map. The DC6 took-off three minutes after the Dakota and the two remained in visual contact until Nairobi was in sight. Surprisingly, the DC6 did not carry a radio compass for M/F but relied entirely on VHF, which, in East and Central Africa was quite inadequate.
I was criticised by DCA for not informing them in detail of progress, and was conscious of this at the time, but had I done so, they would have confused the issue with lots of advice. A civilian airliner without a reliable compass would be a major issue. I operated an “aerodrome
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advisory service”, not being an Air Traffic Controller. F.I.C. would have tried to control my detailed activity, but with a bit of common sense, things worked out well.
The visit of Her Majesty the Queen Mother to Kisumu went off smoothly except that two European Police Inspectors on the airport main gate refused permission for me to enter without a permit. One of my passengers, an R.A.F. Wing Commander leaned out and said he was the Queen’s Pilot, better open the gate old chap. Police had been drafted in for this event from hundreds of miles. I remember little else about the Royal Visit, or it’s main purpose. On these occasions most of the senior officials climbed in on the act, establishing their own importance.
I do remember in detail the visit of Billy Graham. My brief from the organising committee was to provide the Public Address systems. The main system had to cope with an audience of 30,000 people, with three microphones for which I borrowed a 300 watt amplifier from Twenche Overseas Trading Co. in Nairobi and used my four 100 watt loudspeakers. In addition there were six other systems for separate areas where the audience spoke only their tribal languages. Each of the six would hear Billie Graham plus one interpreter translating into the appropriate tribal language for that particular group. There were nine microphones on the platform for the evagelist [sic] and 8 interpretors [sic]. In addition the Post Office ran a special line about a mile at the end of which they connected a candlestick type of telephone with a carbon microphone and place it with my nine microphones. This relayed the proceedings to another mass meeting in Nairobi. The microphone was ineffective until I connected the P.O. line direct to the main amplifier output via a suitable transformer. Billie Graham had a very efficient team. Harley and Bonnie Richardson are two I remember, both very hard working and leaving nothing to chance. They were backed-up by representatives from most church denominations.
The following Christmas, the missionaries approached me again, could I use my loudspeakers at the Church to simulate bells on Christmas morning. An interesting proposition, and someone had written to Bradford Cathedral to scrounge a tape of the Cathedral bells. I had to edit the tape considerably, as every two a rich Yorkshire-accented voice was superimposed with “You are listening to the bells of Bradford Cathedral”. I set-up the amplifier and loudspeakers at the Church at about 7 pm. On Christmas-eve and tested the system with a record of carols. Within minutes, people began to gather and joined in. The Vicar asked if I could connect a microphone and in no time at all he was conducting an impromptu carol service with a bigger congregation than he had enjoyed for a long time, well over 1500. At 7 am next morning I relayed the bells of Bradford Cathedral, but could not resist pre-empting them with a verse of ‘Christians awake’. The loudspeakers were in constant demand and were in use every day for two weeks during H.H. the Aga Khan’s visit. Events included H.E. the Governor’s barazas, opening a ginnery and so on, all official requests from the Provincial Commissioner. I was spending so much time away from the airport that I fitted a TCS12 Transmitter and a good H/F receiver in the car to work aircraft and keep in touch with the airport. At the African hospital I fitted a receiver and 50 Watt Vortexion amplifier imported by my father, and installed 30 loudspeakers round the wards. This was followed by a similar
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job at an American mission hospital about 30 miles from Kisumu, but more ambitious with microphones, tape recorder and record player. At the Roman Catholic Cathedral in Kisumu I fitted an amplifier and loudspeakers with microphones on the Altar and pulpit. Another system was fitted at the African Community Centre in Kisumu and one way and another I was kept very busy indeed.
The transmitter in the car was used also on the 40 metre amateur band to keep in touch with my father and amateur chums in Nairobi and other parts of East Africa. On one occasion Tom Mboya took an interest in it and was quite impressed. Tom was a Luo by tribe and a party leader of the Kenya African Democratic Union, a very nice chap with an attractive wife Pamella [sic], daughter of Mr. Odede, a Kisumu lawyer. Tom wanted to buy the transmitter but for me to sell it to him would not have been wise. Later Tom was shot and killed in Nairobi.
Kisumu was fairly well populated and within 10 miles or so of town we saw very few wild animals. The two exceptions were the protected herd of impala in Kisumu township and the hippo which abounded on the lake shore. They came ashore at night to graze and I encountered them on the aerodrome several times. One rather amusing occurrence, the airport was wide in area and Africans frequently trekked across the runway and even drove their cattle over it at most inappropriate times. On several occasions I impounded the cattle after due warnings and charged the owners with trespass under section 69 of the Colonial Air Navigation Act. When I found the offenders were getting six month’s imprisonment and losing their cattle, I stopped charging them and the Police insisted upon taking over this task. Finally they agreed to drop the practice, when I told them that I doubted whether the Colonial Air Navigation Act really applied in Kenya and in any case I had invented the content of section 69. However, the runways had to be watched carefully and checked every time there was an aircraft movement.
One morning at Kisumu a uniformed Prisons Askari I had known at Nairobi Prison in 1950 came to my Control Tower and after a smart salute handed me a note saying it was from Bwana Mkubwa ya Ndegi. It was from Commander Stacey-Colles R.N. Ret’d., my former boss and previous Director of Civil Aviation. He had arrived at Kisumu Prison only two hours earlier, and was serving a three year sentence. He had been found guilty of receiving money, a refund of an airline ticket issued by the High Commission and which he did not use. At the time he was in Britain having travelled home on a complimentary ticket from Air France. The official ticket was handed in to East African Airways and a refund obtained which was paid into his bank instead of the High Commission’s account. He claimed no knowledge of this and most of us believed him. He would not prejudice his career and Navy pension in this way, someone had fixed him. The note was a list of things he wanted, which I soon assembled and took to him at Kisumu prison, where I found I knew the Prisons Officer from 1950. A very embarrassing situation. I met Stacey and gave him the radio, writing materials, money, cigarettes and cakes from Hilda, on the first of many visits. Three days later the Askari was back with a long message in code for Muriel Pardoe, his former secretary in Nairobi. I sent this off straight away on the aeronautical W/T channel, addressed to HKNCHQPA, the ICAO address which would reach Miss Pardoe from any airport in the western world. HK was Kenya, NC Nairobi City, HQ DCA
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Headquarters and PA Personal Ast. To the Director. The code was in five letter groups with a double substitution of letters, a similar system to that used during the war.
The message was decoded by Muriel who obtained whatever it was Stacey was asking for and gave it to Capt. Casperuthus who was DCA pilot of the Avro Anson. Casper gave it to the Controller at Wilson airport who passed it to a pilot about to depart for Kisumu. The pilot handed it to me at Kisumu and I delivered it – whatever it was – to Stacey in prison the same day. Three days later the radio set came back to me with the askari, not working. Two of the valves had been swapped over, and I noticed a piece of paxeline had been fitted neatly inside the bottom of the set, forming a false bottom. Under it was a note asking me if I could fit a B.F.O. into it. This was a beat frequency oscillator and Stacey could want it for only one reason, to monitor morse, probably on the Prisons channel, to see what was happening. There were two spare holes for valve holders on the chassis and plenty of space for fitting a mains power supply, vacant in this case because it was a dry-battery receiver. I fitted the B.F.O. as requested, and also another valve as a flea-power transmitter, using just a channel freq. crystal about 6.5 MHz and a tuned circuit on the anode. Maybe 50 mW output, I had no means of measuring it, but I tested the set at a range of 2 miles using 3 feet of wire for an aerial it was received at the control tower. The morse key was just a matter of touching a wire to the chassis. I returned the set to Stacey personally and explained the switching of the B.F.O. and transmitter keying. He was delighted and agreed to be very careful, taking absolutely no-one into his confidence. About six weeks later I met my former colleague the Prisons Officer in town and he told me there was some concern over the prisoners getting confidential information before he received it himself. He quoted that a week ago a prisoner asked if he could change cells and share with a particular prisoner who would be transferred to Kisumu with three others on a date a week hence. He said the four arrived that day, how could the prisoner have known a week ago? It should have been obvious, there were many ex-service personnel who were good W/T operators and the Prisons Radio on 7 MHz could be monitored by anyone, the signals being in plain language morse. I said nothing. Stacey’s frequency was monitored at my office where I had a similar tiny transmitter. It was used at a specific time of day on only two occasions for test purposes, but he found it satisfying and consoling to have a personal and totally clandestine link to the outside world. It gave him a great deal of satisfaction and from my point of view did no real harm. Stacey was a great organiser and motivator.
The African Inland Mission in Mwanza had colleagues in the Sudan [author indicates with X and page footnote that it is Kisumu not Mwanza] who visited Kisumu frequently in their Cessna aircraft. They desperately needed two transmitters in the Sudan but were not able to obtain import permits. They could however get a permit to re-import a transmitter if it had been sent out of the country for repair. I suggested to them that they should send me a piece of otherwise useless equipment which might look like a transmitter to the uninitiated and send it to me as a transmitter for repair, together with the appropriate paper work. This was done and in an antenna tuning unit they brought me, I built a 10 Watt transmitter without changing it’s outward appearance in any way. A few weeks later a second one was built and the two did a very useful job in the Sudan for about six
[KISUMU NOT MWANZA]
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months until the African Inland Mission stations there were closed, and the missionaries withdrawn. The missions’ aircraft were also licenced on that frequency and I contacted them occasionally. It is most reassuring to be able to communicate with someone in times of trouble, and plenty of folks in Africa were in that situation.
But trouble was also brewing in the Belgian Congo, just across the Lake. Six months earlier, the Belgian Government had advised the missionaries and other settlers to leave, but many were dedicated to their work and some felt they were quite indespensible [sic]. The Belgiauns [sic] had handed over the reins of Government and administration hurriedly to a totally ill-equipped and unprepared Congolese. The consequences of withdrawal by the Belgians were clearly predictable but they succumbed to political pressures from all directions. There was human slaughter on a big scale, and the only information coming out of the Congo was on the frequency of 7150 operated by Mission stations, and also shared with East African amateurs. It was in Kisumu that I received a message from a mission at an Agricultural Station which read:-
“We are being menaced by 100,000 hostile savages. We have their chief as hostage and expect annihilation within one hour. We have ammunition but no guns, please advise Kamina”.
The amateurs among the DCA staff in Nairobi, of whom Viv Slight was one, had set up a W/T link to the Belgian Coast Station at Ostend, using a communications booth in the D.C.A. Communications centre and a powerful DCA transmitter at R.A.F. Eastleigh.. I relayed the message direct to them on the aeronautical W/T channel, and Nairobi passed it straight to Ostend, with a steady flow of other messages. Ostend relayed it to Brussels who passed it to the Military where it was relayed on it’s final leg back to Africa, to the Belgian Paratroop Base at Kamina. Within 20 minutes of my receiving the message at Kisumu, the paratroopers were airborne and the Agricultural Station was liberated. Hardly had I cleared the message when I received a correction to it which advised:
“Not one hundred thousand savages, only ten thousand”
When I passed this to Nairobi, the reply was “What’s the bloody difference”
There were many such stories during the evacuation of Europeans from the Congo. Uganda was the main escape route and DCA Nairobi asked that any aircraft available and pilots who could make it, should get to Entebbe and help in the evacuation regardless of Certificates of Airworthiness and Pilot’s licences. One of my ex-pilot friends evacuated about thirty people in several trips in a Rapide aircraft. The last aircraft he had flown was a Beaufighter during the war. Some thousands were got out from the Congo, one way or another, mostly via Kampala and Kisumu. The Kenya Girls’ High School in Nairobi (known as the Boma) was turned into a Medical Reception Centre the records of which show the dreadful experiences and medical remedial action taken. Wendy reminded me that she and all the other girls who were not taking G.C.E..s were sent home a week before the term was due to end, to maked [sic] room for the refugees. At Kisumu I met many who came out by road. Two middle-aged ladies came to my Control Tower and one phoned her parents in
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the United States with a terrible story of pillage and rape. A third, more elderly, who had three American Doctorate degrees – Medicine, Divinity and a PhD. – had devoted her entire working life to helping and teaching Africans, but she said a lifetime had made only a superficial advance from their savagery.
Most of our memories of Kisumu were of happier days. There was an excellent social club but we were not members due only to the lack of time. The children made good use of the swimming pool, the lake being too dangerous, not only with its hippo and crocs. but with Bilharzia and hook worm. Hilda enjoyed her painting and drawing and we even managed to take a few photographs.
After nearly three years at Kisumu, Colin was still at the Prince of Wales School in Nairobi and with Wendy at the ‘Boma’ we were not seeing very much of either. And so a transfer was arranged and we packed up our household once again and moved to Nairobi, to a lovely house in Nairne Road, near Wendy’s school.
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[underlined] D.C.A. HEADQUARTERS [/underlined]
It was then June 1960, the Mau Mau emergency was still with us, but 84 Squadron had finished their bombing of the Aberdares which had raised the eyebrows of a few ‘hasbeens’ like myself. I had talked with the crews of the R.A.F. Lincolns some time earlier at R.A.F. Eastleigh and it all seemed very unreal to me. Perfect weather, ceiling and visibility generally unlimited and no enemy opposition from either the air or ground. Bombing over the bush was a matter of a timed run at a specific speed from a firmly identified point on the ground. Hardly a challenge for the Chaddertons and Fosters of this world and I don’t know what comprised a tour. It reminded me of O.T.U. where I saw the log book of a fellow-instructor with 40 ops. to his credit. His first tour ops were shown in the normal way, Benghazi 0340, Benghazi 0345, Benghazi 0342, Benghazi 0350, about 6 pages of Benghazi and no other target. But then, there are those among us who never bombed B.G., so the song goes. I could visualise the log books with several pages of ‘Aberdares 0125…”. Some of the Africans reckoned it was “mzuri sana” (very good) for the terrorists, the bombing just laid on a supply of fresh meat without their having to hunt for it, but there was probably more to it than that.
My place of work was the Communications Centre in the High Commission Building, on the top floor, above the Inland Revenue office. My duties were those of Telecomms. Supt. i/c a watch, responsible for the operation of the telecommunications system. We were not really concerned with aeroplanes, only messages about their movements. We had Radio Teleprinter circuits with Johannesburg, Khartoum, Der es Salaam, Entebbe, and Gan, and teleprinters on line to R.A.F. Eastleigh, Wilson Airport, Nairobi (Embakasi) and the Flight Information Centre next door. Our internal communications, that is within East Africa, were mainly by W/T links, to Iringa, Songea, Mbeya, Mwanza, Tanga, Dodoma, Arusha, Kisumu etc. Every teleprinter link had a standby W/T channel and most of these were resorted to in the early mornings, about 4 to 6 am. Brazaville [sic] and Leopoldville in the Congo were only on W/T but there was little traffic to the west and none to the east except Gan. With Gan, we operated an emergency channel with a test message every twenty minutes, to supplement the R.A.F. network if required, but they seemed to manage quite well without us. We handled about 20,000 incoming messages per day in the Tape Relay Centre, and apart from one or two all had to be relayed out again and logged. We also had three ground to Air operating booths, two of which were always manned, working aircraft, one on HF/RT and the other HF/WT. The European Radio Officers preferred the latter, where often three messages per minute were handled for long periods.
As soon as an aircraft left, say, Khartoum, a message would be sent on the Fixed Service by RTTY to the Tape Relay centre which should reach F.I.C. within a few minutes of being originated, requiring two relays, at Khartoum and Nairobi Tape Relay Centres. The system was that the pilot would not need to call Nairobi until he reached the Flight Information Region Boundry [inserted] Boundary [/inserted] at 4 degrees North, as Nairobi F.I.C. should have already received all the information by teleprinter. However, this being Africa and therefore supposedly not very efficient, the pilot would call Nairobi as soon as he could after take-off, on HF/RT. On the older propeller jobs, (the real aeroplanes), this would have been
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carried out by the Radio Officer on W/T., where just a few groups in code meant a great deal, for example:-.
ZGU de VPKKL Nairobi this is VPKKL
QTN STKM 0201Z I departed Khartoum at 0201 GMT
QAH 24 TTT QBH My height is 24,000 ft. below cloud
QRE HKNA 0718 I am estimating Nairobi Airport at 0718
QRX FIR I will call you again at the Flight Information Boundary
The Radio Officer would write those 14 groups onto a pad and his Clerk would put two copies through the hatch to the Air Traffic Controller.
The Clerk would spend most of his time putting carbon paper between the pages, it was fast going during the busy periods, but was even faster before HF/RT was introduced.
The aircraft would remain in constant contact with Khartoum on VHF until it reached 4 deg. N. when Nairobi would become responsible. Many aircraft were still using W/T at the time. There was no really conscious use of code, it was as commonplace as plain language and to a radio operator the two were synonimous, [sic] as were the many technical and other abbreviations. One example which comes to mind was at a Board of Enquiry into an accident where an aircraft had crashed into Mt. Kilimanjaro. An elderly judge asked the Ground Radio Officer if there had been any radio message, and the R/O replied “Yes, I last worked the aircraft on C.W. at 0247” “What is C.W.?” asked the Judge, and the reply “C.W. is Charlie Whisky your worship” and the Judge nearly gave up, maybe thinking whether Irish or Scotch.
Some Radio Officers preferred to transcribe the morse and speech messages straight onto a teleprinter which produced a simultaneous page copy in front of the controller, but this method was not very popular. With several aircraft calling at the same time it was easy to make a mistake but too slow to correct it on the teleprinter. The F.I.C. Controller operated the VHF himself. The whole set-up was very well thought out and we were very well equipped. Communications were our line of business and we were highly organised.
The tour of duty was rather longer in Nairobi, where one had to work for 4 years to earn 6 month’s leave, compared to only 2 1/2 years in Tanganyika. I believe there was some reduction for the Kenya coastal strip. These were the rules established when East Africa was supposed to be an unhealthy and hostile place, and most of the Europeans were Administration officials. I always felt the home leave terms were over-generous, as we also enjoyed three weeks of “local leave” each year with railway warrants provided to any part of east Africa. Where there was no railway to our particular ‘holiday resort’ or we chose to travel by car we could claim car mileage costs. Most people preferred to go on leave by sea, depending upon the time of year, possibly home on a 10 day voyage via suez, returning on a 3 week cruise via the Cape of Good Hope, on Union Castle liners. Some preferred the long way round both ways, spending as much time at sea as possible and thus economising
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on accommodation costs in the U.K. My only experience of sea travel had been the four troop-ships and Hilda claimed she couldn’t swim; we wanted to spend as much time as possible with the folks back home so we chose to travel by air every time.
Within a year of our return to Nairobi, June 1961, political unrest was well to the fore and getting worse. Alice, my step-mother, was a Senior Secretary to an African Minister in the Secretariat, and felt it was getting too dangerous to remain. Luigi and Mary had already retired to Italy and Alice was preparing to join them. Most of us were expecting the balloon to go up at any moment and people were getting jittery. We had been close to the hiatus in the Congo and the more recent mutinies of the armies of Kenya, Tanganyika and Uganda, and Europeans were beginning to leave. The weight of evidence of impending disaster was overwhelming and towards the end of June Hilda returned with the four youngest children to U.K., Colin remaining at the Prince of Wales School as a boarder. Alice and Brian returned to Italy shortly after and my father moved in with me at Nairne Road. My father and I had become very involved with emergency communications for the settlers up-country, which dominated our lives for the next few years, but this is a story unto itself and is dealt with in the chapter “Laikipia Security Network”. The mutinies referred to occurred soon after the British Forces had left Kenya, and the emergency was declared officially over. Some European Service personnel remained as advisers to the Kenya army - there was no Kenya Navy and the Kenya Air Force existed mainly on paper but with a few light aircraft. We awoke one morning to the news that the three separate armies many hundreds of miles apart, had thrown out their European officers and declared themselves independent of any authority. Within 48 hours and before they could organise themselves and cause any damage, very small forces of British troops appeared simultaneously near Nairobi, Jinja and Dar es Salaam, subdued and disarmed the lot, without any loss of life or limb. I recall a cartoon in the East African Standard, showing Jomo Kenyatta with both arms raised to paratroopers dropping from aircraft and the caption “How good it is to welcome old friends” - His arch-enemies for 10 years or so. I saw several hundred African soldiers sitting on the grass at Wilson Airport with three European soldiers guarding them with machine guns. There was a large pile of rifles and other weapons nearby, also guarded.
Life was not all traumatic, however, we had the occasional laugh. One of our officers, MacDonald, was on official leave of absence quite frequently and we understood he was masterminding a very hush-hush communications link direct to U.K. from Government House and even satellites had been mentioned furtively. This was before the days of the Sputnik when satellites were a part of science fiction. He was one of the [underlined] firt [sic] [/underlined] to retire and as he was leaving he let us into the secret. Mac. had indeed spent a great deal of time at Government House. He was a master baker and was responsible literally for the icing of the cake. He told us also that when he joined the Dept. he stated that his qualifications included a final City & Guilds Certificate. They did, he confided, as a Master Baker, but not in telecommunications.
One Sunday morning in October on duty at the Comm. Centre I found my African Supervisor was monitoring Reuter on teleprinter, and looking over his shoulder I read on the page copy that thousands of Africans armed to the teeth were surrounding the High Commission building and holding hostage the
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Europeans working inside. The report gave more detail of riots and demonstrations and gave the impression that we were really in trouble. I went out through a window and onto the flat roof of the High Commission building and gingerly looked over the parapet entitled to expect a hail of bullets. On the road was a police car with two officers watching a group of about 20 Africans, some of them supporting two banners on which was written “Wazungu Rudi Uliya” (Europeans return to Europe). That was the extent of the demonstration reported to the entire world in Reuter’s message. Had it occured [sic] in Cambridge it would not even have received a mention in the free local papers.
My tour of duty ended in December and I relinquished the house, my father moving into Plums Hotel. A nine hour flight to London, and I was home for Christmas.
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[underlined] Dec. ’61 ON LEAVE [/underlined]
Hilda and Anne came to London and I met them at Paddington. We intend to spend a week with Joan and enjoy a holiday in London, but Hilda had a rather worrying cold so we limited our stay to two days.
The next six months or so were spent on leave. With the exception of Colin who was in the R.A.F., the whole family was together in Wales at Glaslyn. My father was in Nairobi, and his regular letters referred to increasing unrest. He was working flat-out in building the ‘Watson Wonders’ and he asked me to take back 500 B7G valve holders and 150 modulation chokes
In May ’62 I said goodbye to the family and returned to Kenya. As I was unaccompanied, Sid Worthy the Chief Engineer asked me if I would housewarm for him whilst he was on his 6 months leave. This meant that he paid the rent but could just walk out without packing up his household and walk back into the same apartment on his return. There was a tendency for senior officers who were permanently based in Nairobi to try and retain the same house or apartment once they had found the right one. Rent was in fact 10% of salary and it was well worth it. My father moved in with me and together we carried on with the transmitters, having rented a workshop next to Stephen Ellis in Victoria Street. After only 3 months in the apartment I received a letter from Sid telling me he was returning immediately, could he please have his flat only a few days hence!. The following morning we were going up-country and I could see my father was a more than little depressed. He was driving like a madman down the Nairobi escarpment and I insisted that he let me do the driving. He told me he had to go to Mombassa [sic] next day, having received a telegram from Alice that she and Brian were returning on the Union Castle. This was supposed to be a surprise to him and I did not doubt that it was so, but Alice admitted later that she had in fact booked return tickets on the homeward trip. She had been totally dishonest in her statements about her intentions which had resulted in Hilda and the children staying in Wales. Our safari was cut short and we returned to Nairobi the same day, a 500 mile round trip. Alice’s return meant a complete change in plan; clearly she and my father expected to share my accommodation but with Sid’s return they had no option but to move into an hotel again. They were lucky in obtaining a couple of rooms at Plums, after only two nights in the flat. I moved into Woodlands Hotel, but applied for a housing allocation as my family had decided to return to Kenya. Hilda and the children rejoined [sic] me and we moved into a house at Likoni Lane, resuming a normal life except that it was dominated by the Laikipia network and work at the Comm. Centre. Within a year of my return I was promoted to Asst. Signals Officer and took over from Mike Harding As [sic] Officer in charge of the Communications Centre. This I had tried to avoid for a long time, not the responsibility, but the working hours. The new post meant working office hours and for the first time in my life I was working a five-day-week. On watches it had been a four-day cycle of say monday afternoon, tuesday morning and all tuesday night, then off duty until friday afternoon. The 2 1/2 days off within every 4 days had suited me very well and was a very popular roster with everyone. Office hours curtailed my visits up-country except at week-ends, but I did have every evening free. Very soon, each European Radio Supt. In charge of a watch had an African trainee assistant. Shortly afterwards one joined me. They were all supposedly bright boys from Secondary School and we delegated the routine work to them as much as possible. Their presence was resented by the old-timers among the
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wireless operators, who knew what they were doing and were very good operators, but their educational background was inadequate for the senior posts. Africanisation was the policy dictated to us and we bowed to the inevitable. I trusted most of my Africans, and there were about 180 of them working on the 4-day Watch roster at the Communications centre. Although many of them had served with the British Army both during and after the war, I could not completely lose sight of the fact that some had taken part in the Lare massacre when an African village was set ablaze and almost everyone slaughtered as they tried to escape. The majority of my staff were from the three main problem tribes, the Kikuyu, Meru and Embu, and a few of the Luo tribe from Nyanza.
My father’s farm had been abandoned long ago. It was not possible to obtain reliable labour during the Emergency, and the whole of the European settled areas was to be handed over to the Africans. There were already very few farmers left in the Trans-Nzoia and the Eldoret areas, the latter being mainly from South Africa. The Laikipia farmers were the last to hold out, except perhaps for the bigger ranches near Athi River.
Our next home leave was in June 1964 and the story of my activity over the three years leading up to it is synonymous with that of the Laikipia Security Network. The network seemed to priority over everything, but lives were at stake. Occasionally Hilda and the Children would go up-country with me, and one memorable week-end was spent with Tony Dyer and Family at their lovely home facing Mount Kenya. One afternoon Tony asked the children if they would like to go to a polo match and they took off in Tony’s Cessna from their own front door, landing at the side of the pitch. One of Tony’s sons was killed some months later whilst taking a gun out of the back of his vehicle. It was never discovered how the gun came to be loaded and with the safety catch off. Hilda and the children stayed too at the farm of Dr. Anne Spoerry, at Ol Kalau. Anne’s loo was a traditional type in the bushes down the garden, very comfortable and lined with bookshelves, full of the Lancet and other medical journals. Anne was a wonderful character. Only once did we go to the coast for a holiday, and this was two weeks spent at Likoni, near Mombassa [sic]. Unfortunately we chose to go in the rainy season but it was a welcome break. We took Chippy, our cockerel, and it followed us around everywhere, afraid of absolutely nothing. Chippy returned home one day in Nairobi with a broken beak and was unable to peck for food. Fortunately Jean and Dick Chalcroft came to stay overnight with us and Dick fitted a new lower section to the beak with the plastic resin we used in making dipole aerials.. It took an hour to cure, or set, and Jean and Dick held Chippy during that period, and again whilst they filed down the surplus plastic and polished the result. Chippy was ravenous and began to feed straight away, but was very aggressive towards humans, except for Jean and Dick, who took him back to their farm at Molo. I saw Chippy several times after that at the farm, lording it over the hens, and not another cockerel in sight.
One day I bought a petrol/paraffin engine-driven alternator and a bank of batteries, a complete 32 volt lighting set in fact, too good to miss for £25 in Nairobi. The dealer said the engine wouldn’t start although it had just been thoroughly overhauled. I knew that Jean and Dick were without power on their farm although their house was wired for a 32 volt DC system such as this. I knew too of Jean’s prowess with anything mechanical and I took the whole lot straight up to the farm at Molo. At 10pm. on the Saturday Jean started stripping down the engine whilst I was linking together the 26 alkaline cells
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and checking the house wiring connected to my car battery. Jean, assisted by Dick slogged on until 5am. in the light of an Alladin lamp, but she had discovered the trouble long before that. The timing was exactly 180 degrees out of phase. At 5am, just before dawn, the batteries being flat, Jean cranked the engine which roared into life, literally, we were deficient of a silencer for the exhaust. The batteries were taking a charge and we changed from petrol to paraffin and switched on a few lights in the house. The following evening the Chalcrofts were very proud of their lighting system. That sort of effort and co-operation did give one a great deal of satisfaction.
My recollections of work in D.C.A. over that period are very few.
We seldom talked of the war, but in the middle of one night I somehow got chatting to the F.I.C. Controller, Sqdn Ldr. Anderson DFC & Bar, who had also been in 5 Group on Lancasters. Andy said we were sometimes like a lot of sheep, he recalled one night having reached his ETA, all was very quiet except that markers had been dropped 20 miles to the south. Within minutes bombs were crashing down so Andie turned south for five minutes and joined in. Next day it was found that the target was 20 miles north of where most of the bombing had taken place. My reply was just “Politz”, we had done exactly the same thing, followed the flock. We talked together of flying during the war, several times, but my memories of the actual events are more vivid now, after 45 years, than they were 25 years ago. Perhaps because there was not a great deal in East Africa to remind me of it, compared to today, living 4 miles from Wyton on the approach to Alconbury. To see the Lancaster of the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight fly over gives me rather more than a lump in my throat at times. Pathfinder House is not what it was with Don Bennet, either, it is now the place where I pay my rates, but they at least have a picture of a Lancaster on the wall near the Cashier’s office. A couple of years ago I asked one of the cashiers why it was called Pathfinder House, she had no idea, I asked what the aeroplane was and the answer was the same. I let the matter drop.
I had taken over the comm. Centre from Mike Harding who had retired prematurely, and his immediate predecessor had been “Bing” Crosby, ex Royal Signals. Bing was in Headquarters just along the corridor and came into my office every day to inspect an object pickled in a sealed jar which he had left on the shelf when he was promoted. Although he urged us to take good care of it, he used to look at it and say to it “You useless ruddy thing”, or words to that effect. Finally, on retirement, he came and collected it and let us into the secret, with the parting words “Oh don’t worry, the other one’s fine, you only need one you know”.
Alice and my father had left in May for Italy, to stay with Mary and Luigi. My own feelings were that he should have stayed in Kenya, possibly up country with Jean or with one of his many other friends among the Settlers. He had worked unceasingly on the network for over 4 years, but Alice insisted upon their return to Europe. In June ’64 it was time for home leave again. We were reluctant this time because there was so much happening up country and we expected it to be our final tour in East Africa together, unless I returned and carried on with communications on a commercial basis. This was still an option, communications had kept me very busy and with lots of ‘job satisfaction’, but it was DCA who had paid my salary. I still had a family to support, and there was a great deal of uncertainty in Kenya. And so it was we flew to London yet again, and joined Hilda’s Mum at Glaslyn.
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[underlined] ON LEAVE June 1964 [/underlined]
Before leaving for Wales we bought a second-hand Vanguard from a dealer in Putney which was to prove very useful in the next few months. At the end of our leave it was sold to the local Policeman for the same price.
A month or two before we returned, the house next to Aunt Doll had become vacant and was put on the market for £500. It was small and in shocking state, but a real snip so we bought it. Five months was spent in refurbishing it, building a bathroom, kitchen, replastering, new fireplace, rewiring etc. I remember John mixing at least a ton of concrete manually, he was a tremendous help. Electricity at the house had not been used for many years, and what little wiring remained, mostly twin flex, we ripped out. Electrical contractors quoted £900 to rewire, which was totally ridiculous, and finally John and I did it in one day, having spent about £50 on materials through an advert in Exchange & Mart. We tried to buy the field - or even part of it - at the back - of the house, but our lawyer said it was quite impossible to find out who owned the land. Many years later it transpired that it had in fact been owned for at least a hundred years by members of his own family.
Visits were paid to my other in Barnoldswick and to Joan and Ken in London, but the greater part of my leave was spent on the ‘new house’.
At the end of April Hilda’s Mum moved into her new home and made comfortable. From the house there was a wonderful view of the mountain separating the Neath and Rhonda valleys, with the river within 25 yards in the foreground. Perhaps it is only fair to mention the road between the house and river, but when the bypass was built a few years later this road carried little traffic.
In November ’64 I returned to Kenya unaccompanied, and being so, moved into Woodlands Hotel. The following day I was in touch with Laikipia and also back at work. I relieved Mike Harding as Asst. Signals Officer in Headquarters, Deputy to ‘Spud’ Murphy who was Telecommunications Officer (Operations). The job was just a matter of dealing with the steady flow of paper-work. Every piece of paper coming in was registered in Central Registry and filed by the Clerk. If he couldn’t decide which file to put it, he would open a new one. The file was then delivered - and booked out - to the officer thought to be the one who should deal with it. The officer would either add his comments as a minute and pass on the file to someone he thought might not return it to him, or if he felt he was authorised to make a decision, draft a letter for his immediate superior. Very occasionally, on an external matter he might even sign the letter “for the Director of Civil Aviation”. I was expected to finalise all matters concerning the operational aspect of the Telecommunications side of DCA, including all staff problems, their examinations and promotions.
Europeans were leaving the Directorate almost every week and being replaced by Africans. Those with African proteges training to take over the senior posts were most vulnerable. The Africans thought it was easy to sit back and authorise someone to go on leave, or to promote or reprimand another. The newcomers could read the many returns and forms but whereas a European officer could do every job subordinate to his own, the assistant had neither the experience, qualifications nor ability to do those jobs. In some cases the African was promoted and his former boss remained as his assistant. It was
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obvious who did the actual work. I found the work uninteresting, mainly it seemed just a matter of going through the motions and staying out of trouble by being non-committal, which was completely out of character. My main thoughts were with the 5190 Network, something that really mattered.
Sqdn. Ldr. Anderson was still with us and when he went on two week’s leave to the coast he asked me to sleep at his house, which made a welcome change from staying at the hotel. At about 3am on the third night there was a hullabaloo outside and a pounding on the door. “Police, open up”. I opened up, 9mm. Mauser ready, to be greeted by an African Police Inspector and about 15 Askari with enough weaponry to start a rebellion. Andy had told the Police he would be away for two weeks and would they please keep an eye on the house? I told them he had asked me to sleep there but they were not convinced. All my documents were at the hotel and eventually the Inspector ‘phoned the Acting Director of Civil Aviation at his house - Dickie Dixon, my old antagonist from Entebbe. Dickie was not amused, he never was, with me, but the Inspector was satisfied. A few nights later, about 10pm. I was lying on the bed reading, the house in darkness except for a small reading lamp. I heard footsteps on the gravel outside and quickly extinguished the light. I heard a key turning in the lock of the pateo [sic] door. By this time I was off the bed and standing at the bedroom door, left hand on the hall light switch and my Mauser in the right, cocked and with the safety-catch off. When the outside door opened I switched on the light and was startled to identify the intruder as Jimmie Sanson, whom I had not seen since we were in Kisumu. If he had been carrying a gun I might have blown his head off before it became unrecognisable. Andy had done it again, asking Jimmie also to keep an eye on the house. That night my car had been in Andy’s garage. On the following nights I left the car in full view outside, and with the a few lights in the house switched on.
For several years I had held one of the very few Flight Radio Officer Licences in the Department and frequently flew as Radio Officer first on the Anson VPKKK and later on its replacement, the Heron. On my last trip on the Heron we did a “tour of inspection” with visiting officials from ICAO in Montreal. Whilst supposedly inspecting the runways here and the Met. Station there, a V.O.R., D.M.E. and other aids to Aviators, in reality we enjoyed a visit to Zanzibar, flew around inside the Ngoro-ngoro crater, an extinct volcano well stocked with wild life, witnessed a specially-staged lion kill in Tsavo West National Park, and entered into the spirit of a very expensive ‘Cook’s Tour’. A few weeks later I did another tour of airports, inspecting the Telecomm. aspect and also giving morse tests to operators who were otherwise already qualified for promotion. I knew most of the staff and the stations also. 16 years previously I had first visited Iringa, which was then run by ‘Blossom’, Mrs. Brown, the only lady Radio Officer in DCA. Blossom was an ex-WREN officer who had specialised during the war in Japanese morse. I think she told me there were about 120 characters in their morse alphabet, and she used to transcribe in Jap. characters for hours on end. It was someone else’s job to translate them into English. Blossom had left some years previously. The morse tests were interesting, first the candidate sent for 10 minutes at 25 w.p.m. of 5-letter and figure groups, which was recorded on tape. The second test was 10 minutes of plain language, and the third receiving for 10 minutes of automatic morse. The fourth test was for the candidate to receive the morse recorded in the first two tests, without telling them of it’s origin. Many complained that the
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fourth test was unfair, the morse being very poor and difficult to read. Some found it difficult to believe the poor morse was their own! In general, the morse was, in fact, very good, most of the old-timers having been British Army trained, during the war.
Soon after the invasion of Zanzibar I flew there in the DCA Anson piloted by Capt. Casperuthus. The two Air Traffic Controllers had been deported to Mombassa [sic] and almost all the Telecomms. equipment was faulty. The teleprinter on line to Dar es Salaam still worked, however, and this was taken over by an African from Tanganyika. Zanzibar and Tanganyika became known as Tanzania and for the very first time customs and immigration formalities were introduced between the two. I recall paying customs duty in Dar es Salaam on 200 cigarettes bought in Zanzibar, although the price was the same in both places, and duty had been paid already to the same authority, the new government of Tanzania. There was no rational explanation to some of the politics in East Africa. Rumours were rife that a huge Russian biplane bomber made secret trips at night without contacting DCA, the aviation authority, and the machine was said to be in a particular hangar. We were intrigued by this and taxied very close to the hangar, a ‘deliberate mistake’, and took photographs of the aircraft. It was a biplane about three times the wingspan of a Tiger Moth, but we were not able to find anyone who had actually seen it airborne.
By May 1965 I was recovering transmitters from Settlers who were leaving the country, and these sets were more than meeting the demand for new ones. I felt that by the end of the year there would be very few Europeans left, and in that atmosphere of intense anti-climax I gave 6 months notice of my retirement. The leave earned would take me to just over my 44th. birthday when compensation for loss of office would be at its peak. Looking at this in more detail, compensation would have been reduced by £2,000 per year of delay. There was really little choice but to go.
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[underlined] JOB HUNTING [/underlined]
I returned home finally on the 11th. of November 1965 and joined Hilda and the family at Glaslyn, except for Colin who was in the R.A.F. in Aden. My father and Alice were settled in Voghera in Northern Italy. There was plenty of time to look for a job, as I was on full pay for about six months and could not really afford to start work until April. Had I started before that, it would have meant paying income tax at the U.K. rate for the previous year on my world income, so I was advised, probably wrongly.
I wrote many letters, one offering my services to O’Dorian of Redeffusion [sic]. They were at that time considering establishing a Radio Relay system in the African areas of Nairobi. Other firms were also interested and the City Council was monitoring a pilot scheme which I.A.L. had fitted about a year previously. The pilot scheme had been put out to tender and my father had submitted a bid to provide for a four-program system. The contract went to I.A.L. on the grounds that they had shown confidence in Kenya by being established there for many years and were a reputable firm. My father was invited to comment and said I.A.L.’s presence was nothing to do with confidence, they were wholly-owned by B.O.A.C. and were there to do aircraft radio maintenance for E.A. Airways also owned by B.O.A.C. As for being a reputable company, so are Marks and Spencers but like I.A.L. they have no experience in Radio Relay. I had seen the pilot scheme at Kaloleni. Each house had a loudspeaker on the wall with volume control, and the system was wired in D8 cable and flex, with no protective devices. Reception was poor and quality was that of a typical bus station P.A. system. I gave O’dorian [sic] a detailed report of what I thought could be achieved in Nairobi and also the whole of Kenya, together with the engineering detail, resources required, budgets etc. The report was mainly the result of my father’s efforts of two years previously, updated. I included my report of I.A.L.’s one programme pilot scheme the performance of which could induce the Council to reach only one conclusion about Radio Relay. One of not to bother with it. Transistor radios were then on the market at 40 shillings giving good world-wide reception, Moscow being a necessity. I mentioned too the near to impossibility of collecting payment from individual subscribers. Payment would have to be made by the authorities. O’Dorian thanked me for my interest and appreciated the report and said he would be in touch. About a month later he wrote again and said they had decided not to pursue any interest in Kenya.
I also tried West London Telefusion who I knew at working level in 1947, and had an interview in Blackpool with their M.D., and Personnel Manager, for a new post as Development Manager in Taunton, Somerset. The job was to establish a cable T.V. system. I was offered the job after a prolonged interview and at a good salary. I accepted there and then and was advised to start looking for a house around Taunton. Only the starting date was uncertain, but they agreed to confirm the appointment in writing and provide a detailed Terms of Reference. I was very surprised indeed a few weeks later when a letter from Mr Wilkinson said he was very sorry but had decided not to proceed with the Taunton project and all development was under review. I realised that cable TV was popular in fringe areas but more and more repeaters were being provided and the need for cable was reducing all the time. I am writing this in 1993 and the concept of cable TV has developed from the 1966 “amplified aerial” to a single coaxial cable providing over 30 T.V. channels, radio and telephone, and
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most recently, scanned T.V. Security Systems. The technological advances in Relay since its inception in my father’s time, around 1928 have meant many fresh starts for the industry.
I had an interview with Aero Electronics at Crawley – to whom I had a letter of introduction, and was offered the job of Development Engineer & Manager! I felt this was aiming rather high. The interview took place in a large country house, alongside which was a fairly new factory with lots of activity, and a sketch of which appeared on Aero Electronics letter heading. I later found that the factory had no connection with Aero Electronics, which was in fact a one-man show. The job would have been responding to overseas enquiries received mainly via the Board of Trade, designing a system and providing equipment, winding up with a quotation. On the face of it a very interesting prospect, but with no back-up of any sort, and relying upon other firms’ equipment. I felt it to be somewhat dicey, particularly when I was asked if I could type! I had to say it was a job for a team, not one man.
From Crawley I went to see G.E.C. at Coventry for interview as a “Production Team Leader”. The job turned out to be the leader of a team of about 12 assemblers and wiremen constructing telephone exchanges – one at a time. I was shown one being assembled and spent an hour with the Team Leader on one particular exchange which comprised thirty 7’ racks of relay panels, counters uniselectors, jack fields etc. As far as I could see it was just a matter of ensuring each item was in the right place and wired-in correctly. Turning down the job was the right decission [sic] for the wrong reason. There seemed to be thousands of people around all moving at the same time, and the environment depressed me. Although I was only vaguely aware of it at the time, that type of system would be giving way to electronic exchanges within a year or two.
Next stop was Redifon in Wandsworth, who were advertising for Test and Installation engineers. The job was described accurately but was basically testing H/F and M/F equipment at the end of the production line, with very occasional trips into the field on installation and commissioning work. There was great competition for the field work. I was offered the job but the Personnel manager told me to think very carefully, Wandsworth was a terrible place to live in. I was given two weeks to think it over, and turned down the offer. I asked the Personnel Manager what happened to the job I was offered in 1957. The requirement was for an engineer who had a PMG1 licence to operate on ships and an MCA Flight Radio Officers Licence to operate on aircraft. He was to take equipment to sea and into the air to ensure there were no problems, and if there were, to resolve them. That job really appealed to me and could very well have become what I cared to make it. Maybe. He looked up my file and told me the vacancy was not filled and the post was withdrawn.
I saw a job advertised for a Telecommunications Engineer for Gambia, 18 month tour, £3500 per year + 25% gratuity, and applied for it. A week later I was called for interview. I didn’t think there was the slightest chance of this happening, having applied out of interest and an expences [sic] paid trip to London. The interview went well and soon after my return to Wales a letter arrived asking me to confirm my acceptance on a salary of £2500. I was in a quandry [sic], I didn’t really want to go to Zambia, but wrote to the Crown Agents and pointed out the discrepancy between the advert of £3500 and offer of £2500.
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They regretted their mistake in the advert, and on those grounds I was able to decline
I applied for an advertised post of Signals Officer at the Ministry of Aviation’s Communications Centre at Croydon for which my D.C.A. experience fitted me well. The interview went off very well and I found that in some respects E. Africa was more up to-date than was the practice at Croydon. At the end of the interview they said they would write to me. About a week later their letter arrived and advised that I had not been selected but only because a more senior post would shortly become available and I was already short-listed for it. Good news indeed, but having heard nothing further after four months by which time we had moved house to Cambridge, I wrote to them. In their reply I was told that the letter offering me the job had been returned to them marked “Gone away”. As Communications Officer in charge at Croydon life would have been rather different.
Becoming more and more disillusioned with U.K. I went to see the Overseas Services Resettlement Bureau at Eland House, Victoria. I saw a Mr. Williams who was ex-Malaysia P.& T and we chatted for a while about the prospects of settling down to a job in the U.K. I had to agree that after 18 years in East Africa I was not impressed with what I saw in Britain nor with the people who occupied it, it was a vastly different place to the one I had left in 1948. He was quite right in saying that I first had to decide whether I wanted to stay and if so to make the best of it. What job did I want? I told him I had hoped to join Pye Telecomm’s technical sales dept. I knew Pye aeronautical equipment and felt I could fit in there, but had written and been advised there were no vacancies. “Did I still want the job?”. Having replied yes please he picked up the phone, and said “get me Ernie Munns at Pye”. Moments later he greeted someone in what I assumed was Malay, then switched to English “look Ernie, I’ve another bloody Colonial here, thinks Pye’s the ultimate., When can you see him?” We agreed 2pm the following day at Pye Telecommunications, Newmarket Rd., Cambridge. More words in Malay between them and he wished me luck.
I liked the friendly environment at Pye and was interviewed by Ernie Munns, head of Systems Planning Dept. and his deputy, Cyril Foster. The interview was constantly interrupted by the telephone and people barging in for instant decisisons [sic]. I recall Ernie asking whether I would be prepared to write a paper for a semi-technical customer on the relative merits of conventional VHF links and Tropospheric scatter and I said “yes”! Fortunately the phone rang and both interviewers were involved, which gave me a few minutes to think about it. I had heard of Tropo-scatter, but that was about all. I awoke to the question of “how would you go about it?” I replied that I would read up the subject in the Pye library. It must have been written up many times, I would study it and probably be able to quote a learned authority. I agreed that I didn’t know all the answers, and Ernie said “Thank god for that, one or two around here think they do”. I was told that my application was opportune, if I joined them I would be in the Aeronautical team headed by Cyril, which was currently preparing a factory order for equipment to re-equip 22 airports and several other sites in Iran, plus a lot of other orders for aviation equipment. Basically the job was block-planning of systems to meet the customers’ operational requirement, prepare quotations, to engineer the job in detail and to project manage the order to its conclusion. This was the sort of job offered by
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Aero Electronics but at Pye there was full backing from experts in all fields. The second part of the interview was with Cyril and the Personnel manager who said he would write to me with the result. The letter arrived a few days later offering me the post at £1250 per year and to start preferably on the first of April. This was gladly accepted. Hilda and I went to Cambridge and after a week’s run around by Estate Agents we found a nice 4-bedroomed house at 14 Greystoke Rd. near Cherry Hinton which was to be ready by the end of March.
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[underlined] AT PYE TELECOMMUNICATIONS [/underlined]
The first two years at Pye were spent as a Project Engineer in Systems Planning Dept, not in the Aviation team as hoped, but in Duncan Kerr’s team doing general systems. Also in the team were Jim Bucknell, Ian Douglas, and Mike Bavistock who had also joined Pye on April first. Duncan was away most of the time drumming up contracts with the Scottish Police forces but on our first day Mike and I did meet him briefly and he gave us two pink files. ‘Take one each’ said Duncan. ‘Turkey 10th Slice is now an order and needs a flimsy, and the Libya quote needs revalidating’. Mike and I hadn’t a clue on Pye methods and we decided to work together, providing a mutual back-up. It quickly transpired that we had something in common, Mike had been in the Gambia for three tours whilst I was in East Africa. I told him of my experience with the Crown Agents for the Gambia job and he had seen the advert for what had in fact been his post. He was not amused when he saw his £2500 a year job advertised with a salary of £3500.
Of the 36 people in the department, no-one was particularly helpful, in retrospect mainly because they were themselves under great pressure and had problems of their own. I saw the Chief Clerk, - later known as the Admin Group Leader – and said ‘Duncan wants me to do a flimsy, what’s a flimsy?’ He was most unhelpful although he was responsible for the admin. aspect of many hundreds of them. His philosophy was that he wasn’t going to help anyone who was on a bigger salary than his own. I had to go to Export Sales to find out what a flimsy looked like. It turned out to be an all-singing and dancing instruction to every dept. detailing all the action required in designing, manufacturing inspecting packing shipping and invoicing and even installation of a customer’s order. All the information available was entered on the forms and circulated around the departments. The initial circulation was programmed to take six weeks. The system was designed in detail and all the engineering information added with ammendments. [sic] Eventually there were so many ammendments [sic] I had to completely rewrite the flimsy after six weeks, and finally there was an issue 4. The job was eventually engineered by Dickie Wainwright – ex East African P.& T., following a departmental re-organisation, and I picked it up again at the delivery stage having moved to the Systems Installation Dept.
My performance on my first task in Pye was not at all brilliant, and about 18 months later when the installation was finished I issued a memo entitled “Lessons Learned on Turkey 10th Slice”. I started with saying that a week of training in Pye methods would have saved a great deal of cost and misunderstanding and went on to discuss the contract itself. The contract stated that ‘The Turkish Version of the contract shall be deemed to be the official version’, and it seemed there were many anomalies all to the advantage of the Turks, in particular to our agent, a chap called Avidor, who in fact translated the Turkish contract into English!. The system originally quoted was for a microwave chain the length of Turkey with a dozen or so links carrying teleprinter and telephones. We were awarded only the links, the radio parts of which were main and standby. One rediculous [sic] requirement in the Turkish version was that they wanted the main link in one place and the standby in another. We were providing main and standby transmitters etc within a link, not a completely seperate [sic] standby link. The whole thing was quite rediculous, [sic] no
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wonder it was given to one of the new boys and everyone else steered clear. The title of the contract simply meant that it was the 10th slice – or part – of a multi-million dollar allocation of N.A.T.O. funds. I don’t know how many slices there were, but one was enough for us.
With Mike’s first job, revalidating a quotation might on the face of it seem more straight-forward. It is just a matter of extending the date on which the offer expires, or is it?! The engineers who did the quotation with many versions over a period of 10 years, and the half dozen salesmen involved over different periods had all either left or moved on somewhere. Now they were all out of picture, it was Mike’s job, and he was on his own. Revalidation implied that he must thoroughly understand the customer requirement. The quotation comprised 18 volumes of A4 size, each 2” thick, plus a mountain of minutes of meetings and correspondance [sic] over a period of 10 years. Undertakings made in good faith years ago could well be quite impossible to honour, requiring endless variations to the tender document. Every change required approval from others in Pye. Every aspect had to be checked. Equipment from other manufacturers was included and confirmation of availability and price had to be obtained, every move documented and absolutely every aspect of the tender was Mike’s direct responsibility. When I think back to those days, I remember how every letter and memo originated had to be written out in longhand for the team’s typist to action. I understand the office system did not change in the next 25 years although there is much less of it. Mike asked me to sit in at his very first meeting on this project, the main purpose of which was to put him in the picture and answer any queries he might have. One item in the quote was ‘2 years Bavister £2000’ What’s that asks Mike. The finance dept man said it’s an accountancy term, just leave it in but add 10%. Two others had totally different ideas and finally a fellow woke up and said “I’m Bavister, I’m supposed to go out there for two years to help the customer”. There followed a discussion on the price of whether it was 2 or should be 20 thousand and which department accepted the responsibility. Mike asked why we are using scramblers bought from Redifon at £1200 each when we can make them. It turned out they were actually ours, produced in Cambridge for T.M.C. who sold them to Redifon who in turn mounted them on a panel with their label, and sold them back to Pye at about 10 times the price.
The Libya communication system itself was very good, a policeman on a camel with a hand-held portable could talk through a local Base station and several UHF links and an HF SSB link to his HQ 3000 miles away if required. Mike Bavistock saw the project through two revalidations and the tender’s final acceptance, and the production stage, over a period of 4 years. He went on to do many other big projects before deciding to resign and return to Africa to try and regain his sanity.
When I joined the department, one half prepared quotations and everything else with the exception of the detailed engineering. The other half were responsible for engineering and nothing else. The system was sound, one person should not have to divert his thinking from conditions of sale to pricing to shipping to the specific connections on a 131 way socket. After a while the system was changed whereby one man did the lot, and with a dozen or more projects on hand at any one time constant re-orientation was getting me down and I asked for a transfer to Systems Installation Dept. Meanwhile I pressed on
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doing many quotations and made sure I did not get involved with detailed engineering design or anything else which could delay my transfer. In fact I feigned some excentricity [sic] and got away with it. The pressure however was high and there was a great deal of jeolousy [sic] and backbiting in the department.
At one stage I did a couple of Fireman’s callout schemes and these were done on the electric typewriter by a typist who normally did only the conditions of sale. The only difference was in the number of base stations and portables, and the finance. Together using the same basic tape we could rattle off a quotation in half an hour. We made about 20 spare copies and sent them to Home salesmen who were not already in the know, to help them secure orders from their local fire services. This was very rewarding to Pye.
One monday [sic] morning I was given the job of providing a quotation to meet a requirement for the Yugoslavian police, to be ready by 4 pm on friday [sic] . It was a big job and I would have three chaps to assist me but I was not to make a start until the go-ahead was received from International Marketing Dept. At 2.15 pm I was told to forget it, it would not be possible to complete it in time. On Wednesday at 10 am I was told the job was on and vital, top priority. Drop everything and get on wth [sic] it. I would not have any assistants and would have to complete it myself. So one man had two days and two nights to do a job which was too much for 4 men in 5 days and 4 nights. I worked almost non-stop, all day and all night, mostly at home, and on the thursday [sic] I asked for a typist to be available for friday [sic] night. By 5 pm on friday [sic] the document was ready for typing, a very long technical description and equipment schedules. The prices had not been agreed with the finance dept, so I used standard Export price with 15% mark-up for luck. No signatures of approval were obtained from Snr. Management although a quote for over £100,000 needed signatures from three Directors and finally the Company Secretary. I did ‘phone Bert Ship who was responsible for determining delivery time and I put 5 months instead of his 9. The typist did not materialise, and as a last resort I took an office typewriter to my daughter Wendy’s home and she typed it overnight.
At 7 am on the saturday [sic] I assembled a batch of relavant [sic] publicity material and technical leaflets, and made 10 copies of the whole document, four of which I signed and gave to the Salesman at 9 am. He translated the Technical Description and schedules into Italian on his way to London Airport by road and to Milan by air. It was retyped into Italian on the Sunday and presented to the client in Rome on the Monday [sic] , by Pye Italy. A month later the Salesman told me we had got the job and thanked me, but there was no other official recognition. I was amused to have signed it myself, having cut through all authorities and proceedures. [sic] One copy of the file was circulated around for approvals by Mike Loose and this was completed a few days before we got the contract. Not all jobs were like that.
One particular quotation was done for Frank Mills, a salesman responsible for dealing with government departments in Wales. I had first known Frank when he was Provincial Police Signals Officer at Mwanza in Tanganyika when I was in charge of the airport. Prior to that he had been a Radio Officer with D.C.A. in East Africa. Frank had told me of his lucky escape when he went to Musoma on a routine inspection. An african [sic] sold him a live snake in a sack for a shilling and Frank decided its skin would make a good present. An 8 foot python for a shilling. First the python had to be killed and whilst still in the sack was placed in an empty 40 gallon storage drum. A pipe was connected between his
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landrover [sic] exhaust and the drum, and the engine left running. After an hour the python was removed and made ready for skinning, but first let’s take a few photographs. Off came Frank’s bush jacket, and the python wound round his chest and neck, with Frank gripping the snake’s head and looking it square in the eyes. The photos were taken and the snake lowered to the ground. It was sweaty work and Frank sat on the back of the landrover [sic] drinking a cool beer. After a few minutes the python slid away into the bush. However, Frank had arranged to collect the quotation at 1.30 pm. and as the hour approached it was ready in triplicate except for the three front labels. All the typists and secretaries were enjoying their lunch break, most of them sitting at their desks knitting or reading. Not one of them would type the labels, so I used a spare manual machine and typed them myself. It was their right to stop work between 1 and 2 and they would excercise [sic] that right regardless of everything else. Most of them didn’t speak to me for weeks. This childish attitude was only too prevalant [sic] throughout the organisation and was completely foreign to me. However, Frank collected his quotation and we had a short chat about old times. Tragically he was killed in a road accident next day whilst on the way to see his customer with the quotation.
After my 2 years or so in Systems Planning, Bill Bainbridge one of the two Field Controllers in Systems resigned to start his own business, Cambridge Towers, and I was fortunate in succeeding him. At the same time Harry Langley Head of Systems Installation moved into Sales and D.A.D. Smith took over as Manager of Systems Installation Dept., (S.I.D.). I got on very well with Harry Langley, he had been with the Kenya Police as a Radio technician seconded from the Home Office. Howard (Jimmie) James was the other Field Controller and between us we managed all S.I.D. projects, mainly installing and commissioning systems in the field, about 60% being overseas. In theory we had a Project Engineer heading each Installation team but as each was involved in several jobs at any one time it was never possible just to sit back and let the P.E. get on with it. He was likely to be abroad when most required.
[underlined] IRAN [/underlined]
One of the first jobs allocated to me in S.I.D. was the Iranian Airports project, Pye being a member of a consortium with Marconi, C & S Antennas, Redifon, G.E.C. and S.T.C. All came together as the Irano-British Airports Consortium to re-equip the major airports and aviation facilities in Iran. This was the project mentioned to me at my interview when applying to join Pye and Cyril Foster and Allan Breeze had devoted their last two years entirely to it, and much of 5 years before that. Allan in fact eventually went to Iran to commission the F.I.C. console. I had a great respect for him when we went to Iran together and whilst I was struggling along in French he was talking in Farsi with the hotel staff. He had been quietly studying it in Cambridge and could even read it, which was a tremendous achievement.
I became suspicious when I received a memo from D.A.D. Smith the Departmental Manager enclosing a change-note and asking me to confirm that we could still carry out our installation committment [sic] in Iran for the £85,700 he had quoted. A change-note was a notification from a Lab. making a minor change in the design or manufacture of a piece of equipment. In this case it refered [sic] to a resistor which would make no difference to anything except the parts list.
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[photograph of the head and shoulders of a man]
[Arabic writing]
[stamp]
[Arabic writing] G. Watson [Arabic writing]
[signature]
[Arabic writing] JSB/100/14/6/T [Arabic writing]
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Not “will the change-note make any difference?” His subtle phraseology was making me responsible for the whole installation amount, not just a possible minor differe [deleted r [/deleted] nce. His figure was derived by taking 5% of the factory transfer price of the equipment which had no real relationship to the cost of fitting it, and was totally unrealistic.
I studied the draft contract and drew up an installation plan, and after a few days replied to my manager that “if the work can be carried out in the 12 month time scale as in the contract my estimate of costs is not £87500 but £250,000. I believed the work would take at least 5 years, it would not be possible to co-ordinate the many scores of officials with their different loyalties and the organisations involved. The final cost could very well be double the £250K. The end customer was the Iranian Director General of Civil Aviation, represented by Aerodrome Development Consultants Ltd., (A.D.C.) apparently a private firm, but wholly-owned by the then British Board of Trade and staffed by their officials. They were more than loyal to their Iranian masters.
After a great deal of arguement [sic] with A.D.C. and other Consortium members about methods, division of responsibilies [sic] , consequential losses and costs etc., the quotation was accepted including my price of £250K, and the contract signed. I was to live with that contract for exactly 10 years and have been sorely tempted many times to record the frustrations, stupidities and almost impossible business of working with the Iranians whilst retaining any degree of sanity.
It was the custom in Pye at the time, and a very good one, that before work was started on a major quotation, the comments of people with recent similar experience were sought as to its desireability, [sic] and with the question “Do we want the job?”. The file, an informal one came to me and in answer to that question I wrote in a light-hearted moment, “pas avec un barge pole.” I didn’t know that our masters Philips in Holland were involved until a minute came from them asking ‘vos ist ein barge pole’? This surprised everyone as the Dutch generally have no sense of humour where money is concerned.
One year from the signing of the contract, bang on time, we airfreighted the 26 racks of equipment and a mass of other material for installation at Meherabad airport, a direct flight from Stansted to Teheran where it was to be fitted. The pilot spent 36 hours under armed guard first for not having a “Certificate of no objection” from Iranian Airlines and secondly for paying a parking fee for only a 12 hours stay. There were many problems with that first consignement [sic] which provided a good pointer to the difficulties to follow. It was 12 months before the equipment was released from Customs and then it was stored in the open air outside the Meherabad receiving station for 6 months. Soon after that first air shipment I returned to Iran and spent 6 weeks studying the first 12 airport installations, including Meherabad, and re-formulating detailed plans. Meherabad was the main International Airport and included the Flight Information Centre. One problem at the F.I.C. was how to fit a 24 ft control console manned by 6 people whilst maintaining a full service on the old console which occupied the same floor space. In addition the contract stated that 12 racks would be fitted in the old equipment room on the fourth floor and 14 in a new equipment room on the second floor. This really was quite impossible and I was keeping the problem to myself. When I was discussing with the Iranians the work involved in their own equiupment [sic] room,
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they became extremely worried because their wiring was an absolute shambles with hundreds of multipair cables actually threading their way in and out and through racks which we had to replace with no interuption [sic] in the service.
They finally startled me by laying down the law and insisting that we stay right out of their old equipment room, and they would knock down walls between six offices on the second floor to house all 26 racks. This area was very close to FIC and made our job not only possible, but easy. Also the change was their firm requirement and we charged them £17,500 extra for the priveledge [sic] .
On Kushi Nostrat mountain, Marconi were to fit a Radar scanner, which we were to link to Meherabad by a 7GHz link, but the only way to reach the site was by helicopter, unless one was a mountaineer. There were no civilian helicopters in Iran and it was only when I put the problem to A.D.C. that I found the Radar stn. was to be at Kushi Basm and not Kushi Nostrat, a totally different mountain. This had an access road and Meherabad was a line-of-sight path of 32 miles. At a critical distance was a salt pan and we were supposed to go round this desert on a dog leg using a microwave link repeater. There was no suitable location for the repeater because of the “change” in location of the Radar site. This resulted in another variation to contract for a frequency and space diversity single link, less equipment than in the original contract but we got away with charging £18,000 more. Some of the problems were pathetic, others amusing. When I checked the earthing and lightening arrestor system at Meherabad I found the one inch copper earth lead was terminated not with an earth mat in the ground but to a spike stuck in a concrete plantpot on the first floor verandah. That was and probably is still there and highly dangerous. Incredible but true.
At Bandar Abbas Airport I prepared a detailed installation plan which together with others was discussed later at a monthly progress meeting in London. It bore no resemblance to a plan prepared by Redifon two years previously and we realised that since Redifon’s visit a new airport had been built about 9 miles away. More variatons [sic] to contract. There were 260 of them finally. At Bandar Abbas, the port of which was the main base of the Iranian Navy, I was with the Provincial Governor, an Iranian Air Force General and the Airport Manager. All three agreed it was permissible for me to use my camera. Later when an army corporal confiscated the camera they all denied it and simultaneously lost their ability to speak fairly good english, resorting to french in discussion with me. I had already met the works manager in charge of the extensive building operations who spoke excellent english and was apparently all-powerful. He not only recovered my camera from the army but also gave me a fine selection of photographic prints together with detailed architect plans of all the buildings. I did not see the three senior chaps again but the works manager put a car and driver at my disposal. I think he must have been related to someone important, maybe the Shah-in-Shah, or maybe he was a member of the secret police, there is no knowing.
A consignment of Redifon transmitters was held up in Customs for over two years with a documentation problem, and even the fixer employed was quite ineffective. To clear through customs it was necessary to get 120 signatures and rubber stamp impressions on the release document and this had to be done in a single day. This was finally achieved after the Shah had decreed that the equipment must be released, but the chap on the gate seemed to resent this interferance [sic] and refused to release it. The document with the signatures was out
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of date the following day so the man’s boss supported him and the equipment remained a part of the scenery. A week or two later, another department came into the act and gave notice that if Redifon did not remove it within 7 days, it would be sold off by police auction. Redifon did not appreciate my suggestion that we should go to the auction. The problem had arisen because one small item of equipment was refered [sic] to as a “tone transmitter”, the word transmitter being anathma [sic] to Middle east types. It did not appear on the schedule [deleted] d [/deleted] of approved tranmitters [sic] and was regarded with grave suspicion.
It took four months to amend the contract to exclude the tone transmitter and substitute a tone oscillator, - the same thing -, but even then 36 copies of the invoice had to be changed and re-submitted.
The Consortium offices belonged to the G.E.C.O.S. agent who kindly trebbled [sic] the size of them at the Consortium’s expence [sic] . All the members’ staff in Iran moved in and made themselves comfortable. About three weeks later a gang of workmen with demolition equipment reduced the new buildings to rubble and said “sorry, no planning permission”. Two months later the lawyers proved that all the proper authority and permissions were completely in order. The gang returned and said “sorry, ok you build”.
Despite all the red tape in Iran it was generally possible to get results eventually, the main difficulty was often finding out just which palms had to be greased. Our man in Iran for three years was Mike Cherry and he was successful in getting an amateur radio licence, with the call-sign EP2MC. Mike fitted an SSB125 transceiver in the office in Teheran and I was in daily contact with him from both my house and the office in Cambridge. By using very carefull [sic] phraeseology [sic] I was kept right up to date with progress in the field.
I was talking with Mike from the office one evening on 14 MHz when Dr. Westhead the Chief Executive came in and asked who I was talking with. I replied “to Mike Cherry, our man in Teheran, Sir”. He grimaced and said “Ah well, ask a stupid question..” The public telephone system to Iran was diabolical most of the time. I used to book a call for 4.30 am the following day and take it from home, which saved a great deal of time in both places. Teheran time was 2 1/2 hours ahead of U.K. On most occasions the Post Office telephoned several times during the night to confirm the call or advise of delays, which was very tiresome.
Monthly progress meetings were held in London, and at one of them I was asked to quote for additional work at Esfahan during the 2500 year celebrations, which were to take place before the new equipment was fitted. They required to talk with aircraft and I suggested they should do so on a mobile set which would be quite adequate. Our team would already be on site with the mobiles so without any fuss I quoted £300 which was put forward. At a board meeting a week later this was confirmed and the Pye member of the Board, Pat Holden who was also our International Marketing Director promptly withdrew it as I had not gone through the proper channels. The next day he sent for me and instructed me to cancel my quotation, and with a great thumping of the table told me to increase it £3000. Then followed a lecture that “we are here to make money, add a nought”. I told him the job would take about an hour and £300 was more than adequate. £30,000 was utterly rediculous. [sic] I told him “I was doing no such thing, put it in writing through the head of my department and meanwhile you are clear to return to earth”. I then excused myself and left him
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to it. I returned to my own desk 20 minutes later to find a note asking me to go and see the boss, not surprisingly. I told him exactly what had happened and he laughed. I said I thought I had burned my boats with Pat Holden and David Smith my boss said “far from it, he admires you for standing up to him and asks you to forget it.” I took no further action in this and in the event there was no income at all, but the job took only 30 minutes for one engineer.
Another equally challenging job was the installation and commissio [deleted] m [/deleted] ning of a UHF system within the London Stock Exchange. This employed 520 adjascent [sic] channels. The Base Stations in the basement comprised a transmitter and receiver for each channel, all being combined into one “radiating feeder”. About 600 pocketphones on the Stock Exchange floor were used by dealers working into this system. An invitation to tender for this job had been received by Pye about two years previously and comments invited from all technical departments. It was unanimously agreed that the job was quite impossible and must not be attempted. Pye did not quote for it and the contract was awarded to S.T.C. Mobile division. Nearly two years later Pye or Philips aquired [sic] that organisation and half the installation had been fitted. About 60 channels were in use and very unsatisfactory. Dealers received messages intended for others and signals faded out at the crutial [sic] moment. Firms were receiving wrong messages and transfering [sic] and buying shares erroneously through these faults. The task of bringing the job to a conclusion was allocated to me and I chose my favourite team of Nick Fox, Aussie Peters and Jack Faulkener.
There was a local Service Dept. depot at the Stock Exchange of four engineers who were struggling to get the system working and we took over from them. On arrival there was a flap on, a dealer had acted on a false message and bought some tens of thousand shares for which he had no client and he was stuck with them. He said he was going to sue Pye for his loss. He dropped that idea next day when he sold them at a profit. The main problem was loss of signals into the pocketphones on the Stock Exchange floor but we were not allowed onto the floor during dealing times to make tests. Eventually we were given an ultimatum to either fix it or remove it and face an enormous claim for damages.
This was very serious indeed and I reported back to Cambridge. The Engineering Director, Frank Grimm showed me a copy of his comments of two years ago when he said the job was quite rediculous [sic] and impossible, and that was the end of it. No-one wanted to know, “It’s your problem Cliff, get on with it”. So it was back to the Stock Exchange, and I demanded permission to see for myself what was actually happening by being on the floor during dealing hours, otherwise there was nothing more we could do. The Chairman gave permission, quite unprecedented and we were then able to make a more scientific approach. We stayed on that evening and with Jack Faulkener in the basement at the transmitters we measured signal strengths which were astonishingly high and with no blind spots. Jack reduced the base station transmitter power at the input to the antenna system until even with the antenna completely isolated the signals were far more than adequate. This provide the mathematicians were all wrong and we were all barking up the wrong tree. We then carried out the most elementary test of all, whilst receiving properly on a pocketphone we transmitted on other pocketphones – on other channels – at a distance of ten feet. We had found the reason for the problem, simple R/F blocking which should have been checked in the Lab. at a very early stage. That evening we modified 6
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pocketfones [sic] , fitting a 2 pf. capacitor at the receiver input and completely bipassing [sic] the transmitter output stage. They worked perfectly, and with no blocking even at 2’ distance between portables. We had found the answer and the next day, friday, [sic] we recovered all the 160 pocketfones [sic] and over the weekend modified the lot. Everything worked as it should and the customers were delighted. We had received no co-operation from anyone in Cambridge but word soon reached Cambridge that all was well. We deliberately kept them in the dark until I issued a formal report. I had of course no authority to modify equipment but deliberately flouted this on the grounds that someone had to do something constructive or we would have been thrown out of the Stock Exchange. It did not improve my popularity with the people who could influence my career.
In 1979 after being responsible for some dozens of major projects three more Field Controllers were appointed, Dave Buller Mike Simpson and Clive Otley and I felt that a change was long overdue. Relationships with the Departmental Manager and his yes-man deputy Joe were deteriorating rapidly. I transfered [sic] back to Systems Planning Dept. and overnight became a specialist in Radio Frequency propagation. I was in a small team headed by Dave Warford, and including Lewis Wicker and John Ewbank, and a trainee. Our job was to plan Radio Links and area coverage systems, within the parameters laid down by D.T.I.
At the outset my knowledge of R/F propagation (or Electromagnetic Radiation) was limited to my practical experience of what had been achieved and what had failed to work. The theoretical aspect was highly mathematical but fortunatly [sic] the subject was well written up and the principles well established. Dave Warford and Lewis Wicker were a great help in getting me onto the right lines.
A typical job would be a request from a salesman asking whether a radio link on a particular frequency band would work between two specific sites and if so what aerial height would be required? The first step would be to study the Ordnance Survey maps of 1:50000 scale, and plotting all the contours on the direct line between the points. From this information a profile of the earth’s surface would be prepared including the earth’s curvature
[inserted] To be continued [/inserted]
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[underlined] Dresden 13 – 14 February 1945 [/underlined]
At the end of January 1945, the Royal Air Force and the USAF 8th Air Force were specifically requested by the Allied Joint Chiefs of Staff to carry out heavy raids on Dresden, Chemnitz and Leipzig. It was not a personal decision by Sir Arthur Harris. The campaign should have begun with an American daylight raid on Dresden on February 13th, but bad weather over Europe pre-vented [sic] any American operation. It thus fell to Bomber Command to carry out the first raid on the night of February 13th. 769 Lancasters and 9 Mosquitoes were dispatched in two separate attacks on Dresden and at the same time a further 368 R.A.F aircraft attacked the synthetic oil plant at Bohlen near Leipzig. A few hours after the RAF raids 311 bombers of the 8th US Air force attacked Dresden. The following day (15 February 1945) the USAF despatched 211 bombers to bomb Dresden and a further 406 bombers on the 2nd March.
As an economic centre, Dresden ranked sixth in importance in pre-war Germany. During the war several hundred industrial plants of various sizes worked full-time in Dresden for the German War machine, Among them were such industrial giants as the world famous Zeiss-Ikon AG (Optics and cameras). This plant alongside the plant in Jena was one of the principle centres of production of field glasses for the Armies, aiming sights for the Panzers and Artillery, periscopes for U-boats, bomb and gun sights f or the Luftwaffe. Dresden was also one of the key centres of the German postal and telegraphic system and a crucial East West transit point with its 7 bridges crossing the Elbe at its widest point.
In February 1945 the war was far from over. The Western Allies had not yet crossed the Rhine, Germany still controlled extensive territories, and Bomber Command lost more than 400 bombers after Dresden. The war was at its height, the Allies were preparing for the land battles which would follow their crossing the Rhine, the Russians were poised on the Oder. This destruction of Dresden meant a considerable reduction in the effectiveness of the German Armed forces.
The Germans followed Hitler even after the liberation of Auschwitz in January 1945 when its horrors were broadcast to the world. They continued to follow Hitler even after they watched the thousands of living skeletons from concentration camps being herded westward in early 1945.
A quote from former POW Col H E Cook (USAAF Rtd) "on 13/14 Feb 1945 we POWs were shunted into the Dresden marshalling yards where for nearly 12 hours German troops and equipment rolled in and out of Dresden. I saw with my own eyes that Dresden was an armed camp: thousands of German troops, tanks and artillery and miles of freight cars …. transporting German logistics towards the East to meet the Russians.”
[signed] Jim[?] Broom [/signed]
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[curriculum vitae page 1]
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[curriculum vitae page 2]
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[autographed photograph of Lancaster bomber]
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[history of Jack Railton and Emma Sharpe]
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[history of George Henry Watson]
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[history of Herbert Kilham]
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[history of Herbert Kilham continued]
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[photograph of male]
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[history of George Henry Watson]
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[history of Jack Railton and family]
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[history of Jack Railton and family continued]
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[history of Cliff Stark’s early years]
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[letter from LMS railway to C.W. Watson page 1]
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[letter from LMS Railway to C.W.Watson page 2]
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[letter from LMS Railway to C.W. Watson]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Just Another Tailend Charlie
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir written by Cliff Watson divided into 20 chapters.
The Earliest Years.
Born in Barnoldswick, then in Yorkshire, now in Lancashire in 1922. His father ran a wireless business until 1926. He describes his years at schools and a move to Norwich. The family then moved to London where he started an apprenticeship as an accountant.
Joining Up.
Cliff left the accountants to work in his father's radio business. Initially he was rejected by the RAF because he wore spectacles. He reapplied and passed various written, oral and medical examinations. Initial training was at Torquay then Newquay. Once training was complete he sailed from Greenock to South Africa.
Southern Rhodesia.
After acclimatisation in South Africa, Cliff and his colleagues were put on a sleeper train to Bulawayo in Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe. Training commenced on Tiger Moths but he was 'scrubbed' or rejected. He was reselected as an air gunner and completed a course in Moffat, also in South Rhodesia. Hospitality in Rhodesia and South Africa was described as generous and excellent.
Postscript.
Cliff describes a run-in with a training corporal who took a dislike to him. Despite faked evidence he proved his points and emerged with a clean record and passed his exams.
Operational Training.
In August 1942 he sailed back to the UK. He was sent to Bournemouth for assessment, then on to RAF Finningley for training then RAF Bircotes for operations. Next was a move to RAF Hixon and its satellite airfield at Seighford. He married Hilda on 1st March 1943 during a week's leave.
Second Time to Africa.
He was then sent to West Kirby, Liverpool to join a ship sailing to Algiers, for further training. Their destination became Blida where they started operations on Tunis and Monserrato airfield. They then moved to a desert strip to the east by 250 kms. From there they continued operations into Italy. Later they moved to Kairouan and continued operations into Italy, mainly Sardinia and Sicily. Each operation is described in great detail.
He has included a letter in Arabic with instructions to take the bearer to British soldiers for a reward. At the end of his tour they sailed back to Greenock.
Screened.
After some leave Cliff's next posting was at Operational Training Unit Desborough where he helped train new gunners. Due to an argument with an officer he was sent to RAF Norton for correctional training. On his return his case was reviewed and the severe reprimand was removed from his record.
Scampton.
Scampton was Cliff's next operational base then Winthorpe for its Heavy Conversion Unit on Stirlings, followed by Syerston on Lancasters then Bardney.
227 Squadron.
Cliff joined 227 squadron at Bardney. Again he covers in detail each operation. His flight was later transferred to Balderton. During this period he was awarded the DFC.
Final Leg.
His squadron was transferred to Gravely at the end of the war. He did a photography course and was transferred to Handforth. There was little work, some unpleasantness and eventually a period of extended leave, a spell at Poynton looking after prisoners then demob.
Back to Civvy Street.
Cliff returned to Whitehaven to revitalise a radio company. He gives great detail about the improvements made. Later he set up a similar enterprise at Maryport. Wired radio services were set to become less popular and financially worthwhile so seeing the writing on the wall he decided to emigrate.
Kenya.
Cliff and family flew to Nairobi, then bus to Kitale where his father was.
Hoteli King George.
Dissatisfied with life on his father's farm, Cliff took a job as a prison officer. He and his family moved to Nairobi. He relates several stories about prisoners and their better qualities but in the end he gets restless and leaves.
Civil Aviation.
Cliff joined the East African Directorate of Civil Aviation in April 1951 as a radio officer. He and his family were relocated to Mbeya, 900 miles from Nairobi. His skills as a radio engineer were well used in this remote location. After 2.5 years the family returned to UK on leave. On his return he was posted to Mwanza, also in Tanganyika. He describes in great detail a royal visit. They left on leave in June 1957 and collected a VW Beetle for transport to Kenya. Their next move was to Entebbe. This was not a happy posting and led to a transfer to Kisumu in Kenya. After three years they transferred to Nairobi to spend more time with their children, who were at boarding school there.
D.C.A. Headquarters.
His role here was Telecomms superintendent. He describes in detail the operations of his section. This was an unsettled period in Kenya with many Europeans returning home.
Dec' 61 on Leave.
Leave was spent at their house in Wales then in May 1962 Cliff returned alone to Nairobi. His family did return later. By this time his father had abandoned his farm and was building radios.
On Leave June 1964.
He bought another house in Wales and spent his leave restoring it. His wife's mother moved in. In November 1964 Cliff returned alone to Nairobi. he left within a year due to the worsening situation.
Job Hunting.
Several electronics firms were approached offering Cliff's services. He attended an interview with Pye who quickly offered him employment.
At Pye Telecommunications.
He found his colleagues unhelpful. A great deal of time was spent on a Turkish quotation that had been in progress for 10 years. A quotation to the Iranian Directorate of Civil Aviation contained complications leading to Cliff revising the quotation. Later there was a complicated installation job at the London Stock Exchange. Eventually Pye pulled out from the bid but a rival company won it, only to be taken over by Pye. At first the system was troubled but after a simple modification it worked perfectly.
Dresden 13-14 February 1945.
A one page description of the bombing of Dresden.
Curriculum Vitae.
Cliff Watson's CV, dated 1976.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Cliff Watson DFC
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1989-06
Format
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192 typewritten sheets and photographs
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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SWatsonC188489v1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Huntingdon
England--Yorkshire
England--Norwich
England--London
England--Torquay
England--Newquay
England--Birkenhead
Scotland--Greenock
Sierra Leone--Freetown
South Africa--Durban
Zimbabwe--Bulawayo
South Africa--Mahikeng
Zimbabwe--Harare
Singapore
South Africa--Cape Town
England--Bournemouth
France--Paris
Algeria--Algiers
Algeria--Blida
Tunisia--Tunis
Italy--Sardinia
Italy--Cagliari
Tunisia--Bizerte
Italy--Monserrato
Italy--Decimomannu
Italy--Trapani
Italy--Palermo
Italy--Naples
Italy--Rome
Italy--Lido di Roma
Italy--Tiber River
Italy--Alghero
Italy--Castelvetrano
Italy--Pantelleria Island
Tunisia--Sūsah
Italy--Syracuse
Italy--Messina
Italy--Salerno
Italy--Bari
Italy--Comiso
Italy--Crotone
Italy--Pomigliano d'Arco
Italy--Paola
Italy--Battipaglia
England--Desborough
Norway--Bergen
Netherlands--Walcheren
Germany--Hamburg
Norway--Oslo
Belgium--Houffalize
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Berchtesgaden
England--Whitehaven
Kenya
England--Yeovil
Kenya--Nairobi
Kenya--Kitale
Tanzania--Mbeya
Tanzania--Mwanza
Uganda--Entebbe
Kenya--Kisumu
England--Cambridge
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Braunschweig
Germany--Düsseldorf
Zimbabwe--Gweru
Zimbabwe
South Africa
Sierra Leone
France
Algeria
Tunisia
Italy
Netherlands
Germany
Norway
Poland
Belgium
Tanzania
Uganda
Iran
North Africa
Germany--Nuremberg
Iran--Tehran
Poland--Police (Województwo Zachodniopomorskie)
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Germany--Homburg (Saarland)
Tunisia--Munastīr
Tunisia--Qayrawān
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Cumberland
England--Devon
England--Hampshire
England--Huntingdonshire
England--Norfolk
England--Northamptonshire
England--Somerset
England--Lancashire
Italy--Capri Island
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Peter Bradbury
109 Squadron
142 Squadron
150 Squadron
1661 HCU
227 Squadron
25 OTU
30 OTU
5 Group
617 Squadron
84 OTU
9 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Albemarle
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
Beaufighter
bomb aimer
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
C-47
Defiant
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
ditching
FIDO
flight engineer
Flying Training School
Gee
ground personnel
Halifax
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hudson
Hurricane
Initial Training Wing
Ju 87
Ju 88
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
mess
military discipline
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Mosquito
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
RAF Balderton
RAF Bardney
RAF Bawtry
RAF Catfoss
RAF Desborough
RAF Eastleigh
RAF Farnborough
RAF Finningley
RAF Graveley
RAF Hemswell
RAF Hixon
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Milltown
RAF Norton
RAF Scampton
RAF Seighford
RAF Strubby
RAF Syerston
RAF Waddington
RAF Wick
RAF Winthorpe
RAF Wyton
searchlight
Spitfire
sport
Stirling
Sunderland
Tiger force
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
wireless operator / air gunner
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Raettig, Dennis
Dennis William Raettig
Dennis W Raettig
D W Raettig
D Raettig
Description
An account of the resource
72 items. The collection concerns the wartime service of Leading Aircraftman Dennis William Raettig (b. 1920, 1136657 Royal Air Force). Joining the Royal Air Force reserve in 1941 he trained as a flight mechanic (Engines) before being posted to 104 Squadron (Wellingtons) at RAF Driffield. This squadron number was later changed to 158 Squadron flying Halifax at RAF East Moor, followed by moves to RAF Rufford and Lisset. The collection consists of a memoir, correspondence with family and acquaintances, family history, service and personal documentation, lucky charms,personal items, cap, boots, squadron tie, research on bombing in Hull as well as photographs of air and ground crew and aircraft. It also includes an oral history interview with Joan Raettig (Dennis Raettig's wife).
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Sue Burn and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-23
2016-07-08
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Raettig, DW
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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104/158 Squadron Bomber Command
[photograph of a Wellington]
I started my Air Force life as a Flt./Mechanic (Engines) at Squires Gate, Blackpool, in January 1941. Everyone remembers their service number – in my case 1136657 – and their first months in the forces. The endless marching around, inspections and going for your ‘jabs’ – mine took place in a church hall [italics] ‘Suffer Little Children” [/italics] was written above the stage. Not having been inoculated before, I didn’t really know what to expect, but at the front of the queue grown men were fainting even before they got to the doctor! A punch in the middle of the back by the orderlies seemed to be the cure – it certainly cured me!
It is possible that I am the longest serving member of 158 Squadron, posted to B Flight, 104 Squadron, 4 Group Bomber Command, at Driffield, in the 2nd week of August, 1941. Driffield aerodrome was built in the early 30’s, with the usual living quarters and 4 hangers – there were no runways, just a large grass field, the standard for an airfield in those pre-war days. The aerodrome had previously been bombed - a barrack block and a hanger had been badly [inserted] damaged [/inserted], it was rumoured that several personnel had perished.
104 Squadron was composed of 2 Flights of Vickers Wellington Mk. 2 bombers, powered by Rolls Royce Merlin X engines. The airframe was of geodetic construction, covered by a fabric which was stitched on with a very strong twine. It was designed by Barnes Wallis, who a few years earlier, had been involved with the airship R100 which was built at near-by Howden. The aircraft were mainly disbursed around the airfield, but some were parked in a field across a road which skirted the ‘drome. There was also a Blind Approach Training Flight, with 2 Whitley [inserted] bombers [/inserted], a Fairey Battle used for target towing for air-to-air firing; and most unexpectedly – an Autogiro – definitely not a helicopter! (used for weather observations over the North Sea) I serviced it on 2 or 3 occasions; and finally 4 Westland Lysanders, which were attached to a nearby army unit.
It was during October of that year (1941) that we were confined to camp. A number of aircrew and groundcrew were given 48 hours leave and the rest of us told that we had to prepare the aircraft for a special mission. We were later told that they were all going to Malta and spares would also be loaded on the ‘planes. As soon as I heard of the destination I volunteered to go (due to an accident, my parents were stranded on the island – and later Egypt) I was told that if any of the groundcrew failed to return from leave I would be considered. As it turned out one person failed to return on time and I was actually on the ‘plane when he turned up. [deleted] It was to be an [/deleted]
Aircraft and crews were soon replaced but it was around this time that U Uncle ([deleted] the [/deleted] [inserted] a [/inserted] dual controlled training aircraft) crash landed. This was my time to take over servicing the ‘plane and as new aircrews arrived they all took their turn on the ‘circuits and bumps’ training. However, a few days later I was reading D.R.O’s (remember Daily Routine Orders?) One paragraph read (roughly) that anybody who could successfully design a means of hiding the exhausts on the Merlin engine would receive an award of £200 (the stubs glowed red hot and were thought to be an easy target for enemy fighters). I thought no more about it until someone came from our office and told me that U would be the aircraft to test any of the designs and that I had to move my ‘plane to the parking area across the road from the main airfield and to take reasonable precautions in case of fire. That afternoon I got the tractor to tow U across the road to the parking area
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[deleted] Across the road] [/deleted] and [deleted] I [/deleted] surrounded it with as many fire extinguishers as I could get hold of. The following day the first test arrived in the shape of a cowling to be fitted on the starboard engine, on the inboard [inserted] side [/inserted] so that I could see it all the time I was testing. After fitting the cowling to the engine, I started up the engine and waited for the oil pressure g[inserted]u[/inserted]age to ‘break’, but it was obvious from the way exhaust gases came out that it was a failure. Over a period of several days more were tested until one passed the ground test, so I asked for an aircrew to fly the aircraft. When the crew came out and I explained what the test was they refused to fly it – well any sane person would, wouldn’t they? However, we came to a compromise by agreeing that just the pilot and I would fly as low as possible within the confines of the airfield – which we did – it was a case of ‘Down quick’. On the third occasion of a test flight the airframe mechanic asked if he could go up as he wanted to do a check. I told him no it was too dangerous, however he said it was fairly important for him to check the wing in flight, so the three of us went on the test. Very quickly it was a case of ‘down, down’ both from me and the airframe mech.. Apart from the exhaust burning the cowling, the starboard wing had ‘ballooned’ due to the cord stitching the fabric had worn away. It was all down to the skill of the pilot, he quickly feathered the prop., somehow managing to control the landing despite having a damaged wing, and landed safely. However, all our troubles were not quite over – having had to cut the starboard engine the hydraulic pump no longer worked the flaps or the brakes. So the Pilot’s problem was how to stop the aircraft from crashing into two 500 gal. petrol bowsers on the perimeter track just in front of the hanger. Fortunately, it stopped about 20 yards away. That was the end of U Uncle – the next day it was loaded onto a ‘Queen Mary’ lorry back to the Vickers factory. The problem of the glow from the exhaust system took a little longer – a few days later we received some cans of a specially thick red paint developed by I.C.I., with instructions to paint it thickly on to the exhaust stubs, which was duly applied. When the engines were run the heat turned the red paint black – problem solved.
… and now we are 158 Squadron
As autumn turned to winter it became obvious that without runways, the aircraft would be in difficulties with take-off and landing. At one stage we helped to lay a steel wire ‘runway’, which was duly tested but considered unworkable, so it had been decided some of the aircraft would operate from R.A.F. Pocklington, at the foot of the Yorkshire Wolds.
Due to the lack of living quarters, some of the ground crew were based at nearby R.A.F. Melbourne (which was in the early stages of being built) and bussed to and from Pocklington every day. The bus used to drop us at the end of a short lane to our billet, where a farmer had conveniently (for us) built a potato pie to protect his crop from being frosted. There were about 15 of us and as each one passed the pie they helped them selves to a potato, then on to the cookhouse for tea. One of the gang would talk to the cook, while one of us grabbed a packet of margarine, which we soon found on a shelf at the other end of the counter. Later in the evening in front of a red-hot stove we baked and ate our baked potatoes – never have they tasted better! However, as they [sic] saying goes, all good things must come to an end, as an officer arrived one evening and ‘tore a strip off us’
It was during mid February at Pocklington that we were informed that we were now 158 Squadron and the recognition letters on the sides of the aircraft changed from EP to NP, so as we prepared for operations the airframe mechanic did the necessary alterations to the lettering. That evening the aircraft flew with the new insignia and more importantly, all returned safely from that first operation of the new squadron. 2 or 3 other raids were carried out from Pocklington with the loss of 1 aircraft.
The new squadron then returned to our own base at Driffield, and for the next 3 months was engaged in many raids on enemy targets in which many brave men lost their lives. Some however, were captured and for the rest of the war interned in P.O.W. camps. During early May, we were informed that the squadron was to move to another station and be equipped with Halifax Mk 2 Bombers. In due course we moved to different stations to learn more about these ‘planes.
About 20 of us went to RAF Leeming. The first question any sensible airman should ask on arriving at a new station is “What’s the grub like?” – the answer here at Leeming was mind blowing – pictures of a pre-war summer day, mother bringing a cool green salad to the table in the back garden and as a special treat a slice of [italics] pork-pie [/italics] – here the dream ended. Pork Pies (about 3” diam.) were available for breakfast, dinner, tea and supper at this station. You soon got your fill of them – it was a few years before I tasted another! On the whole our stay was like a holi-
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day as we had no responsibilities and the weather was fine enough for some of us to swim in a small river at the edge of the ‘drome – including my friend Doug. Waddie, who not having any swimming trunks decided to hide behind some bushes and wrap his loins (ahem!) in 2 large handkerchiefs, jumped into the fast running river and immediately lost his dignity much to the amusement of a group of WAAF. I quickly picked up his towel and threw it across, but unfortunately my aim wasn’t good and it landed in the water – there was a great cheer as Doug. revealed all, to retrieve his towel. Shortly after this dramatic incident I was ordered back to Driffield, as I went down the narrow road from the Leeming ‘drome I noticed a fairly new factory with a notice ‘Pork Pie Products’ – so if any of you get posted there, you know what to expect!
Arriving back at Driffield, I was told that I had to report to the Group Captain. On entering his office he told me that he was as mystified as me as to what was going on but I had to check all the remaining aircraft and await further orders. One of my airframe friends joined me later in the day, and together we inspected the planes – there were only 8 or 9 Wellingtons left of the original squadron plus the Whitleys of the B.A.T. flight who had [deleted] there [/deleted] [inserted] their [/inserted] own service crews. On the next day more tradesmen arrived and we serviced those few planes. The following day, the 30th May 1942, was to be an important day in Bomber Command history. We were told to prepare the planes for a special raid. Regardless of trade we all helped each other – whether it was filling up with fuel or bombing-up and finally the aircrews came out started the engines and where [sic] off. It was an amazing sight, as squadron after squadron flew overhead for quite a long time. It was of course the first 1,000 bomber raid. Target Cologne. Two days later the planes were again prepared for ops. This time the target was Essen. That was the last Wellington bombing raid from Driffield by 158 Squadron. A few days later we rejoined the main squadron at the new station…
R.A.F. EAST MOOR
[photograph of a Halifax Mk 2 Aircraft]
Halifax Mk 2 4 Rolls-Royce Merlin XXII
About 9 miles north of York, close to the hamlet of Sutton-on-the-Forest, East Moor was one if the new breed of satellite stations, with well dispersed living quarters in the wooded areas.
The first days were filled with lectures mainly about the new aircraft and one I particularly remember was about security. After this meeting 2 or 3 of us decided to go down to the local ‘watering hole’, but just as we were leaving I was called back to ‘see in’ B Flight’s first new Halifax bomber. About half an hour later I went to meet my friends at the village pub and I saw them talking to a couple of civilians who on my entry, quickly left the premises. I was surprised at their quick exit and asked the lads what had happened. On being told that they had been asking questions about what type of aircraft etc., I asked the landlord permission to use his ‘phone and called the civil police and our own service police. On returning to camp we were interrogated by our police, but heard nothing further.
During the next few days, aircrew and groundcrew were arriving to bring the squadron up to strength. Again I was allocated to P, and was quickly introduced to the new aircrew as they came to test their ‘plane. When the crew came for their next flight I asked the pilot for permission for my new assistant (straight from training school) and I to go up for our first flight in a Halifax. We all climbed on board, and had a very pleasant flight on a lovely summer’s day – except the pilot didn’t warn us that he was going to do a few tests. The first inkling was when the outer starboard engine was stopped then feathered, next the starboard-inner, the nose dropped slightly and was corrected by the pilot, then the port-inner was stopped and immediately restarted when the nose dropped. Test over, and as the pilot lowered the undercarriage preparing to land, a horn sounded, not having heard this before, I asked the Flight Engineer what it was for. “It’s a warning to indicate that the landing-gear hasn’t locked” was the response. The pilot was receiving instructions over the radio. Climbing higher, he went into a fairly steep dive as he attempted to lower the under-
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carriage – still the horn sounded. After a few more attempts he was told to use-up some fuel, then land. All aircrew were ordered to crash positions between the main spars, while my assistant and I lay on the floor with our arms protecting our heads. It was a great relief when I heard the screech of tyres as we touched down – the horn continued all the time till we got to our base. Later, a ground check was made and an electrical fault was found on the system.
Towards the end of the first month at East Moor, planes were prepared for a raid which we learned later was the 3rd 1,000 bomber raid. This time against Bremen. During that month of June several raids were carried out and any loss of aircraft was keenly felt throughout the squadron, partly because we were such a small unit – 2 Flights – 16 aircraft maximum. [inserted] One [deleted] new [/deleted] innovation to our routeen [sic] was the introduction of a heater van [/inserted]
The following story may seem incredible, but it actually happened. All I can assume is that a certain Canadian F/Sgt. rear gunner found a cheap way of getting someone else to pay for his beer – My aircraft was based close to a narrow country road and one afternoon I was working by myself, on top of one of the engines changing plugs when I heard children laughing close by. Looking down I was horrified to see a lady and two young children (about 4 or 5 years old) sat by the side of the plane with a tablecloth spread out with plates of sandwiches, then from behind I heard a man call his wife to ‘come and look at this’. Turning round I saw a man looking into the aircraft though the entrance hatch. I told him to leave the field as he was trespassing. He said he wasn’t trespassing as he had arranged to meet his friend Flt/Sgt - - who had promised to take them on a flight and if I wasn’t careful he would report me to his friend and get me put on a charge. This was getting very silly, so I told him to go to ‘that building over there’ pointing to the guardhouse and they would get hold of his friend for him. So off he went. I don’t know what happened but he never came back for his free flight. Warning! If any of you get called up again (there’s no knowing the way things are just now, they are short of recruits) don’t try the free drinks trick on me, unless you pass me a bottle or two.
[italics] It was around this time that a Group Captain from a neighbouring ‘drome insisted on holding an inspection of all personnel once a month (I must have been born with 2 left feet!). His name was Gp. Captain John Whitley and he was later to become very important to me [/italics].
The Squadron was heavily engaged in August and suffered many losses, but one cheery note was that P.O. Chambers, who had been with the Squadron since the Driffield days, finished his tour of ops.. September was also a very busy month but towards the end we were less busy and I ‘volunteered’ (you, you & you!) for a special mission, in late October. Actually, there were six or so groundcrew, an MT driver and a bus. The instructions were to drive 10 miles south of York on the A19, open the secret instructions and carry on from there. Arriving at the 10 mile spot, the secret instructions were opened. We were to proceed the RAF Harwell and to prepare our Halifax aircraft for [underlined] Glider towing [/underlined]. As we were driven down we discussed the implications and came to the conclusion that someone ‘high up’ didn’t know what he was talking about – not unusual! As far as we knew, none of our aircrews had any training for towing gliders. However, on to Harwell, or so we thought, but leaving the road directions to the driver, it was a little surprising when we entered a small town whose main claim to fame was a statue of a lady riding a cock horse (what ever that is). Fortunately, one of the party knew the area, so beating a hasty retreat – (which included reversing into the statue) and sped like the devil in case anyone had noticed our arrival). We were late reaching the gates of RAF Harwell, only to be told that the operation had been cancelled – and no we couldn’t be admitted to the camp. Our driver pointed out that he had already driven over 8 hours and wouldn’t drive any further, so we had no alternative but to find somewhere to stay for the night. Fortunately there was a farmer near by who agreed to let us stay the night in his stables and led the horses into a field. We had a restless (and smelly) night and set off early next morning for our journey back.
On arrival, we were so exhausted that we went straight to our hut (most of the party were in my hut) and lay on our beds and began to doze off only to be wakened by a Flt/Sgt. telling us that we were supposed to be working on the planes and if not, we had to volunteer to fly on a special trip – it was the easy way out[inserted],[/inserted] so back to sleep. The next morning we were told that we would be
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taking over the duties of the squadron, whose own aircraft (Liberators) had been cannibalised one-at-a-time in order to keep their aircraft flying until they had only one aircraft. Our flight down to the South coast was uneventful, but the cloud base was rather low and we couldn’t see the ground so I cat-napped. Sometime later I awoke and was looking at a strange cloud rising just at the side of our ‘plane., about the size of a large black football – it then dawned on me and just as I was going to shout at the captain he called on the inter-com ‘Navigator we must be nearly there’. ‘Yes, just nip below cloud and confirm’. At least 4 German A.A. guns were firing at us, and looking hastily back, I couldn’t even see the Channel. Quickly climbing above cloud, we eventually reached our destination. But it was going to be one of those days best forgotten. I was given my instructions to try and keep the planes serviceable at all times and to make sure that all ‘planes were fully fuelled, as the trips were to be over the Bay of Biscay searching for enemy subs. Mine laying and submarine attack was the main aim.
As I got out of the ‘plane I saw a petrol tanker on the perimeter track, so I hailed him to come over, and told him we wanted to fill the aircraft immediately. ‘Sorry mate. You don’t belong to us’, was the response. So it was a case of ‘take me to your leader’ attitude. I climbed into the tanker, back to his base and had words with his officer, who more-or-less said the same thing. I was then passed up the ranks – Flt.Lt Engineer Officer, Squadron Leader, Wing Commander and finally the Group Captain. Repeating my request for refuelling the aircraft, I got the same answer – ‘No, I don’t know anything about you’. I tried another way. ‘Sir, someone must have sent a signal for reinforcements.’ ‘No, they would have told me about it’. Feeling that I was getting nowhere – ‘May I use the ‘phone , sir?’ ‘Yes certainly. Who do you want to ring’? ‘Our own base, there is little point in us remaining here, we may as well return.’ Ah! I’d hit a tender spot. ‘Now let us think this out’ he said. The solution he arrived at was that he would call in a WAAF typist, dictate an agreement to the effect that I was responsible for all the fuel used by our unit, and that we would both sign it – I know that it all sounds crazy, but that is basically what happened. [italics] (My recurring worry is that someone in the Air Ministry may find that document, and ask me to repay them for the fuel used. However, I am comforted that my fellow members of the Squadron will dig deep in their pockets to reimburse me.) [/italics]. However, having got permission I rushed back to fuel the aircraft, as a lot of time had been wasted and it was getting towards night-time. The tanker arrived and two of us, one on each wing, commenced to fill up. The driver warned us that if the ‘drome was attacked (France was only 20 or so miles away) the standing instructions were for him to pull away immediately. It rapidly got very dark that night, (remember it was early October). Suddenly, there was a big flash and bang, and without warning, the tanker driver started to pull away shouting at us as he went – we just had time to pull out the nozzles. Quickly fastening down the petrol caps, we slide down the wing stubs and met at the bottom. It was pitch-black by this time and we hadn’t a clue were [sic] any of the buildings were situated and just hoped that the rest of our party had found somewhere to stay. By good luck, the first building we got to was the NAAFI which was practically deserted, except some of our friends were there. They had similar experiences to us in that no-one on the ‘drome was interested in us – so it was a case of do-it-yourself – our lads just commandeered a Nissan hut, ‘pinched’ beds from other huts, bedding from several places and even broke into the coal compound. So, at least we had somewhere to sleep and in some sort of comfort. Someone explained that the big flash & bang we heard was their last Liberator blowing-up on its test flight. One can imagine that the whole camp, from the Group Captain to the lowest ranks, were so demoralised by the situation that there was no point in them being there. We had our own duties to attend to.
Our original instructions were [italics] ‘You’ll only be there about a week, You’ll only need your knife, fork and mug’[/italics] – we were to remain there until we were relieved early in December!. Things ran fairly smoothly at first, but then we all ran out of money.. The normal channels were tried – going to the accounts department and explaining the situation, but to no avail. Finally, a meeting was arranged with the whole detachment and a plan of action arranged – that on the next station pay parade we would disrupt the action by walking in front of the station personnel and prevent them from being paid. The pay day arrived and we caused absolute chaos – we were threatened with dire consequences, but eventually everybody calmed down and the Squadron Leader in charge of the parade promised to look into the affair straight after their men had been paid. We agreed to this and left the parade. The next day we were paid. So at least I could buy a cup of tea at the NAAFI.
We existed (couldn’t think of a better word) there for about 5 weeks – our only possessions knife, fork and mug. [underlined] [italics] No change of clothing. [/italics] [/underlined] One day, one of our own aircraft arrived unannounced, dropped off replacement ground crew (they returned the following day) and flew us back to…
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R.A.F. RUFFORTH
It was the 5th December when we arrived back again in the area of York. Rufforth is about 4 miles west of the city and was a typical war-time ‘drome, with 2 runways and scattered living accommodation. One difference to our previous home, there was a working farmhouse [underlined] within [/underlined] its boundary. I was allocated to P, which was based close to a country road.
Routine was slightly different than before, in that we serviced the ‘planes early in the mornings (remember this was winter-time and day-light hours were short. It would be dark by 5 p.m.) Aircrews air tested, and in the course of early afternoon we towed each plane by tractor, onto the runway, fairly close together, and at a 25o angle to the runway. The planes were then topped-up with fuel (some times overload tanks were fitted), bombed up – often with a mixed load of 2,000 lb. H.E.s and incendiaries.
On one occasion there was an electrical fault and a canister of incendiaries fell to the ground, fortunately very few ignited and we managed to throw, and kick them out of the way. The reason for parking the planes on the runway was to save as much fuel as possible as some of the raids were at Turin or Genoa. I remember on the return of one aircraft, how the crew waxed lyrical of how beautiful the Alps looked in the moonlight.
It was common practice for ground crews who were on night duty, waiting for returning planes, to cat-nap as best they could. One night I was awakened by an odd noise, looking out of the door of the office, I saw a horse, then noticed 2 or 3 more. Rushing back in I rang the control tower. There was quite a panic as the returning aircraft were due in about 1/2 hour. “A” flight office was informed and together with some control tower staff we just managed to get the last horse in when the first planes arrived. Well! I couldn’t face having to eat horse meat for the next week or two.
It was possibly early in 1943 when it happened – [underlined] [italics] the worst day of my life. [/italics] [underlined] The day started just like any other at Rufforth, early breakfast and off to work. After we had ground tested, the aircrew arrived and proceeded with the air test. Everyone going for an early dinner as the afternoon was very busy – only one tractor per Flight, and pulling the ground-starter motors over, ready to start the aircraft. The aircrews came out after briefing, engines were started up, and while the rest of the groundcrew cleared the area of ground-starter motors etc. I remained in the aircraft while the pilot checked the engines one at a time, checked the fine/course pitch, and so on until he was satisfied, checking the petrol and finally signing ‘Form 700’ – which contained the signatures of all who had done any work on the plane.
Closing the hatch, with the ‘700’ under my arm I walked to the Control Tower to watch the planes take-off. It was getting dusk but I could just read the letters on the side of my plane. As the pilot opened up the engines, I was horrified to see white steam pouring from the starboard outer engine – a sure sign of a coolant burst (the planes were all powered by Merlin XX’s at this time). I expected to see the pilot immediately shut-down and stop the plane, but no, the plane carried on gathering speed, as it reached the end of the runway and lift-off. I watched the aircraft as it slowly turned to port with steam still streaming out behind. Then inevitably, there was a dull thud and a flash as the ‘plane disintegrated, killing all the crew.
I was in a state of shock. Had I missed something on my check? My F/Sgt. was on the balcony of the control tower, and he called down to me [italics] “That was your aircraft wasn’t it? You had better give me the 700 before you do anything stupid with it.” [/italics] That statement certainly did not improve my already troubled mind. What of the poor crew – they must have realised that something was seriously wrong and tried to fly to the other end of the runway, so that they could land again. It must have been hell for them before the inevitable explosion. My mind was repeating all the event that had gone on during that fatal day. Would I be arrested and await a courtmartial [sic]? I eventually returned back to my hut, and my friends tried their best to console me
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On reporting for work the next morning the F/Sgt decided that I wouldn’t work on aircraft but work in the office and be a general ‘dogsbody’ for any one who wanted assistance. I heard nothing about the accident for 2 or 3 weeks, until one day I was asked to report to one of the offices, were [sic] I was asked by a Sgt. S.P. to verify that it was my signature on the Form 700 and that was all I heard about it officially.
I was in the office a few weeks later when our office clerk said to me that there was a rumour that we were moving to another station near the east coast called Lissett, do you know it? I thought for a moment, ‘Yes! It’s a hamlet on the Bridlington Low Road. I’ve driven through it a few times. It is notorious for a stretch of straight concrete road w[inserted]h[/inserted]ere idiot motorists ‘open-up’ to see how quickly they can kill themselves.’ – and so on to …
R.A.F. LISSETT
We were still working on Rolls-Royce Merlin engines, a newer version Halifax Mark 2. and Flights A, B, & C. I was very surprised when I was put in charge of R Robert, based just out-side what was to become the Radar Office and close to the bomb dump. [italics] (Most of those who served at Lissett will have realised how dangerous that base was.) [/italics] There were differences in some of the Halifaxes – they now had the large oblong shaped tail, apart from that, most of them had radar blisters under neath [sic], but the aircraft I was working on had a blister made of metal and the rear was wide open to the air. It was suggested that it was intended to be a lowerer [sic] gun position, which never materialised. I went on the first flight and when the ‘plane was airborne I crept into the blister and strapped myself in – I’ve never been so frightened, the flight itself was rather bumpy but the air-drag was trying to pull me out of the open blister. Very carefully I undid the strap and held tight-hold of it, at the same time pulling myself into the fuselage. What a relief!
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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
Dennis Raettig's wartime memoir
Description
An account of the resource
Wartime memoir covering Dennis Raettig's training at Blackpool and the posting to 104 Squadron at Royal Air Force Driffield in August 1941. Worked on Wellington aircraft and mentions that Driffield also hosted the blind approach landing flight operating Whitley and Battle aircraft. Tells of his time at Driffield including an attempt to deploy to Malta and deployment to RAF Pocklington during the winter. Notes that the squadron change number to 158 Squadron in February 1942. Relates training at RAF Leeming for squadrons eventual change to Halifax aircraft and preparations for the 1000 bomber operation on Cologne in May 1942 as well as the last Wellington operations shortly after. Goes on to tell of his time at RAF East Moor now with Halifax. with some anecdotal stories as well as relating story of a test flight and an abortive trip to RAF Harwell to prepare Halifax for glider towing. Describes another special operation trip to the south coast with problems with getting fuel for the aircraft. Talks of move to RAF Rufforth and describes routine as well as describing witnessing 'his' aircraft crashing on take off and its effect on him as the worst day of his life. Finally relates move to RAF Lisset.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
D W Raettig
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Seven page printed document with illustrations
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BReattigDWRaettigDWv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Oxfordshire
England--Yorkshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1941-01
1941-08
1942-02
1942-05-30
1943
Conforms To
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Pending review
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
David Bloomfield
104 Squadron
158 Squadron
4 Group
animal
B-24
Battle
bombing
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
crash
fuelling
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
incendiary device
mechanics engine
military living conditions
military service conditions
RAF Driffield
RAF East Moor
RAF Harwell
RAF Leeming
RAF Lissett
RAF Pocklington
RAF Rufforth
runway
service vehicle
take-off crash
tractor
training
Wellington
Whitley