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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
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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
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A T Gamble
Format
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Multipage printed document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BGambleATGambleATv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--Suffolk
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
England--Wiltshire
England--Norfolk
Wales--Gwynedd
Wales--Porthmadog
England--Cumbria
England--Barrow-in-Furness
England--Oxfordshire
Germany
Germany--Krefeld
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--North Friesland Region
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Hamburg
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Turin
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
France
France--Modane
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Jordan
Jordan--Amman
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-06-13
1943-06-17
1943-06-22
1943-07-03
1943-07-24
1943-08-10
1943-08-12
1943-08-17
1943-08-27
1943-08-31
1943-10-03
1943-11-03
1945-01
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
214 Squadron
3 Group
620 Squadron
622 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
C-47
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Defiant
Do 217
Dominie
Dulag Luft
evading
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
gremlin
ground personnel
Halifax
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
meteorological officer
military discipline
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
petrol bowser
prisoner of war
Proctor
promotion
RAF Barrow in Furness
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Marham
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Turweston
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
service vehicle
Stirling
strafing
tractor
training
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2563/44398/MParryWE1172401-220531-03.1.pdf
9c7a743718410b920ea1606373dcfa71
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
Parry, William Edward
Parry, W E
Description
An account of the resource
34 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer William Edward Parry DFC (1912 - 1996, 1177401 Royal Air Force) and contains his decorations, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 9 Squadron.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Frances Lee and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
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2022-05-31
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.
Identifier
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Parry, WE
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] Notes of interview with William Parry IX Sqn. Ground Crew 11.8.94 [underlined] – Andrew Hobley.
Born 1912. left school 1928. Lived in Birkenhead.
Moved to Church Streton to work for G.W.R. Reserved occupation. Left job and joined R.A.F.V.R., intending to become air crew (1940) At Cardington failed as air crew as night vision insuffient.
Offered chance to return to job (as not conscripted) but asked for job to do with aircraft and flying. Sent to Halton on engineering course. On 2 week leave pass went through Coventry on day after raid with Fellow “Halton Brat” who came from Coventry.
Joined a Sqn. Dec. 1940 as L.A.C. After 4/5 months sent back to do conversion course at Cosford. Applied to go on flying boat Squadron (as Sunderlands always carried a ground crew member) Posted back to 9 Sqn
9 Sqn. had Wellingtons till June ‘42
Manchesters June 42 – Aug ‘42
Lancasters after.
Main fault of Lancasters tendency to swing to port on take off, due to airflow from stbd inner. Saw one pilot (new) swing to port, overcompensate to sbd, aircraft u/c. collapsed port wing ripped, fire started. Never saw crew leave a/c so fast! After fire & bomb load want off no need for crane to pick up pieces!
Sent on two short courses with A V Roe at Woodford, saw Lancaster assembly shop & test field. Came of [sic] line (three line, one a/c per day) oiled & fueled [sic], taken straight up by pilot and air-tested.
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As Sergt. Supervised maintainence [sic] of 3 a/c. towards end of war was acting F/Sgt in B flight, supervising 9 – 10 a/c. Not yet involved with repair work himself, but served air worthy Form. Normaly [sic] 3 men per aircraft, two engine fitters, one airframe fitter.
For ED656 – Engine fitters. Bob Taylor
Alan Willgress (from Kings Lyn)
Airframe fitter. ‘pop’ [deleted] Burckell [/deleted] Burcknell (from Bourne, Lincs) Aged 44.
Stayed with 9 Sqd. till demobalised [sic] 1946 Serviced a/c with “Tallboys” – beautifully engineered bomb, shame to waste such skill on a bomb! Held in b’bay by sling – would sometimes drop back on take-off or landing – tail would break through bulkhead at rear of b’bay, this evening drop [two indecipherable words] 14.1.44. [two indecipherable words]
After leaving R.A.F. – (would have prefered [sic] to stay in but wife preferred him out) G.W.R. did not want to know him. Finaly got job with local electricity board in [deleted]Salop [/deleted] Shropshire.
Enjoyed the wartime years, inspite of the dangers.
Little interfearence [sic] from higher authority.
1) Not normal to take off of both magnetos as each engine not working. All landed off base – went to check as crew said mag. not working. One mag. dead. Sqd. Leader with him decided to take off & did (Normal to take Sgt as F/Eng)
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2) A/C dropped in at half finished airfield, only half a runway – landed O.K. but take off problem. Took out all armament & ammo, minimum fuel load, picked up boost to engine and got a/c off.
3) [indecipherable word] A/C landed little Snoring. All gone bar two. Final one motors and airframe O.K. rest duff. Pilot W/op & Parry took off. No wireless, no IFF. Murky day went up to 2000’, above cloud, and flew over Wash. Pilot suddenly noticed little black puffs ahead – flak!! Dived through cloud to be seen – was Navy.
4) End of war – flew to little airfield (just liberated) to set up POW shuttle. Aim to get servicing party established, took two Lancs loaded with equipment spare wheels loaded into bomb bay. Got to take off – pilot found b’bay doors would not close because of load – took off with doors open – very draftty [sic] – landed with feet frozen.
5) Close shave with John Evans. Had problem with a/c. Parry asked for air test. Evans asked for Bill to come up too as F/Eng. Went to Wainfleet, droped [sic] six practice bombs. Had permission to return at low level – went down low over sea of Skegness, then over land 200’. Came over [indecipherable word] nr. Spilsbury [sic]. Evans dropped a/c right down low – on pull out at end of run, took 12’ off fir tree. Temp. in Std outer shot up. Parry cut & feathered as smoke coming out, rest of engines to full power took up to 2000’. Engine still smoking. Evans suggested may have to jump Parry not amused as not wearing harness (too uncomfortable) and ‘chute back by entrance door!
[page break]
Smoke died off – was in fact steam. Got back to base sbd outer u/s, main spar damaged. Evans faced Court Martial – but lost in action before this.
6) superstitious Fl Lght [sic] Jim Lawn (NZ) devout R-Catholic always had St. Christopher medalion [sic] on instrument panel. (flew later WS-V.) Parry had to make sure medalion [sic] moved if flew other a/c.
Completed tour & went to training command at Swinderby, killed in accident caused by ground crew. It severed [indecipherable word] line [underlined] never [/underlined] just blocked with rag. A/C. engine Caught fire. a/c crashed. 7 crew, Cairns & 2 ground crew killed. [indecipherable word] line had been plugged with rag and engine over heated. Buried at Newark war cemetery. (also 1/2 crew had no chutes). Crashed nr. Lincoln.
13.4.45 moved to Bardney. Paddy joined soon after outstanding pilot – Could turn Lancaster [indecipherable word] up. Close friends. Shared many drinks in Sgts Mess, Saraus [sic] Head Lincoln & pub by railway station.
Came from Waterford, Irish National and proud of it. Joined up to fly. Only captain of aircraft still Non-Com. Group [deleted] Commander [/deleted] Captain called him in & said should apply for commision [sic] Delighted to meet an Irishman who was still patriotic. Paddy told him what to do with Commission! Never less commissioned later.
Fearlessness probably killed him. Q F I given was 250’ too low, so crashed. Would let down of clouds till could see trees above clouds. Presumably pressing on, not holding back. Originaly [sic] told 2 crew survived, then only one (rear gunner)
PTO
[indecipherable line]
[page break]
Paddy’s opinion of war – no qualm Bomb as many as can!
Photo (ED656 & crew) taken after air test soon after crashed & killed)
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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Notes of Interview with William Parry 9 Squadron Ground Crew
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Bill covering his RAF years.
Creator
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Andrew Hobley
Date
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1994-08-11
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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Five handwritten sheets
Identifier
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MParryWE1172401-220531-03
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Steve Baldwin
9 Squadron
ground crew
ground personnel
Lancaster
Manchester
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Cardington
RAF Cosford
RAF Halton
RAF Little Snoring
Sunderland
Tallboy
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/514/11307/BGoodmanLSGoodmanLSv1.1.pdf
95e2e091735c5cb46cad20f313332cb3
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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Goodman, Benny
Lawrence Seymour Goodman
L S Goodman
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Goodman, LS
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. Two oral history interviews with Squadron Leader Lawrence 'Benny' Goodman (1920 - 2021, 1382530, 123893 Royal Air Force) and a memoir covering his activities from 1939 to 1945. He flew 30 operations as a pilot with 617 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Benny Goodman and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
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2016-04-28
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. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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BY BENNY GOODMAN
It was September 1939. A few of us were sitting around the wireless waiting for the Prime Minister to make an announcement. He did so and told us we were now at war with Germany. I was a student, in digs, and a long way from my home in London. I decided to telephone my parents and talk things over with my father. My first instinct was to leave my studies – not a hardship really! – go home and join up. Eventually, my father agreed, much to my mother’s consternation. I discovered later. He had served four years in the 1st World War. There was no doubt in my mind I was going to join up. However, I did not want to join the navy or the army and it was only then I realised I wanted to become a pilot.
I was almost nineteen and had no idea what was entailed, but with the ignorance and cheek of youth I presented myself at the RAF recruiting office and told the officer who interviewed me what I wanted to do. He didn’t say a word, finished filling in the form he had in front of him and told me I would be hearing about my application very soon. Not long afterwards I went for a general medical and when I passed this I was sent to an RAF medical for a more involved air crew medical. Everything went well except when it came to the eye test. My eyesight had never been top class so I went to the back of the queue and learnt the two or three lines each candidate was being asked to read. I passed! After attestation, I went home to await call up. It came a few weeks later and I reported to RAF Cardington, where I was issued with a uniform and all the accoutrements for an AC 2. This is it, I thought. I shall be a pilot in a couple of weeks and will save the world!
Things didn’t quite turn out like that. After about 10 days at Cardington, we were told to pack our kitbags and were marched off to the local railway station. Rumours were rife! And if you listened to everyone, your posting was to anywhere in the world. In fact, we went to RAF Bridgenorth for six weeks square bashing and all that went with it. ‘Bull’ was the order of the day – the camp had four parade grounds) Then I and another chap were posted to RAF Abingdon. When we got there nobody had any idea we were coming and so the Orderly Room Sergeant asked us our trade. We both said ‘U.T. Pilot’ and consequently we were sent the aircrew quarters, which were in fact the married quarters on the station. Abingdon was a straight through course for Whitleys and so, with much justification, we thought we would be on the next course.
However, there was a war on! It was decided that the Whitley course running at the time would be the last one and again, no one knew what to do with us. The next day we were moved from our relatively comfortable billet to a remote part of the airfield. There was a Nissen hut with six beds, no sheets, no pillowcases and a Fairey Battle packing case as a so-called recreation room. The latrines were self-dug, but permanent. We were to be ground gunners!
It was explained to us that this was a temporary move but as such we had to learn, amongst other things, how to strip and re-assemble the C.O.W. gun and the water-cooled Lewis gun. Duties were 4 hours on / 2 hours off in the gun pit. We patrolled the airfield at night and challenged anyone on it for the password of the day. You can imagine the sort of answers we got from aircraft technicians with their bags of tools in the pitch black trying to find the Whitley they were to work on. At dawn every morning we had to march around the perimeter track with our gas masks on in case of a German paratroop invasion from the air.
Our food was brought out to us in hay boxes and so was never very warm! We used to try and sneak in once a week or so to the airmen’s quarters to see if we could get a bath, but if we were caught the airmen billeted there showed no mercy! In our off-duty time, we were sent to the coal dump to load coal bags and to carry out various other domestic duties on the camp. One of these included cleaning out the grate in the Officers’ mess before they came down for breakfast. On many occasions I did this and always had to finish by black-leading the grate and all the surrounds. Some years later I went back to Abingdon as the Adjutant of the Overseas
[page break]
2
Ferry Unit. When I went into the mess, I looked at the grate and the few officers sitting around it in armchairs and thought to myself: “If only you chaps knew how many times I cleaned this thing!”
A posting came through eventually to start pilot training and I was sent to Stratford-upon-Avon, which was a Reception Centre. As I walked into the Orderly Room to report my arrival, a voice shouted “Airman, you’re on a charge”. I looked around and saw no one else -I had the horrible feeling that I was already in trouble, and this was the case. Having spent some months as a ground gunner and living in my uniform it was, to say the least, scruffy, as was the cap. Not very politely I was told I was a disgrace to the service because of the state of my uniform. All the other chaps, of course, were wearing brand new uniforms and I stood out like a sore thumb. I tried to point this out to the Sergeant but he wasn’t interested. Next morning, I appeared before the O.C. unit who was sympathetic but clearly felt he had to back up his Orderly Room Sergeant. Seven days jankers was my reward.
A posting duly came along to Initial Training Wing (I.T.W.) and there we did six weeks of ground school prior to E.F.T.S. Just about everyone passed and I was sent to 17 E.F.T.S. Peterborough for ab initio training on Tiger Moths. The course was about 48-50 hours and to the horror of another chap and myself, we were posted to RAF Woodley for an instructors course. Both of us could just about manage to fly the Tiger Moth and so to be told we were going to be instructors frightened us considerably. Following this, after a couple of weeks at Clyffe Pypard a holding unit, and a spell at a Manchester park, awaiting posting, we were sent to Canada to do a S.F.T.S. on Ansons. Boy! This was living. A twin engine aircraft with retractable undercarriage, even though we had to wind it up! The course included night flying, the first time I had experienced this, and I can truly say that on my so-called first circuit I varied between 600 ft and 1,500 ft AGL and lost site of the airfield completely. I hadn’t got a clue. To my surprise, my instructor didn’t seem at all phased and by the end of the detail I had at least got the circuit and the heights more or less sorted out. What a brave man he was! After another night sortie, I was passed fit to do a solo circuit and I truly believed I was just about to die! However, all went well and I was then sent to Kingston, Ontario, to – believe it or not – instructing on Harvards. This aircraft is still in use to this day.
The thought of flying this monster, let alone instructing on it, made me feel quite sick. Kingston Ontario was an RAF station dedicated to the training of Fleet Air Arm pilots “is everybody mad?” I thought. The other instructors, all of whom had done an operational tour (and one was Fleet Air Arm) readily accepted me – the sprog in every way. The Flight Commander took me up and put me through my paces on the Harvard and pronounced me fit to start instruction. However, he showed me and tested me one lesson at a time, so that I could take up an acting leading naval airman and show him the particular procedure. Nobody else had a clue how inexperienced I was, except the other instructors in the flight who thought it was a great joke. So, I started with one lesson at a time and over a few weeks built up to the whole syllabus. I have to say the Harvard was a wonderful and responsive aircraft to fly and, despite the tales of woe and misery about ground looping, I never saw one instance of it … and that includes me!
By this time I was a Pilot Officer and because there was no room in the Mess I had digs in the town and even bought myself a Chevrolet with a dicky seat. My Canadian driving test consisted of reversing the car about 2 feet, and being told to ‘stop and get out, come into the office’ … and I was presented with my Canadian driving licence. In a short time, I had come from cleaning the grate in the Officers Mess as an AC 2 to a Pilot Officer Instructor, with a car and living in digs! Was I dreaming?
All good things come to an end and I was posted back to the U.K. to prepare to go on ops. We set sail on the Awatea from Halifax, Nova Scotia, and of course nothing ever goes well for long. Twenty-four hours later in the Atlantic, we were torpedoed. Fortunately for us, a US Navy destroyer intercepted the torpedo and took most (90%) of the subsequent explosion and sank, leaving us damaged. We had no rudder and there were several other things wrong with the ship; we went round in circles for some time. Rough repairs were made and we went back to Halifax. We kicked our heels there for a while and then were put on a train journey which lasted for several days, to New York. There we transferred immediately to the Queen Mary. There were huge numbers of American troops and O.C. Troops was an American Officer. He called all the officers together before sailing to tell us that, if we were torpedoed
[page break]
3
We must remember that the officers were last to leave the ship. Bearing in mind our recent experience, this didn’t exactly cheer us up. We did arrive safely in the U.K. and I found myself flying Martinets for a time, carrying out simulated air attacks on Wimpeys and for their air gunners to cine-gun their replies.
At last a posting came through to an O.T.U. at Silverstone. By this time I had already met Tony Hayward, who wore an Observers brevet, and we became good friends. We went to the O.T.U. together and there we picked up our full crew. Crews selected each other in what seemed a very haphazard manner, by talking to those we thought would be suitable, but I can’t remember ever meeting any crew member who was subsequently dissatisfied and wanted to leave his original crew. In the end, everyone was crewed up.
From Silverstone we went to the Heavy Bomber Conversion Unit at Swinderby flying Stirlings, and then to the Lancaster finishing school at Syerston. At the end of my course, the Flight Commander sent for me and my crew said: “What the hell have you done, Benny?” I protested my innocence but everybody laughed. When I entered the Flight Commander’s office I felt sure I had done something terribly wrong because there, facing me, were the Flight Commander, O.C. Flying and two or three other officers. My heart sank into my boots and the only thing I could think of was a ‘court martial’. I felt slightly cheered when the Flight Commander seemed quite friendly as he spoke to me and one or two of the other officers questioned me about my flying and the practise bombing results that we had obtained. I felt further heartened and, knowing the results, couldn’t believe that was what I was being called in about. After a couple more questions, one of the officers said to me: “How would you like to join 617 Squadron?” I truly didn’t believe that I had heard correctly and said: “Excuse me, sir. Did you say 617 Squadron?” He answered: “Yes”. I felt a heavy weight suddenly had been lifted from my shoulders and said that I and my crew would be delighted to do so.’ At that time the only other crew which had been invited to join the squadron had come and had come directly from training was headed by Tony Iveson, and he had been a Battle of Britain pilot. He had been on the Lancaster course immediately before me.
I was told that we had been selected for 617 and to report for duty within 48 hours. When I got back to the crew and told them the news, at first they didn’t believe me. Eventually, I convinced them and we all packed up and got transport to Woodhall Spa.
On arrival and after checking in at the Mess and going through the usual procedures, I reported to the Squadron Adjutant. I waited a few minutes and was ushered into Wing Commander Tait’s office, who was O.C 617 Squadron. We had a chat, or more accurately – he spoke to me and allocated me to a flight. I reported to the Flight Commander Jonny Cockshott. He welcomed me and told me that the crew would have to go on a short training course devised by the squadron and, importantly, to get used to the S.A.B.S. bombsight and to obtain bombing results within the limits prescribed by 617 Squadron. We did this and found ourselves accepted as fully operational on the squadron.
My first trip was with Flight Lieutenant Bob Knights … without my crew but with his. I sat in the dicky seat where the Flight Engineer usually sat. I couldn’t have been luckier in the choice of captain I was to fly with. Not only was Bob an extremely nice chap but he was most helpful as well. To give you an idea of his value, he was a Flight Lieutenant with a D.S.O. and I think you know there aren’t many of those to the pound.
I did a full tour of thirty trips with the Squadron. The first trip as a crew was to Brest and, of course, being a sprog crew things had to happen, didn’t they? Over the sea, I suddenly found the cockpit full of smoke and the wireless operator telling me his radios were on fire. He and the navigator were trying to make sure the fire didn’t spread. Just the sort of confidence booster you need on your first sortie on a new squadron! I opened the D.V. panel and fortunately the combined efforts of the wireless operator and navigator dealt with the fire … we carried on. One thing was certain: none of us could have faced a return to the squadron without completing the trip saying: “We couldn’t do it. We had a fire on board.” How’s that for luck?
Some of the trips we did were quite well known. There was the Tirpitz trip (13 1/4 hours) and a 9 hour 25 minute night trip to Politz-Stettin. That was the first time I could truthfully say that, at 18,000 ft with
[page break]
4
oxygen masks on, I can remember smelling cordite from the flak that was thrown at us. That may sound like a line shoot, but it certainly wasn’t at the time. A further notable op was against the Arnsberg viaduct, when we were selected to drop the 22,000 lb Grand Slam on the viaduct.
We received Grand Slam in March 1945. To carry this a number of modifications were made to the Lancaster – a Lincoln undercarriage was fitted to allow for the increase in weight; mid-upper and front turret were removed, along with the wireless operator’s equipment and the W/Op himself. Other armour plate was taken out and the ammunition load reduced, all to save weight. The bomb doors were removed and replaced by fairings and a chain link strop with electro-mechanical release was fitted to hold Grand Slam in place.
As I recall it I was number three to release a Grand Slam, Jock Calder was the first, and Johnny Cockshott the second. This was in March – yes we are still in March, and Arnsberg Viaduct was the target. On release I remember the aircraft went up vertically about 100 – 200 feet. My flight engineer recalls hearing a loud bang at the same time, as the release slip parted.
In all 617 dropped 41 Grand Slams before the end of the war in Europe. I like to think Grand Slam punched its weight. We were the only squadron to have this bomb.
Another op that had high squitter value was against Hamburg. We had the misfortune to have a hang-up and the bomb dropped a few seconds late, which meant that it didn’t fall on the target but into the residential area beyond the target. We didn’t feel good about this, but there was nothing we could do. We set course for home. About fifteen minutes later my flight engineer nudged me and nodded his head toward what I thought was the instrument panel. I looked but could see nothing wrong, so went on flying. He nudged me even harder and moved his head rather more urgently towards the starboard side. I looked out and to my horror saw the latest German twin engine jet fighter, a Messerschmitt Me262, in formation with us on our starboard wing. I thought I must be dreaming but I knew very well I wasn’t, and thought: “This is it.” It seemed to me that if I tried a 5 Group corkscrew we wouldn’t have a chance against the German aircraft. We had no mid-upper turret and clearly the rear gunner was completely unable to train his guns on him. So, there we were at the mercy of the Luftwaffe. The flight engineer and I looked at each other again and then I looked at the German pilot, but there was no friendly wave from him – so much for fellowship of the air! Suddenly the Me262 disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and I wondered if we had all been smoking opium the night before! It was only some years later when I was talking to Air Commodore John Langston, who at the time was a Flying Officer navigator, that what appeared to be the same aircraft had attacked and shot at John’s aircraft. The German pilot must have just left training school because, although he clearly used all his ammo on John’s aircraft, he hadn’t shot him down. I thought later how fortunate we both were.
Three more incidents out of a number of lucky escapes makes one ask the question. Did Lady Luck really play a part?
On one raid during the bombing run the nose section of the fuselage was hit. Everyone seemed okay, but after landing back at base the bomb aimer discovered that both heels of his flying boots were pitted with shrapnel. An inch or two either way?
On another raid the wireless operator was tuning his radio and leaned a little closer to the set. As he did so, a large projectile or piece of flak entered one side of the fuselage and exited the other. After we landed, the wireless operator sat normally in his seat and we measured the two holes and the position of his head. If he had been sitting in this position at the time of the attack, the projectile/flak would have pierced one side of his head and exited the other. An inch or two either way?
There were three Tirpitz sorties. The first trip involved a direct flight from the U.K. to Yagodnik, Russia, land there, refuel and stay the night. From thereon the next day, the first Tirpitz attack was attempted. This was a hazardous plan as it included flying over Europe both ways and in the end the attack was not successful. However, we unfortunately lost one aircraft.
[page break]
5
For the second and third Tirpitz trips, amongst the modifications, two large fuel tanks were fitted inside the fuselage. Health and safety, eat your heart out! The flight engineers had to master the new fuel system very quickly, and indeed they did. Both these trips were made from an advanced base at Lossiemouth. On both occasions the squadron flew up to Lossiemouth with Tallboys already on board, refuelled and attended final briefing. On the second trip, at midnight, we lined up around the perimeter track, taking off in turn at a green signal from the control tower. The weather was unkind – low cloud and rain – just the job for a night low level trip across the sea! Our turn was approaching and I was having a last look around the cockpit when the flight engineer poked me in the ribs, pointing at the canopy. I looked up and saw a massive pair of main undercarriage wheels heading straight for us. There was nothing I could do as there were aircraft either side of me. We both sat there, like rabbits caught in the headlights, and waited for the inevitable. At the last moment, the wheels cleared our canopy and all was normal again. Just the sort of experience you need before take-off on a foul night!
Later we discovered the errant aircraft was flown by Tony Iveson. He had suffered engine surge on the point of leaving the ground. By a masterful piece of crew co-operation and training he and his flight engineer finally kept the aircraft straight and it just cleared the top of our canopy. But we were all young and I suppose took it in our stride. Now, I’d have the vapours. Lady Luck again.
Due to cloud and an efficient smokescreen, it was not possible to bomb the Tirpitz with any accuracy and we returned to Lossiemouth. However, on the third trip – a replica of the second – 617 Squadron finally sank the Tirpitz.
My last trip was to Berchtesgaden, the Eagle’s Nest, and I understand we were followed by Main Force. We, 617, certainly made a mess of the Waffen SS barracks. This was my last trip with the squadron although we were already made aware of a possible raid, I believe to Denmark. However, a truce was declared before this. After the war, I went into Transport Command but everything seemed so tame after 617 Squadron.
Finally, but certainly not least, I pay tribute to the ground crews. Working out in all weathers, often in wind snow and rain-swept dispersals they were always there to ensure the serviceability of our aircraft. Despite working long hours, they were always there to see us depart, and waited in uncertainty, eager to witness our return… …and woe betide us if we damaged [underlined]their [/underlined] aircraft! For 365 days and nights they made it possible for us to do our job. All of us who flew knew their worth, but why were they never publicly recognised? We would have been wingless wonders without them.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Service History of Benny Goodman
Description
An account of the resource
Begins with his decision to cease his studies and join the Royal Air Force. Covers recruitment activities and life during initial training including employment as ground gunner while waiting for flying training. Describes basic training on Tiger Moth at 17 E.F.T.S. followed by Anson and Harvard in Canada. Relates being torpedoed on return voyage home and subsequent return to Halifax, train to New York and return to United Kingdom on the Queen Mary. Tells of flying Martinet as targets for air gunners course, crewing up at O.T.U and subsequent training on Stirling at Heavy Bomber Conversion Unit and eventually Lancaster finishing school. Describes selection to go to 617 Squadron and his arrival there. Mentions that he did 30 operations with the squadron and describes some in detail including first sortie to Brest as well as against Tirpitz, one of which involved landing in Russia. Mentions Grand Slam operations as well as one to Hamburg and another where they were formated on by an Me 262. States that his last trip was to the Eagles Nest at Berchtesgaden.
Creator
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B Goodman
Format
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Seven page 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
BGoodmanLSGoodmanLSv1
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--Bedfordshire
England--Shropshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Peterborough
England--Berkshire
England--Woodley (Wokingham)
Canada
Ontario--Kingston
Nova Scotia--Halifax
United States
New York (State)--New York
Germany
Germany--Hamburg
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
France--Brest
Germany--Berchtesgaden
Russia (Federation)
Russia (Federation)--Arkhangelʹskai︠a︡ oblastʹ
France
New York (State)
Ontario
Nova Scotia
Russia (Federation)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Ashley Jacobs
David Bloomfield
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
617 Squadron
Anson
bombing
crewing up
Flying Training School
fuelling
Grand Slam
ground crew
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Martinet
Me 262
military discipline
military living conditions
Operation Catechism (12 November 1944)
Operational Training Unit
RAF Abingdon
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Cardington
RAF Lossiemouth
RAF Silverstone
RAF Swinderby
RAF Syerston
RAF Woodhall Spa
sanitation
Stirling
Tallboy
Tiger Moth
Tirpitz
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/640/32451/BSmithBMSmithBMv1.1.pdf
eed80d5eea0c79efd23ec96e2b86a368
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, Barry
Barry Michael Smith
B M Smith
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Smith, BM
Description
An account of the resource
Four items. An oral history interview with Sergeant Barry Smith (b.1929, 582398 Royal Air Force). He was an aprentice at RAF Halton and served as a fitter. Also includes service memoir and a photograph.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Barry Smith and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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My Journal (& CV Pages 1 to 9)
1 My Journal
Having been triggered by my eldest Grandson to put some bits on paper: it seems sensible to put ideas into this format initially, in order to arrange disparate ideas into some sort of order at a later date.
It’s awfully difficult to work out where to start, but ‘earliest memories’ seems half reasonable. So, here goes. I have no recollection of Bath Rd. Kettering my birthplace. They must centre on Stotfold near Letchworth. While ‘our’ house at 19 Coppice Mead was, I think, being built by a Mr. ‘Turby’ Gentle we resided with Mrs Auburn (I understand I called her Mrs. Ombom) on Church Green. Her cottage was two or three doors from Mr & Mrs Bonnet’s rather grand house. She was the headmistress of St. Mary’s infant school, which I started at a little later on.
2
I have very little recollection of the time we spent at Church Green, but during that time my father was in the RAF stationed at RAF Henlow essentially, as a rigger. I say essentially because, as I understood it, he was actually employed as a batman to a Flt Lt. who’s name escapes me at the moment. Could have been Etheridge.
I suppose we moved up to Coppice Mead when I was perhaps 3 / 4. That seems about right ‘cos my brother Trevor was born when I was 4 1/2. A very significant memory was when I went with Mum to Letchworth Cottage Hospital for Trevor to be circumcised. It didn’t hurt a bit but it was traumatic enough for me to remain a poignant memory. I know he cried a lot & Mum had quite an uncomfortable period washing him & dressing the damaged area.
3
That must have been the year I started school at St. Mary’s. The infants went till they were 7, when the boys moved up the road to the Boys Council School. I walked to school, initially with Pat Trafford who lived at number 7 I think. The spinster Miss White’s lived at 15, the Wogans from Mertha [sic] Tydfyl at 17 & the Goughs at 9. Pat & I were quite good friends & she used to call for me sometimes. “Can the little boy come out to play?” My dad mocked me quite unkindly about that, both then & years after. I think unfortunately, Pat moved to Shortstown (a suburb of Bedford) when her dad was posted to Cardington as a civilian fitter. I never her [sic] of her again. That year, my memory suggests, was also a poor one from a health viewpoint. I was off school for several months with Mumps, Measles, & Whooping cough.
4
I don’t recall feeling poorly but I know my mum & dad & Gran Evans were very worried. For several years after I was fed viral, cod liver oil & malt, calves foot jelly etc. to try to build up my puny frame.
I seem to recall Miss Vause was my first teacher & I’m sure she wasn’t much more than a teenager herself. I clearly remember, as I sat at the back of the class, being called to the front to explain what I was eating. It was my cherished lunch of cheese & tomato sauce sandwiches. Miss Vause was not impressed & spanked my hand. I was … & laughed … shouldn’t have done that I learned!
We did art one day I had a piece of black cartridge paper & proceeded to draw a perfect copy of a beautiful massive white chrysanthemum. It was perfect in every petal!! Whatever happened to that masterpiece?
When i returned to school I was at the boys school & my bit of the class were on ‘money’.
[page break]
5
I recall a traumatic period of not understanding what was going on; a situation which followed me through much of my educational years. It was an awful long time before I got into study at all. Much later on learning about some things actually became fun.
About this time, sort of 1937/8 The Wogans moved in to 17. & around that time our house number was changed. Mr. Wogan had walked from Merthyr 7 [sic] had secured a labouring job at the arms factory of Cryn & Lay. Originally Turby had had [sic] designed & built twenty four houses in Coppice Mead (with our tamped gravel road & wooden bordered pathways), but there was clearly room for further development which the renumbering was to cater for, & our house became 43. The smell of horse wee on the sun scorched gravel mixed with the distinctive odour of hot paraffin remains fresh n my nostrils, as does that cacophony of odours of an old fashioned school room. Glynn Wogan was just a touch older than me while Trevor could give me 2 or more years.
6
I know he became very friendly with Helen Gough, who lived at 9, which became 33. They subsequently married but after we had moved to Witney in the summer of 1940. Dad had been moved from Cardington to 32 MU at Brize Norton & we had waited for number 3 of the 50 houses in Springfield Oval to be built. That was around the outbreak of war when he laid up the Austin 7 (ALD789) as he wasn’t entitled to petrol coupons. We had had some memorable trips in that motor. Stalling in Oxford Street in front of a London bus, & the driver jeering ‘get that matchbox off the road’, while dad got out & reranked the engine! I think I was a bit embarrassed but not as red faced as dad was!
Then we drove down into an underground car park, to walk to Grandma’s flat. I have a feeling the car park was near Marble Arch. Grandma Smith lived with Aunt Edith at 7a Peabody Buildings.; in Bedford bury, [sic] where, I think, Dad was born.
7
Here I would be fascinated to lean over the window sill watching the stage hands & actors walk out of the Coliseum Stage door & into the Grapes virtually under my vantage point. From here I could also see the busy traffic up the narrow ‘Bury’ to Covent Garden. I can’t recall how far it was to Bow Street court but Dad took me there one morning & we listened while some of the ladies of the night were cautioned or sent down for some misdemeanour or other (Dad didn’t actually enlarge on the ‘offences’.)
He also took me through an ordinary front door in the Strand & we walked straight down to a Roman Bath. I’ve no real idea where that might be, but I suppose it was walking distance from Temple of Mithras which was excavated later. I did go up to London with my Dad, it must have been 1942 or 3 because the fire weed was in prolific bloom on the bombed sites we looked at.
8
I remember he told me that after the Great fire in 1666 that the devastated sites were supposedly covered in fire weed within weeks (maybe months) of the fire stopping at Pie [sic] Corner. It started, as I’m sure you will know, at a bakers in Pudding Lane. But I don’t think I ever knew his name. I recall being fascinated to see the wall paper on the derelict walls, some with fire places precariously hanging almost in space. A year or to [sic] later I discovered that the Windmill Theatre never closed. That could have been when, after joining the RAF, we all went up to London to Route line for the Victory parade. My station was, I recall at the corner of St. Martin’s Lane. The previous night we had spent in Clapham ‘deep’ Shelter. Roused in the morning by the booming voice of RMS Britain (the loudest voice in the army)
[page break]
9
After my winter of discontent, (multiple sickness); when I got back to school it was the ‘big boys’ (Stotfold Boys County School) & I was completely at sea. Dad had tried to keep me up to the mark with times tables, but I don’t think it had been very effective. They were doing ‘money’ going out to the front & buying & selling empty packets & tins of things. I don’t think I had a clue what it was all about. & kinda lost interest anyway. The academic year away from school had a bit of an impact on attitude to learning, I am quite sure. The year following I moved up into Mr. Thomas’s class. My class reader was Silas Marner but I don’t think I finished it. I was always a slow reader as well. I could count (Think) on two hands the books I had read up to being quite adult.
10
And they took forever!! Titles that come to mind were White Fang & Coral Island & Black Beauty, quite early on. My Gran Evans gave me a copy of Greek Myths which I had a bit of a go at before I left home in ’45. She also gave me Franks (Grandad Evans) silver watch & chain for which I made a stand in woodwork at Batt Central School. Thinking on it I suppose I left a lot of what would now be ‘my heirlooms’ at home. Most were never retrieved. There was my collection of birds eggs. All carefully blown & mounted with glow (glue) in a couple of shoe boxes. I suppose there were 30 or so From duck down to very fragile finch, tit & wren, swallow & house martin, etc I did retrieve stamps & cigarette cards, which I have continued to add to, although not everso [sic] enthusiastically.
11
Still, in 2013 I squirrel away the odd pictorial. Most of my collected coins have been passed on for sorting & suitable disposal. I have just located & copied a synopsis of my service career from 1945 until 1975, & a copy of a CV which I wrote sometime later. I had written it into a computer but, fortunately taken a ‘hard copy’, which is just as well as I am more than displeased with the voracious appetite of cyberspace. I haven’t been here for a long time. It’s now Summer 2014. I have just finished & posted Issue 54 of the Connector. It went to 84 people a quarter of them ‘My Widows”. Issue one went to 110 blokes late in 1996! Earlier in the year I was privileged to attend the presentation of a new Queens Colour to 1 S of TT at RAF Cosford.
12
While several were treated as Very VIP: rather more of us were just treated as VIP’s, so, over canapé’s & vol au vents with wine we were introduced to Princess Anne, who shook hands & talked to everyone, some she even returned to! Betty & I had quite an enjoyable day out & even the brief encounter was most enjoyable.
Perhaps I should explain? Mrs Betty Turner is a friend of over 40 years whom I met as a member of the RAFA: when as Chairman of the Branch I was able to recruit her to collect for the Wings Appeal.
I’m sure a lot has happened between then & now! As I record under ‘Wine & Beer’ (over) NOW is 4th December 2015.
[page break]
13
Issue 59 of the Connector is under construction & Dot Peto (one of my widows) has already sent me a Christmas card: she has been ‘first’ for several years now! At the start of February 2016 issue 59 of Connector is being printed the envelopes have been addressed & I note that 25 of the 80 are going to “my” widows!
On Sunday last I did 20 lbs of 3 fruit marmalade. That was had [sic] work & less well done than previous efforts. Sort of inexplicably I managed to burn the first batch, & although I retried it the Jars do contain some unpleasant looking ‘black’ bits. I shall offer a discount on the price & consider not making any more & disappointing folk.
14
Wine & Beer.
It occurred to me today (4/12/15) as I checked on my latest two attempts at interpreting guidance from C.J.J. Berry “First Steps in Winemaking”. My first attempts were with guidance from a certain Warrant Officer White when he gave a brief lecture to my course at the RAF School of Education in Uxbridge. ‘Chalky’ explained how easy it was to persuade yeast to convert plain potatoes into an extremely potable beverage. I was sold & have continued to experiment with recipes from the W.I. & other experts to this very day. Whilst Pat would not be outdone, she started later making ‘my’ beer & I have carried on that worthwhile tradition since she was called to higher service. But, back to wine: I have had a demijohn of red currant & one of black currant on the go for several months.
15
The black currant tastes fine, but at 15% is a bit heavy so I added some more water for it to ‘mature’ at a rather lower gravity (Relative or even Specific Density for the modern purist) I’ll look at it again in a week or two. The red currant on the other hand tastes superb but is far too sweet & at 27% way beyond what one might expect an ordinary Allison’s yeast to be able of coping with. That, you will all know, is nearly up to commercial spirit level. No pun intended. So that has had to have a diluting approach, as I was only after a pleasant dessert tipple.
A little added yeast to rejuvenate the tiring incumbent & a few more weeks for it to recover & that should be another very acceptable sup.
16
At this point it is January 2017 & I have been doing a little tidying up of this diatribe which I have neglected for some time.
Dublin Core
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Title
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My Journal
Description
An account of the resource
Starts with early memories of life at home and school. Mentions his father was in the RAF stationed at RAF Henlow, RAF Cardington and Brize Norton. Mentions laying up car at the beginning of the war as they were not entitled to petrol coupons but writes of some memorable trips in the car to London before. Continues with personal account of activities and hobbies.
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B M Smith
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Four page printed document
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
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BSmithBMSmithBMv1
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Oxfordshire
England--London
Temporal Coverage
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1937
1939
1940
1942
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Robin Christian
RAF Brize Norton
RAF Cardington
RAF Henlow
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45951/SSmithRW425992v10002-0002 copy.1.pdf
12af6b6dff947f6f4e21b0dbbb02f12a
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Title
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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.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2019-03-25
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Smith, RW
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Title
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Bob Smith's Memoirs Book 2
Description
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23 pages of Bob's memoirs.
Covers his training.
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Bob Smith
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Great Britain
England--Brighton
England--Sidmouth
Scotland--Aberdeen
England--Salisbury
Scotland--Stranraer
Scotland--Ailsa Craig
Great Britain Miscellaneous Island Dependencies--Isle of Man
Scotland--Paisley
Scotland--Glasgow
France
France--Beauvoir-sur-Mer
Australia
New South Wales--Sydney
Queensland--Bundaberg
Queensland--Brisbane
New South Wales--Cootamundra
United States
California--San Francisco
Canada
Alberta--Edmonton
Nova Scotia--Halifax
Scotland--Gourock
Victoria--Melbourne
Manitoba--Winnipeg
Ontario--Trenton
Ontario--London
France--Châlons-sur-Marne (Arrondissement)
France--Caen
Germany
Germany--Kiel
France--Gironde Estuary
Poland--Szczecin
Netherlands
Netherlands--Eindhoven
France--Le Havre
Germany--Neuss
France--Calais
France--Pas-de-Calais
Atlantic Ocean--Kattegat (Baltic Sea)
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Essen
Germany--Leverkusen
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Netherlands--Veere
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Fulda
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Heinsberg (Heinsberg)
Nova Scotia
Manitoba
Poland
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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eng
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Text
Text. Memoir
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23 printed pages
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Pending text-based transcription
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SSmithRW425992v10002-0002
1653 HCU
3 Group
467 Squadron
5 Group
84 OTU
Advanced Flying Unit
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bomb aimer
crash
crewing up
flight engineer
Gee
Hampden
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
mess
mine laying
navigator
Nissen hut
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Normandy deception operations (5/6 June 1944)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Andover
RAF Bishops Court
RAF Bridlington
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Cranwell
RAF Desborough
RAF Feltwell
RAF Halfpenny Green
RAF Harrington
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Silloth
RAF Stradishall
RAF Tempsford
RAF Waddington
RAF West Freugh
RAF White Waltham
RAF Wigtown
Stirling
tactical support for Normandy troops
training
V-1
V-weapon
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1359/45995/MSmithRW425992-230825-02.2.pdf
934a1d70a17a0697f9ce5b48153226fb
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Smith, Bob
Robert Wylie Smith
R W Smith
Description
An account of the resource
125 items. An oral history interview with Bob Smith (b. 1924, 425992 Royal Australian Air Force) photographs, documents and navigation logs and charts. He flew operations as a navigator with 15 Squadron at RAF Mildenhall.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Bob Smith and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Smith, RW
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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Prologue
Voices of the Past
O, There are voices of the past
Links of a broken chain
Wings that can bear me back
To Times
Which cannot come again
Yet, God Forbid that I should lose
The Echoes that remain. Unknown.
March 2003
Five years ago, after listening to friends, young and old, as well as journalists, editors and historians requesting War Veterans and Pioneers to write their memoirs I realised that perhaps it was a duty to my descendants that I should do so. Accordingly, I ‘bit the bullet’ and started a draft of “My Service during WW11 in the Royal Australian Air Force”.
It soon became apparent that I should have done so many years ago when the memories were still fresh, although there could be some wisdom in the fact that sometimes the perspective is better if viewed from a distance. Much time has been taken in getting back in contact with old mates and crew members to ensure that what I have written is as historically accurate as possible. I have even had researchers and historians in the UK verify some of the detail, as well as refer to a few publications that have covered the period of my ‘Operational Tour’ on XV/15 Squadron, RAF Bomber Command. I did keep a diary for a while, but discontinued same when I started Operational Training in the UK, as diaries were then forbidden. I did have, however, a good diary in the form of letters home and which my Mother kept. Unfortunately these were lost or mislaid before she died in 1979. I do have all my logs and charts as well as photos, other items and notes from mates that have assisted greatly. On a few matters the original draft had to be amended, but after a few years of revision and the acquisition of a computer I was able about six months ago to commence on the final record. There will no doubt be some further amendments and additions as more confirming information comes to hand. I will cover same in a ‘summary’ at a later stage.
The question will be asked, “Why didn’t I write my Service History soon after the war?”, and why have so many not put their experiences to paper? Some did, and they are to be congratulated and thanked for their efforts. For many there was the old service adage that it was “Infra Dig to Shoot a Line”. I consider it was a common decision of most who returned from active service in any theatre of war to get on with life and leave the war behind.
My father served in WW1 as an ‘original’ in the 41st Btn A.I.F. and went through a number of the great battles in France & Belgium. He was wounded 3 times and gassed. His younger brother was in the 9th Btn A.I.F. that landed on Gallipoli on 25th April 1915, where he was severely wounded, and later fought in France & Belgium. Their youngest brother, after whom I was named, died on active service in France after being wounded 3 times. As a boy I often wondered why Dad and his brother never talked much about the war except between themselves and other returned soldiers. I now understand. I have now been in the same position. With your mates who survived you can recall facets of your experiences in an atmosphere of mutual understanding.
War has made me a realist. Indeed there is a season for all things. Yesterday is history and there is nothing you can do to change it, although we do see some historians trying to sanitise the past. It is to-day that is God’s Gift in your hands, and Faith that gives you hope for tomorrow.
I hope that what I have written about my service in the Air Force will be a valuable record for someone in the years ahead.
Official Identity Card for the Royal Australian Air Force
Date of Issue 23 December, 1942
Letter from Employer Giving Approval to Enlist in the Airforce
Enrolment in the Reserve
Certificate of Enlistment
Enlistment in the RAAF
Rookie-AC2
When war with Germany was declared on 3rd September 1939 I was a student boarder at the Ipswich (Boys) Grammar School in my ‘Junior’ years of study. I had been enrolled at I.G.S the previous year under a Qld R.S.S.A I.L.A Scholarship that I had won because my father was a returned soldier from WW1 and I had attained a qualifying standard in the 1937 State Scholarship exams. At that early stage, although under the age of 16, I had ambitions of joining the Air Force if the war were to carry on for many years, which it did.
After sitting the “Junior Public Exams” at the end of the 1939 school year, which I passed with above average results (4 A’s, 4 B’s and 1 C) I was accepted for employment in The National Bank of Australasia Limited at its Harrisville Branch. I took the place of Gordon McDougall who had enlisted in the RAAF. He went on to graduate as a pilot and lost his life in a flying accident in East Lothian, Scotland on Monday 6th September 1943.
The war did continue in Europe through 1940, and in early 1941 when I turned 17 years of age I took the opportunity to enrol as a correspondence student with the Air Force Cadets. I received educational material and exercises in Physics and Mechanics, incorporating the theories of flight and navigation etc. Exams were set for each lesson and in my case these were checked and marked by the Headmaster of the Milora State Primary School where I attended and sat the 1937 State Scholarship exam. Early in 1942 on reaching the age of 18 I was given the opportunity to make a formal application to enlist in the RAAF, subject to parents’ and employer’s consent. I made the application to the Bank and their approval was forthcoming on 31st January 1942, subject to a few qualifications as I was still a temporary clerk on probation which meant that my re-employment after the war would be subject to reassessment at the time. My parents gave their consent on my promise not to start smoking or drinking in the Air Force until I reached age 21. This promise I kept well beyond that time, as I have never been a smoker, and only a moderate drinker since into my 30’s. When I returned from active service in 1945 I realised what an enormous stress I had placed on my parents, particularly as my father had seen active service on the battlefields of France & Belgium in WW1 and my mother prayerfully relied on the strength of her Faith. Her prayers were answered.
Armed with the necessary consents I forwarded my application to the RAAF Recruitment Centre in Brisbane and on 13th February 1942 had completed the RAAF’s Form P/P/39A for Air Crew entry I was now on stand-by as it was policy for actual flying training not to commence until the recruit was of age 19.
In 1942, after the entry of Japan into the war and posing a real threat to Australian territory the government of the day was actively engaged in calling up qualified males into the Militia Forces. Apparently to keep a priority on Air Crew ‘hopefuls’ the RAAF instituted a call-up of those on ‘the reserve’ by creating the mustering of Air Crew Guard in Queensland, New South Wales & Victoria. It was under this mustering that I received my call-up to report to No.3 RAAF Recruitment Centre in Eagle Street, Brisbane on 21st May 1942. My position at the Bank was taken by John Neville Keys, the son of the then Manager at Boonah Branch, Neville Keys. He went into the next RAAF call-up, was given the number 426112 got his ‘wings’ as a Bomb Aimer and lost his life with No.466 Squadron Bomber Command on 11th April 1944 when shot down by a German night fighter on a raid on the railway installations at Tergnier in the lead up to the “D” Day invasion of Europe. I reported to No.3 Recruitment Centre along with 191 other recruits who were passed medically fit and duly enlisted, with service Nos from 425819 to 426010 inclusive, and proceeded on posting No.3 Recruit Depot at Maryborough, Qld with the rank of AC2. Authority P.O.R.135/42. I was given the No.425992, placed between No.425991 Bill Washbourne and 425993 Des Webster. Bill came from the Warwick district and Des from the Kilcoy area. This was to avoid surname of Smith under consecutive numbers. The same applied to the Jones & Murphies. The only Smith who remained in strict numerical order was 425891 Robert Angus Martin Smith.
We proceeded by train that evening to Maryborough where we were issued with uniforms, dungarees, boots, toothbrushes, razors etc and settled into barracks with palliasses and introduced to the Air Force life on 6 shillings a day for 7 days a week with free meals, accommodation, medical & dental treatment. In those days the Bank made up the difference in pay, which was not great but amounted to a bit of compulsory saving.
I Settle Into Life as a Recruit
Soon settled into a daily routine of a route march early in the morning while there was frost on the ground before breakfast, drills, lectures and vaccinations. Leave was granted most evenings and over the week-end. It was quite a common practice for the airmen to commandeer a push bike after going to the pictures in town, ride it out to the station gates and leave it there. The recruit depot was situated on the Maryborough aerodrome. Maryborough in those days was a town where everyone rode bikes, and the locals soon got to know where to look for their missing mode of transport. After three weeks intensive initiation into air force life we were passed as suitable recruits for Air Crew training and were split into several groups and posted to various RAAF stations in Queensland & New South Wales to serve as Guards until posted to an Initial Training School.
Bill Washbourne, Des Webster, Col (Snow) Wheatley and myself were posted to No.1 A.O.S at Cootamundra N.S.W. on 13th June 1942. Authority No,140/42. We travelled by train from Maryborough and arrived in Sydney only 2 weeks after the Japanese midget submarine attack on that city. We had to change trains in Sydney. At Cootamundra we were joined by Air Crew Guards from other States. Duties at Cootamundra included guarding the Ansons parked on the station aprons overnight, station perimeters, main gate guardhouse and the fuel depot about a mile out of town. Guard duties were usually 4 hours on and 4 hours off. The winter chill was a bit of a shock to the Queenslanders but we were treated generously with the issue of an extra blanket. Ice creams taken on duty at night to help you through your 4 hour shift could be left on a post, or tail of an aircraft and would not melt. If there was a sneaky wind blowing and the opportunity was judged safe we would crawl into one of the aircraft for a bit of a break. It was a fair risk that no one was doing the rounds to check on you.
Duty at the fuel dump was more relaxed. We stayed in a tent, and had trained the possums to eat fruit and chocolates out of our hands until they became a real nuisance. Horse riders, probably going home from the pictures or a dance in Cootamundra and travelling along the road that passed by the dump would be challenged “Who goes there?” Most took it in good humour, but occasionally one would get a bit stroppy but remain cautious in case we decided to fire a shot into the air and scare their horse. To relieve the monotony one night I fired a couple of shots at something flying overhead in the moonlight. Unfortunately these were heard back at the station and in no time a vehicle with more guards for reinforcement turned up. To the N.C.O who arrived I had to give a quick explanation. Told him I had challenged a person who had come through the fence, and when he didn’t stop but went back through the fence I fired a couple of shots after him. A bit of a recco of the area was made but nothing found, so I was instructed to report to the C/O’s office the next day. This I did along with others who were on duty at the time. They supported my account of events, but we were ordered to go to the rifle range for target practice and assessment. I was given 5 shots at the 200 yard range and scored 2 bulls and 3 inners, and explained further to the C.O that I would have fired close enough to the intruder to give him a fright. He ordered a close inspection of the site in daylight to see if there was any evidence of clothing caught in the barbed wire fence but nothing was found. I should imagine the C.O’s report on the incident would make interesting reading. Bill Washbourne was on guard duty with me at the time and at a reunion of the Air Crew Guards in Brisbane in the 1990’s he was surprised when I told him there was no intruder. He confirmed that at the time they all thought I was serious.
My first encounter with an aircraft accident and death was at Cootamundra on 21st September 1942. A Beaufighter from No.31 Squadron stationed at Wagga Wagga flew into our circuit and on turning to come in to land stalled and crashed about a mile from the station. The squadron which had been equipped with Beauforts had changed over to the Beaufighter only the month before. It was flown by F/Sgt. John Evan Jenkins (No.407435) and the second crew man, possibly the Observer, was Sgt. Vivian Sutherst (No.35755). Both were killed instantly on impact and are buried in the Cootamundra War Cemetery. I was with a few guards who were sent immediately to the scene of the crash, which we had to keep under guard for a couple of days. It was a sobering experience and I vividly remember the advice given to us at the scene by a senior sergeant that we were not to dwell on the death of the crew, but put it behind us, do our duty and get on with life. There was nothing we could do to change what had happened. That advice stood me in good stead through the experiences ahead and indeed through my life. It was while on guard duty at the crash site that we had some amusement shooting at rabbits. On one occasion a bullet ricocheted off a rock and as it whined its way across the country side it was amusing to see flocks of sheep scatter in its path.
The Presbyterian Church in Cootamundra had a very active Youth Fellowship Association to which I went with Bill Washbourne and other airmen. We were made most welcome and enjoyed many a happy time
On 16/9/42 we were officially attached to the newly formed No. 73 Reserve Squadron, but our routine on the station did not change.
On 11th October Des Webster and I were posted to No. 2 Initial Training School at Bradfield Park (Sydney) as our first step to Air Crew entry. There were also Air Crew Guards from other stations on the same posting, including Keith Mills, Noel Hooper and Eric Sutton who were at Maryborough with me. Since we enlisted our mustering was Aircrew V (Guard), with rank of AC11.
We were part of No. 33 Course at I.T.S. It was an intensive course of lectures on many subjects, but mainly on basic theories of flying, navigation, gunnery and bombing. Physical training played an important part and you were under constant observation for overall assessment as suitable for air crew and put through various tests to gauge reflexes and co-ordination before being interviewed by a selection panel to be mustered into a particular category.
A wide range of sports was available, including sailing, and evening leave passes were generous. Queenslanders who were issued with the tropical uniform were not allowed to wear it into the city (South of the Harbour Bridge), but that was not strictly policed. We would mostly go to the Anzac Club for a meal and then to a show. Then buy a packet of fruit, say 4 lbs (2 kilos) of Cherries for 2 shillings (20 cents) to eat on the train back to Lindfield and walk to the camp. If you fell asleep on the last train and got carried on to Gordon it was a long walk back to camp- had to hurry to make it by 2359 Hrs. Through the Anzac Club interstate and country servicemen could be introduced to residents in Sydney who were willing to extend home hospitality. I availed of this offer and came to meet Miss MacPherson, a retired Nursing Sister who had a unit on the slopes of the harbour at Neutral Bay. Mac’s place became a home away from home for a few young airmen. She was a dear soul and was like a second mother to a few of us. It was a great joy to visit, have a home cooked meal and occasionally sleepover on a Saturday night. She would make up a bed on the lounge and be amazed to find us sleeping on the floor in the morning. I kept up a regular correspondence with her while overseas, as did a few others, and 3 years later made a quick visit on my return in-transit back to Queensland after disembarking in Sydney.
While on the course a few of us including Keith Mills, Eric Sutton, Des Webster, Noel Hooper and myself were detailed to go to the University of N.S.W. where they were doing research into air sickness. We were good guinea pigs, as we were given vouchers for a meal of roast lamb and baked vegetables before the tests started. The tests involved being strapped into a stretcher and swung from ceiling to ceiling to see how long you lasted. I lost my meal after about 10 minutes as did most. As far as I can remember Noel Hooper was the only one who did not part with his meal.
The course finished on 1st January 1943 when we were assigned into various air crew categories for further flying training. The Selection panel tried to get me to accept a pilot’s course as my tests confirmed I was well suited to be a pilot. I pressed hard to be given a Navigator category as I was ‘interested in mathematics,’ and got my wish. Actually the main reason I applied for a ‘navigator’ was the good gen circulating at the time that those chosen for Navigator and Bomb Aimer courses would be going to Canada for flying training with the plan to go on to the U.K. to fly in Lancasters or Halifaxes. There was a proviso that you had to be 19 years of age by 10th January 1943, the date they would have to report back from pre-embarkation leave. (That was my 19th birthday and how I became to be the youngest of the draft). This was confirmed when we were given 10 days leave with instructions to report back at Bradfield Park No. 2 Embarkation Depot on 11th Jan 1943. As from 2nd Jan 1943 my mustering was Air Crew 11 (Navigator) and rank L.A.C. (Leading Aircraftman—not Lance Air Commodore).
It was not hard to take a weeks leave at home. It was a busy week visiting a few relations and then having to say farewells with many a prayer for a safe return from the war. I had made a good friend of the bank manager’s daughter, Jean Hall, and I had a feeling that many thought our friendship was more serious. I took Jean to a dance at the Harrisville School of Arts on the Friday night 8th Jan, but it was not like the old dances as it was overrun by RAAF and American airmen from Amberley which had now grown into a large air base servicing the Pacific war zone. Jean promised to write me while I was away and we did keep up a regular correspondence. A neighbour, Mrs Adams, gave me a poem with a sprig of white heather that I kept with me always. She had given the same to my father when he enlisted in WW1. My leave at home finished on my 19th birthday anniversary, Sunday 10th January 1943 as I left on the morning rail motor from Harrisville on my way back to Sydney, with a heap of goodies from home including a birthday cake.
At Home on Embarkation Leave with Mum, brother Alex and
sisters Margaret and Joyce – January 1943.
A Rookie Airman – No. 425992 ACII R.W. Smith
1942 – In Sydney
Embarkation Depot Sydney & To Canada
From embarkation leave at home I travelled on the “Kyogle’ line, 2nd division, from South Brisbane station arriving in Sydney and No. 2 Embarkation depot at Bradfield Park on Monday 11th January 1943. Leave was granted that night, so I went to visit Miss Mac with a piece of my birthday cake. The rest I shared with mates.
Leave arrangements while at Embarkation Depot were very generous. If no drafts for overseas postings had been issued and no particular duties allocated we were stood down after the mandatory morning parade until the next morning, or even over the week-end if it was on Friday morning’s parade.
The Waiting Period – Stand Downs, Outings and Farewells
There were a few of us who spent a lot of time together during this waiting period, mainly the youngest on the group to be sent overseas. Besides myself there was Keith Mills who had turned 19 only 8 days before me, Lou Brimblecombe whose 19th birthday was about 2 weeks previous to Keith’s, Eric Sutton who had his 19th birthday the previous August and Des Webster whose 19th birthday was in July. We all went on to train as Navigators and Keith, Eric and I became known as the 3 musketeers on the course in Canada. Des went on to train as a Wireless Operator. A few were over 30 years of age and we looked upon them as old fellows. Early in our stay Keith somehow met a girl whose father was a Fijian Envoy Representative in Sydney. Her name was Pat, and on the first Sunday there he asked me to join him and Pat and her friend Merle Green to spend the day at Cronulla and then go to Luna Park at night.
The next few days saw us assigned to some wharf duties at Waterloo and on Thursday 21st January we were detailed to the unloading of mustard gas bombs from an American liberty ship at Glebe Island. Keith Mills, Des Webster and I saw no future in this so we went A.W.L that night and stayed at the Allied Club in town. Stayed in town on Friday and went to the pictures at night with Pat and Merle. Took Merle home to Punchbowl and her parents insisted I stay the night with them. Went back to camp on Saturday morning to learn that we hadn’t been missed. As there was still nothing doing about overseas postings and leave had been granted over the week-end I went back into town, had tea and spent the night at Miss Mac’s. Went into town on Sunday morning to meet Keith, and we went with Pat and Merle for a train trip to Lawson in the Blue Mountains.
The next week saw the usual routine of parade, stand-downs, sports etc. On Friday we were placed on a draft with all leave cancelled and no telephone calls allowed. After lunch the unexpected announcement was made that leave was granted and extended to 1300 Hrs on Sunday 31st Jan. So I went out to Punchbowl to say my farewell to Merle and her family and thank them for their hospitality, and then on to see Miss Mac and the two girls who boarded with her. They insisted I stay for a home cooked dinner and stay overnight. Slept on the lounge room floor. Got back to camp at midday on Sunday to learn there was no further news on our embarkation and that leave had been extended to 0730 Hrs on Monday. As I had said my ‘Good-Byes’ I stayed in camp and wrote a few letters.
On Monday morning we were paraded and went on a long route march before breakfast and after lunch at 1300 Hrs given another stand-down. On Tuesday morning it was a swimming parade and early stand-down again. Wednesday morning was another swimming parade, a film on “Next-of Kin” after lunch and then stand-down until the next morning. Keith had got word out to Pat that we were still around, so we arranged to meet Pat and Merle in the evening and take them to the Prince Edward theatre to see “Reap the Wild Wind”. On Thursday morning we had another route march, pay parade (“The Eagle sh.. on each 2nd Thursday”) and stand-down at 1330 Hrs. It was the usual swimming parade on Friday morning, 5th Feb, and another stand-down after the 1330 Hrs parade until Monday morning. By this time we were beginning to wonder if were ever going to get on board a ship.
With a free week-end ahead I took the opportunity to contact Merle and meet her in town after work and go to the pictures and then see her home to Punchbowl. Again her parents insisted I stay over the week-end. On Saturday morning I went into town to buy a few magazines etc for the trip over to Canada and back to camp to change into tropical uniform of khaki shirt and shorts and back into town to spend the afternoon in the Botanical gardens and go with Merle to the pictures at night to the State Theatre to see “They all kissed the Bride”. Slept overnight at the Green’s and had a very quiet day on Sunday playing draughts and reading a very funny publication titled “One Big Laugh”. On the way back to camp that night the M.P’s boarded the train at Wynyard station and anyone wearing tropical uniform had to surrender their leave passes and were ordered to report to the guard house the next morning. Big trouble?? Wearing of shorts in uniform was not allowed south of the Harbour Bridge.
The Wait is Over
Monday 8th Feb 1943 dawned with guards on all gates at No. 2 Embarkation Depot, an early call to parade and orders given for clearances to be completed. All leave passes were cancelled, so no further use for the passes that were taken from us the previous night. This is it at last. After attending to clearances we were instructed to report back on parade with kit bags packed and ready to move on to buses at 1700 Hrs for transport to Woolloomooloo to embark at 1900 Hrs on the troopship “U.S.S. Hermitage”. It was a ship of 23000 tons which cruised at 18-20 knots. It was formerly the Italian cruise ship “Count Ciano” that travelled around the Mediterranean Sea as a floating casino on pleasure cruises. It had been captured by the American forces and had taken part in the landing of allied troops in North Africa and was on its way back to the west coast of America. We embarked as planned and had a good night’s sleep on board.
We were up at 0600 Hrs on Tuesday morning, detailed on to mess duties and instructed in ‘Abandon Ship’ drills while we lay at anchor in Neutral Bay to take on fuel after taking aboard fresh water, fruit and vegetables and other food supplies at Woolloomooloo. Spent the night at anchor in Neutral Bay and at 0830 Hrs on Wednesday 10th February it was ‘up-anchor’ and away, waving to the passengers on the ferries and sighting many hammer head sharks in the harbour. It was not long before we were out through ‘The Heads’ and setting course Nor-Nor-East into choppy seas with two Dutch Destroyers in escort. I started to feel a bit squeamy? But yes, managed to hold on to my breakfast. We are now under American terms for troops in transit—only two meals a day, but the canteen is open for an hour twice a day. As the Australian landscape slowly dipped from view everyone bravely sheltered their own feelings-generally a mixed feeling of adventure and uncertainty. Everyone realised and acknowledged that as we all went into flying training and operations over enemy territory not all would be returning to see their homeland again.
The destroyer escort left us at 0600 Hrs the next morning and we continued on a zig-zag course through choppy seas in light rain. I was detailed on to mess duties that afternoon and issued with Aussie Comfort Fund parcels. Soon settled into a routine. Those not on mess duties had to attend lectures-a good bit of armed forces psychology to keep the troops moulded into a unit with a common cause of complaint. A couple of albatrosses followed us for the first few days but they then peeled off formation on us. Sharks and flying fish were sighted and on Saturday a pod of whales was sighted on our port side. On Sunday morning we had church parade at 1000 Hrs and then ‘stand down’, but I was detailed on guard duties. Certain duties were allotted to the troops in transit such as mess duties/kitchen hand, deck patrol and shifts on the ack-ack gun at the stern. The ship’s officers were a bit concerned about the Aussies on the ack-ack gun as they were too keen to shoot at the ‘Met’ balloons that were released at regular intervals.
Monday 15th February, 1943, a memorable 2 days. We crossed the International Date line. So, we had Monday twice and the thought of only one day’s pay was given much discussion. Sufficient to record here that after our arrival in Canada due submission was made to RAAF Headquarters and suitable adjustment was made in our paybooks. A compensating adjustment was made on our return to Australia in October 1945. One of the Mondays was the end on my guard duty detail and the idea of lectures to fill in the day did not appeal, so I took a stroll around deck without my life jacket and was promptly apprehended and given 3 day’s kitchen duties, along with a couple of others who realised the opportunity to avoid lectures and enjoy more than two meals a day as we passed along the corridors with trays of hot food yelling “Hot Stuff” to warn others to be careful.
Pango, Pango
On Tuesday morning we sighted land ahead. American Samoa. Berthed in Pango Pango harbour in the late morning to take on fuel, fresh water and unload canned food for the American troops based there. Also embarked a contingent of American Marines. Those not on duties were allowed ashore for a couple of hours but had to remain in the vicinity of the wharf. As I was on kitchen duties I had to take on the scene from the deck, watching some of the fellows enticing the native girls in bright floral dresses to climb the coconut trees. Don’t think they were interested in the coconuts. Cameras were not allowed, under very strict orders, but some did manage to take a few snaps from the ship. We left Pango Pango at 0820 Hrs next day, Wed 17th Feb, and I finished my kitchen duties after midday. Had first good bath and change of clothes for a week, then strolled around the deck again minus life jacket and got another 3 days in the kitchen. Good Show!!
The next morning we sighted a cruiser and a passenger ship heading south-west, the opposite to our north easterly route. There was a rumoured submarine alert that night as the ship’s engines were stopped and we drifted for some few hours. Woke early on Friday morning to the sound of the ship’s fog-horns but there was nothing in sight. Crossed the equator that day with King Neptune coming aboard to put the rookies through the customary initiation ceremony. We all got a liberal coating of shaving cream. On Saturday morning I finished my kitchen duty ‘penalty’ and as the news on the bush radio was that we would be calling into Honolulu by Tuesday next, decided to stay away from penalty duties in case shore leave was granted. Lectures had been toned down a bit by now to make the days less boring. On Sunday, church parade was held at 1000 Hrs and then all were given stand down. So the “Bum Nut” club gathered around Russ Martin’s gramophone to hear Glenn Miller playing “In the Mood” for the umpteenth time, along with ‘Corn Silk’ and other hit tunes of the time. Just can’t remember how the group got the name “Bum Nuts”. Probably from Gum Nuts sitting on their bums on the deck listening to that one record and almost for sure would have been one of Russ Martin’s screwy ideas. Monday 22nd Feb saw the celebration of George Washington’s birthday with dinner of roast turkey, baked vegetables, salads and ice-cream. A welcome variation from the usual navy beans, saveloys and sauerkraut. A concert was held in the afternoon when we were presented with our ‘Crossing the Line’ certificates.
Honolulu
Sighted land early on Tuesday 23rd Feb and at 1000 Hrs berthed in Honolulu. Half of the RAAF contingent was granted shore leave that afternoon. I was in the other half who were given ‘liberty’ from 0830 hrs to 1200 Hrs the next morning.
So we were up early on Wednesday and down the gangplank at 0830 Hrs. I went with Keith Mills, Russ Martin and a few others primarily to buy new gramophone needles. On shore, the first thing we noticed was the number of shop assistants of Japanese descent and the heavily armed guards on all premises with a strong naval and military presence on the streets. We were wearing our tropical uniforms of khaki shirts and shorts and were taken as ‘boy scouts’ by many Americans, which did not go over too well. It was our first encounter with vehicles driven on the right hand side of the road and the ingrained habit of ‘look right’ before crossing soon had to be adjusted. I went very close to being hit by an army truck being driven by an Afro-American. It was a close shave, but fortunately my parents were not to receive that dreaded telegram.
Nowhere could we find gramophone needles-sewing needles, knitting needles. All sorts of needles, but no gramophone needles. Then it dawned on Russ Martin to give a play-acting role of a record spinning around on a turn table. And the shop assistant with a very serious expression said “You mean Phonograph needles”. Problem solved and mission completed. So the old record was going to cop a hiding for a few more days. There was other shopping to do, so we split up and went different ways. I stayed with Noel Hooper and we met an American Army Officer who took a real interest in us and invited us to have a look at the Pearl Harbour Naval Base. After going through a few check points, and might I add, given star treatment, we had to explain that we had to be back on board by 1200 Hrs and by then there was not enough time to go any further. We did get a view of the harbour and the devastation that had been caused and he agreed to take us back to the ship.
While we were ashore many seriously wounded and shell-shocked G.I’s from the Pacific Island battle zones were embarked for repatriation to their homeland. Many required full time medical attendants to apply necessary therapy to teach them to walk again and regain normal physical co-ordination. The ship was now crowded for the rest of the trip.
A band played on the wharf during the afternoon, and then it was ‘Aloha’ as we sailed away to strike rough seas and cold weather all Thursday and Friday, which kept us in our bunks and under blankets for most of the time. We were issued with sheep skin vests from the Australian Comforts Fund which were well received. The seas calmed down a bit by Saturday morning so I was able to enjoy breakfast of beans and an apple. Got some entertainment in the afternoon with the ack-ack guns firing at flak bursts. The Aussies also got some entertainment hearing the G.I’s calling their mates ‘cobras’ after hearing us call ours ‘cobbers’.
On Sunday 28th February, four days out of Honolulu, complaints were lodged about the breakfast because it was not hot. The weather was still cold and rainy. Church parade was held at 1000 Hrs. At 0100 Hrs we had advanced clocks by 30 minutes. In the afternoon I sewed some badges on Ben Smith’s overcoat and was rewarded with a sandwich-can only guess that he got it from the canteen. Clocks were advanced by 30 minutes at 0100 Hrs on Monday morning. We again woke to cold and cloudy weather but the sun managed to break through late in the morning. To keep us on our toes we were put through ‘Abandon Ship’ drill which didn’t go over too well with the American troops who embarked at Honolulu.
Up on deck after breakfast on Tuesday morning 2nd March to see a convoy ahead and a welcome to the sea gulls that had started to circle the ship as we moved towards land. Soon as it was a very spectacular view as we passed under the Golden Gate Bridge to enter San Francisco harbour and berth on the southern side opposite the famous Alcatraz prison island at 1600 Hrs when the tide was favourable. We were promptly disembarked, assembled on the wharf and marched to a ferry terminal to board the ferry across the harbour to Oakland where we were entrained and departed at 2000 Hrs for Vancouver.
We enjoy Our Trip to Vancouver Through to Edmonton
After a bit more than 3 weeks on the ship, it was luxury accommodation and service on the train, and I really enjoyed a good night’s sleep. It was breakfast in style on Wednesday morning as we sped through the foothills of the Cascade mountains, and we enjoyed the view of snow capped hills and frozen lakes for the first time. We descended on to the plains and farming communities of Oregon, fruit, chocolates, ice-cream papers and magazines (you name it) all available from the waiters on the train. We went through Roseburg, and on to Eugene, Albany, Salem (the Capital) and arrived in Portland just on dusk, with the snow capped Mt. Hood on the eastern horizon. The things we noted most during the day were the absence of fences between houses in the towns and cities, and the lack of paint on nearly all the wooden houses. Of course the Queenslanders could not help but notice the luxury of the train travel at speeds and stability that were unknown on the Queensland railways at that time. After such a full day of interest it was no trouble to settle back into the bunk for a good sleep as we travelled on overnight to Seattle and on to Vancouver.
Thursday 4th March was another memorable day. Woke at 0700 Hrs in Vancouver, had breakfast at the station then a pay parade to be issued with Canadian Dollars. Leave was granted from 1130 hrs until 1800 Hrs when we had to be back at the station. The Canadian hospitality came to the fore as we were approached by a Mr Keeler who introduced himself as a Rotarian (my first contact with Rotary) and offered a lift for a few of us into town to the tourist bureau and the YMCA where we enjoyed a meal for 5 cents. He arranged with us to call back at 1400 Hrs to pick us up and drive us around the sights of Vancouver and back to the station by 1800Hrs. There were three of us and as far as I can remember, although I am not sure, the other two may have been Ben Smith and Russ Martin. We were taken over the Lions Gate Bridge, through Stanley Park with its Indian Totem Poles and views of the snow capped Lions Head mountains as well as past the Houses of Parliament and through a few suburbs to be back at the station on time. After tea (what the Canadians called the evening meal) at the station we left by train at 2100 Hrs via the Canadian National Railways route through the Rockies to Edmonton.
We woke the next morning to be greeted by the most spectacular scenery as the long train snaked its way alongside frozen rivers and lakes and snow laden conifer tress in the foot hills, climbing all the time. All around were the majestic Rockies with not a tree on them but capped in snow. It was cold outside but we were in heated carriages with the same service that we enjoyed on the train from Oakland to Vancouver, but the waiters were Canadians. When we did stop at a station for the engine to take on water we could not resist the temptation to jump out and romp in the snow. Most were wearing their dungarees over the singlet and underpants, so it didn’t take long before the freezing temperatures scuttled them back to the warmth of the carriage. At our stop at Avola for 20 minutes it did not take long for a snow fight to develop and by some fluke or by accident a hard packed snowball hit the window of a carriage and broke it. (Jim Bateman it was). Anyway it made that carriage too cold for comfort so the occupants herded into adjoining carriages when we got under way again. Then we saw a bit of organization that you would not see on the Queensland Railways. As we pulled into Jasper the train stopped with the broken window right beside a ladder and a couple of tradesmen with the necessary tools and materials to repair the damage. In less than 20 minutes the new window was installed. We had now climbed to a good height and at Jasper there was a lot of sheet ice on the ground which caused us a few problems to stay on our feet. Three young boys gave us a bit of amusement as we threw our spare Aussie halfpennies along the ice and into snow drifts. After Jasper we crossed the Athabasca River and the highest point on the trip. From there it was downhill on to the prairies of Alberta. We had to stop for some unknown reason near Edson, before going on to Edmonton where we arrived early in the morning of Saturday 6th March 1943.
Avola – Where a carriage window was broken
Jasper – Where the window was fixed
During our 20 minute stop
We stayed on the train until 0600 Hrs and the arrival of a few canvas topped 3 ton trucks on to which we were loaded. The temperature was Minus 23. Fahrenheit and I soon realised that the best option was to be among the first to throw your kitbag in and jump in after it with others piling in after you to keep the cold at bay. We were taken immediately to No.3 Manning Depot (as the RCAF called it), given breakfast and allotted to barracks. We then had to assemble in the ‘Arena’ for a lecture on what to expect in our future movements and to remind us that in the RCAF the flag in front of HQ had to be saluted. This did not impress the Aussies. After that we were given leave until Monday morning. As a general rule most of the trainees under the Empire Training Scheme in Canada were given leave over the week-end. After a shave and a shower I teamed with an Ian Scott (RCAF) and went into town to the pictures and then to a dance at the Memorial Hall. It was very cold coming back to camp on the tram.
On Sunday morning we slept in until 1100 Hrs, then shaved, showered and had dinner before a few of us went into town to the YMCA which was well equipped with a ten-pin bowling alley, heated swimming pool, gymnasium, dance floor and dry canteen. Came back to camp reasonably early with Ben Smith and John Honeyman.
It was down to business on Monday morning as we were issued with flying suits and other gear needed. Photographs were taken for Identity Cards, Dental & Medical checks after dinner and then back into town with Bub Sargeant for a while before coming back to camp to write a few letters to home. On Tuesday morning we were paraded at 0900 Hrs and those mustered for training as Navigators were transported to Edmonton Airport where No.2 Air Observer School was situated, to be signed in, allotted to barracks and issued with text books and settled in after a quick trip into town to buy a few necessities. Three Australians-Jim Bateman, Bill Bowden and Geoff Cohen were assigned to Course No.71N1 along with a number of New Zealanders and Canadians. The remainder of the Australians, including myself, were assigned to Course No.71N2.
Navigators Course No. 71N2
No. 2 Air Observers School - EDMONTON, Alberta, CANADA
On Tuesday 9th March 1943, one month after embarking in Sydney, we started on the above course for training as Air Navigators. It was a rather quiet day, with the issue of text books and some navigation instruments. Even had time to write my first long letter home.
The following day however saw the start of what was to become a regular routine of breakfast, parade, lectures, dinner (at midday), more lectures, tea (evening) and study at night, interrupted on occasions with sport’s afternoons and later on with daylight and night flying. All interspersed with visits to the canteen where we soon learned to enjoy waffles with maple syrup, coke and ice-cream. On Friday at the end of the first week we experienced a very heavy snowfall, got issued with our navigation watches and had our first ‘Dry Swim’ as navigation exercises in the classroom are called. Leave was granted over most week-ends.
On Saturday morning we had another ‘dry swim’ to prepare us for our first flight and then it was stand-down until Monday morning. Church parades were always held on Sunday mornings. Went shopping on Saturday afternoon with Bub Sargent and to a show “Journey for Margaret”. Had a sleep-in on Sunday morning to 1100 Hrs, then shaved and showered and had a big dinner before settling down to write a few letters. Bub Sargent was doing the same and Keith Mills came by to try to get us to go out for tea.
On Monday 15th March we had the usual lecture periods, a pay parade at which the Red Cross managed to get a donation of $5- from us; study at night to keep up with the course. Between lectures the next day we were paraded for issue of battle dress, during which there was more snow fighting. For some reason Bub Sargent and I missed out on the issue that morning-they had probably run out of RAAF-Blue battle dresses in our size. Went to the pictures that night to see “In Which We Serve”. Bruce McGiffin came over from the Manning Depot while we were at lectures on Wednesday just to see how we were going. He was still awaiting a posting on to flying training. He was one of the “Bum Nut Club” on the troopship coming over. Got a letter from cousin Danny, in the Army in New Guinea, and answered it that day as well as writing home again. Lectures on Thursday included one on the camera which was very good. Made a visit to the barber before tea. On Friday we had more ‘dry swim’ exercises and at 1500 Hrs had a Wing’s parade for passing-out of earlier courses of Navigators and Bomb Aimers. Bub and I were issued with our battle dress, had a ‘signals’ lecture and I was put on my first duty on “Watch parade”. Cannot remember for sure now, just what that involved, but I think it meant you were not granted leave over the week-end. Had our usual lectures on Saturday morning, during which there was some excitement when a Boston crashed on the ‘drome. There was a false fire alarm in the barracks that night, probably something to do with Ben Smith smoking in bed. Was not feeling 100% and could feel the flu coming on. Still not feeling well of Sunday, just mooched around and went to bed early.
I Have a Spell in Hospital
On Monday 22nd March I was quite sick and stayed in bed, and was admitted to the Station Hospital with a severe attack of ‘flu. Bub Sargent and Ben Smith visited me after tea. The next day in hospital gave me something to write home about, particularly to Jean Hall who was a nurse in the Ipswich General Hospital. A nurse came and stripped me to the waist to wash me down, as she said, as far a possible. Then does likewise from the other end to wash me up as far as possible. Finally says “I now have to wash possible”. Slept most of Wednesday. Keith Mills and Ron Etherton dropped in with some mail that had arrived and on Thursday. Scotty Gall dropped in with some writing gear so that I could write a letter or two. Got discharged on Friday morning-missed the C.O’s parade. A couple of lectures in the afternoon and early to bed. Recuperated a bit on Saturday morning by sleeping in (no lectures) and then went into town after dinner with Bub Sargent. Met Ben Smith at the YMCA and went to a show at night. On Sunday morning did some study to catch up and after dinner went for a walk with Keith Mills and Ron Etherton, playing with some kids ice-skating in the frozen over gutters on the way.
Woke on Monday 29th March, (sister Margaret’s 18th birthday) to a great blanket of snow. 9 inches had fallen overnight, so the snow fights were alive again. This was when we experimented and discovered that an orange left on top of the ground froze solid in a very short time, but if buried in the snow took a long time to freeze We were due to have our ‘orientation’ flight the next day after muster and pay parade. The weather was dirty however, and this was scrubbed. Instead, we were given lectures on the layout of the Avro Anson, (the “Aggie”), and the 2nd navigator’s job of winding up the undercarriage after take-off, some 130 odd turns of the handle. For our training flights we were paired, the 1st Navigator did the log and plot charts and the 2nd Nav practiced map reading. I was paired with Scotty Gall, aged 30. After tea Keith Mills, Ron Etherton and I went to see “Random Harvest”.
Airborne at Last
Wednesday 31st March 1943 Whooppee!!! Airborne, Took off at 0907 Hrs in ‘Aggie’ No.6074 with bush pilot Mr Anderson on a flight plan: XD (Edmonton)-Wetaskiwin-Camrose-XD. Landed 1034 Hrs. What a familiarisation flight!!. Got a bit airsick and no wonder. The pilot thought the ‘Aggie’ was a fighter plane and shot up the school house at Looma where his girl friend was a teacher. Circled it a few times and could see through the windows as we flashed by.
Next day was April Fools Day but avoided being caught out as we had a packed day of more lectures. Then on Friday we had a few lectures and reported to the Records Office to have our fingerprints taken. Then in the afternoon we had our first photo flight taking hand held obliques. We were given a number of landmarks to photo and the pilot just went from one target to the next which was always in view because of the good visibility and the pilots local knowledge. No directions from the navigator were needed. In spite of the many banks & turns involved I did not get airsick, but others did suffer effects.
It was back in the air again on Saturday morning for another photo flight. This time it was taking vertical cross-country line overlaps from the school house at Namao to a bridge 2 miles S-W of there. Good fun-watch the drift. On these flights the duties of 1st and 2nd navigator were shared. Under strict instructions of course, not to let go of the camera when taking obliques out of the rear window. In the afternoon we relaxed—Ron Etherton, Keith Mills, Russ Martin, Lou Brimblecombe and I went into town, had two games of ten-pin bowling at the YMCA (Won the 2nd game), had tea at “Tony’s” and went to the pictures to see “One of Our Aircraft is Missing”. Back to barracks on the 2140 Hrs bus. As the weather conditions earlier in the week had set back the flying programme, some time was made up on Sunday. Church parade was held in the morning, and after dinner we were briefed for our first navigation exercise which was a flight of about 3 hours with 1st and 2nd Nav duties shared. Route was: XD–Fort Saskatchewan–Camrose-Lougheed-Mannville-Lake Yekau-XD. Took off at 1400 Hrs with Mr Ireland as pilot.
Training Continues
Included in lectures on Monday 5th April was a special talk from a Squadron Leader on the conditions prevailing in Britain. A signals lecture was held after tea, but I did not attend. On Tuesday morning, more lectures {classes on various subjects}, and after dinner we were transferred from “D” Barracks to a new barracks building across the road. Real ‘5 star’ accommodation, with central heating and bathroom/toilet facilities incorporated as well as the sleeping quarters. We still preferred to have some windows open and a bit of fresh air coming in, and Ben Smith still smoked in bed. It was quite a change, as before we had to run from the bath/toilet block back to your hut in temperatures that were unfit for brass monkeys. It was supposed to be a sports afternoon, but that had to be scrubbed.
On Wednesday morning we had another photo flight, this time with a female passenger, probably a friend of the pilot, Mr Lawrie. Then on Thursday we had a review and discussions on our first photo flight, as all the films had been developed and printed. This was followed by practice on the drift recorder. Leave was granted after dinner, from 1400 Hrs, but most of the class stayed in camp to catch up on studies and letter writing. After lectures etc on Friday I was rostered on Duty Watch parade, strolling around that night in rain & mud. More lectures on Saturday morning and more studies in the afternoon as we prepared for “Maps and Charts” exam. Duty Watch Parade before tea. Sunday was still wet and miserable and we studied most of the day, with Duty Watch Parades at 1000 Hrs and 1800 Hrs. A football appeared from somewhere, so a few fellows managed a game in the mud.
Got mail from home on Monday 12th April, with the photos that were taken when I was home on pre-embarkation leave. As the weather was still unsuitable for flying on Tuesday and Wednesday we were occupied with more studies and lectures as well as a game or two of football in the mud. I had to go over to the Manning Depot to have a photo taken and more fingerprinting. Got back in the air on Thursday for a photo exercise with the Ft. Saskatchewan bridge as our target. It was a very bumpy flight. On Friday it was back in the air again on Nav. Exercise No.2: XD- Bremner-Willow Creek-Beynon-Millet-Yekau Lake-XD. A very good trip. Got a telegram from home, and as it was the end of Duty Watch was granted 48 Hrs leave.
So on Saturday morning it was into town to do a bit of shopping, and while browsing through the book department of the Hudson Bay Company store I met a Mrs Gillespie who had some association with Australia, and she invited me out to tea that night, which I gratefully accepted. Went back to camp for dinner, and catch up on a bit of washing etc. Then went to Mrs Gillespie’s place, met her daughter Marsh who showed me over the nearby University after tea. Walked back to camp-about 6 miles. Caught up with studies on Sunday morning, and after dinner a few of us went on a long walk out past the riding ranch. It was about this time that John Stopp was posted from the course to another A.O.S. to complete his nav. course. (He went on to No.166 Squadron, and was shot down and killed on 13th June 1944 on a raid on Gelsenkirken-would have been very early in his tour)
On Monday 19th April we had our first exam in the morning on “Maps & Charts”. Got some mail, including Don Grant’s circular to the Bank staff in the services. Lectures that night on the stars-introduction to astro-navigation. More lectures on Tuesday morning and study in the afternoon to make up for the Easter Friday holiday at the end of the week. Collected my RCAF ID Card. Into the air again on Wednesday on Air Exercise No. 3 Took off at 0830 Hrs on route: XD-Bremner-Lloydminster-Marwayne-Bremner-XD. Almost went without my parachute harness, but it was a good trip. Went with Keith Mills to the pictures at night to see “Reunion in France”. Lectures all day on Thursday, and preparation for Air Exercise No. 4 which we were to fly next Sunday (Anzac Day). Stand-down on Good Friday so went out to tea with Mrs Gillespie & Marsh and met Lin Gilmore, a friend of Marsh’s and a brother of a Mrs Cairns who lived in Ipswich. Lectures again on Saturday morning and went into town shopping in the afternoon, met Lin and Marsh. Had tea with them and came back to camp to study. On Sunday (Anzac Day) we flew Exercise No.4 which was the first time we did an air-plot-previous flights were mainly map-reading. Route was: XD-Ft.Saskatchewan-Hughenden-Czar(Recce)-Wainwright-Ellerslie-XD. In the afternoon the Australians and New Zealanders held a remembrance service at the Cenotaph.
On Easter Monday, 26th April we had lectures in the morning and a photo flight in the afternoon. Then on Tuesday we had lectures all day. In the mail I got a letter from Don Grant with news about the bank employees who were in the services. On Wednesday we had an exam on “Magnets & Compasses” and flew Air Exercise No.5 in the afternoon. To Trochu & Torrington with a ‘recce’ of Three Hills. A very rough flight and most of us got air-sick. On Thursday we started studies on Astro Navigation and had a good lecture on Radio D/F Navigation which was very interesting. On Friday morning we had an exam on “Meteorology”, pay parade and an informative talk on the war in the Middle East. Late in the afternoon we took part in a Victory Loan parade through the streets of Edmonton with a pipe band leading the parade, and all the services involved.
Then on Saturday morning we flew Air Exercise No. 6 which was quite an experience. Mr Lightheart was the pilot and the route was: XD-Bremner-Scapa-Coronation-Bremner-XD. We climbed on track through cloud and heavy rain. Good experience in D.R.Navigation and instrument flying for the pilot. Most of the aircraft turned back but we soldiered on. At E.T.A Coronation came down through broken cloud and there under us was a small town and railway station that the pilot thought was Coronation, but he wanted to make sure and made a low level run past the station to see if we could read the station name. Too close the first time, so around again and stood off a bit further, when we were able to confirm that it was Coronation. So back into the cloud and D.R. Navigation back to Bremner and Base. I think at the end he may have homed in on a radio beam, but anyway I was pleased with the navigation exercise, and earned some brownie points for it.
The rain kept up in the afternoon so I went into town with Noel Hooper where we met Russ Martin and Bub Sargeant, and went to a dance with ‘Ivy” and a few of her friends that Russ and Bub had chatted up. On Sunday morning wrote letters home before dinner and in the afternoon went with Scotty Gall and Alex Taylor on a hike with the 20th Century Club. Here we met Alice Grosco, Mary, Isobel, Helen, Joe and a few others. Had a great time making a fire to toast marshmallows, and spin a few yarns about the ‘hoop ’snakes, and ‘wampoo’ pigeons in Australia. Alice became quite a good friend and kept up correspondence with me until I returned to Australia. On later hikes with Aussies on later courses she met Jim Cossart, who was on a Bomb Aimers Course, and was a friend of mine at Ipswich Grammar School in 1938-39. Jim lost his life on 14th March 1945 flying with 106 Sqdn on a rai to the oil plant at Luitzkendorf.
On Monday 3rd May it was lectures as usual and a crack at a D.R. Test in preparation for a mid-term exam on Friday. More lectures on Tuesday morning and two sports periods in the afternoon, when I would go out to the university track for athletics with a Canadian middle-distance runner, who was a good coach and gave me some good advice on the tactics of 440 and 880 Yard running. Brought my times in the 440 down to about 51 secs and the 880 to just on 2 mins. Called into town on the way back to camp and did some shopping. After tea did study on subject of ‘Photography’. Had our photography exam the next morning, it was an easy paper. In the afternoon we did another D.R. Test - ‘dry-swim’ for a bombing raid on Duisberg. Little did I realise then that I would bomb this target twice in one day seventeen months later. After that, prepared for a flight scheduled for the next morning. But the weather conditions worsened on Thursday and flying was scrubbed for the day.
In terms of arrangements made with Alice last week-end I phoned her (No.83882) to make a date for Saturday night. On Friday morning we had a C/O’s parade and our mid-term D.R. exam. Weather remained bad and flight scheduled for that night was scrubbed. Saturday morning was filled with lectures and after dinner it was flying again on Air Exercise No.6 that so many did not complete on the first attempt (to Scapa & Coronation). I had the job of 1st Nav. again, leaving Scotty to wind up the undercarriage and get a bit of map reading practice this time. It was a rough trip. Then, as arranged, I took Alice to a dance at the YMCA that night. Walked home in the rain.
A ‘phone call diversion during the week. Early in the week during a lecture the ‘phone rang and it turned out to be a girl wanting to speak Eric Sutton, or one of his pals. Somehow, I got the job, probably because I was nearest the phone and Eric saying that she would be referring to either Bob Smith or Keith Mills as he had mentioned those names to her when he met her last week-end. Three of us were regarded as the 3 musketeers, Keith & I were the two youngest on the course, and Eric was only a few months older. We had all enlisted on the same day as Aircrew Guards, been on separate postings for a few months, and then re-united at No. 2 Initial Training School at Bradfield Park to commence training as aircrew and mustered together to train as Navigators. To come on this course we were required to be age 19 by 10th January 1943, which was my nineteenth birthday, so I just made it as the baby of the course.
So to the phone I go - “All for one and one for all”. She explained that she had two very good friends and wanted to know if Eric and his two mates would like to join them one evening and go ‘shagging’. With a bit of quick thinking and with survival uppermost in mind I asked her to hang for a moment while I checked. It called for some reference to our Canadian Instructor which caused a bit of hilarity among the class and a few remarks about how you can be so lucky etc until he explained that in Canada the term meant ‘dancing’. With that bit of clarification and referral to Eric & Keith, I told her that we would be happy to meet them on Sunday afternoon. Had the usual church parade on Sunday morning and after dinner set off with Keith and Eric as leader to meet Mildred, Charlotte and Maureen. Spent some time with them at the YMCA and came back to camp in time for our first night flying exercise. It turned out the three girls became very good friends, I partnered Maureen O’Connor who was a primary school teacher. Took off at almost midnight on what was called exercise No. 21 for a 2 Hrs 45 mins flight, sharing 1st and 2nd Nav duties with Scotty Gall.
Monday 10th May saw us sleeping in until dinner time as we didn’t land from our night exercise the night before until after 0300 Hrs. Had lectures after dinner. Did very well with mail from home over the next two days. On Tuesday morning we flew exercise No.7, as 2nd Nav this time, and in the afternoon got the results of our mid-term D.R. exam. I got a mark of 87%, with which I was pleased. Had lectures all day Wednesday and a late night studying. On Thursday morning flew Exercise No. 8 “navigation by track error”, as 1st Nav. After dinner we were given leave. Went out with Maureen to the Capitol cinema and walked home with Keith who had taken Charlotte out, after we had seen the girls home. Made it a late night as it was an hour walk back to camp. Got more mail from home on Friday morning and had lectures all day. Detailed on Duty Watch Parade that night. Spent Saturday (15 May) in camp as I was on Duty Watch Parade, studied in the afternoon and prepared for night flying Exercise No.22. Took-off at 2305 Hrs, but had to return to Base with trouble in the starboard engine. Changed over to a ‘photo’ plane and took off again at 0045 Hrs (Sunday) for a 3 hours solo night flight. Didn’t get to bed until 0500 Hrs, but up again at 1030 Hrs to prepare for Air Exercise No.9, as 2nd Nav, that afternoon. Took of at 1335 Hrs, with Mr Barnard as pilot for a fight of 2 hrs 55 mins.
Had lectures all day on Monday 17th May and wrote 7 letters to friends at home to catch up on some of my mail. Also had to prepare for Air Exercise No.10 scheduled for the next day. It was lectures in the morning on Tuesday, and Air Exercise No.10 in the afternoon. Took off at 1355 Hrs with Mr Luyckfassel as pilot for a flight of 3hrs 15 mins as 1st Nav. It was a bumpy trip but a good navigation exercise as the pilot flew the courses given and didn’t tend to track crawl.
Wrote more letters and cards that night. Had lectures all day on Wednesday, and after tea prepared for Night Flying Exercise No.23. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Rathbone as pilot on a trip that took 3Hrs 15 mins down to Little Fish Lake. It was time off in the morning so we slept in. Had 2 lectures after dinner and went swimming at West End before tea. It was then more evening lectures and preparation for Air Exercise No. 11 the next morning. This consisted mainly of preliminary work on the flight plan. On Friday morning took off at 0855 Hrs for a 3 Hrs trip as 2nd Nav, enjoying the scenery and pretending to be map reading with the pilot Mr Neale keeping an eye on your performance, as the pilots had to file a report after each flight. Had two lectures after dinner, and as it was the end of my stint on ‘Duty Watch’ I went out with Maureen to the Capitol cinema and saw “Hitler’s Children”.
On Saturday and Sunday had 48 Hrs leave pass after duty watch. Went into town and banked $40 in to an account I had established with the Royal Bank, to bring my balance up to $80-. It was Red Cross day in town so I bought a fountain pen, then called on Maureen to say I could not go out with her that night as I had accepted an invitation out to tea with Mrs Gillespie. After tea went for a walk with Marsh while Mrs Gillespie went to the pictures with a friend. Slept in as usual on Sunday morning and did some preparatory flight plan work for a flight scheduled the next day. In the afternoon went hiking with the 20th Century Club and we were joined by several Aussie Sergeants from RAAF No.30 course who had their wings and were in transit through Edmonton.
On Monday morning 24th May 1943 we took off at 0830 Hrs On Air Exercise No.12 with Mr O’Hanlon as pilot. I was 1st Nav and was satisfied with good results. It was a 4 hour flight and we had to plot a square search and leading line search patterns. Study after dinner, and then after tea I did my laundry that had been soaking for a few days and wrote a few letters home. Lectures on Tuesday morning and sports in the afternoon when we played softball and got beaten by one run. After tea we were up till late doing Aircraft Recognition. Had lectures all day Wednesday and prepared for flight that night. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Craig as pilot on a 3 Hr 15 min flight navigating by D/F. Not a very satisfactory result as the pilot was obviously track crawling. After the night flight slept in until dinner time and then had a couple of lectures in the afternoon. Before tea went round to the University for athletics training (running & high jump). Got a telegram from home and at night it was practice with the sextant shooting a few stars. Called on to C/O’s parade on Friday morning and a passing out parade for Bomb Aimers. Sent a telegram home in the afternoon and as I was feeling a few sore muscles after yesterday’s athletic training I had a rub down and went to bed early. Had lectures on Saturday morning and moved to new classroom in new G.I.S. Buildings. Attended a Highlands Games in the afternoon where I represented the station in both High and Long Jumping. With not much success, but our team managed to come second overall. Met Marsh Gillespie at the games, who was there with two friends Pat and Betty. Flying was scheduled for that night, but had to be scrubbed owing to bad weather. Usual sleep-in on Sunday morning, and after dinner Keith Mills & I went out to Maureen’s home. Walked home in the rain.
On Monday 31st May it rained all day, but did not interfere with a full programme of lectures, but did cause night flying to be scrubbed again. Wrote home, and at night went out with Keith and Charlotte; Maureen was unable to come. The girls were going to Vancouver the next day. Bad weather continued all day Tuesday, so it was lectures all day and study at night. Got a card from Maureen on Wednesday to say the girls had arrived in Vancouver, and also got a letter from my old boss, Mr Lindsay Hall. We were supposed to have an Army Co-op exercise but that was washed out. Aldis Lamp tests in the afternoon and study at night. Put my forage cap in for dry cleaning. On Thursday (3rd June) had P.T. first thing in the morning and the “Synthetics on Astrograph”. Cannot remember what that entailed, probably an astro navigation dry swim. A morse test in the afternoon and two letters from home, one form Jean Hall and the Bank’s ‘Nautilus’ magazine. Answered Jean’s letter and also wrote one to Merle Green. It was usual C/O’s parade on Friday morning and our 13th week Navigation Test in the afternoon. Got a letter from Maureen, and after tea went in to town, went to a show, came back to camp and wrote a few letters. On Saturday morning we had more lectures, and after dinner wrote a couple of letters and did my washing. Went out to tea at Mrs Gillespie and went in to town with Marsh, bought progress numbers of Journal and Bulletin to send home. Usual sleep-in on Sunday and wrote more letters in the afternoon. Study after tea and preparation for a flight schedule for tommorrow.
On Monday 7th June we had lectures in the morning and flew Exercise No. 13 in the afternoon, as a 2nd Nav. Took off at 1425 Hrs and were airborne for 3Hrs 15 mins. More study after tea. Lectures most of the day on Tuesday with sports in the latter half of the afternoon. After tea went for athletics training at the university and came back to camp to prepare for tomorrow’s scheduled flight. Took off at 0855 Hrs on Wednesday on Air Exercise No.19 with Mr Williams as pilot on a low flying exercise of 3 Hrs 20 mins. It was great-best trip yet. After dinner got a letter from Maureen which I answered and also wrote some letters home. Had lectures all day Thursday as it rained all day. More running around in the mud, and athletics training at the university was cancelled. Friday saw lectures again all day, and start of another duty watch which I hoped would be my last time. The weather cleared up in the late afternoon and we were able to fly night exercise that night. Took off at 25 mins after midnight (Sat morn) with Mr Real as pilot. Usual 3 Hr trip as 1st Nav, being a night exercise. It was an interesting one on which a few got lost. Didn’t get into bed until 0430 Hrs so slept in until dinner time. Studied all afternoon as the study load was getting heavier, and it was early to bed as we had a flight scheduled for Sunday morning. Took off at 0855 Hrs with Mr Real as pilot, as 1st Nav on a flight of 2 Hrs 50 mins. Had dinner when we landed and slept all afternoon. Wrote a long letter home after tea.
For the week starting Monday 14th June we had a heavy programme of lectures and study as the weather continued to be poor, scrubbing all flying. I was on Duty Watch until Friday. It was still drizzling rain at the end of the week and on Saturday morning we had more lectures. After dinner Keith Mills and I went to a show, and then after tea we went to another show with Charlotte and Maureen, who were now back from Vancouver. Walked home from Charlotte’s home through large pools of water and mud. Was able to tell Maureen that I had received her card that morning that she had posted the day before in Calgary on the way home. Usual sleep-in on Sunday morning and study in the afternoon. Went to tea at Mrs Gillespie’s with Ian Pender and Don Plumb. Ian was on another course, and I cannot remember how Don came to be invited. A night flying exercise was scheduled, but had to be scrubbed.
On Monday 21st June it was still raining, so we had another full day of lectures and study. Got 2 letters from home. After tea managed to go to the university track for athletics training as the weather cleared during the afternoon. This enabled us to get airborne on Tuesday morning on Air Exercise No.15. Took off at 0855 Hrs, as 2nd Nav, with Mr Stewart as pilot on a flight of 3 Hrs 05 mins and managed to get some practice with the bubble sextant by taking a few shots on the sun. Rain came on again in the afternoon, so went to a film on the station “Road to Tokio”. It was still raining lightly on Wednesday, so it was lectures and study during the day, and after tea met Maureen in town and went to see “China”. Lectures all day on Thursday and training at the university track after tea. Saw Maureen and Charlotte on the way home. Weather cleared on Friday and was good enough to fly, so at 1435 Hrs took off with Mr Rungel as pilot on Air Exercise No.16 which was for only 2 hours.
On Saturday we got called for 2 lectures in the afternoon. Got letters from both of my sisters. Just after tea Maureen and Charlotte came riding bikes past the barracks so we had a bit of a yarn with them, but could not go out with them that evening as we had a flight scheduled for early the next morning. Immediately after breakfast on Sunday morning took off at 0910 Hrs with Mr Tibbets as pilot on Air Exercise No.17 as 1st Nav on a trip of 3 Hrs 25 mins to Cremona and a look at the Rockies. A very good flight. More athletics training at the university in the afternoon and then over to a sports ground where Keith Mills and Eric Sutton were playing cricket. Maureen, Charlotte and Mildred were there watching them. Took photos.
On Monday morning 28th June, we had ‘magnetism & compass’ exam and after dinner two periods of instruction/educational films. Two letters from Aussie in the mail. More training at the university after tea. On Tuesday morning another exam on Instruments and D/F. Went to the pictures after tea with Maureen, Keith and Charlotte to see “Happy go Lucky”. Was supposed to do Aircraft Recognition that night but missed it. Lectures all day on Wednesday and at 2355 Hrs took off on Air Exercise No.26. This exercise had been scrubbed about 6 times owing to bad weather. It was a 3 hour flight, which meant we didn’t get to bed until about 0400 Hrs on Thursday morning. So it was a sleep-in until 1045 Hrs.
Thursday 1st July was “Dominion Day” After dinner went to a sports meeting conducted by the Southside Business Ass’n, at the Southside Sports grounds which had a straight 220 yard track and a lap of about 880 yards. Ran in the 440 yards race and won it, for which I received the grand sum of $80-00. Soon after competed in the high jump, but could only manage 4th, which paid nothing. This was my first experience of a professional sports meeting that also included cycling. Athletes were not permitted to wear ‘spikes’. The dirty tricks played by the cyclists in team events really opened my eyes. Maureen and Keith and Charlotte came to the event and we celebrated afterwards by going out to tea at the Royal George on my winnings. At the meet 3 parachute jumpers put on a very interesting display.
Friday saw us with lectures all day and flying Air Exercise No.27 at night. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Lannon as pilot on a good flight of 3 Hrs 20 mins. At this time of the year in Edmonton it is nearly midnight before it gets dark, so night flying is fairly restricted. Usual sleep-in on Saturday morning after night flying. Saturday afternoon and Sunday saw the usual week-end chores, study and letter writing.
Monday 5th July saw the start of 2 weeks of intensive lectures, study, flying and exams to complete our course on time. In peace time the course would take over 12 months but in the urgency of the war situation had to be concentrated and focus on the essentials. Flew Air Exercise No.18 that morning. Took off at 0900 Hrs with Mr Real as pilot on a trip of 3 hours. Then on Tuesday afternoon we flew Air Exercise No.20. This was blindfold exercise that took us all over the map for almost 3 ½ hours. We took off at 0900 Hrs with Mr Filby as pilot. Air Exercise designated No.19 must have been cancelled. Bad weather prevented any flying from Wednesday to Friday. Got a long letter from my brother Alex on Wednesday and then one from Miss McPherson in Sydney on Saturday. Lectures all day on Saturday and study at night before flying Air Exercise No.28 which was a night navigation on the same course of daylight exercise No.10. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Barnard as pilot. Flew through storms and cloud out to Frog Lake. Slept in on Sunday morning-you were excused from Church Parade if you were flying the night before. After dinner studied meteorology for an hour or so and then went to watch Keith and Eric playing cricket and then we all met Maureen, Charlotte and Mildred at the corner of 109th and Jasper later in the afternoon.
On Monday 12th July we had our final D.R. (Navigation) test. Wrote home and did preparation for more flying tomorrow. A large bag of mail from Australia came in but I did not score a thing. Maureen phoned just after tea. On Tuesday(13th July) took off at 0835 Hrs with Mr Luyckfassel as pilot on Air Exercise No.21, which was a special, incorporating evasive action, designed to prepare us for active service conditions. More lectures in the afternoon and studied meteorology at night. Supposed to fly on Wednesday morning, but this was scrubbed-raining again. So we had our final meteorology exam. The rain kept up through Thursday and Friday so time was passed with sessions of lectures and study more lectures on Saturday morning, usual laundry chores and letter writing after dinner and as the weather had cleared prepared for flying that night after tea. This was night flight over the route of Exercise No.9 that we had flown in daylight two months ago. Took off at 2355 Hrs with Mr Kellough as pilot and as 2nd Nav. I had to practice astro shots with the bubble sextant. That meant a sleep-in on Sunday morning and as we had some catch-up to do in order to finish the course on time another night flight was scheduled that evening. Took off at 2325 Hrs with Mr McCall as pilot on the route of Exercise No.11 that had previously been flown in daytime.
It was the usual sleep-in after night flying on Monday morning 19th July. In the afternoon and on Tuesday & Wednesday we had a few final written tests. On Wednesday night our final night flying test was scheduled. Took off at 2300 Hrs with Mr Cusater as pilot on the route of Exercise No.12 flown in daytime. This flight of 3 Hrs 05 mins was the final air exercise on which we were assessed. On Thursday 22nd July after dinner we were advised that all had passed the course, and got instructions to attend to clearances for medical and dental and to hand in any equipment that had been issued to us. ‘Wings’ passing out parade would be held on Friday 23rd July 1943.
On Thursday night Keith, Eric and I took the girls out to The Barn and then went walked them home. We invited them to the ‘Wings’ parade, but they could not attend. Friday was a big day with the presentation of our ‘wings’ and the sewing of Sergeant’s stripes on our sleeves. At the pay parade after ‘wings’ presentation I was given a slip of paper with the instructions “Here is your Commission, it is now up to you to arrange for the issue of Officer’s Uniforms etc”. Also commissioned off course were Ivan Biddle and “Inky’ Keena who were posted to other Air Observer Schools as instructors, Ken Todd, Ted Hall, John Honeyman, Noel Hooper and Les Sabine. Ben Smith was on line-ball about passing and had to go to a review committee as at this stage he had admitted he had put his age back to enlist, and he was in fact aged 35 Yrs-not 30 years according to the records. Ben did eventually go on the fly in Bomber Command and lost his life on night of 24/25 Dec. 1944 on a raid on Cologne with 166 Squadron.
With kit bags packed and left at ‘despatch’ as instructed, I went to Maureen’s for tea. Her father drove me to the station where we left Edmonton by Canadian National Railway at 2130 Hrs for Toronto.
Reflections on leaving Edmonton
Thoughts that would be shared by all now on their way to the European Theatre of WW11.
All shared a sense of satisfaction and relief that we had earned our ‘wings’ as Air Navigators after a very intensive course of 4 ½ months that involved a total of 75 Hrs 55 mins of daylight flying and 34 Hrs 45 mins of night flying for the average member, and instruction and exams in 12 subjects such as Navigation, Maps & Charts, Magnetism & Compasses, Instruments, D.F/Wireless Telegraphy, Meteorology, Aerial Photography, Signals, Reconnaissance, Armament and Aircraft Recognition. In all I managed an overall pass of 82.4%. A few found the going hard towards the end of the course, as it was not easy and acknowledged the support, encouragement and assistance given by the chief instructor F/O. Brown (RCAF). He did encourage a few to hang in and was rewarded with their dedication and success. All realised though that there was still a long way to go with further training after our arrival in the UK before we were fully trained to assume the roll of a navigator in a crew on Bomber Command.
The main memories most of shared:-
• The extreme cold and snow covered prairies when we first
started flying, which made it difficult to judge height from
the air.
• The mud and slush when the snow did melt, and the river
thawed, and the great swarms of mosquitoes-large scotch
greys.
• The fields turning to green when wheat was planted and to
yellow as the dandelions came into bloom.
• The brown bears coming in close to town in search of food in
the late winter and playing with their cubs who often got a
disciplinary clout.
• Gophers popping in and out of their holes in the field beside
our barracks.
• Young children ice skating on the frozen gutters in the streets’
• Our own first try at ice skating on a frozen flooded tennis
court and being conned into playing ice hockey, which was
good because it gave you a hockey stick for support.
• The pain that a few suffered from frost bitten ears- in spite of
warnings.
• The Indian quarters that we passed through when walking to
town.
• The hospitality of the people.
• On a few reported occasions being mistaken for “Austrians’.
• The beauty of snow laden trees early in the morning.
• For Queenslanders—the 4 distinct seasons.
• Saluting the flag in front of HQ. The furore caused when an
item of female underwear was hoisted thereon one night and
the Aussies had no objection to saluting that particular
standard.
• The skill of the ‘Bush Pilots’ They were all civilians who had
good permanent work because of the Empire Training Scheme, but they were very competent at their job. True Canadian Geese-born to flying.
• Waffles and Maple Syrup and Coke and Ice Cream in the
Station canteen.
• Strictly taboo. But some made it** Flying under the high level
bridge.
• The sports facilities at the YMCA.
• Ben Smith’s accidents from smoking in bed.
Personally, there was the joy of wonderful friends made. The gang of the 20th Century Club and at the YMCA where I met Alice Grosco who kept up correspondence with me for two years after the war, until I told her I was going back to Scotland to marry Alma. Alice did have a special reason to keep in touch, as from a later Bomb Aimer course she met Jimmy Cossart on one of the Club’s regular hikes. He came from Boonah and was a boarder with me at Ipswich Grammar School 1938-39 and she was quite surprised when Jim told her he knew me. Later I was to meet Jim at the Boomerang Club in London on a few occasions until in the last months of the war he lost his life in a raid over Germany.
Perhaps the most cherished memory was the wonderful friendship that Keith and Eric and I enjoyed with Charlotte, Mildred and Maureen. They really treated us more like brothers and I would say did not put any pressure on us for a lasting relationship. We were welcomed into their homes. They truly were three girls who enjoyed the simple pleasures, and were good companions to each other. What you saw was what they were.
As we left Edmonton we were all aware that we were now on the way to the big adventure with its inevitable risks. Also we would soon be split up to go various ways. In fact when we got to Embarkation Depot at Halifax, after leave, a few of us would move into the Officers Mess, whilst the rest would be in the Sergeant’s Mess. But for the period of leave, and until we got to Halifax, those who were commissioned would continue with Sergeant’s stripes on our uniforms and stay as a group. Most important in our minds was to enjoy leave as we journeyed to Halifax across Canada with a break to visit New York. We had completed a course of flying training, all with over a 100Hrs up, and without an accident and with no loss of life.
These Were Fellow Course Participants
Following is a summary of the participants on the course and a brief detail of the operational experience of most, with pertinent information on those who lost their lives in training and on operations over Europe as well as those who were shot down and were taken Prisoner of War, or, in one case evaded capture.
After the war I kept in regular touch with Keith Mills, and since the late 1980’s with Lou Brimblecombe. We were the three youngest on the course. Eric Sutton did his tour with 622 Sqdn which was also based at Mildenhall where I served in XV/15 Squadron. And I did not get in contact with him again until December 2002, when he was traced living in Victoria. Roy Olsen moved to Tasmania after he retired as a school teacher and we had contact each Christmas. Noel Hooper, who came from the Nambour district died a few years after the war. Scotty Gall returned to work with the Bank of NSW and on retirement moved to Cooroy in Queensland, where I resumed contact in the early 1990’s. After his wife died he sold his property and moved to a retirement village in Brisbane, where he also died in 1999/2000. In one of those co-incidences in life, Scotty (or Vernon as he was known to his family) turned out to a brother of a friend we have known in the church at Alexandra Headland for many years.
It is interesting to note the service history of the ‘Todd’ Brothers, Ernie and Ken. They were both schoolteachers from the Newcastle area (both born in Canada). They enlisted together and went through initial training and operational training together and served on the same squadron flying in Wellingtons out of Foggia in Italy. They returned to their pre-service vocation. Ken, who was shot down and taken POW, died is 1986 at the age of 71 and Ernie died in 2002 at the age of 89.
Don Plumb “Bluey” did a tour in Halifaxes and died of acute leukaemia about 1987.
Course No.71N2-EATS-at No2. A.O.S EDMONTON, Canada. All members of RAAF
Duration 10/3/1943 to 23/7/1943,
Instructors:- F/O.W.H.Brown & P/O. Pogue ??? (both R.C.A.F)
NAME Number Birth Enlisted Discharged D.O.Death Posting on Rank Awards SeeNotes
Discharge ***
BIDDLE Ivan R. 424905 13/10/1913 09/10/1942 09/10/1945 8 O.T.U F/Lt Instructor in Canada
Goulburn Sydney
BRIMBLECOMBE C.L. 425592 23/12/1923 25/04/1942 07/12/1945 9 A.H.U F/O (218/514 Sqdn)
(Louis) Brisbane Brisbane
ETHERTON Ronald H. 423088 02/11/1921 20/06/1942 13/08/1944 76 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.1
Sydney Sydney
GALL V. Scott 424915 08/08/1912 09/10/1942 16/04/1946 1315 Flight F/O (467Sqdn)
Mosman NSW Sydney
HALL Ernest T 406976 17/02/1914 26/05/1941 25/02/1946 9 A.H.U F/Lt Instructor in Canada
Perth Perth
HONEYMAN John 429498 23/05/1923 08/10/1942 15/02/1946 1656 C.U F/Lt D.F.C.
Deepwater Brisbane
HOOPER R. Noel 425851 16/12/1923 21/05/1942 21/08/1945 1 P.H.U F/Lt *** No.2
Nambour Brisbane
KEENA Ilford N. 424870 12/10/1912 09/08/1942 22/06/1945 9 A.O.S F/O Instructor in Canada
Ballengarra Sydney
LEWIS John H. 423142 27/01/1923 20/06/1942 08/11/1943 3 A.F.U. Sgt. ***No.3
Broken Hill Sydney
MARTIN H. Russell 418289 28/12/1922 15/05/1942 13/12/1945 21 O.T.U F/O D.F.C
Melbourne Melbourne
MILLS Keith C. 425954 02/01/1924 21/05/1942 27/10/1945 78 Sqdn W/O ***No.4
Mackay Brisbane P.O.W
MURTHA Harold H. 429473 30/05/1922 08/10/1942 05/09/1945 12 O.T.U F/O (463 Sqdn)
Brisbane Brisbane
OLSEN Roy P. 429479 10/07/1920 08/10/1942 15/11/1945 640 Sqdn W/O ***No.5
Bundaberg Brisbane
PALFERY Noel J. 424920 16/05/1914 09/10/1942 18/07/1945 467 Sqdn F/O (467 Sqdn)
Brisbane Sydney
PLUM Donald A. 424934 17/12/1919 09/10/1942 17/12/1945 96 Sqdn F/O (466/462 Sqdns)
Inverell Sydney
NAME Number Birth Enlisted Discharged D.O.Death Posting on Rank Awards SeeNotes
Discharge ***
SABINE C.W. Leslie 426165 08/12/1917 23/05/1942 01/07/1946 466 Sqdn F/Lt. D.F.C.
Brisbane Brisbane
SARGENT Allan J. 410098 19/10/1918 08/11/1941 22/01/1946 1 M.R.U W/O ***No.6
(Bulb) Williamstown Melbourne 44 Sqdn-P.O.W.
SMITH Benjaminn H. 424891 24/03/1914 09/10/1942 24/12/1944 166 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.7
Merriwether Sydney
SMITH Ian H. 423913 20/10/1922 18/07/1942 18/06/1944 115 Sqdn F/Sgt ***No.8
Katoomba Sydney
SMITH Robert W. 425992 10/01/1924 21/05/1942 12/12/1945 32 Base F/Lt (XV/15 Sqdn)
Brisbane Brisbane No.3 Group RAF Bomber Command
SUTTON Eric C. 425910 04/081923 21/05/1942 17/09/1945 84 O.T.U F/O (622 Sqdn)
Gympie Brisbane
TAYLOR Alexander 424804 04/08/1920 09/10/1942 02/01/9/1946 R.A.F. F/O
Arncliffe Sydney Dumbeswell
TODD Ernest 424942 30/12/1913 09/101942 10/08/1945 3 A.O.S F/O (142 Sqdn)
Canada Sydney Italy
TODD W. Kenneth 424878 16/07/1915 09/10/1942 06/12/1945 142 Sqdn F/Lt ***No.9
Canada Sydney
General Comments
All participants in the above course were members of the RAAF, and many were recruited under the “Air Crew Guard” category in May 1942. They left Australia (Sydney) on the USS “Hermitage”, departing on Wednesday 10th February 1943, arriving via Pago Pago and Hololulu at San Francisco on Tuesday 2nd March 1943, where they disembarked and then entrained at Oakland to go by rail, via Vancouver, to Edmonton in Canada where they disembarked on Saturday morning 6th March 1943 when the temperature was reading –23 (Fahrenheit).
Course No.71N2 started on 10th March at No.2 A.O.S at the Edmonton airfield with Avro Anson aircraft flown by civilian “Bush” Pilots. Passing out parade and presentation of wings with promotion to Sergeant was held on Friday 23rd July. Eight members were commissioned off course to rank of Pilot Officer. No casualties were recorded on training.
All but 3 were posted to “Y” (Embarkation) Depot in Halifax Nova Scotia (spending some time on leave in Montreal & New York on the way) where they embarked on the R.M.S “Queen Mary” on Friday 28th August 1943 and sailed to the Clyde in Scotland where they disembarked at Gourock on Tuesday 31st August 1943 and entrained for overnight travel to the RAAF’s No.11 Personnel Despatch and Reception Depot at Brighton. From here most were posted to various advanced training units to be incorporated into a crew and fly in Lancasters & Halifaxes of Bomber Command.
Postings as listed in the above schedule are the postings as recorded at the time the airman was recalled to No.11 P.D.R.C at Brighton for repatriationto Australia, or upon date of death, or at time of loss on operation and taken POW. Sqdn reference under notes is one they did tour with (where known).
Course 71N2- Details of Casualties, either loss of life or shot down and taken P.O.W, or Evaded Capture
No.1. Ronald Henry ETHERTON No.76 Squadron. In Halifax 111 LL578 MP-H Bar on night of 12/13 August 1944 took off from Holme-on-
Spalding At 2129 Hrs to bomb the Opel Motor factory at Russelsheim. Crashed 2Km N.E. of Hamm (Germany)
and all crew were killed. They rest in France in the Choloy War Cemetery, which suggests their graves were
investigated by an American Unit. Of the 297 aircraft (191 Lancasters, 96 Halifaxes 7 10 Mosquitoes) that took part
in the raid 7 Halifax & 13 Lancasters were lost. 6.7% of the force. Local reports stated the factory was only slightly
damaged.
No.2. Rupert Noel HOOPER No.463 Squadron. In Lancaster 111 LM597 JO-W on night of 24/25 June 1944 took off from Waddington at 2229
Hrs on their first ‘op’ to bomb flying bomb base at Prouville. Crew, with exception of the F/Eng, were all
RAAF; believed shot down by night fighter. B/A, W/O/P and both gunners were captured and taken POW
Pilot, F/Eng & Nav (Noel) evaded capture Pilot W/Cdr D.R.Donaldson RAAF was among the most senior officers
to evade capture in 1944.
.No.3 John Hedgley LEWIS The Course’s first casualty, in training, on 8th November 1943 at No.3 Advanced Flying Unit, Halfpenny Green.
Buried in Chester (Blacon) Cemetery, Cheshire, England. Section A Grave No154
.
No.4 Keith Cyril MILLS POW. No.78 Squadron. In Halifax 111 MZ692 EY-P on night of 22/23 June 1944 took off from Breighton at 2230 Hrs to
bomb railway yards at Laon. First operation for most of the crew. Shot down by enemy fire and baled out. 5 were
taken POW and 2 evaded capture. All the crew, with exception of the F/Eng, were RAAF. Keith was arrested in
France and taken into custody by the Gestapo, being held with other members of his crew for about 3 months in
Buchenwald Concentration Camp until ‘rescued’ by the Luftwaffe and transferred to Stalag Luft L3 Sagan and
Balaria. POW No.8018. 4 Halifaxes were lost on this Laon raid.
No.5 Roy Peter OLSEN POW. No.640 Sqdn. In Halifax 111 LK865 C8-Q on night of 27/28th May 1944 took off from Leconfield at 2356 Hrs to
bomb Military Camp at Bourg-Leopold. Shot down by night fighter and crashed 0228 hrs near Antwerp. Pilot,
F/Eng & M/U/G were killed. Roy was taken POW and held in L7 Stalag Luft, Bankau-Kruelberg. POW No.95.
No.6 Allan Joseph SARGENT POW. No44 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 LL938 KM-S on night of 21/22nd June 1944 took off from Dunholme Lodge at 2325
Hrs to bomb synthetis oil plant at Wesseling. Shot down by night fighter Pilot, B/A, W/O/P and R/G were killed
and are buried in Nederweert War Cemetery. Bub was taken POW and held in L7 Stalag Luft, Bankau-Kreulberg.
POW No.236. Of the 133 Lancasters & 6 Mosquitoes that took part on this raid, 37 Lancasters were lost—27.8%
of the force. 10/10 cloud was encountered and planned 5 Group’s Low-Level marking of the target was not
possible so H2S was used with only moderate success. 44, 49 & 619 Sqns lost 6 aircraft each. This was the last
occasion on which Bomber Command would suffer such a severe loss in operations to the Ruhr.
It is believed that above crew was the only Bomber Command crew lost in the war that comprised airmen from the 3 Commonwealth & Dominion air forces, plus a USAAF representative.
No.7 Benjamin Hartley SMITH No.166 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 NG297 AS-K2 on night of 24/25 December 1944 (Christmas Eve) took off from
Kirmington at 1515 Hrs to bomb railway communications at KOLN-Nippes (COLOGNE). Crashed in the target area. All the crew were killed and buried locally, since when their bodies have been interred in the Rheinsberg
War Cemetery.
97 Lancaster & 5 Mosquitoes took part—5 Lancasters were lost over the target area and 2 more on return to
England owing to bad weather. Oboe marking was used with very accurate results. Local reports showed that
railway tracks were severely damaged & an ammunition train blew up. Nearby airfield,(Butzweilerhof) also
damaged.
No.8 Ian Harrison SMITH No.115 Sqdn. In Lancaster 1 HK559 A4-H on night of 17/18th June 1944 took off from Witchford at 0102 Hrs to
bomb oil installations at Montdidier. Dived into the ground and exploded with great force at Gannes (Oise), 5 Km N of St-Just-en-Chausse. All lie buried in the Gannes Communal Cemetery.
317 aircraft (196 Lancasters, 90 Halifaxes, 19 Mosquitoes & 12 Stirlings) took part in this and a similar targets at
Aubnoye and St Martin-l’Hortier. Targets were covered by cloud. Master bomber called off raid at Montdidier after
Only a few aircraft had bombed. Above was only aircraft lost on this operation.
No.9 William Kenneth TODD POW No.142 Sqdn. In Wellington Bomber took off from Foggia in Italy to bomb airfield on outskirts of Vienna. On 10th
May1944. It was crews 10th “Op”. Shot down by fighter in target area. In hospital in Vienna for short period before
going to Frankfurt for interrogation and to Stalagluft 3 at Sagan. And later to Luckenwald from where they were
repatriated to England..
NOTE
About 4/5 weeks after the course started John Henry STOPP, No.419738, born 3/7/1915 in Cairns Qld, Enlisted 10/10/1942 in Sydney was posted to another A.O.S to complete a Nav Course from which he was commissioned off course. On the night of 12/13 June 1944, flying with 166 Squadron on a raid on GELSENKIRKEN their Lancaster crashed in Holland and all on board were killed They were buried on 16th June 1944 in the ZELHEM General Cemetery It would appear that would have been very early in their tour of operations. .John Stopp was transferred when his flying Training-partner was hospitalised. I think it was Doug Rogers No.424609 who was commissioned off a later course and served in No4 Group RAF Bomber Command in Yorkshire - he was attached to 41 Base before returning to Australia.
Three other trainee navigators who sailed to Canada in the same draft were assigned to Course No.71N1. They were Jim Bateman No.423042 (149 Sqdn- awarded D.F.C), Bill Bowden No.424728 (261 Sqdn) and Geoff Cohen No.424725 who was commissioned off course and remained in Canada as an instructor at No.3 A.O.S.
Course 71N2 - Empire Training Scheme
No. 2 A.D.S. Edmonton – Alberta – Canada
10 March 1943 to 23 July 1943
Back Row: Keith Mills, Bob Sargent, Lou Brimblecombe, Noel Hooper, Eric Sutton, Alex Taylor
Middle Row: Ken Todd, Ernie Todd, Don Plumb, Noel Palfrey, Ron Etherton, Roy Olsen, Les Sabine,
Bob Smith, John Honeyman, Harold (Roy) Murtha
Front Row: Russ Martin, Ted Hall, Scotty Gall, Ian Biddle, W.H. Brown, ? , Ben Smith,
John Lewis, I.N. Keena, Ian Smith
We’ve Got Our Wings – Rookie Sergeants
The “Three Musketeers”
Eric Sutton, Bob Smith, Keith Mills
23rd.July 1943
As an L.A.C. in Edmonton
In Front of Wilsons Stationery Shop in Jasper Avenue
24 April 1943
Air Photography Exercises “Spring”
Bridge Over North Saskatchewan River about 1 ½ miles S.W. of Fort Saskatchewan
Looking S.W. in Direction of Edmonton Which is Visible in Distant Background
Notification of Selection for Appointment to Commissioned Rank
Effective 23rd July, 1943
1st July 1943
Dominion Day Sports – Winning the 440 yds
Eric Sutton, Keith Mills, Bob Smith
- at University Sports Ground
Keith said the Wrong Thing!
Have Wings *** Will Travel
From Edmonton, Canada to Brighton, England
We left Edmonton, with “N” Navigator wings and Sergeant’s stripes sewn on to our tunics, by train, at 2130 Hrs on Friday 23 July 1943. After the busy day of Wings Passing-out Parade and getting clearances we soon settled down to a good night’s sleep. Woke up in the early hours of Saturday at Saskatoon and travelled all day across the prairies through what seemed like endless fields of wheat and grazing country. It was almost express through Watrons, Rivers, Portage, La Prairie and arrived at Winnipeg at 1845 Hrs. Had a stop-over there and left again at 2000 Hrs. Into the bunk at 2230 Hrs for another good sleep. The scenery was different on Sunday as we moved into Ontario with mostly coniferous trees and a few Indian settlements. Arrived in Toronto at 0830 Hrs on Monday morning where those of us going to New York detrained and wandered around to have a look through a few shops before catching a train leaving at 1330 Hrs for Niagara. Had a few hours there to look over the Niagara Falls and then catch a train that left an hour late at 2230 Hrs down the Lee-High valley for New York. This was another train trip in the U.S. that went too fast to even count the telephone poles as they flashed by, and with the best of service from the Afro-American waiters on board.
New York and Sightseeing
Arrived in New York at 0900 Hrs on Tuesday 27th July and most of us including Keith Mills, Noel Hooper, Roy Olsen, Lou Brimblecombe, Russ Martin, Ian Smith, and Eric Sutton and myself made our way to the Anzac Club (somebody had the directions) where accommodation was arranged at the Wentworth Hotel-on the ground floor. Settled in to our rooms and had something to eat somewhere before we went to Madison Square Gardens where a circus was performing. After that we went to the Stage Door Canteen for tea, where we received a hospitable welcome and were given complimentary tickets for a few tours and shows the next day. Met the actress Connie Hayes there. On Wednesday morning we went on a sight-seeing tour during which we called into a few shops and I purchased a 2 ¼ X 2 ¼ Voigtlander camera which gave me good service for many years. After that we went to the Empire State Building and rode the elevator to the top. What a ride that was and what a view from the observation deck at the top. Keith, Roy, Lou, Noel, Russ and I then went for a stroll around Central Park where I took the first photos with the Voigtlander and on to the Stage Door Canteen for tea and more free tickets. The show that evening featured Xavier Cougat and his orchestra, the Andrew Sisters and other acts. We then went to a broadcast at the CBS studios before going back to the hotel.
Stayed in the hotel until midday on Thursday and then went to the Rialto on free tickets and on to the Rochefeller Centre to view an exhibition. Had tea and came back to the hotel to write a few letters. We were on the ground floor and it was hard to get a good sleep, the street outside was as busy at 0300 Hrs as it was at 1500 Hrs.
We Return to Canada
Noel Hooper and I decided that we had better do something about our Officers gear in Montreal and to leave New York a couple of days before the others. So on Friday morning we went to the station to enquire about trains. Met two girls going to the Statue of Liberty so went along for the ferry ride, back to the Anzac Club and a show at the Roxy. Caught a train by the skin of our teeth at 1850 Hrs. Had to change trains at Depew at 0500 Hrs on Saturday morning to go on to Toronto where we arrived at 0915 Hrs and left 30 minutes later for Montreal where we arrived at 1910 Hrs, running about 30 mins late as the train had hit a woman walking on the track about an hour out of the city. When we arrived we went to the YMCA where they arranged accommodation for us at 1491 Bishop Street.
On Sunday morning, 1st August, we went for a circular tour of the city by tram, jumping off at places of interest. Noel was bit non-plussed by the priests stopping on each step of a long climb up the hill to a large cathedral at the top. They appeared to pause briefly on each step in prayer. So, he taps one on the shoulder and recommended they install an escalator-a suggestion that was ignored. Asking directions on the tram was almost useless as the conductors gave the impression that they only conversed in French. We had tea at the YMCA and then went for a walk through the heart of the town. We must have given the impression of two lost souls as two girls approached us and started a conversation. Their names were Dorothy and Kay. They were students at the McGill University in Montreal and invited us to meet them the next afternoon and they would take us up Mont Royal to view the town by night.
We did our shopping on Monday morning where RAAF uniforms etc were available. Got issued with P/O’s braid, badges and cap, but decided to leave issue of quality uniforms and overcoat until we arrived in England. Met Dorothy and Kay as arranged in the afternoon and went up the mountain. As we had to meet up with the rest of our course on a train leaving Montreal at 1930 Hrs the next day the girls agreed to have dinner with us and then meet us again the next day at 1730 Hrs to show us over the University where they resided in one of the colleges on the campus. This we did on Tuesday after more sight seeing around the town and checking out of our accommodation. After our visit to the University it was a quick trip to the station with the girls to see us off and to catch up with the rest and board the train departing at 1930 Hrs. On the way to No.3 ‘Y’ Depot at Halifax. That was the Canadian designation for an embarkation depot.
Wednesday 4th August saw us travelling all day along the St.Lawrence River with its lumber mills, log jams and fishing villages and arrive in Halifax close to midnight raining cats and dogs. We were settled into barracks. Those who were commissioned off course were directed to the Officers Mess and Quarters and all others to the Sergeants Mess.
Halifax
Our late arrival did not prevent us being paraded at 0830 Hrs on Thursday and then attend to usual clearances etc. It seemed that there were still clearances whether you were arriving or departing. After dinner we were put through decompression chamber tests to assess our reactions to lack of oxygen. It was quite an experience as the chamber was decompressed to a height equivalent of about 18,000 feet. We were equipped with oxygen masks. At this height we were instructed to take off our oxygen masks under the supervision of trained personnel and to see how many times we could write the alphabet on the paper that had been issued. Supervisors kept an eye on each individual. I can remember being very pleased with myself as I visualised the alphabet written about six times on my piece of paper before I was told to put my oxygen mask back on again. Then I couldn’t believe my eyes-there was the alphabet written once and then down to about ‘m’ or ‘n’ before the pencil trailed away into a real scribble. Your mind had been telling you that all was well, so the danger of losing oxygen at heights over 10,000 feet was impressed on us. Most of us were non-smokers and had very similar results, but the smokers capacity to cope was really restricted and a couple had to be put back on oxygen very quickly.
On Friday we had a C.O.’s parade at 0800 Hrs and then it was back into the decompression chamber again for 2 hours, with oxygen masks kept on and listen to the supervisor giving more information on what we could expect flying for more than two hours at heights of over 20,000 feet. During this exercise the chamber was decompressed to a height equivalent of over 25,000 feet. After dinner it was P.T. exercise and games. Wrote a letter home and attended to a pile of washing that had accumulated.
Games of tennis and softball filled in most of Saturday morning. After dinner went into town with Ken and Ernie Todd (Ken had been commissioned off course but his brother Ernie was not) to the Anzac Club to give it the once over, and see what services and freebies were available there. Back to camp for a wash and change into clean clothes and after tea went back to a dance at the Anzac Club for a couple of hours. Slept in late on Sunday and spent all afternoon writing letters.
On Monday, 9th August, we were called on parade at 0800 Hrs for P.T. exercises and games. After dinner we underwent night vision tests, which I had trouble in passing and then back to more letter writing to catch up with my correspondence. Got a letter in the mail that day from Maureen. What seemed to be the established routine of parade, P.T. and games was the dose on Tuesday morning. For games, a rugby league match was organised for the Aussies and Kiwis between the Officers and the N.C.O.’s. It was a match that Keith Mills has not forgotten. I was playing on the wing for the Officers and going flat out for a certain try. I heard Keith behind me call out, “here Bob” when he had no chance of catching me. Not thinking I passed the ball back to Keith, who promptly propped, turned and set off back in the other direction. Unfortunately for him however, I was being supported by Kiwi P/O. Simon Snowden, of Maori descent and well built, and who was in the right position to effect a heavy tackle. Simon and I became good friends after that. Keith, I am sure learnt a lesson and did not appreciate the obstacle course we were put through after dinner.
On Wednesday morning, to keep us fit, we were employed on trench digging, and after dinner some of us were put through another night vision test. With a bit of assistance from a mate I did better than the test on Monday. Night vision was for gunners and not for navigators. Did my ironing after tea as we did not have the luxury of a batman yet.
Did well with mail on Thursday - 6 letters from home. After dinner went on a harbour cruise. I was on duty as Reception Officer that night and didn’t get to bed until 0430 Hrs on Friday. Received a telegram from home on Friday morning and another letter from Maureen. We had pay parade after which I went into town to buy a suit case, and did some ironing at night. On Saturday morning we had a lecture on ‘Rehabilition’ and I spent the afternoon writing letters to reply to those I had received during the week. Sunday was a very quiet day and a few of us went to a concert in the evening at the Anzac Club.
Monday 16th August was another good day for mail with 7 letters in the morning and 1 in the afternoon. So my correspondence was not up-to-date for too long. Pictures in the Officers Mess at night, “Desert Victory” and “The More the Merrier”. Usual parade and P.T. on Tuesday morning and into town after dinner for shopping and on to the Anzac Club for tea and a dance at night. More P.T. on Wednesday morning as we were waiting for a draft to embark. Went to see “Stage Door Canteen” at night with Simon Snowden. Since our football match we had spent a few times together looking around the sights of Halifax. Although he was of Maori blood, because of his surname he had become known as “Snowy”. Thursday afternoon was set aside for more sports and in the late afternoon we marched through town with a brass band at the head of the procession. It was into town again on Friday to buy a dressing gown and then to pictures at night to see “Jungle Book” Football practice occupied some time on Saturday morning. The bush telegraph was passing on a rumour that the “Queen Mary” was on the way from New York and would be calling within a few days, so I packed one of my kit bags in the afternoon. Slept in late on Sunday morning and after dinner went for a walk with Les Sabine around Mt Pleasant Park, and to the pictures in the Officers Mess after tea.
After mandatory parade at 0800 Hrs on Monday 23rd August we had lectures and a test on Aircraft Recognition. Managed to pass the test, but only just. After dinner went into town with ‘Snow’, met one of his mates and went to the Anzac Club for tea and a show afterwards. It was P.T. on Tuesday morning and we were given notice to be on parade again after dinner. That was a fair indication that a draft had been issued for embarkation. The draft was read out and as far as I can remember all the navigators from Course 72N2, except for a couple who did not come on to Halifax, were on it. We would be embarking within 48 hours. Broke off parade to have medical examinations, and then it was into town with ‘Snow’ again, who was also on the draft, for tea and the pictures to see “Song of the Islands”. On Wednesday morning we had to take our ‘Not wanted on Voyage’ baggage on parade and complete clearances. A few of us went to the Anzac Club that evening just to say good-bye to the place.
On Thursday 26th August 1943, we had pay parade in the morning, dinner and then our final parade with our ‘Wanted on Voyage’ baggage. We were then transported to the harbour and embarked on the “Queen Mary”. I was billeted in Cabin A24 with 14 others.
We Sail to the UK
Sailed early on Friday morning into good seas. It was back to two meals again while ‘in transit’. The ship had taken on a large contingent of American Servicemen in New York and it was very crowded. With such a large number on board, all were assigned to particular areas with coloured lines to follow to different venues to which they were allowed, such as sleeping quarters, bathroom facilities and Recreation and Entertainment areas. We had a limited deck space allotted to us and yellow lines to follow to the dining room and other colours to the toilets etc. On the lower decks the ‘other ranks’, mainly American troops, were assigned to sleeping areas on a shift basis.
The “Queen Mary” proceeded at full speed of over 30 knots on a zig-zag course and was unescorted. If you were walking down a passage-way when ‘she’ changed course by about 30 degrees you were pinned against the wall until ‘she’ got on a steady course again for another 15/20 minutes or thereabouts. You certainly had the feeling that a submarine would have very little chance of a torpedo attack. Time was passed playing cards, listening to music, reading the daily newspaper that was printed on board, writing letters and attending entertainment provided on board, which mainly favoured Officers. The seas stayed good all day on Saturday and at night most of us in Cabin A24 followed the relative coloured line to the large theatre on board to see a movie. Church Parade was held on Sunday, and another show in the theatre at night.
We continued to zig-zag through good seas at full speed all day Monday and enjoyed a concert in the lounge at night. On Tuesday we came around the north of Ireland and were greeted by friendly aircraft overhead and land in sight by mid-morning. This first sight of ‘the Old Country’ will remain in the memories of most on board for the rest of their life. There was a band of The Royal Marines on board and as we sailed up the Clyde past Arran with the Scottish coast of Ayrshire on our starboard the band played “Land of Hope and Glory”. As indeed it was at that time in history. There were not too many dry eyes on the decks, even among the American troops. We weighed anchor off Greenock and at 1900 Hrs were disembarked onto barges to be entrained at Greenock to travel to Brighton by rail.
Brighton, England
Travelled overnight and got our first encounter with a country at war with the blackout. Early in the morning the train steamed into the large railway yards at Crewe, then on to Rugby and the outskirts of London where we witnessed bomb damage for the first time. Arrived in Brighton at midday and were transported to No. 11 Personnel Despatch & Receipt Centre. Have never been able to work out how the despatch came before the receipt. We were assigned to billets. The N.C.O.’s to either the ‘Metropole’ or ‘Grande’ on the esplanade near the famous West Pavilion and the Officers to the Lions Head a bit further along to the east. Those establishments had been commandeered by the War Department and allotted to the RAAF’s No. 11 P.D.R.C, which had been transferred to Brighton from Bournemouth. So, on the 1st September 1943 we were officially disembarked in the United Kingdom. We spent the next two days attending to the requirements of reception, records, leave passes etc, and writing letters home as we awaited delivery of our ‘Not wanted on Voyage’ baggage.
In Central Park, New York
Roy Olsen, Keith Mills, Lou Brimblecombe, Bob Smith
Along the St Lawrence River - Part of the Aussie Contingent
Ross Martin and Ian Smith at the ‘Door’ in Tropical Uniform
In the Gardens – Halifax
P/O Bob Smith
Advanced Training-United Kingdom
Brighton, Sidmouth (Devon), West Freugh (Scotland)
Settling into No. 11 P.D.R.C. at Brighton, by midday on Saturday 4th September 1943 I had completed most of the requirements for reception and after lunch (now back to the system of calling the midday meal lunch and the evening meal dinner) I was rostered on my first duty as O.I.C. of one of the light ack-ack batteries on the esplanade, from 1400 Hrs to 1800 Hrs. Almost got court-marshalled when I gave permission to the two N.C.O.’s on the guns to fire a couple of rounds to test them. An English Army Major was soon on the scene to check on ‘the emergency’. After a bit of discussion he accepted my explanation and didn’t take the matter any further. After dinner I met ‘Snow’ who had also come over with the R.N.Z.A.F. contingent on the Queen Mary and who were also billeted with us in Brighton. We went to a dance at ‘The Palais’ that night. Had a very interesting conversation with a girl aged in her early twenties who came from Israel and was working her way through to a degree at an English University, as well as a couple of other girls who were more interested in ‘Snow’. They seemed to think he was a real heart throb. He was a good looking and good natured bloke.
This duty on the gun positions got me out of an awkward position on Sunday. We had Church Parade in the morning, usual roll-up, with quite a few Roman Catholics joining the Presbyterians. After lunch, by chance or design, Snow had met one of the girls we were talking to at the dance on Saturday night, and she suggested that he bring his friend along (that was me) as she had a friend to come with her and we could go to the pictures at night. Being a good friend I went along with him to the cinema on this blind date. Her friend turned out to be about 40 and did not appeal. There was no way I was going to be involved so I called Snow aside and explained the position. He saw my point of view and then backed me up with the explanation that I could not stay as I was rostered to go on Gun Duty in less than two hours. So I made a diplomatic departure and beat it post haste, feeling rather satisfied. Saw Snow the next morning and he told me I had made a wise decision.
On Monday morning I had more matters to attend to at reception. Mostly this was to deal with the issue of Officers uniforms etc. Got measured for my great-coat which was to be made by a tailor on Saville Row and issued with headgear-Officers for the use of.
Up to this point I had kept a small pocket diary since leaving Australia but discontinued the practice forthwith when it was brought to our attention in lectures and sessions held in connection with our reception at Brighton that diaries were not to be kept. This would be particularly enforced once we got on to operational squadrons. As a result from hereon I have to rely on memory and reflections with mates as we recalled our experiences in later years. For the next few weeks it was a daily routine of morning parade to hear who had been drafted to advanced flying schools etc, rostered on to duties such as the gun positions, or orders to attend lectures on the Brighton Pavilion. The beaches were heavily mined and this kept us on our guard when we were on gun duties, particularly when a stray dog wandered on to the beach. The Pavilion was also booby-trapped and was accessible only by walking a plank from the Esplanade.
When not on duties and on stand down we made regular trips to London on the train to get acquainted with the Boomerang Club in Australia House, and enjoy some food that was not available elsewhere. It also gave us an opportunity to explore that area of central London that was within walking distance and included many of the well known and historic buildings and landmarks. Here also, I was introduced to the Overseas Club whose members hosted Commonwealth servicemen on leave. I also had to go to London to be fitted and issued with my Officers Uniforms and Greatcoat. We were also introduced to sirens signalling an air-raid alert and ‘all-clear’, and the lives of Londoners who slept in the underground stations platforms. At Brighton the only enemy action I saw was one day when a German twin-engined bomber came in low over the channel, climbed to about 1000 feet over the town and as it circled around the outskirts dropped a stick of bombs and headed out to sea again. It was all over in less that two minutes and the gun batteries on the esplanade did not get a chance to fire at it.
I Go to Scotland On Leave
On 11th September 1943 I was given 7 days leave (authority POR 174/43) and headed off to Aberdeen to stay with Jim and Nan Joss to whom I had been referred by the Overseas League at the Boomerang Club. I wished to go to Aberdeen to have the chance to visit Kintore where by father and uncles spent leave during WW1. It was a wonderful introduction to Scotland, and the fore-runner of a few more happy times there when on leave which eventually led to meeting a lass who stole my heart, but more about that later. That’s in the future still. Got back from leave to learn that some of the course had been posted to Advanced Flying Units. Keith Mills and Eric Sutton and a few others had been posted to No. 4 Observer A.F.U. West Freugh, Scotland and John Lewis and Lou Brimblecombe had been posted to No. 3 A.F.U. at Halfpenny Green. A few weeks later John was to be our first loss of life when he was killed in an accident flying over Wales on a training exercise. A few days after I got back Noel Hooper, John Honeyman and myself were instructed to attend Course No.14 Aircrew Officers Training School at Sidmouth in Devon.
With necessary travel warrants and instructions we arrived in Sidmouth on Sunday 26th September. The three of us were impressed with the beauty of the English country side as we travelled through Hampshire and Dorset to Devon. It was hard to realise that the country was at war, until you passed an airfield or a large military establishment. We were met at the station and transported to the Training School that was situated in a stately mansion that was probably an up-market holiday resort in peace time.
More Training in Devon
The course was an intense period of lectures on Air Force Rules and Regulations, Physical Exercises, Field exercises with live ammunition, escape procedures and parade ground drills under an iron-fisted disciplinarian R.S.M. from one of the Guards Regiments, whom we referred to as the ‘screaming skull’, but not to his face. None of us was that brave. We were put over an obstacle course on the second day there and only a few of us managed to complete it in the approved time. I was still reasonably fit from athletics training and managed to go over all the obstacles except one, but within the time allowed. After 23 days we were put over the same course again and everyone passed, all the fittest they had ever been.
Field exercises included live ammunition with shots fired at medium range, hand grenades, firework crackers etc and it was our observation to identify the type and direction from which the detonation was heard and make quick decisions on evasion tactics. We were also given exercises in techniques of camouflage and the use of the terrain to move and avoid detection. In the event of being shot down over enemy territory it was your first duty to avoid capture. Parades and Parade-ground drills were real masterpieces with the R.S.M. in charge. The short straw must have had my name on it when it came to parade-ground drills. When we were given duties for colour parades and reviews. I landed the duties of S/M of Parade, Adjutant of Parade, C/O of Parade and Reviewing Officer of Parade. It is a mystery how I was not promoted immediately to rank of Air Commodore or above. Noel and John felt sorry for me-like b.hell they did!
On our first day we were fitted out and issued with khaki battle dress, army boots etc, and this was our standard dress for the course, except for evening meals when the traditions of dining in the Officers Mess were observed. A few got postings from the course either to A.F.U. or back to their unit. I remember one Aussie pilot who was sent to the course as a disciplinary measure after he pranged a ‘Wimpy’ on take-off at an O.T.U, apparently without injury to any of the crew. After about ten days he was posted back to his unit to take up further training with the crew. Nine Aussies started the course but there were only five of us there at the end. Leave was granted most nights and at week-ends, so we were able to spend some time in town and go to the pictures or a dance. Met a girl, Irene Collins, at a dance one night who asked me to escort her home-what a walk; I think it must have been to the next village. She worked in a shoe shop in town, and I did see her a couple of times after that when I went down town.
Most vivid memories of the course relate to small arms firing practice, throwing live hand grenades, and the cross country exercises when we somehow managed to make tracks through an apple orchard, stuff a few into our jackets and get back to discover that we had a sort of crab apple used for making cider. Also tried our hand at toasting chestnuts, but not much satisfaction there either. Drilling the squad when under the instruction of the ‘screaming skull’ provided a bit of entertainment, particularly when he decided to take over and show us how to do it. He would give the order ‘Quick March’ at the top of his voice and let the squad get down the road about 70/100 yards before giving the order ‘About Turn’. By the 50/60 yard mark the squad had agreed that from a certain person forward they would disregard the order, the ones at the crucial point would hesitate, and behind them they would do the about turn. That really curled the ‘mo’ and sent a string of invective over the countryside, when the ones in front said they did not hear him. He didn’t fall for it-had been through that mill many times before. We got the feeling that he would liked to blame the Aussies and give them a bit of extra drill, but as they were of higher rank he had to play it cool.
At week-ends we were given leave, although the whole course was de-facto stand-in for the local Home Guard Unit, we were given details of the mined areas on the beaches, most of which were at the base of high cliffs and difficult to reach. Generally it was the area immediately below these cliffs that were not mined. On our first Sunday Noel and John and I headed off west close to the coastline along the tops of the cliffs, almost to Exmouth from where we could see Torquay in the distance. As we had been walking for a bit over 2 hours, we decided to veer north to a village that had golf links nearby where we found a café and had lunch. We crossed a railway line, into a village called Otterton and followed country roads and lanes back to Sidmouth. The next Sunday we headed north towards Honinton and got as far as Aflington. On this walk, following roads and lanes off the main road we stopped to talk to some villagers to enquire if a village about 2 miles further north had a café that was opened on Sundays. They did not know, had lived there all their lives and had never been to that other village.
We would have walked about 20 miles on each of those Sunday hikes, and that kept us in good physical condition. Knowledge gained on the Sunday hikes proved very valuable later on and was put to good use. On the Tuesday of the last week we had our final test on the obstacle course. No problems for any of us, even up and over the poles that were fixed horizontally at varying heights between the trunks of two pine trees to a height of about 30 feet, the only obstacle that stumped me on our run over the course on our first day. I did not go over the top then, but under it. The next day we were given our final test of escape techniques. We were despatched at 0830 Hrs to go to a spot near the village of Axmouth which lay just south of the road to Lyme Regis and north of the seaside town of Seaton. It was up to us whether we went singly, or in small groups like a crew from an aircraft that had been shot down. But we had to get to the destination without being observed by the instructors who would be in positions at a couple of points along the way. The sergeant in charge of the exercise, when informed that Noel and John and I would stick together and go as a team for the exercise said that was a good idea and even recommended to the others to learn from these Aussies who often did well in this exercise. We did well, but it involved a bit of cunning.
Our plan was to let the field get away and ahead of us while we went to a café for morning tea to formulate our tactics. We had to be at the ‘target’ by 1600 Hrs. That gave us a bit over 7 hours to do about 9 or 10 miles measured in a straight line. We had prepared a bit beforehand, and by fair means or foul John had obtained a woman’s hat and shawl. After morning tea we set off walking to the village of Sidford less than 2 miles north of Sidmouth where we knew we could get a taxi and were sure that no scouts would be stationed along that route. I have a suspicion that John had had a discussion with a taxi driver in this village on one of our Sunday walks because we found him very co-operative and willing to help, although he was going to use up a bit of his petrol ration. Sometimes crosses my mind if he got a voucher from John to say his taxi had been commandeered for defence purposes. For him it was going to be a round trip of about 20 miles. I cannot remember what the fare was, but probably in the 5/10 Pounds range, and that was probably the best fare he had made on a Wednesday in war time. In the taxi we set off on the main road towards Lyme Regis and after about 5 miles turned right along a road that went past a quarry and then north-east to Colyford our destination for the taxi. On this last stretch we had a fair idea that scouts would be stationed, so John donned the hat with the shawl over his shoulders and sat up and surveyed the scene while Noel and I crouched down so as we could not be observed. With a bit of luck John spotted our friendly Sergeant sitting under a tree about 15 yards inside a field with a ditch between him and the road. No other scouts were seen. We left the taxi at Colyfield and walked the last mile or so to Axmouth and the designated meeting place. No one was expecting escapees to come in from a northerly direction so we arrived without being spotted to the amazement of the team that had congregated there. We timed things so that we did not arrive until just after 1530 Hrs. A few had already arrived carrying flags to indicate they had been spotted by one or more look-out scouts. Not long before 1600 Hrs the Sergeant, and other spotters arrived and were about to announce that no one had spotted the 3 Aussies, when he looked around to spot us and cried “How the hell did you three get here??” We told him we did not spot any other look-outs, but we did see him under a tree and where he was.
We had our story ready that we were coming up a ditch beside the road when we spotted him and realised we could not pass along that ditch without him seeing us, so we back-pedalled a bit using trees along the road as cover, and then crossed the road and away a bit to the north, which brought us in from that direction. We told him we were within the length of 2 cricket pitches from him, and that really had him flabbergasted. Somehow or another he got the correct information by Friday morning, and told us he was not very impressed, but couldn’t decide whether to admonish us for not entering into the true spirit of the exercise or just acknowledge that we had exercised initiative that we had so often been instructed to do.
Sunday 24th October saw the completion of our Air Crew Officers Training School, and on Monday morning we set off by train back to Brighton. We went via Salisbury where we had a stop over to have a look around the town and visit the famous cathedral. During WW1 my father had been billeted on Salisbury Plains with 41st Battalion A.I.F. and used to talk about the Cathedral and his visits around the area. I did not know it then, not even until the 1980’s, that my paternal great grandparents had come from East Hagbourne in Berkshire about 20 miles from Reading in the area that we were to-day travelling through.
Back at Brighton on Tuesday it was a return to the usual routine of morning parade, lectures and stand-downs as we waited for a posting to an Advanced Flying Unit. During this time we were attending a lecture in the old ball room on the Pavilion when the whole pier was rocked by an enormous blast. Someone had detonated one of the booby-trap mines on the end of the pier and really started some activity. We were evacuated very quickly. Never heard any more reports and whether there were any casualties apart from a few sea gulls. At Brighton a new contingent of EAT’s N.C.O.’s and Officers had arrived and the duties on the ack-ack guns had been assigned to them which gave us more time to take visits up to London.
My Posting Comes Through - Scotland
On Parade about 6th November my posting came through to No. 4 (Observers) Advanced Flying Unit at West Freugh, near Stranraer in Scotland. There were other navigators on the same posting that were on a course after No. 71 and arrived in Brighton about a month or so after I did. These included Keith Nunn, Hector Craig and Soapy Campbell. Noel Hooper and John Honeyman were posted to an A.F.U. affiliated with No 5 Group Bomber Command. I seemed assured to going into No. 3 Group which operated in East Anglia.
Those going to West Freugh left Brighton by train on Monday 8th November, travelled overnight, changing trains probably at Carlisle, and arrived in Stranraer and on to West Freugh by RAF transport on Tuesday to attend to the usual requirements of reception for a course that was due to start the next day. Keith, Hector, Soapy and I were all billeted in the same Nissen hut in the Officers quarters.
We certainly got our introduction to the Scottish weather coming into their winter. The famous Scotch Mist just hung on and on, in fact for the first six weeks we were there we never saw the sun from the ground, but at 2,500 feet you were above cloud and in clear sky. For the first few days we were kept in the lecture rooms for revision in most of the subjects we had studied at Edmonton and talks on what to expect as we moved on to become acquainted with new navigation aids etc that were coming into use in Bomber Command. Our air exercises at West Freugh over the 8 weeks we were there comprised 30 Hrs 35 mins of daylight flying and 18 Hrs of night flying atSS heights between 1500 feet and 5000 feet. The air exercises over routes as detailed in my log book were mostly over the Irish Sea area to landmarks in Northern Ireland, Wales and the Carlisle area to the East. In most cases the exercise started from Ailsa Craig, a landmark island in the Clyde Estuary. You had to be wary of your height and track to ensure you did not come to grief on the Isle of Man.
A great advantage of flying with RAF Staff Pilots was they flew the course given to them. They couldn’t see the ground anyway most of the time. This gave good experience in D.R. navigation and was a great help in charting an air plot. They were mostly very experienced pilots who had served with the RAF in India as well as on operations at home and were very experienced in flying Ansons and Oxfords.
Some Flying “Incidents”
The starting point of Ailsa Craig nearly caused an accident on one of our exercises. We had climbed through cloud and on course etc, when I said to the pilot we would proceed on our first course of the exercise from E.T.A. Ailsa Craig, which would have been not far out because of the short distance we had flown. He insisted on going below the cloud to get an accurate fix from which to start our exercise. Our course was nearly too accurate, as when we broke cloud at about 800 feet Ailsa Craig was almost dead ahead, and the faithful “Old Aggie” as we called the Anson flew past the cliff face too close for comfort. The pilot circled the island, flew a bit north of it and then came back on the course we were to fly on the first leg and climbed back into the cloud over the island with a satisfied look on his face.
On another exercise the first course was eastwards to Wigtown, and then on to Silloth, past a mountain that was about 1500 feet high near Gatehouse-on Fleet I think it was called ‘Crefell’ and it had claimed a few aircraft crashing into it, so we had to make sure we were at least at 2000 feet. For the exercise we had been given ‘met’ winds of 30/49 Knots from the west. By the time we got near Gatehouse-on Fleet it was obvious that the true wind was over 70 knots and in response to radio message we were recalled.
A flight of less than 30 minutes out took over 2 hours on the return with the Aggie at maximum air speed. Coming over the top of one of those high mountains you had the feeling you could just have jumped off like from a moving tram. A night exercise was scheduled to fly to Newcastle to give us navigation experience and the air defences there some dry-swim practice. Before we got as far as Silloth we were recalled as Newcastle was in fact being raided by the Luftwaffe. Sometimes I have wondered about the co-incidence. It was on one of those exercises that I had a bout of air sickness and on landing the pilot put it in his report. The O.C. Training ordered me to report to the M.O. for an assessment. I cannot remember what his examination involved but I was not scrubbed from flying.
On 30th December we were detailed on navigation exercises flying at 5000 ft. Two navigators were assigned to an exercise flying over the Irish Sea due south to Holyhead in Wales and then north west to Ballyquinton Point in Northern Island. This had the Isle of Man along this path. The two navigators on this route were Keith Nunn and Harold ‘Hal’ Peters, both graduates of No. 74N course. Most of the route was covered in cloud with base at about 1000 feet. It turned out to be a tragic day. The aircraft in which Hal Peters was flying must have descended through the cloud too soon and crashed into a mountain on the island. Hal was 33 years of age and came from Bentleigh in Victoria. He was buried in Andreas (St Andrew) Churchyard on the Isle of Man. My last navigation exercise at West Freugh, a week later, was over this same route.
Another flying incident at West Freugh that remains in my memory concerns the crash of a Hampden twin-engined bomber. A few of the RAF pilots were discussing the flying capabilities of this aircraft, a few of which were stationed at West Freugh for coastal surveillance work. A F/Sgt. pilot was arguing that the aircraft would not pull out of a spin. One of the ex-India RAF Officer pilots disagreed and said when the weather was clear enough he would take one up to about 5,000 feet, put it into a spin and pull out. He did this a few days later in sight of a few onlookers - but unfortunately the aircraft did not pull out of the spin and went down to crash into the sea. One of the ex-India pilots was heard to remark “That is only four of us left now”.
Leave in Oldhall – I meet Alma
As I had advised Jim and Nan Joss in Aberdeen that I had been posted to West Freugh, Nan wrote back to say that she had been in touch with a Friend/Cousin in Paisley and she and her husband would be happy to host me if I went to Glasgow. We were given 48 leave pass one week-end so I took the opportunity to go by bus, getting off at Oldhall between Paisley and Glasgow to visit Ronnie and Molly Whyte and their daughter Alma who lived at 39 Tylney Rd, Oldhall. This led to many enjoyable leaves in Aberdeen and Paisley when I came to be accepted freely by both families over the times ahead and which was eventually to see Alma and I marry. I think that we would both agree however that it was not love at first sight.
Hector Craig, who had some relatives in Glasgow came with me on the bus on our two week-end leaves. We were not happy with the smoke filled busses filled with farm workers in heavy sweaty smelling clothes, and not a window opened. It was winter, damp and cold, but some fresh air was desirable, so we would open the window a bit near our seat to get a look that only a Ranger’s fan would give a Celtic fan. Ronnie Whyte was a staunch Ranger’s follower and I was soon to learn of the rivalry between those two sides. The passion for football, what we called soccer, was new to us.
Our course at West Freugh was completed on 7th January 1944. Our posting came through the next day and we were given a few days to complete clearances-the usual medical, dental etc and pack our Officer issue steel trunk for despatch to our new station. Keith Nunn and Hector Craig and I were posted to No. 84 Operational Training Unit at Desborough in Northamptonshire. We realised then that we were destined for No. 3 group Bomber Command that was equipped with Lancasters. We were given 7days leave and travelling time and had to report to Desborough by 24th January (Auth POR 2/44). Travelling warrants were issued at the Adjutant’s office on 11th January, a day after my 20th birthday anniversary, and I went on leave to Aberdeen for a week and then to London for a few days to catch up with mates at the Boomerang Club.
Now it was on to joining a crew, further training as a crew with more advanced aircraft and at heights above 10,000 feet. As it turned out it was to bigger and better things and experiences that made men of us. ......
West Freugh – Laundry Hung Out to Dry In Our “Heated” Quarters
At Aircrew Officers Training School
Sidmouth, Devon
Noel Hooper, Bob Smith
Bob Smith, John Honeyman
Training as a Crew
Crew Formation at No. 84 O.T.U. (Operational Training Unit)
Desborough, Northamptonshire
For operational training I was posted to No. 84 O.T.U at Desborough in Northamptonshire, an Operational Training Unit under the control of No.3 Group, (RAF Bomber Command) as from 25th January 1944. This Unit was flying ex-operational Vickers Wellington X’s, with unit identification “IF”. This was our introduction to flying above 10,000 feet in aircraft equipped with oxygen. Radio I/D was “Foodramp”.
Along with Keith Nunn and Hector Craig I was accommodated in the Officer’s Quarters and went through the usual reception procedure. A programme of lectures and ‘dry-swim’ exercises started immediately and went on for two weeks. Flying exercises started on 15th Feb, crewed with a staff pilot and flying as a 2nd navigator under supervision, to gain experience on new special navigation equipment and flying at heights of 10,000 to 15,000 feet, wearing oxygen masks. Instructors, mostly with operational experience, assessed our work and passed us as satisfactory to proceed further into the formation of a crew and on to further training towards posting to an operational squadron. Over that first month lectures and tests occupied a lot of time, and were most interesting as we were instructed in new equipment coming into use, some of it still on the secret list. During that second fortnight we flew 2 daylight flying exercises and 1 night exercise of between 4 and 5 hours each. On 28th February after flying a special daylight exercise of 4 ½ hours at 15,000 feet all the aircrew under operational training were assembled at 1700 Hrs and told to sort themselves into crews by the next afternoon.
On 1st March 1944 our crew was formed. In the morning pilot F/Sgt. Ron Hastings approached me to see if I had been claimed yet and when he said he had obtained another Aussie as a Bomb Aimer and two RAF fellows who had come through a gunners course together and wanted to be together in a crew, I agreed to join them. Soon afterwards we approached a Wireless Operator who had many flying hours to his credit and had come from a unit where he was an instructor. So, for the time being we had a crew, with a Flight Engineer to be added when we went on to conversion to four engined bombers:-
The Crew:
Pilot F/Sgt Ronald William Hastings RAAF No.423112 Born 11 Nov 1922
Nav. F/O Robert Wylie Smith RAAF No.425992 Born 10 Jan 1924
B/A F/Sgt Harold Edward Burns RAAF No.422144 Born 5 Nov 1915
W/Op.F/Sgt Victor Frederick Pearce RAF No.1196145 Born 17 Jul 1920
M/U/G Sgt George Henry James Malyon RAF No.1432616 Born 7 Jan 1923
R/G SgtDonald George McFadden RAF No.1387716 Born 26 Feb 1923
All aircrew were volunteers, so the RAF fellows were in the RAF Volunteer Reserve. Between ourselves we were called respectively, Ron, Smithy, Bobby, Vic, Mike and Mac.
On 2nd March most of the newly formed crews, including us, were sent to the satellite ‘drome at Harrington, about 4/5 miles away, to fly a high level bombing exercise in daylight and then about 6 hours on circuits and bumps (which gave the navigator nothing to do) over 2 consecutive nights, and on the next night 2 ½ hours on high level bombing. Having completed these exercises it was back to the main ‘drome on 8th March to start a very intense month of flying training in daylight and at night. These exercises were always over approved set routes, sometimes with an experienced pilot as we went on long night flights, fighter affiliation exercises and high level bombing. Lectures still continued at times during the day and there were breaks for sports and evening/week-end leave.
Dealing With an Emergency
On 13th March, flying in an older Wellington 111 No. X3995 and letter coded “U” for Uncle we had an emergency forced upon us on take-off after lunch. Just as the aircraft started to lift off the runway the flap over the port wing fuel tank inlet sprung open, causing that wing to stall. As that wing started to drop it was only the quick corrective action by Ron that saved us from disaster. It took the combined effort of him and the Bomb Aimer who was standing beside him to hold the joy-stick hard over to starboard to keep the plane on level flight. The control tower had noticed our wild take-off, and before we could gather our wits they contacted us with a call “Foodramp Uncle-are you in trouble”. Ron replied with a brief description of the problem and immediately got a message back to circle if possible and come into land immediately as they would have emergency vehicles standing by. An experienced pilot was put in direct contact from the control tower to assist Ron. Although we did not know it at the time, sirens were sounded on the ‘drome and a fire tender, ambulance and crash wagon were rushed on to the tarmac. Ron instructed me to keep the runway on our starboard wing in sight and guide him around to the downwind end. Then, as he lined the aircraft up on the runway and started a landing approach he ordered all except “Bobby” Burns, the B/A, to take up crash positions, leaving the intercom to all positions open. With the two gunners I took up the crash position. Vic, the wireless operator, was tuned into a BBC radio broadcast and was not aware of the emergency, although he admitted later he thought the flying was a bit rough. I learned a lesson from this as I should have tapped Vic on the shoulder as I went past him to the crash position and beckoned him to join me.
Ron and Bobby managed to control the aircraft sufficiently to make a reasonable landing although it gave a severe lurch to port as we touched down, causing Mac, who was next to me in the crash position and had started to get to his feet as soon as the wheels touched the ground, to fall against me and force my head on to the side of the fuselage resulting in a bit of a lump on my right temple. Mac thought for a minute that he had severely hurt me as we both ended up lying on the floor. This lurch caused Vic to look around and see Mike, Mac and myself in the crash position and to wonder what was going on. So we had a bit of explaining to do. We were all O.K, and saw a certain humour in what happened next. As soon as we came to rest Ron contacted the control tower with their sign and the message “Foodramp Uncle here—we have pancaked”, only to get the immediate response “Foodramp Uncle, if you have pancaked you have not pancaked here”. A quick look around and we recognised the surroundings—we had landed at Harrington, the satellite strip. As they say, all is well that ends well, (in spite of Murphy’s Law). Transport was immediately sent out to the aircraft to take us back to the base ‘drome for a quick medical assessment, but we said we were O.K. The M.O told me I would probably get a black eye if any bruising came out and that my flying helmet had probably saved me from more serious injury. In reflection, it is possible that if Ron had attempted a full 360 degree turn back to the runway we had just taken off from, the outcome could have been much worse.
The M.O did not say anything about not flying for a day or two. The experience certainly strengthened our confidence in and respect for Ron, and taught us valuable lessons. We did not hear what happened to the ground crew responsible for fuelling the aircraft and ensuring that the wing flaps were properly secured. Probably went on a charge and received some form of punishment. The aircraft was given a thorough inspection, before it was moved and flown back to the base ‘drome. The undercarriage must have experienced some stress when we touched down. We flew again in the same aircraft four days later on a high level bombing exercise and had no problems.
By 8th April we had completed all the requirements of the course at O.T.U and were passed as fit material to proceed to conversion to four engine aircraft. We were given about 11 days leave (Auth POR 15/44) and instructed to report to No. 1653 H.C.U (Heavy Conversion Unit) at Chedburgh in Suffolk on 21st April. A signal had come through that a crew was required for an Australian Squadron in No.5 Group with a condition that it must comprise at least 4 Aussies in the crew. The only one to qualify on our course was P/O. George Edwards (Pilot) who had crewed with Keith Nunn as his navigator. Both had known Ron Hastings prior to this time. Keith had known Ron and his father before the war. Both Ron’s father and Keith were employed in the then Union Bank of Aust- later to become the ANZ Bank. Ron & George had trained together as pilots. That crew eventually went on to No.467 (RAAF) Squadron at Waddington in Lincoln and were shot down on their second ‘Op’ on 29th June 1944, bombing the flying bomb base at Beauvoir in France. George was killed and Keith was captured and taken POW. After the war Keith resumed his career with the Union Bank. I have no recollection of where Hector Craig and crew were posted to.
Previous Service history of our Crew members
Pilot “Ron”
When he was born in 1922 his family surname was ‘Heuzenroeder”. His father was employed in the Union Bank and in the mid-1930’s with the world scene focussing on the Nazi regime in Germany, and the bank considering his transfer to Manager of a country town, they requested him to change his surname. Ron was in secondary schooling at the time and chose the name ‘Hastings’.
Ron enlisted in Sydney on 20th June 1942 and was posted to No.2 I.T.S. at Bradfield Park. On 15th Oct 1942 he went to No.5 E.F.T.S at Narramine in N.S.W and on 17 Jan 1943 to No.8 S.F.T.S at Bundaberg in Queensland. On 7th May 1943 he graduated with his pilot’s wings and posted to No.2 Embarkation Depot with rank of Sergeant. Embarked in Sydney on 25th May 1943, travelling via the USA and arrived in the U.K. on 7th July 1943 at No.11 P.D.R.C at Brighton. On 7th Sep 1943 posted to No.15 (Pilot) A.F.U at Andover before posting to 84 O.T.U at Desborough on 25th January 1944.
Nav. “Smithy”
Enlisted 21st May 1942 at No.3 Recruit Centre, Eagle St, Brisbane in an intake of ‘Aircrew Guards’ and posted same day to No.3 Recruit Depot Maryborough Qld. On 13th June 1942 posted as ‘Air Crew Guard to No.1 A.O.S. Cootamundra N.S.W. where on 16th Sep 1942 was posted into No.73 Reserve Squadron. On 11th Oct 1942 posted to No.2 I.T.S. Bradfield Park , Sydney and on 2nd Jan 1943 to No.2 Embarkation Depot, Bradfield Park. Embarked Sydney on 8th Feb 1943 on troopship “U.S.S. Hermitage” to San Francisco and then by train to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. On 7th March 1943 posted to No.2 Air Observers School at Edmonton. Graduated with wings as a Navigator and granted a commission on 23rd July 1943. On 4th Aug 1943 posted to No. 1 “Y” (Embarkation) Depot at Halifax, Nova Scotia. On 26 Aug 1943 embarked on the “Queen Mary” to the UK. Disembarked on 1st Sep 1943 at Gourock, Scotland, and then by train to Brighton, England and posted to No.11 P.D.R.C. on 2nd Sep 1943. On 27th Sep 1943 attended Air Crew Officers Training School at Sidmouth, Devon, for a 4 week course. Posted 0n 9th Nov 1943 to No.4 (Observers) A.F.U at West Freugh, Scotland and on 25 Jan 1944 posted to No.84 O.T.U, Desborough,England.
B/Aimer ‘Bobbie’ or ‘Rabbie’
Enlisted on 25th April 1942 at No 2 Recruit Centre in Sydney and on same day posted to No.2 I.T.S at Bradfield Park. On 15 Aug 1942 posted to No.2 Embarkation Depot at Bradfield Park. And on 21st Aug 1942 posted to No.1 E.D. at Ascot Vale, Victoria. Embarked in Melbourne on 7th Sep 1942 and ‘disembarked’ No.3 Manning Depot, Edmonton Canada on 2nd October 1942. On 11th Oct 1942 posted to No.5 A.O.S at Winnipeg and on 29th Dec1942 posted to RCAF station at Trenton, then on 21st Feb 1943 posted to No.4 Bombing & Gunnery School at Fingal and on 16th May 1943 to No.4 A.O.S at London Ontario. On 13th Oct 1943 posted to No.1 ‘Y’ Depot at Halifax, Nova Scotia. Embarked at Halifax on 22nd Oct 1943 and ‘disembarked’ 31st Oct 1943 at No.11 P.D.R.C. Brighton, England. Posted to No.4 A.F.U. West Freugh, Scotland on 23rd Nov 1943 and on 25 Jan 1944 to No.84 O.T.U. at Desborough, England.
W/Op. Vic.
Enlisted in the RAF 2nd Dec 1941. Commenced flying training in August 1942 after transfer to the RAF V.R. After completion of Wireless Operator’s course was posted to Bobbington as an instructor prior to posting to No.84 O.T.U. Desborough on 25th Jan 1944
M/U/G. ‘Mike’
Enlisted in the RAF on 5th May 1941, in the RAF Regiment. Initial Training at Cardington, and on 30th June 1941 posted to White Waltham and Cranwell for a ground observers course before posting to the Outer Hebrides and Orkney Islands. In June 1943 volunteered for flying duty (R.A.F.V.R) I.T.W Bridlington ,Yorkshire and Air Gunnery Schools in Shropshire and Bishopscourt, Northern Ireland. Graduated with wings in Dec 1943 and posted to No.84 O.T.U, Desborough on 25th Jan 1944.
R/G. ‘Mac’.
Enlisted in the RAF on 5th Feb 1942 and served in the RAF Regiment until June 1943. when he volunteered for flying duties and had the same postings in flying training as ‘Mike’, which is why both wanted to stay together in the same crew. Both came from London.
The Crew in front of a ‘Wellington X’
Ground Staff
Mac, Vic, Mike, Bobbie, Ron Smithy
Hours flown at No.84 O.T.U.
Daylight – 34 Hrs 30 mins Night – 30 Hrs 30 mins
No. 1653 H.C.U. (Heavy Conversion Unit)
Chedburgh, Suffolk
This unit was equipped with ex-operational Stirlings 1 & 111. Unit I/D. H4.
On 21st April we were posted to No. 31 Base (No.3 Group R.A.F.Bomber Command), Stradishall, Suffolk, under whose administration were No.1653 H.C.U. and No.3 L.F.S. Feltwell for training in 4 engined heavy bombers. A Flight Engineer, straight from training at a Rolls Royce training school, was appointed to the crew. As a general rule this was a Flight Engineer’s introduction to flying. Sgt. Ron Partridge was added to the crew, and immediately earned the nick-name ‘Pheasant’ by Ron. His training in the Merlin engine at the Rolls Royce establishment was not put to use while we were flying Stirlings with radial engines, but was going to be valuable when we graduated on to the Lancaster Bomber. Ron was destined to stay with our crew only for our first 6 operational sorties.
After 3 weeks of extensive lectures, introductions to and instructions on the special equipment that we would be using on a squadron, most of it specialist to a particular crew member, and general information that applied to all given by experienced personnel on what to expect on operations over Europe as well as survival and escape techniques it was back to practical flying exercises. At first these were with an experienced pilot for dual familiarisation flights of circuits and bumps and then on to a high level navigation and bombing exercise before Ron was allowed to go solo with his crew.
We did not escape the now accepted ‘emergency’ that can crop up on training flights. On our last ‘dual’ flight on the morning of 18th May we had a F/O. Gill as Captain. On take-off he cut one engine to give Ron the necessary experience in that situation. It almost backfired as the aircraft we were in, R9287 H4-Y (Yoke) was rather sick on 3 engines and refused to climb while the under carriage was still down. Fortunately Chedburgh was on a plateau and the ground fell away from us. The under carriage was retracted and we did manage to gather a bit of speed to give us a safety margin above stalling. The ‘killed’ engine refused to re-start, so Ron also had experience with landing on 3 engines. An eventful 25 minutes. After lunch we were transferred to another aircraft and Ron was allowed to go solo with the crew for 2 hours of circuits and bumps.
Involved in a Diversionary Flight at Time of Normandy Landing
Over the next 18 days and nights we did a number of special cross country navigation and bombing exercises and then flew what was an ‘Op’, but it was not credited as such. It was on the night of 5/6th June 1944, the eve of “D.Day”. We took off at 2310 Hrs on a special exercise flying at 12000 feet which took us out over the North Sea, approaching the Belgian coast near Ostend and at about 20 miles from the coast altered course to roughly Nor-East for 15 mins, before turning to port and then heading back to base crossing the English Coast near Orfordness. We had been on a diversion raid to draw attention away from the landings on the Normanby Coast of France. When we got back over Suffolk we were given a triangular course to fly, still at 12,000 feet, until it was all clear for us to descend and land. Below was an extensive procession of aircraft heading towards France, so we soon realised that the invasion of German occupied Europe was under way. We landed about 0130 Hrs on 6th June, “D.Day”, and were informed that General Dwight Eisenhower would be broadcasting a special announcement later in the morning.
A day or two later we were paraded and given the duty of scouting through a near-by ‘wood’, as there had been a report that a parachutist had been seen to jump out of a German aircraft that had flown over. About 30 to 40 airmen hiked through that wood and surrounding fields, but found nothing. Later in the afternoon two farmers walked up to the guards at the station’s main gate with a suspect in tow. One was carrying a hay fork in a menacing manner. They found him on the edge of the wood, probably waiting for night to fall before moving on. Never did hear what the sequel to that was.
On 12th June, in the afternoon, we were detailed to take an aircraft on a flight test. On arrival at the aircraft we were met by a senior officer who informed us that an important passenger was on board who we had to deliver to Tempsford, the base of No.161 Special Duty squadron, and to fly below 500 feet all the way there and back. So I had to prepare a quick flight plan to Tempsford. When we got on board we discovered that our passenger was a very attractive young French lady, probably in her early 20’s, who was to be parachuted out over France that night on a special mission. What a girl?
No. 1653 Chedburgh – Suffolk
F/E Sgt Ron Partridge Added to The Crew That Went to “Ops”
Smithy, Bobbie, Ron, Pheasant?,
Mac, Mike, Vic
Two days later we completed out training at Chedburgh with a high level bombing and fighter affiliation exercise which involved corkscrews for which the Stirling was not particularly suited, and neither was my stomach. I have to admit that I did suffer some air-sickness on such occasions. On 14th June we were advised of our positing to No. 3 Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell in Norfolk and to attend to our clearances from Chedburgh.
Hours flown at No.1653 H.C.U.
- Daylight 27 Hrs 25 mins, Night 20 Hrs 25 mins
No. 3 L.F.S. (Lancaster Finishing School)
Feltwell, Norfolk
Still under our posting to No.31 Base, Stradishall we were attached to No.3 L.F.S from 18th June 1944 for a concentrated 10 day course of lectures and instructions and our introduction to the “Lancaster 1”. The squadrons of 3 Group were equipped with the Lancaster 1 and Lancaster 111. The course was mainly for the pilot. Instructors were pilots who had completed tours on the ‘Lanc’.
P.O. Treasure was assigned to our crew for 3 hours of dual and solo circuits and bumps in daylight on 23rd June and for the same at night the following day. The next day we were on our own for a test flying a triangle over Norfolk for over an hour and 2 days later flew a cross country navigation test of over 3 hours.
It was a great thrill to eventually get on to Lancasters. A vast improvement on the Wellington and Stirling and truly the most successful heavy bomber of WW11. It was a ‘plane that gave the crews a feeling of confidence. Its power and manoeuvrability and load carrying capacity exceeded all others at that time. As far as I was concerned I had reached my goal. After some operational experience, you wee convinced that every one who operated in the light and medium bombers in the early years of the war deserved a ‘gong’.
On 27th June 1944 we were advised that we were posted to No.XV/15 Squadron at Mildenhall, Suffolk, a permanent RAF Base and one of the jewels of Bomber Command.
Hours flown at No. 3 L.F.S.
- Daylight 4 Hrs 20 mins, Night 6 Hrs 20 mins
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Bob Smith's Memoirs
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Bob Smith
Date
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2003-03
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Turkey
Turkey--Gallipoli
Australia
Queensland--Brisbane
Queensland--Ipswich
Queensland--Maryborough
New South Wales--Cootamundra
New South Wales--Sydney
New South Wales--Wagga Wagga
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Royal Australian Air Force
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Bob's memoirs from his early training until he became operational.
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eng
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107 printed sheets
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MSmithRW425992-230825-03 copy
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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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142 Squadron
15 Squadron
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3 Group
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619 Squadron
622 Squadron
640 Squadron
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/663/8373/ACarringtonJ170207.2.mp3
501fa00cefda0a59bebe9de4fd707def
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Title
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Carrington, Jane
Jane Waterhouse
J Carrington
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. An oral history interview with Jane Carrington nee Waterhouse (b. 1924 2043217 Women's Auxiliary Air Force) and four photographs. She served as a cook and as a drummer in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Jane Carrington and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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2017-02-07
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Carrington, J
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Transcription
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CB: My name is Chris Brockbank, and today is the seventh of February two thousand and seventeen, and I'm in Henfield, Hayfield in Derbyshire, and talking to Jane Carrington about her experiences in the RAF during the war. So Jane, what are the first recollections you have of family life?
JC: We just lived, it wasn't a very particularly happy home for a start, but I don't want that broadcast all over the place.
CB: No. What did your father do?
JC: Well, he was a cotton spinner, which was a very special job in the cotton mills, because you had to work your way up to it, and there's only one spinner, you know, to a cotton mill.
CB: Oh.
JC: And of course the mill closed, that was Clough Mill.
NH: How old were you?
JC: How old, when he was working? I don't know.
NH: School?
CB: So, how many children were there in the family? You, and-?
JC: Three brothers and myself.
CB: Okay, and where were you in the, er, range?
JC: I'm the oldest.
CB: You are. Right. And are your brothers still around?
JC: Three of them are, yes.
CB: All three?
JC: One isn't.
CB: No. Right. So, you went to the local school?
JC: I did.
CB: And how long for?
JC: Until I was fourteen.
CB: Then what did you do?
JC: I was told to go out and find a job. And I landed up at the print works at Strines, and then they told me they didn't want me because (laughs) I didn't like doing the work and had no interest in it. And that was the end of that. I just went from pillar to post. I worked as a cleaning, I've done cleaning, where else did I work Nina?
CB: So, lots of different jobs?
JC: Lots of different, but nothing. Nothing.
NH: Did you work with Gladys then?
JC: (Unclear), with Gladys.
CB: So when the war started you were fifteen.
JC: Nineteen twenty four, I was born.
CB: Thirty nine the war started.
JC: I think I was sixteen.
CB: So you were sixteen. Okay.
JC: Sixteen.
CB: And what happened then?
JC: Do you mean where was I working then?
CB: Mm-hmm.
JC: Well, there was a lady, very old lady, Mrs Pearce, do you remember, Parkhall Crescent, I lived in there, I was supposed to be her companion, looking after her house and cooking for her.
CB: Oh right.
JC: And then of course the war was (slight pause) and I went of to join the WAAF. And she came to meet me, she picked me up at Cardington Camp, took to to Wythall to be demobbed, that lady. I couldn't stand her any more (laughs), I'd had a packet of it.
CB: What made you decide to join up?
JC: (Pause) Just unrest, I suppose, looking to, unsettled. In retrospect. You don't know, do you? When you're young you just, you haven't got the education, you haven't got this, you just-
CB: Okay. And when-
JC: When I came out of the WAAF, I'd worked in the catering office for a while, I got a job in accounts department at Ferodo, where I should have been all the time.
CB: Originally.
JC: And then I got transferred to the North London office at Kings Cross.
CB: Right. So when you were sixteen, seventeen, what made you join the RAF rather than join the Army or the Navy?
JC: Because it sounded more exciting.
CB: Mm-hmm. What else.
JC: I can't think of anything else.
NH: The colour.
JC: The colour, oh, the blue, yes, because as I already told you, everybody always said blue suited me.
CB: Mm-hmm. You like the outfit, did you?
JC: I hadn't mixed in very wonderful company as you know, it was just for me to like. Nothing wrong with people. They were nice people for the most part.
CB: So where did you join up?
JC: I went to enlist at Dover Street in Manchester, 'til they called me to (unclear) roster. Is me voice going?
CB: It's good, keep going.
JC: And there, oh, I went on the train from London Road, as I told you. Never having left the village. And the first to happen was they gave us a sack and a pile of straw, and that was our bed for a week, until they could find beds for us, we slept on the floor.
CB: So where was this?
JC: At Innsworth Lane.
CB: At Innsworth, right. Okay.
JC: Nineteen forty two.
CB: Mm-hmm. And as I say, you were eighteen then.
JC: I was. And then I went to the selection. We've only got vacancies for cooks and ACHGDs
CB: ACH?
JC: General Duties.
CB: Right.
JC: Well, what does that entail? Well anything, cleaning the toilets, sweeping the things, doing this that and the other. And I thought, well, I like making fairy cakes, I'll be a cook. There was a rude awakening for Jane! It was damned hard work.
CB: Was it?
JC: Mm. Six of us cooking for three or four thousand men.
CB: And what about the menu?
JC: I've got that for you. (rustle of paper).
CB: Ok, we'll look at that in a minute. But in general terms, what was the menu?
JC: Well, it's in the book, and I don't remember a lot until I read the book.
CB: Well, what I'm saying is, it's not fairy cakes, so what what were you feeding them?
JC: Oh no, well porridge and bacon, brown stew was a favourite, you might know about brown stew. When I read the books they come back to me.
CB: Yeah, ok. But in general terms, it was good nourishing-
JC: There was nothing wrong with it, nothing whatsoever.
CB: And how did the cooking system work? Because there were a lot of people to feed.
JC: Well, we worked on shifts. That's what you want to know, on shifts.
CB: Right.
JC: I could be walking at the front at Skegness with sand blasting in my face at three o' clock in the morning, for doing breakfast shift. And that shift, erm, clean the kitchen. That was awful, doing those floors, with caustic soda. That's – what are you laughing at? With deck brushes, little hard brushes. Then you squeegee'd it, and then you flip-flopped it. That was a load of flags or something to dry it off. The other shift, and I can't remember the time, I think (pause) we did the evening meal and the prep, see, I'm getting mixed up again.
CB: Keep going.
JC: We cooked the, you know, the dinner. That's it, we cleaned the floor, and then we cooked the lunch. No we didn't, we cooked the lunch first and cleaned the floor afterwards. That was the end of that shift.
CB: Right.
JC: Then the next shift would come on and we'd do preparation for the next day, and whatever. I can't remember much more about that. And that would go on until, oh, six, seven o' clock. Then we had to put the passion cocoa out, don't let that go on your thing, will you. That was big bucket fulls of cocoa, and the airmen who didn't want to go out, came in the billy with their mugs and would take the cocoa. At Skegness we had to go and sit on the beach with cocoa for the lifeboatmen, because they were going out to pick the airmen out of the water. That happened very often. There were great big Thermos flasks. Now I might get this all out of context. Chris, but these are the things that happened.
CB: That's alright. That's fine. I'm quite happy with any of the, any of the remarks. In the background we can just follow the sequence.
JC: Yes. Then I was taken out of there and put in the food factory. Where they made the bread.
CB: Where was that?
JC: Skeg.
CB: Still in Skegness? Yes.
JC: I was on so may stations. What did we do in the food factory? We made the bread, we made the stock pots, we rendered down the bones, and fat. All sorts of things.
CB: Did you keep the fat, in order to use it as dripping?
JC: Oh yes, the fat was sent to the soap factories.
CB: Okay.
JC: Outside each kitchen, from the taps and the sinks, were big sumps, grease traps. You had to go out and scoop it off. Horrible. One Christmas day I can remember the bells were ringing out over the base, and the wireless was on all day long. On Christmas day. And there were six of us, cleaning the grease traps. And we were singing. And we called ourselves Corporal Lombardini's Grease Trap Songsters. I can remember that (laughs). That's just one occasion.
CB: So, what was the main producer of grease, in the cooking?
JC: Oh from bones and fat of animals. I did butchering. I did cooking, butchery, field kitchen, (pause) I worked in the catering office, I worked on the ration wagons, I did practically everything. My last job was in the catering office.
CB: And in the catering office, what was your job there?
JC: Oh, that was interesting. Working out that each man got the right calories, you know, and all the rations. Which are all in this book (taps the book cover).
CB: I know, but the idea of this is so that people can hear what you've got to say, and then they can pick out bits from anything else.
JC: We didn't have to do vegetables, the ACHD's did that.
CB: What vegetable options were there?
JC: Oh, everything, that was available in those days.
CB: Was it normally grown locally, or did they-?
JC: Yes, well, in Lincolnshire, of course, the farmers used to bring stuff in. That weren't supplied by the, you know, the industry.
CB: Including turnips?
JC: Oh aye, plenty of turnips. Sacks of new potatoes, all sorts of things, I can't remember.
CB: Going back to Innsworth, when you went there and you had to lie on the beds, and er, what was the main activity there, were you being taught about the RAF, or, what were you doing?
JC: Oh yes, lectures every day.
CB: And what were they about?
JC: Oh, everything. They even told you how to have a bath. Even though I'd been washing in a tin bath in front of the fire for years. You had to learn how to do a bath. Um, all the general things.
CB: Yeah, but people don't know what those are, you see.
JC: Oh well, hygiene, and drill and discipline, venereal diseases, keep away from that sort of thing, um.
CB: Did they show you films on some things?
JC: No. It was only just lectures.
CB: And how long did that go on for?
JC: Just about six weeks. And the drill, of course.
CB: And after that, at the end of the six weeks, what did you do then?
JC: I was posted to the cookery school at Melksham, and I was there for I don't know how long. Some weeks?
CB: I'll stop it for a few- (noises off) (pause) Now, what I'm back on to , if I may, is the sequence of what happened. So you joined in Manchester, then you went to Innsworth, and because they were caught out without all the facilities thy had to give you bedding which was straw, in a bag actually. But what were the facilities like? So what they call ablutions is where you wash and clean, what were they like? What was it?
JC: Well, it was just a hut from the, you know, from our billet, a row of hand basins and a row of toilets with three quarter doors on. Concrete floors and duck boards. If they hadn't been burnt the night before to keep warm.
CB: Right.
JC: Is that what you wanted?
CB: Yeah, yeah. So what were the purpose of the duck boards?
JC: To keep you off the concrete floor. For comfort, if you please.
CB: Okay. And how many toilets and washbasins would there be in this block, roughly? Twenty?
JC: I don't think that many. Perhaps a dozen or so. Ten to twelve.
CB: You were on a barrack block of some kind, were you?
JC: Oh yeah.
CB: Was it wooden, or was it a concrete hut?
JC: Is was wooden huts.
CB: Okay. And how many in your hut, roughly?
JC: About eighteen, I would think. But on all other camps I did sleep in Nissan huts, on bunks.
CB: Yes. Okay, and was there an NCO in charge?
JC: Yes, in the cabin, at the front.
CB: And what rank would that NCO be?
JC: Corporal or Sergeant, on other ranks, you know.
CB: Okay. Right. So here we're talking about the Woman's Auxiliary Air Force, so all your reporting line was women? So the Corporal was a woman?
JC: Oh yes.
CB: And so it was segregated from the men?
JC: The men daren't come into the WAAF lines at all.
CB: So, they're in a separate part of the camp?
JC: Yes.
CB: Okay. And did you eat together?
JC: Well, in the kitchens you ate in the kitchen.
CB: I meant the WAAFs in general.
JC: We would (unclear) when we could. Because we were supplied from headquarters, because we were permanent staff on the camp, but we did better by just staying in the kitchen where we were.
CB: Right. I'm talking about the training, so in the training area, in this first, while you were at Innsworth-
JC: I wasn't trained cook there.
CB: I know, but in that training-
JC: Oh yes, yes, all the recruits ate together.
CB: And they were separated, you were separated from the men.
JC: Don't remember any men there at all.
CB: Right. Okay. And then at the end, you then went, you said, to cookery school at Melksham. So what happened there?
JC: We were taught our drill there, you know.
CB: At Innsworth? Okay. How did you get on with drill?
JC: I think I marched more than any other WAAF in the RAF.
CB: Oh. Why was that?
JC: Shall I show him why? (rustle of paper).
CB: I'll have a look in a minute.
JC: (Loud rustling) I'd rather you saw that.
CB: Okay, we'll stop. (Noise of tape machine being turned off)
CB: So you were saying you did more marching. That was because, what did you do? (Pause) You did more marching at Innsworth because of -.
JC: No I didn't, that was where I was taught to march. But we'll go back to that when you round to it.
CB: Oh, okay. That's fine.
JC: Because I could march, I was chosen to do that.
CB: Do do what? What was that? What was it called.
JC: It was Group Captain Innsworth Personal Band.
CB: Right. So that's really important, because these, some of these organisations had more activities than others. I'll stop it.
JC: Even though I shouldn't have done it.
CB: So the Group Captain at Innsworth, what was he?
JC: No, it wasn't at Innsworth. This is all out of context now, see. I was at Melksham.
CB: OK, at Melksham.
JC: I worked about twelve or eighteen months in the kitchens.
CB: At Melksham, so where's that
JC: No. That was the School of Cookery, Melksham.
CB: Right. Yes, so lets go to the school of cookery. What happened then?
JC: And I was posted from there as an SACW (unclear) Two to Wilmslow. It was a PDC, Personnel Dispatch Centre, where they bought all the boys in who were to be sent overseas. Thousands of them. And they ring in my ears still. We had to give them their dry rations. They were trained there, and lectured, and all the rest of it. And two 'o clock, three 'o clock in the morning you could here them going down to the station (beats on the table simulating marching), off to Liverpool. How many came back? How many thousands did us WRAF cooks kiss goodnight to? Can you imagine?
CB: Well, I imagine this is the bit that we need to build in to this whole thing.
JC: When it comes to Remembrance Sunday I'd rather sit on my own, because I wonder how many of those boys never came back home. Nobody understands that, do they?
CB: No. That's why we're doing this on the tape.
JC: That was very -
CB: Emotional?
JC: Yes. In retrospect, not at the time.
CB: So, that's the interesting point, isn't it? So at the time, how did you handle the strain of that?
JC: Well, as well as we could. We did it. We had to do it, we did it. There was no argument about it. You did it. We just got on well together, and did it.
CB: And these were all Air Force people?
JC: Oh yes. They were all airmen. Eighteen, nineteen.
CB: And what was their attitude to what they were doing?
JC: Oh, they were upset weren't they? Some of them cried, some of them wanted to be big men.
CB: Had they been away from home before, or was it all new?
JC: No, most of them hadn't.
CB: Right. And did they know where they were going?
JC: I don't know. We WAAFs kept our mouths shut, and we weren't told what we didn't have to know.
CB: But they were being sent abroad, is what you are saying?
JC: Oh we knew they were going, and we knew what time they were going, but we were sworn to not tell anybody.
CB: This is important, yes. And do you know why they were moved, went in the night?
JC: Of course, secrecy. Down to Liverpool docks. We knew where they we going, but we only knew through NCOs and people who'd confide in us, of course. We weren't told officially. (Long pause). That was that.
CB: Good. How long where you there at Wilmslow?
JC: I'm just trying to think where I went from – I was moved a time or two to fill vacancies. One was up at Crannidge where some of the grounded crews were on rest, where I worked for a few weeks up there in a field kitchen. And Leslie Greenhouse was there. Do you remember me telling you about that (aside). (Pause) And I also went down to St Athan for a few weeks, where I fell in a boiler of boiling vegetable marrow (laughs). Yes.
CB: What was the effect of that?
JC: Well, the effect, the outcome of it was very amusing, actually. I was bandaged from here to here and put in sick bay, and prior to that hams had been missing. Nobody knew where the hams were going. But Jane's sat up in bed in the sick bay, and where the food was kept one of the civilian men, workers on the camp, was going through with a bucket, pinching the ham that was hung into the bucket. (laughs) So I did a bit of detective work there.
CB: So he caught in the end, did he?
JC: Oh yes. That's funny.
CB: Yes. Absolutely.
JC: Richard Murdoch was on that camp.
CB: Was he?
JC: Then I was sent back to Wilmslow. And I worked in the catering office then, this time at Wilmslow. Next door to the office where Ivor Moreton and Dave Kaye, have you heard of those? And two pianos, do you remember them? Busy Fingers. They were two airmen.
CB: And what were they doing?
JC: They were working for BBC in Air Force Blue. And pinching my fire! On a shovel, and into their stove. We had fun, as well.
CB: So what was their actual job?
JC: I think they must have been AGCs, I couldn't think anything else. But also at two camps, Wilmslow and Skegness, was Stanley Tudor who played the organ at the Gaumont in Manchester. And he was always missing. You could hear him on the radio, and he was sweeping out at the NAAFI.
CB: And he was a well known organist?
JC: Oh yes. You've heard of him?
CB: No. It's just what you said, only what you said. So, you went back -
JC: That's where the Lincolnshire bit comes in.
CB: You went back to Linc-, Wilmslow, then you went to Skegness.
JC: Yes.
CB: And what was happening at Skegness, what was it?
JC: Again, recruiting, technical training, command. You know Skegness was taken over by the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force.
CB: Right.
JC: All the infantry were in Skegness, the RAF was at Skegness, and the Navy was up at Butlin's. You know about that?
CB: No.
JC: HMS Royal Arthur. Lord HaHa, what was he called, Lord Haw Haw, he said they'd sunk it. And it was Butlin's camp at Skegness. All this is quite true, you know. And that was where I joined this band.
CB: Yes. Right. So,-
JC: He wanted some WAAFs in it, he thought WAAFs should be in it.
CB: Right, but at Skegness, were you -
JC: I was working at the Imperial.
CB: Yes, but were they Air Force people only?
JC: Oh, no. The Infantry were up at the South.
CB: No. Where you were cooking, were you cooking just for the RAF? Or were you cooking -
JC: Oh yes, only for the RAF. You didn't cook for anybody else.
CB: Right. OK.
JC: The Army cooked for themselves. They were a different thing altogether.
CB: So, where were you in the, what hotel were you in?
JC: The South Parade Hotel. I can remember that. Next door (laughs) dare I tell him this one? Every morning, well not every morning, a WAAF had to go out with one of the SB's to do the early calls, to people on early duty. It was pitch black, you know, very early in the morning. I wouldn't sit on the cross bar of these bikes, because I couldn't do it, but one day, in the dark, I went into the wrong mess, didn't I? I'm going up the stairs shouting, 'come on, wakey, wakey, rise and shine', all the rest of it, opened the doors and there were all brown boots, I was in the Army officer's bedroom (laughs). I went downstairs about two at a time. Shall I tell you what I said to the SB, I said, 'hang on to that cross bar, and peddle like bloody hell', I said, 'get me out of this'. And he never reported it. Now he was a decent man, wasn't he? He realised what had gone wrong. I saw this row of brown boots (chuckles). There were a lot of funny experiences like that.
CB: That's it, What else?
JC: At Skegness, Group Captain Insall came in, he'd had this band with him at Padgate.
CB: So what was his name? Group Captain -
JC: Group Captain Insall. His name's there.
CB: Yes. And he was a VC?
JC: He got a Military Cross in the Army, lost his arm. You've heard about it?
CB: A Military Cross in the Army? Go on.
JC: I don't know how he got the VC, but he was a pilot, of course. And that's how I came to be there. He called me the Yorkshire girl, I'm not a Yorkie, but he always referred to me as the Yorkshire girl. I think he did it to annoy me.
CB: Right, right. He was close. Yes. Ok. So, he was commanding the -
JC: The whole issue.
CB: The whole Air Force issue?
JC: No, not the whole Air Force, just the personnel in Skegness, the (unclear) camps there.
CB: Right. And so what did he want? (Pause) He wanted his own band, yeah? So how did you get in to be a member of his band?
JC: I don't know, think they asked us to go and volunteer. Several of us went along.
CB: But was that because you'd done music before you joined the RAF?
JC: No, I don't know anything about music, not even now.
CB: So what were you playing, in the band?
JC: A drum.
CB: Right. How did you learn how to play the drum?
JC: Oh, little wooden things with rubber, you know? Can you imagine? About that big with a rubber circle.
CB: To learn. Who taught you?
JC: This fellow here.
CB: He was the band master, was he?
JC: No, he was the drum. The Leading Tipper. The Pipe Major was the one stood next to Captain Insall, that's Sergeant Watkinshaw. They were bagpipes, makes it even worse.
CB: So you enjoyed that, did you?
JC: Yes. It got me out the kitchen. Many times. We used to play in Bedford. You know, they had Wings For Victory week and what was the one to get money for warships? There's one in the council offices here (pause) oh, dear.
CB: So they ran fund raise events for the war.
JC: Yes, they used to have the parades in Bedford because the Americans were there. Betty married one.
CB: So how did you meet your American?
JC: How did I? I didn't marry an American. I wouldn't have ought to do with them. (whispers) Don't tell Betty.
CB: Ah, Betty married one.
JC: I just, I was frightened of them, actually.
CB: So he went to a number of these events himself, and took his band with him, is that what it was?
JC: No he didn't. He -
CB: He just sent the band.
JC: Whan he was moved from Skegness, Captain Insall, Group Captain Insall, he was taken to Cardington camp, sent to Cardington camp, and he took every member what's on this picture with him, was posted to Cardington camp.
CB: Right. So when was that? Roughly. You'd been at Skegness for a while.
JC: Yes, quite a long time. (pause) I came out in forty six didn't I, so will be end of forty four.
CB: OK. So you moved to Cardington yourself.
JC: That's right. And I was demobbed from Cardington.
CB: And what did you do at Cardington?
JC: I worked in the catering office, I worked on the bread wagon, I worked on the wet ration wagon, I used to go out every morning with two big trucks, two old civilian drivers, and I had six Italian or German prisoners.
CB: POW's. Yes.
JC: I used to go up to Turvey, to collect the rations, you know, sort them in, sort them out when I got back. And there was a Captain from your lot there. Nichola Woods. Don't know if he's still alive. He maybe.
CB: What's his name?
JC: I can't remember. He had a great big moustache like Jimmy Edwards. And I used to ask for cigarettes for the prisoners. 'If you'll come in the rum store and give me a kiss, I'll give you some cigarettes'. (Laughs) So I went in that rum store, and I gave them some cigarettes. They weren't all bad lads, you know.
CB: So you went out in the trucks to get the local produce.
JC: I went out out, yes, every morning, with two big trucks. Which supplied the whole of the camp. Which had five wings, Cardington.
CB: So what was happening at Cardington?
JC: Technical training. Oh, another interesting thing that happened there, when they liberated Holland, all the Dutch boys came to Cardington to be trained in the RAF. That was quite a, well, it was different. We couldn't understand each other at all. And they planted marigolds all over Cardington camp, it was one mass of orange marigolds. If that's of any interest to anybody, which I don't suppose it is.
CB: Well it is. It is, because it's the significant point about, it's their colour, isn't it, of Holland?
JC: There are two Dutch boys here on this photograph.
CB: It's called, the Royalty, is called the House of Orange, isn't it?
JC: It is, yes. And, oh, I know what. That Queen Willomena, I've got that photograph at home. She came to the camp to decorate two of her pilots. And she spoke to me.
CB: Did she?
JC: Yes. And I couldn't tell what she said, but her interpreter said that she said, 'how do you keep up with these men with your little legs?' (chuckles) That's all I know.
CB: Amazing. Yes. And what else, did you, were you demobbed from Cardington?
JC: I was demobbed from Cardington, at Withall in Birmingham.
CB: Right.(Pause)
JC: I'm sure none of this stuff's of any use to you whatsoever.
CB: It's all vital. Just going back.
JC: I told you I'd never done anything interesting.
CB: Going back to the earlier stages, the reason for having this is because people today have no idea what happened in those days
JC: They don't know who we were.
CB: They don't. They don't even know war. So, when you went to Melksham to train for catering; what happened there? What did they do?
JC: Well, lectures, that's where I did butchery there.
CB: So they taught you butchery. What else did they teach you?
JC: Cookery.
CB: And how did they do that?
JC: It was just like going to school, actually, (unclear), you know
CB: Because the military kitchens catered for lots of people, their equipment was a bit different from being at home.
JC: Ooo, two and three thousand we catered, I have catered up to four thousand at the height of the war.
CB: Right. So what was the equipment like, to be able to do that?
JC: Well, there were big boilers. Have you not seen them, you must have seen them. I took (unclear) of that book with all the pictures in, didn't I? Picture of Lady (unclear) and the WAAF Assoiciation. Massive big boilers.
CB: Right. Big ovens, were there?
JC: Oh yes, big ovens. See, that would be the kitchen, and here was the stoker, and here were steamers, I can see the kitchen, there were six boilers, and there some friers, and there the servers, the NCO servers.
CB: And were they running on gas or coal?
JC: No, they were on coal.
CB: Right. So the stokers were putting coal into them.
JC: Yeah, all night along he was there, it was kept going all the time. Supplied the hot water and the boilers and whatever, the ovens. Hard work.
CB: Yeah. And washing up? How was that handled?
JC: That was done by the SHDD's, and they had washing up machines of a kind, great big, with water coming down, they'd tray them up and put them in thingeys.
CB: So, you did butchering, you did cookery
JC: Field cookery.
CB: Field cookery, so what was the technique for field cookery?
JC: At Skegness I used to go up with them, when it was my turn to do that, to Gibralter Point, where there was a shooting range. And two used to go up there, and you had to build a kitchen with biscuit tins filled with sand, make your own oven (coughs), and cook a meal. For the boys that were up there doing rifle training.
CB: So you filled the tins with sand to make the sides. What did you put on top?
JC: Ee gum, I can't remember that that.
CB: Big slab of steel, was it?
JC: Oh no, nothing sealed it. Oh, you mean for the fire.
CB: For the cooking on the top.
JC: I suppose it was grids, grills. I can't remember every detail, you know.
CB: That's ok.
JC: The highlight of the day was the officer would let you use the rifle, so you could lie at side of him and fire the rifle (laughs).
CB: So you became good at shooting, did you?
JC: Only once. I hurt my shoulder, I didn't do it again. (chuckles) Just once.
CB: What would the menu normally be in the morning?
JC: Porridge. Maybe a fried egg on fried bread, or bacon and tomato. It's all there, in that book.
CB: Good. OK. Then for lunch, what did people have there?
JC: It's all there in that book.
CB: Yeah, but what was it?
JC: A lot of brown stew. We did roast beef, you know, and all the rest of it. And pies, we made pies. They were big pies that were cut up, you know.
CB: And what did the vegetables?
JC: I was just telling Nina, there were big troughs, as big as this.
CB: So maybe three or four feet wide.
JC: Five or six of us, maybe more, up, on our knees, making pastry. Rubbing in the fat into the flour.
CB: And was this on large wooden blocks, that you were making the pastry?
JC: It was concrete floors.
CB: Oh, you made it directly on the concrete floor.
JC: No, they were big troughs, big wooden troughs.
CB: But when you made the pastry?
JC: Oh no. Roll it. To roll it we had tables, and bits. (Aside) Thanks Neil, I'm glad you came.
CB: And then put it into the troughs. Yeah. Ok.
JC: No, you took it out of the troughs into a Hobart mixer where you mix- can you make pastry, by the way?
CB: I'll try later.
JC: You put water in to make it into pastry, and then you rolled it out into these big square tins.
CB: And then te food was in, er, various troughs, but how was it dispensed to the troops? They had to
JC: Oh, sorry, sorry. Yes. Well it went into a servery. Hot plates. You must have seen those, surely. You must have used one of those. With big cupboards.
CB: So there were coal fires underneath?
JC: And then someone, one of the NCO's, would shout 'servery', and everyone had to go and make themselves look respectable. To make sure your hair was tied up in the turban, your hands were clean, and you had to show that your hands were clean. And then we had to, whatever, you know, if you were doing potatoes, you did potatoes. You slid it off with a knife.
CB: Did you give them a choice, or did they have what you gave them?
JC: No, they got what they were given.
CB: And after the main course, they had a pudding?
JC: A sweet, yes.
CB: What did they have for that?
JC: Rice pudding, we made rice puddings, Manchester Tart was a favourite, that was back to pastry. With the jam and the custard. There were various things, don't ask me to remember.
CB: Wholesome things, for people that were energetic?
JC: Pardon.
CB: Wholesome. Food.
JC: There was nothing wrong with it whatsoever.
CB: Exactly. And ten for their evening meal. What did they get for that?
JC: Well, I can't remember that. I know, I know, pease pudding and savaloy, that was one. Another was a herring, they'd get a herring. I can see know, we had a big tub at the side, chopping the heads off the herrings. You get used to it, you know. You can get to it.
CB: At Skegness -
JC: Oh, Spam sandwiches. Spam in a sandwich was one. Beans, baked beans. They all came from America, of course.
CB: And because you were on the coast at Skegness, did you get a lot of fish? Or nothing to do with that?
JC: No. There was no fish at Skegness in those days.
CB: Was there fish normally on the menu?
JC: Well, there was Grimsby, I don't remember fish actually, no. Only herrings, that's all (unclear)
CB: Ok. That's for the airmen, did you do cooking in the Officer's Mess as well?
JC: No. (unclear)
CB: Did they have a different menu there, or was it all the same?
JC: Oh, yes. Of course. Of course.
CB: Did you know what the menu was?
JC: (pause) Oh, it's gone.
CB: That's where they had some cakes, was it?
JC: Oh, The Countess (pause), doesn't matter. She was at our WAAF Association, Diane, Countess of Ilchester, you've heard of her? She was a waitress in the Officer's Mess. She used to say, 'I was in charge of the salt and pepper'. (chuckles) She was nice, Diane. She would only be called Diane, you know. Mustn't refer to her as anything else. She was doing a far more menial job than I was doing.
CB: And proud of it.
JC: She was lovely. You know the story about (unclear) went in to the Observer? He'd come back from doing, what do they call it, well he'd been out on a raid, whatever, and he was having a bath, and the siren went, and this is absolutely true, it was printed in the newspaper at his death, and all the WAAF's were in their own air raid shelter, of course, because the sirens had gone, and he ran in naked, the Earl of Ilchester. And Diane was at the back, and she shouted. 'he's mine!'. And he married her. (Laughs) You ask Betty, she knows that story.
CB: So how did the liaison go with men in the Air Force, then? The relationships.
JC: Oh fine. You got some rough stuff, you know, didn't you. Some were a bit cheeky, went a bit too far. I never experienced anything really bad. One Corporal smacked my bottom one day as he walked past, and I picked up a dipper and smacked him round the face with it, and he said, 'You're on a charge'. (Laughs) That's true.
CB: And what happened?
JC: Nothing. He daren't, dare he? That was Corporal Lombardinerie, the pastry bloke. Hmm. He didn't do it again.
CB: We'll stop there for a mo.
CB: So clearly, in the catering system in London there were people who were fairly sophisticated chefs. Did the Air Force use these people to train you?
JC: They used them to work in the cook-house. They used them as cooks, we were all the same. There was two grades. There was a cook or a cook-butcher. One got a bit more money than the other, perhaps it was coppers.
CB: What did the cook-butcher do? That was different?
JC: They could say to you go on cutting meat up or whatever.
CB: Right. So it's knowing how to cut the meat that's the butchering, is it?
JC: Oh yes. We had to, what I couldn’t do, draw the animal, you know, like you see in the butcher's shops. I know how to buy a piece of meat, don't I?
CB: But the animals came in slaughtered?
JC: Oh yes.
CB: But not cut up?
JC: That's right.
CB: Soi that's why the cook-butcher was there, to convert that into the -
JC: We had a Polish butcher there, too. He was horrible.
CB: So did you, bearing in mind that the animal is whole when it arrives, did you do steaks as a result of that? Or chops?
JC: Well if they did that, I never saw any. I think they may have gone to the Officer's Mess.
CB: So the meat was mixed up was it?
JC: That's what I used to collect from Turvey, the wet rations. The dry rations were supplied by the NAAFI, that was the sugar, the flour, the salt. And all the, all the wet rations came from Royal Army Service Corps.
CB: Right. And they supplied the RAF because they dealt with everybody's catering. And what about the hierarchy? So you were working as a chef, effectively.
JC: Cook. They call them chefs now, they've gone all posh now.
CB: Cook, yes. So you were, what rank were you when you finished?
JC: When I finished? Well, I did two courses at Wilmslow for promotion to NCO, but if I'd gone I couldn't have stayed with the band, and I wanted to stay because I was enjoying my little bit.
CB: So what was your rank?
JC: LACW. But I did have a Good Conduct stripe, so now you know I'm (unclear)
CB: Right. That's really good.
JC: (Rustle of paper) There it is, see.
CB: I can see it on your picture.
JC: (Laughs) So I did behave myself a little bit. There's some they never found out about, or heard about, of course (chuckles).
CB: In the kitchen, what was the hierarchy there? There were Corporals, and/or Sergeants?
JC: Oh yes. There'd be so many ACW 2's, so many 1, LACW Corporal, Sergeant, Flight Sergeant, and Warrant Officer, because they were big kitchens, you know. But the Warn Officer would hv two or three kitchens, it wouldn't be confined to the one.
CB: How many people would be in a kitchen, roughly?
JC: You mean really working? Perhaps seven or eight. In the back, where the ACHG is, mostly men, doing the potatoes and all the wet stuff.
CB: The dangerous stuff with the knives.
JC: They were members of this band.
CB: Were they? Yep.
JC: Shall I tell him the other bit? There was a photographer at headquarters in Skeg, no, in Cardington. And this was the day Queen Willomena came to the camp. You can see all the top brass here. And this photographer thought I was a bit of alright. So he took my photograph, so like an idiot I walked into the potato room and said, 'who is the smartest member of this band? Well, I am.' And do you know what they did? They picked me up and dropped me in the potato thing, full of water and potatoes. (laughs)
CB: Not very nice. How did that effect the flavour?
JC: Haven't a clue. (laughs). But that's what happened.
CB: So you then had to put your uniform to the wash.
JC: That's right.
CB: I'm just going to stop again.
JC: Blimey, Charlie. I met my husband at the Royal Air Force Association in Edgware, at the Station Hotel.
CB: When was that?
NH: Was it after the war finished, Jane?
JB: Gosh, it must be nineteen forty nine, because Peter was born nineteen fifty, wasn't he?
CB: Ok, forty nine. And what were you doing there?
JB: I was working in the office at Ferrodo, Kings Cross. Because I couldn't settle back here. And I had a boyfriend who worked in the bank, the National Provincial, an airman. And I went down to be with him, originally. Went to the club because he'd lost all his training, he was apprentice aircrew (unclear), and that's where I met my first husband. And he was an Italian.
CB: What was his name?
JB: John Branner. And his father was the Managing Director of Gamba shoes, Soho, have you heard of them?
CB: I have. Yes. So he always wore good shoes.
JB: Do you know him?
CB: No.
JB: You don't know him, well I can carry on then. They were Roman Catholics, we did like, you think you've fallen in love, don't you, and you get married, and I wasn't good enough for his family.
CB: Because you weren't a Catholic.
JB: Yes. Straight on the head.
CB: And they wanted you to convert, did they?
JB: Unfortunately there was a child on the way, and he left me six weeks before Peter was born, with no home, and half a crown.
CB: Good god.
JB: And they fought me and fought me, and they never got anywhere. And it was all very sad. And it still is sad, isn't it?
CB: Yes.
JB: Then, when Peter was sixteen, his maintenance from that father, oh, I'll tell you what they did, they said he was only earning eight pounds a week, so they put him on the payroll, at the shop.
CB: This is John Branner?
JB: Yes. So they didn't have to pay maintenance. I had two pounds ten shillings a week. I rented a cottage here in this village for seven and sixpence a week, and I brought him up. When Peter was sixteen his maintenance stopped, but Peter was still at college in Buxton, and I needed money to keep him, fares, 'til he was eighteen years on. Well, it went on and on, they kept saying the case wasn't prepared, so my solicitor said, 'well, the thing to do Jane, is to apply to the National Assistance Board,' he said, 'and they will make you a payment, but you'll have to give it them back, because they've got to pay all the back money that is owing to you, obviously'. And, dare I tell him? (chuckles)
CB: Go on.
JB: The man that came stood on my doorstep, he had a suitcase in his hand, and he walked in and said, 'what a beautiful little home you've got here, I'd give anything to live here.' And that man proposed to me the week after.
CB: And his name was?
JC: John Carrington. And (pause), what was it he said?
NH: He'd been looking for you.
JC: He wanted to take me somewhere, I said, 'no', I said, 'I can't go anywhere, I've got a little job that I can't afford to lose.' There was a dentist in the village, and me and my friend who's deaf, and his wife still is, and I used to babysit their three children, look after them. I said I'd got to go. 'And where's this?' An I explained to him where, and all the rest of it. And at night o' clock that night there was a knock on the door (knocks), I opened the door, and there he was stood on the step. 'And what are you doing here,' I said. He said, 'I've come to tell you I've been looking for you for fifty years, and I'm never going to let you out of my sight again. And he never did.
CB: Fantastic.
JC: He was the most wonderful husband. He bought me the most expensive jewellery, (unclear). And he'd been a bachelor, and he'd also served in Burma. He was an Executive Officer in the Civil Service. He was General Christensen's wireless operator on his aeroplane. Three and a half years, wasn't he, in Burma. And life was sweet all at once. Shall I carry on?
CB: Yes, keep going, I want to hear it.
JC: And do you know, that son of mine has never spoken to me since. (long pause) He would walk past me in the street, wouldn't he. I gave him my all.
CB: Did he ever have any contact with his father?
JC: No, he went down. I took him three times down. The first time I took him Peter was three months old, I still had friends, I lived in Mill Hill, with friends, they were still friends. He walked out of the shop with me, and we had a coffee, and he said, 'I'm going to look for a flat, Jane.' I never heard from him again. So I took him again, but his father made sure he didn't see him. And Peter's been down on his own, and they've turned him away. I bought in iPad, that might amuse you at ninety odd, but I did.
CB: Very impressive.
JC: And I found out on that iPad his mother, who caused the trouble, died when she was sixty. He died in twenty three, been dead a long time, his father. And they must have left a terrific lot of money.
CB: Did John Branner marry again?
JC: And they had a house in St John's Wood, London, on erm, what's it called Barrack? Oh I don't know what it's called, well I do know, it'll come to me in a minute, when my mind, it's delayed action. And I found out on the iPad, it's been rented since his death for four thousand, four hundred and forty one pounds a month, so that house must be worth well over a million pounds, mustn't it? And Peter never got a penny. And I think that's wrong. Whatever they thought about me should not effect Peter.
CB: No. What happened to Peter?
JC: Well, I don't know what's happening, Nina knows more about him than me, she lives next to him, don't you?
CB: But he's local, is he?
NH: He lives in Chapel. He's retired now, he was working at Swizzles, wasn't he? He was a foreman there, at the sweet factory.
CB Very distressing. Extraordinary.
JC: It's not good news.
CB: Did John Branner have any brothers or sisters?
JC: No.
CB: Right. And did he re-marry after divorcing you?
JC: No. But, shall I tell you more? It's nought to do with this thing.
CB: No, but it is because it's part of your life.
JC: It isn't my life, it's his life. I found out from my iPad he's living with a Mary (aside) what was her other name?
NH: I don't know, I can't remember.
JC: Tommy Cooper's mistress, whose husband was a composer. They're all in the theatrical. Mary what? Kay! Mary Kay, K-A-Y, Kay. I found out all this on my computer, I mean the iPad.
CB: Amazing. How old was John Carrington when he died?
JC: He was born in nineteen twenty three, and he died in two thousand and three. Eighty, was he, eighty one, eighty two. He was an airman. And I think they took advantage because his father was reporting to the police station every week.
CB: John Carrington?
JC: John Carr-, John Branner's father. My first father in law. And he goes along, and he couldn't have a commission because his father's, do you get the message? So do you know what job they gave him? Bomb loader. I thought that was very pointed. I don't think he should have been, I don't think he was deserving of that. Because he was British, a British subject. He was born, I think on Wardour Street. There you are, that's nothing to do with the -
CB: Well , it's part of your life isn't it? John Carrington died in two thousand and three?
JC: Yes.
NH: No, you're getting mixed up.
CB: I'm going to stop this.
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 Jane Carrington
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-02-07
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00:57:06 audio recording
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Sound
Identifier
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ACarringtonJ170207
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Pending review
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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.
Description
An account of the resource
Jane Carrington joined the Women's Auxiliary Air Force in 1942 at the age of 18. She served as a cook, and volunteered to join the band as a drummer. She discusses her time in the kitchens, the menus and the equipment they used.
Contributor
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Peter Adams
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Wiltshire
entertainment
ground personnel
Military Cross
military living conditions
military service conditions
RAF Cardington
RAF Melksham
RAF Skegness
sanitation
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/755/10753/ACourtPR171211.2.mp3
f5adb26711d51c0b4874459a61b47524
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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Court, Percival Robert
P R Court
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Robert Court (b. 1924, 1728924 Royal Air Force). He served as a rigger and airframe fitter.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-12-11
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Court, PR
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the, Monday the 11th of December 2017 and I am in Reading with Bob Court to talk about his life and times and starting with what are your earliest recollections of life, Bob?
PC: I don’t know. Being [pause] at a place called Organford where there were floods. My mother was sat with her feet in the water and nursing me. Then the old chap was going off to work and he left his Hunter watch on the bed head so I could hear it ticking. That’s my earliest memory.
CB: What did your father do?
PC: He was a post office engineer. Linesman.
CB: Whereabouts?
PC: Dorset.
CB: And what did that involve?
PC: Well, in those days the, during the winter months the snow would bring the lines down and they had to go and put them back up. So it meant travelling about all over the place.
CB: Right. And where did you go to school?
PC: Poole. National school. National Boy School, Poole.
CB: Any exciting times there?
PC: Oh yeah. I thought they were all exciting [laughs] Yeah. It was ok. I managed to keep to the top of the heap all the time so life was pretty, pretty easy.
CB: Did you develop a main interest?
PC: Woodwork, I suppose. I don’t know. My mother wouldn’t let me go to the Grammar School. They wanted me to go and take the exam. But my mother wouldn’t let me go.
CB: Why was that?
PC: Probably she couldn’t afford it. But in, in retrospect I say she probably saved my life.
CB: Because?
PC: If you’d have gone to the Grammar School you’d have been aircrew.
CB: Right.
PC: Not many of them survived.
CB: Right. Right. And what age did you leave school?
PC: Fourteen.
CB: Then what?
PC: Then what? Well, I worked for this furniture company. And then when I was old enough volunteered for the Air Force.
CB: Yeah. But first of all what did you do?
PC: What do you mean what did I do?
CB: Well, immediately after you left school what did you do? Before you went to the furniture company.
PC: I worked for a friend of a member of the family who had a radio business. And I suppose, I don’t know when I turned up, when they packed up. And I went to the Labour Exchange because I had a suit on I suppose they thought here’s a chap for the shop, for this furniture store.
CB: So what did you do in the furniture business?
PC: Well, repairing, French polishing. All sorts of things really. Selling it. Delivering it.
CB: You said you were interested in carpentry at school. So did that put you in good stead for what you were doing for the furniture company?
PC: I suppose it did in a way. Yes. I suppose it did.
CB: So were you an apprentice there or —
PC: Yeah.
CB: Right. And how long were apprenticeships in those days?
PC: This one was three years I think it was. Yeah. Three years, I think. Three years, I think. Three or four years.
CB: So, you were born in 1924.
PC: Yeah.
CB: And that meant that when the war started what age were you?
PC: Fifteen.
CB: And what reaction did you feel with the start of the war?
PC: Pretty good [laughs] I didn’t think we were going to lose. Never entered my head that we might lose. I didn’t realise how close it was but at the time no you wouldn’t. Never thought of it.
CB: So, this is when you’re working for the furniture company.
PC: Yeah.
CB: What did you do that was related to the war at that stage because you were too young to sign up.
PC: I did a bit of firewatching. We had to do that every night. Well, not one night a week at least. Then they started introducing payment so I did two nights. Sometimes three. It wasn’t very onerous.
CB: What did you have to do?
PC: Well, just keep a watch out for incendiary bombs because they were using a lot of those at the time. And put out any fires they might cause. Fortunately, in my area they didn’t cause any. So I was alright. Not bad at all.
CB: So what did they, what title did you have for that task? Fire watching. Was that ARP or what was it?
PC: No. It wasn’t ARP. Just fire watchers or something.
CB: Right.
PC: I don’t know. Who was it introduced it? [pause] I think it was Morrison, wasn’t it? Morrison.
CB: Herbert Morrison [pause] But what did you actually have to do in fire watching?
PC: Well, keep, keep an, keep your eyes open for any incendiaries that might land near you.
CB: I was thinking did you have a base to work from or did you walk the streets or what did you do?
PC: No. We had a room over a shop that we used to sleep in. And any air raids we’d go out and wander around the streets.
CB: Right. And you had a supervisor or who controlled what you were doing?
PC: Yeah. We had a chap who owned one of the shops. Well, he owned a chemist shop and he was the chap in charge. Yeah.
CB: So what did you find in there?
PC: Hmmn?
CB: You’re looking in your book. What have you got in there?
PC: Oh, I’m just trying to remember what was going on. The Dunkirk business.
CB: Well, we can come back. Let’s talk about Dunkirk then. So you remember Dunkirk in 1940.
PC: Yeah.
CB: What do you remember particularly about that?
PC: Well, when was it?
CB: Because you’re in Weymouth.
PC: Germany attacked Poland. No. I was in Poole then.
CB: Oh, in Poole were you?
PC: The Phoney War. Holland. The occupation of Denmark and Norway. The evacuation of Dunkirk. I remember watching soldiers coming in to Poole Quay on any craft that could make the journey.
CB: Right. When they landed then what happened to them?
PC: Tea, cigarettes, beer and food being given to the bemused troops. Pitiful to see them. Did not appreciate —
CB: What sort of state were they in?
PC: Not very happy. Glad to be out of where they were though.
CB: Were they upright, bedraggled or what were they?
PC: Well, they were a bit bedraggled but apart from that they were ok. Glad to be out of there. That was all.
CB: Yes.
PC: Yeah.
CB: So after that you continued with your fire watching.
PC: Yes.
CB: Did you join the ATC or —
PC: Yeah. Yeah. I joined the Air Training Corps.
CB: Right. And when was that? That was when you were what age? Was it at the time of fire watching?
PC: Yeah. Obviously [pause] when were the ATC formed? When was that?
[pause]
PC: Yeah. Herbert Morrison was the one who said all persons between sixteen and sixty register for fire watching duties.
CB: Right.
PC: So, I, they used to pay four and sixpence. Twenty two and a half pence per night. I didn’t earn much so I volunteered to do two and sometimes three nights a week.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Which helped my salary immensely.
CB: Can you remember what you earned when you were working for the furniture company?
PC: Yeah. Twelve [pause] twelve and sixpence.
CB: Did you?
PC: Or sixty two and a half pence.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Per week. The Air Training Corps was in 1941. And I joined in March 1941.
CB: The ATC.
PC: Yeah.
CB: Yeah. So, now you’re coming up to be old enough to join the forces. What made you join the RAF rather than the Army or the Navy?
PC: As I said, I couldn’t swim. And I didn’t like the brown jobs. They got too close. So, I thought the Air Force might be a bit safer.
CB: Right.
PC: Which it proved to be.
CB: So, what, what was the process then of joining up?
PC: I went to [pause] where did I go? I went up to Southampton I think. Volunteered.
CB: Did you go to Cardington as a start?
PC: Yeah.
CB: What happened at Cardington?
PC: I went to [pause] joined [pause — pages turning] Yeah. Cardington. Somewhere. I volunteered. It was possible to volunteer at seventeen and a half.
CB: Yeah.
PC: I did that in February ‘42. Volunteered for service as a flight mechanic.
CB: Right.
PC: Report to the centre of Southampton for a medical and attestation. Bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Sixth, his heirs and successors blah blah blah. Got the King’s Shilling in the form of a postal order.
CB: Oh, you did. Right.
PC: I was hoping to be given a shilling but they didn’t. They give me a bloody postal order. I should have saved it but I didn’t. So, I went to, and I was with the ATC at their Fleet Air Arm place at Sandbanks and I had to report to Cardington.
CB: Right.
PC: Yeah. Never been outside the county ‘til then.
CB: So, what did you do at Cardington?
PC: Got kitted out. Did some tests. We had to fill out, yeah fill out all these books. Tests. I was about to decide what we would do. Test booklets. Fill in name and number. Answer all the questions you could. Such things as mathematics, simple science, English diagrams to determine which way cogs might revolve around levers and pulleys operated. Seemed to go on for hours and days by the end of it. Afterwards when discussing with others how they thought they had fared I began to realise that not all of us were as well equipped as others. In fact, the lad I travelled with from Poole had found the exercise very daunting. Then we were interviewed by, about technical matters school, blah blah blah. Issued with uniforms and equipment. Everything. Dog tags and whatever. When all this was going on the, an airman came and called out your name. Gather up your kit and follow him. My friend from Poole was amongst us. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been selected for the RAF regiment.’ Soon our numbers were quite depleted. We slept soundly that night.
CB: So, are you saying not everybody was accepted in to the RAF?
PC: They were accepted into the RAF but not in what they wanted to do.
CB: Right.
PC: Like this chap that came with me was put in the RAF regiment.
CB: Yes. So, what other jobs would they have put them into?
PC: Well, there was cooks.
CB: Yeah.
PC: All sorts of things I think. Different. Different. I’m trying to think really.
CB: But you’d been identified as somebody to work, you said earlier as a rigger.
PC: Yeah.
CB: Is that because you asked for that or they suggested that’s what you should do?
PC: Well, no. What happens, you were sort of all lined up and said, I would say about sixty or so of us and those who wished to be air frame mechanics to cross to the other side of the room. Not a soul moved. Didn’t know what he was bloody talking about.
CB: No.
PC: ‘Right,’ he said, said to the group, he said, ‘All those on the left engines. Those on the right airframe.’ That’s how I became a flight mechanic air frame.
CB: Right.
PC: That’s it.
CB: Was this chap a corporal or —
PC: It was better actually than the engines. I thought so anyway. And we went from Cardington to Skegness for square bashing.
CB: What else did you do at Skegness?
PC: Just the initial training. Marching up and down.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Cracking the paving stones.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Then we were —
CB: Was there any classroom work? It wasn’t square bashing all the time was it?
PC: Square. Well, most of the times. Yeah.
CB: And from there?
PC: Didn’t have any rifles so we had wooden replica rifles. Bayonet practice with pikes. Scaffold tubing with the bayonets welded on. Bayonet practice we charged at straw filled sacks on wooden frames and around again. We were encouraged to scream and shout the meanest of obscenities as we charged forward. Urged on by the instructors. In, out, Oh God, out the ground, left, right, right, oh dear. Oh dear. Unarmed combat was taught. Be invited to charge the instructor with a rifle and bayonet, and we’d be tipped ass over head in no uncertain manner. How we would fare in real combat was never really put to the test. The assault courses, climb wire, barbed wire, rope netting. Crossing streams and, oh dear. Did guard duty. We’d sit on the seafront with a machine gun on the beach. Wend our way through the mines laid on the beach, ropes and tape. The odd mine was clearly visible in the sand so one was apprehensive when going backwards and forwards. The Butlins Holiday Camp was used by the Navy as a training establishment. Given the name HMS Arthur. The camp was full of Naval though we never seen any in the town. They must have kept them away. Perhaps the authorities in their infinite wisdom kept us apart. Many lectures on various aspects of service life. We had medical officer of the dangers of venereal diseases. This was my first introduction to sex education. For me it was a rude awakening. The MO marched on the stage in the lecture room and held up an unrolled French letter which he announced was a condom. In my ignorance I only knew it as the more familiar name. They were sold sureptisously in barber’s shops where male customers would be discreetly asked if they needed such things for the weekend. He ran to great length about syphilis, gonorrhoea, associated with women of a dubious character. If we did succumb to these wiles we’d be marching with a standing penis and no conscience. Returned to a room behind the guard room where prophylactic treatment was available. This lecture was reinforced by an American film of soldiers frequenting a brothel and the resulting liaison in full colour. Various venereal diseases in all its ghastly forms. Pretty shocking to my young senses. What kept most men on the straight and narrow was the exception that women were to be respected. The ultimate way was that the man would marry a virgin and young women accordingly kept themselves chaste. At home sex was never discussed. It was taboo. But nevertheless there were plenty of innuendoes bandied about between Babe, Benny and some of the lodgers. I was a little naive to appreciate what was going on. Films and books were played down as part of any stories so as not to offend the sensors. Songs adhered to a strict code of practice. Some comedians like Max Miller sailed pretty close to the wind. A popular song of the day was, “Doing What Comes Naturally.” And that was how people were introduced to sex. To suppress our sexual drive a cup of tea or cocoa we drank was laced with copious amounts of Bromide. Also we were kept so busy with square bashing and PT at the end of the day we were too exhausted for such dalliances. That coupled with our meagre pay did not leave us much for entertaining the opposite sex. As the course progressed so did our fitness. Jack London was training for his fight would delight in picking out likely lads to spar with him in the boxing ring. Fortunately, for me being I was slight build I was not selected for this ordeal. We could not avoid the forced marches that were his pet items. Be paraded in marching order with small pack. Gas mask we had to march at a fast pace for about ten miles or so. Periodically we’d be halted for a short rest but Jack would prance about shadow boxing while we looked on in awe. And off we’d go again at almost a gallop. After six weeks or so of this intensive square bashing we were deemed to be sufficiently proficient in parade ground techniques and arms drill, armed and unarmed bayonet, to be referred to the next place of our training. Come of some use in the overall strategy of the Air Force. And then off we went. Went to —
CB: Where did you go next?
PC: Went to a place called Brindley Heath near Birmingham. Just outside Birmingham. And we marched up to the camp known as Kit Bag Hill surrounded by an eight to ten foot high wire chain link. This was number school, number 6 School of Technical Training. It would be our home for the next five or six months. So that’s where I went.
CB: So, at the Technical School this was specifically was it for the trade you were put into?
PC: Yeah. Yeah. Number 6 School of Technical Training.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Very desolate. Looked rather gloomy after Skegness. I was accommodated in one of many of the wooden huts. In the centre was a coal burning stove. Iron beds that telescoped to give a spacious look to the room. On each bed was three square shaped mattresses called biscuits. Pillow. Three blankets all arranged in a precise manner which we would get accustomed to making before going on parade in the mornings. A corporal was in charge of the hut and the weekly inspections of the hut ensured was spotless before he allowed us to go to breakfast. Woe betide anyone who entered the hut after he’d pronounced it satisfactory. Not only were the trainees RAF personnel but there were the Fleet Air Arm, Polish and WAAFs which added a degree of rivalry to us all. Each morning we’d parade outside the hut at 7.30 am. Headed by the station band we would march to the workshop to the strains of, “Sussex by the Sea.” We would mutter as we marched along in the darkness, “Good old Sussex by the sea. You can tell them all we know sod all of Sussex by the sea.” How’s that? [laughs]
CB: We’ll pause there for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: So, the RAF called this site you’re talking about RAF Hednesford.
PC: Yeah.
CB: What did you actually do there?
PC: That was the —
CB: Brindley Heath.
PC: Yeah. First two weeks dealt with basic engineering practice. I did on occasion metal, metals used in aircraft production. Types of drills, screws, tools, heat treatment, corrosion. Main practical work involved filing a piece of mild steel about three or four inches square, a quarter of an inch thick. Dead flat and square. Both faces and all surfaces. At the end marks were attained in the practical theory and oral examination we continued with the course. Otherwise we were re-mustered into probably the RAF regiment. Perish the thought. Anyone with ninety percent could go on to the fitter’s course. Those with marks forty or less would be re-mustered. Only one of our entry was. Which was a hundred and fifty eight passed with high enough marks and one failed. And he had the, as he had had office experience in Civvy Street he was posted to the admin section as a Clerk GD. We were rather derisory towards him but he had the last laugh because by the time we had completed the course he had been promoted to corporal. So he did well. None of us were concerned about going on the fitter’s course which meant another ten weeks of training and many were anxious to join a squadron and actually service aircraft. Once the basic training was over we got down to the serious business of the flight mechanic’s course. Sixteen weeks of instruction, preliminary rigging, knots, lacing of wire and rope. Fabrication, application, doping and painting, carpentry, hydraulics, pneumatic, wheels and tyre maintenance, marshalling of aircraft. Procedures for the daily inspection. At first I’d been disappointed in not being successful in being selected as an engine mechanic but once on the course I found it so varied and covered such a variety of activities I was glad. Later in life it stood me in good stead. Once we were, similar routine with our spare time spent in the NAAFI. Occasional visits to the camp cinema. One film I recall was the story of that guy who sold his soul to the devil. Was it a warning? Also got initiated in playing cards. Not Whist, Rummy and Cribbage that I was reasonable in but Brag, Pontoon and Solo. We did not have a lot of money to indulge in these games and after being relieved of my meagre pay by the card sharks among us I became more cautious about getting too involved. The only game officially sanctioned by the powers that be was Tombola or Housey Housey. Less stressful and you were unlikely to lose too much of your money. Weekends we’d venture in to town with Walsall being one of the favourite places. Many thought I came from Canada. Due to my West Country accent no doubt. So I would say I came from London, Ontario. I was intrigued by the accents of these Black Country people as they were known here. Hednesford itself was a mining village. We’d often visit the snooker hall and local pub. The younger miners a little hostile to us as many would have liked to have joined the Services from what was a Reserved Occupation from which there was no escape. Hence their frustrations. Shall I go on?
CB: Yeah.
PC: My best friend, Bob Matthews, a Londoner and I was a bit in awe of him because he was very streetwise while I was just a country boy who knew nothing of the big wide world. As I lived in Poole it was much too far for me to go home on a forty eight hour pass and I stayed with him with his parents in London. Fabulous. They lived in Woolwich and his father was security officer at the Royal Arsenal. They had a small cottage inside the Arsenal as part of the job. You would say that this was the safest place in London. Bob had a regular girlfriend. Sylvia, I believe. And he introduced me to her sister Vera. This made a convenient foursome for us. Also, Vera was my first really serious girl. We used to write copious letters to each other even when I was posted overseas. However, when I was abroad for a long separation of course there was a cool off a bit and she met up with another lad. When I came home in 1947 we did try to get together but I was very unsettled and did not know what I wanted to do so we drifted apart. Compared with Poole, Woolwich and London in general was a wonderland to me [pause] Pubs such as Dirty Dick’s were so different from those in Poole. We would meet Bob’s mother in one and she would proudly show off her pride and joy to her friends. Christmas I spent at the camp not wishing to go home as I wanted to enjoy service life to the full. I withdrew my name from the list of those wishing to go home to allow the married ones a better chance of selection. Periodically we used to do guard duty. This involved being on duty from 6pm until 8am the next day. One did stints of two hours on and four hours off and we usually slept in the guard room cells. Some did duty on the main gate and others patrolled the perimeter fence. The shifts 12 to 2am and 2 to 4am were in my opinion the worst. I remember on one occasion falling asleep in the sentry box and nearly falling over as I slept. God knows what would have happened if the orderly officer had come around. Tell that the circulated camp was that Naval Fleet Air Arm types who assisted their mates to enter the camp after the magic hour of 23.59 by fixing their bayonets to the rifles. Pushing them through the chain link fence to form a sort of ladder. Coming up this way one of the bayonets snapped off. What was the outcome I never did know or whether it was true. Completion of the course in February ’43 we attended a passing our parade, informed of our postings, given a travel warrant and sent home on a weeks’ well-earned leave. We had previously been asked where we’d like to be posted and I opted for Ibsley near Ringwood. A Spitfire fighter station. Whether they did this deliberately to post you as far from the location desired I don’t know but I was posted to 1651 Heavy Conversion Unit, Waterbeach in Cambridgeshire.
CB: Right. We’ll stop this for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: You mentioned the passing out parade from the end of your training. So how did that go?
PC: Well, the square bashing do you mean? After doing the foot drill.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Yeah. What did that involve?
CB: Yeah. When you’d finished your technical training you had your passing out parade.
PC: Technical training.
CB: Yeah. Before you were posted elsewhere. So what, what was the passing out parade?
PC: I can’t remember really. I think we just had to march past the CO and eyes right and off you go.
CB: Yes. And did they give you something in terms of certificate. Or —
PC: No. No.
CB: Families invited or anything like that?
PC: No. No. No. No.
CB: Right. And did you get a bean feast afterwards?
PC: A bean feast?
CB: A pub. Food.
PC: No. No. You were sent home on leave.
CB: Right. That was the reward [laughs]
PC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: Yeah.
PC: Yeah.
CB: Ok.
[recording paused]
CB: So when you joined the RAF you were an AC2. How did the promotion go from there?
PC: Well, the next stage was AC1. And then LAC. Leading Aircraftmen. I think nowadays they follow the Army and they call them corporals.
CB: Well, I think they’ve still got LAC and SAC.
PC: Yeah. Have they?
CB: Senior Aircraftsman. So at what stage were you, did you become a Leading Aircraftsman? At the end of your technical training was it?
PC: After I’d been on the Heavy Conversion Unit for a bit.
CB: When you got on with it. Right. Ok. So you were posted to the Heavy Conversion Unit. That was at Waterbeach. So, what was your role there?
PC: Just —
CB: Because you are now technically what’s your description of your trade at that stage?
PC: I’m a flight mechanic.
CB: Right.
PC: Flight mechanic air frame. Yeah. Arrived at the camp at about [pause] it was quite dark. Reported to the guard room. Soon allocated a billet. Guided to the dining for a much needed meal. Quite bewildered. At the same time thrilled to hear the roar of aircraft engines as the planes were taking off from the airfield.
CB: What were the aircraft?
PC: Stirlings.
CB: Right.
PC: The airfield was about four miles from Cambridge. Only built during the general rearmament programme of the late 1930s. Officially opened in 1941. Earmarked to be a heavy bomber station. When I arrived it was equipped with the Short Stirling four engine bomber. I was a little disappointed to find that the unit was not on operational one but involved with the final training of aircrews before going on to an operational squadron. Stirlings were given this role because the Lancaster and Halifax heavy bombers coming on stream were far superior in Bomber Command in bomb carrying capacity and ability to fly at high altitudes. Stirlings had been designed in 1936 but its projected wing span of a hundred and twelve feet had to be reduced to less than a hundred to be accommodated in the hangars. This would seriously affect its ability to fly any higher than about eighteen thousand feet and was therefore more vulnerable to anti-aircraft and fighter attack. Its robust construction based on the Sunderland ensured that it would withstand serious battle damage. It was used successfully as the main bomber along with the Wellington. But as night fighter operations improved these losses were unsustainable. Stirlings last big operational roles was when it was used as a paratroop carrier. And the towing of gliders during D-Day and at Arnhem. It was at Arnhem that my brother Jim was captured and spent the rest of the war in a prisoner of war camp. My first day on the flights when I was introduced to these huge monsters towering above me left me a little awestruck by its sheer size. This was certainly a big aeroplane standing about twenty feet high. Twenty eight feet high on its huge ungainly undercarriage. My job as a flight mechanic was to carry out daily inspections. Checking the tyres, tyre creep, leaks from the oleo struts, free working of the ailerons, rudders and elevators and inspect for damage generally. Checking the cockpit. The operational controls. The most frightening task for me was the cleaning of the cockpit windscreen and windows. This necessitated climbing out of an escape hatch midway along the fuselage, walking along to the cockpit and then lying down to clean the Perspex windows. At first I would crawl on my hands and knees up the fuselage much to the amusement of the old hands. After a few days I became as blasé about it as they were and would quickly clamber along the fuselage ignoring the height above the ground. Refuelling held its dangers too. The training of pilot and co-pilot to successfully take off and land at night and to get the rest of the crew to operate as an efficient unit. Night flying was the norm for this work and on its completion usually about two or three in the morning one of the jobs was to refuel the aircraft so that it was ready for immediate take off. The Stirling had fourteen tanks in the wings holding over two thousand two hundred gallons of fuel. On a cold winter’s night this was a gruelling task. To hold open the nozzle to allow the petrol to flow in to the tanks hands and fingers soon became numb with cold. Accentuated by the high octane fuel. I’d not been there long when my turn for night flying duties. This meant being, among other things being on standby on the flight hut to answer requests from the pilot for a supply of compressed air. In night flying operation the aircraft would be doing circuits and bumps continued throughout the night. The small engine driven pumps which fitted to the aircraft could not maintain enough compressed air in the [floor cylinder] to cope with the continual application of the aircraft air brakes. After a number of landings and take off a cylinder would need replenishing. My job was to meet the aircraft on the perimeter, top up as necessary. Rather than wait in the cold flight for a call out many of us would join the aircrews with a fully charged air cylinder and enjoy the thrills of night flying. Sans parachute I might add. When the top up cylinder was empty we would leave the aircraft. Turn to the flight and have to wait for the next call. At the end of the night flying the next task would be to meet the aircraft on the perimeter. Guide it to its dispersal point on the flight. On my first occasion the duty corporal took pity on me and told me he would delay my introduction to this task as long as possible. Whether he doubted my competence I know not. There was suddenly a flurry of activity and with the phone ringing continuously, airmen gathering up torches and disappearing into the night I found I was the only one apart from the corporal left in the hut. The phone rang and he reluctantly handed me two small torches and told me to guide G-George to its dispersal point with some brief warnings of the possible dangers. Out I ventured in the total darkness to meet this huge monster towering above me on the perimeter track. Along with my two torches waving them in the prescribed manner I gradually brought the aircraft with its roaring engines and red hot exhaust to its dispersal point. Now came the tricky bit where it was necessary to turn the aircraft in a complete circle on the frying pan to be ready for refuelling. One had to be careful to keep in full view of the pilot. Not to stumble or trip otherwise one might be run over by the tail wheels as the aircraft turned around in the tight space. With heart thumping and nerves frayed I managed this without a mishap. I’ve often wondered if the pilot ever thought how vulnerable the poor ground crews were when carrying out this type, this operation. Back in the flight hut I don’t know to this day who was more relieved. Me or the corporal. Periodically, as well as doing a guard duty on the main gate on the perimeter of the station we also had to do a kite guard. Kite being slang for an aeroplane. For this duty one would have a couple of blankets, go to a designated aircraft and spend a night guarding the aircraft. I cannot recall whether we were armed or not or how effective the guard was is debatable. Whenever I did this duty I would spend the time exploring the aircraft, playing the various roles of bomber crews. I imagined I would assume the duty of the pilot, co-pilot, flying over Germany and the North Sea to the target. When tiring of this I would then take on the role of the bomb aimer. Lie down in his position in the front at the front and guide the plane and drop the bombs. Other roles would be front, rear and mid-upper gunners. Sitting in their turrets and shooting down enemy fighters. Although I fantasised playing these roles I never felt I would be suitable as an aircraft member. Aircrew member. Partly as I did not consider my education, background good enough at the time. Aircrews were recruited from the universities and Grammar Schools and my basic elementary schooling was not good enough. As war progressed and a shortage of suitable candidates became apparent particularly for the flight engineers. I would probably have been acceptable. By this time I’d retrained as a fitter and was quite happy in that role. For sleeping there was a foldaway stretcher located in the fuselage but sleep was an uncomfortable experience, climbs in the aircraft on a cold winter’s night. And equally so on a hot summer’s night. At 6am in the morning loud banging on this aircraft would awaken one and you would stagger off to the dining hall for a cup of tea and an early breakfast. But the ordinary perk was the cooks were generally sympathetic and generous at that hour. I had not been at Waterbeach long when it came apparent getting around a camp site, a bicycle was required so I wrote home and asked my mother to send my bicycle to me. She did. Registered. And I was mobile. A cycle was as essential in those days as a car is today. Visits to Cambridge and the local villages was easily accomplished with the minimum of effort. This being the fen country it was very flat. Very few hills to negotiate. This part of the country was ideal for the location of bomber stations so that although heavy laden to take off safely. Cambridge was a beautiful city with its many fine buildings, colleges and the River Cam running through it and I spent much of my free time exploring its many features. Cambridge being a university with its teaming population of undergraduates I found it difficult in coming to terms with. I was brought up to the idea that one had to get out to work and earn a living as soon as possible. My mother did not encourage one in the value of education. In fact, by her intransigence she discouraged me from taking the entrance to the local Grammar School. At the time, 1943 Cambridge was full of American servicemen and I’m afraid us poor erks could not compete either financially for the favours of the local girls. We had to be content with the NAAFI, Toc H, Sally Ann, for entertainment. Plus the cinemas. I remember there was some trouble when some time expired servicemen returned from their tour of duty in North Africa and many confrontations occurred between the two factions. I found it more expedient to stick to the village and Waterbeach itself than get involved in any trouble. My father died in November ’43. Flight Sergeant Mills took me under his wing and helped me through the trauma and he often took me to the British Legion club in the village where he was a much respected and popular friend. As spring arrived the hours of daylight increased. The trainee aircrews were required to wear goggles with dark lenses in order that flying hours were maintained. The runways were illuminated with sodium lights to complete the illusion of night flying. This almost around the clock flying put quite a strain on the servicing ground crews. But with the increasing aircraft production losses of aircrews by enemy action it was necessary to maintain a flow. One day while working on the flights [unclear] came and said anyone would like to retrain as a fitter 2. This was an upgraded group 1 in trade structure in the RAF was highly regarded as it opened up the route to promotion. I asked when mine would be likely to be selected, know if to be selected and how that might be. He told me it would be several months before it would come about. Thinking to myself it would get me off the flights for the winter months I put my name forward. Rather than months, a couple of weeks later given a weeks’ leave and told to report to Number 1 School Of Technical Training at Halton to begin a fitter’s conversion course [pause] on the 2nd of July 1943. Number 1 School of Technical Training, RAF Station Halton. Halton was the home of the boy entrants in the RAF and affectionately known as Trenchard’s Brats. The terms of service was to fulfil twelve years of service from the age of eighteen when the option to sign on for a period if they so desired. The apprenticeship was four to five years duration and they seemed to be the cream of the tradesmen and indeed they were. The war was a Godsend to that force with the rapid expansion of the Air Force. Many were promoted to high ranking position both as officers and senior NCOs. So they did well. Volunteers and conscripts like myself after completing a flight mechanic’s course the period on the squadron required to do a conversion course of fourteen weeks to be brought up to the required standard. I think I was the youngest and certainly the lowest in rank at AC2, Aircraftman Second Class. Many were LACs, Leading Aircraftsmen with several years service to their credit. RAF Halton near Wendover in Buckinghamshire was situated uphill from the town. Every day we would form up on the square, march to the training workshops. The Brats would lead the parade with the mascot of a goat, a goat and the station band at the head. The Brats were distinguished by wearing cheese cutters. Peak cap, with a chequered brim on the edge whilst we wore the Glengarry type of head gear. One of our entry also wore a cheese cutter as he had had the devil’s own job to convince the RAF police that he was not a Brat. One night on the town he had been an aircrew member and lost all his hair as result of some trauma and had permission to wear the cap to avoid embarrassment. The course, like the flight mechanic’s was fairly intensive dealing with basic engineering, metal repairs, hydraulics, minor and major inspections. A lot of instruction involved American aircraft such as the Kitty Hawk, Tomahawk and the methods used in the servicing of these aircraft. Weekends we could not obtain a pass we were expected to take part in some sporting activity. The skivers among us would often choose the cross country run over the hills and through the woods down to Tring. At some convenient spot we would hide, enjoy a crafty smoke and wait for the main pack and rejoin them for the return to the camp. Those who declined to take part in any of these activities would find themselves detailed for spud bashing which involved the peeling and removing the eyes from the potatoes. Halton was conveniently placed near London. And weekends we could spend in the city. We used to stay in the YMCA hospital, hostel at Westminster. Therefore we’d be taken by bus to a section of the underground not used by the railway. Here three tiered bunks were provided at a shilling. 5p per night. You took pot luck as to who your fellow borders might be and hoped they would not be too drunk or awkward. Other times when I stayed in camp I would explore the local towns of Aylesbury, Rickmansworth, Tring etcetera. During wartime these were pretty boring places to be for a serviceman as with beer in short supply unless you were a regular you could not hope to get served in any pub. Whilst at Halton the forty third intake of Brats came to the end of their course. We were all given a forty eight pass and told to leave the camp or stay at our peril. When we returned to the camp we’d seen why we had been told to get out. The place was in a shambles. Beds and mattresses hanging from windows, forty free entry signs daubed on walls and general mayhem everywhere. Apparently it was a tradition that on the completion of a course the Brats were given a free hand to celebrate their final days at Halton. The new entry would have the job of cleaning up the ensuing mess. Which gave them the incentive that they could do better when they completed their course. However, when we finished the privilege [pause] however when we finished the privilege was not granted to us. I completed the conversion course and now fitter 2A still with the rank of AC2. This gave me an increase in pay and I was now in group one of the trade hierarchy of the Air Force. Sent home and then posted back to 1651 at Waterbeach.
Other: A rest.
CB: I think we’d better stop there. Thank you very much.
[recording paused]
CB: We’re taking a pause now because Bob’s getting a bit tired. We’ve got to the stage where he’s returned to Stradishall and there’s a lot more to be covered in the later part of the war and afterwards in the Far East. So we’re going to reconvene. Much of what he’s been speaking about he’s got directly from his own book, “Stirlings, Sentinels and Dakotas.” So, more later.
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 Percival Robert Court
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-12-11
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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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ACourtPR171211
Format
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00:57:38 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
British Army
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Staffordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--London
Netherlands
Netherlands--Arnhem
Description
An account of the resource
Percival Robert Court joined the Air Training Corps in March 1941, volunteering for the Royal Air Force at the earliest age of seventeen and a half. Training at RAF Cardington, he became a flight mechanic. He then moved to Skegness to continue into formal training, including lectures on sex education and venereal disease. He states that sex was never discussed and that it was taboo and rumours they were putting bromide in the water. Alongside this, he outlines several examples of social meetings within the base staff, including shared songs and daily prayers at RAF Hednesford, as well as when his father died in 1943 and he relied on his wing commander to help him through the tough ordeal. He then recounts his training and experiences at RAF Hednesford, explaining the very high marks that were required to continue on his mechanic course as well as commonly having to take guard shifts and night operations. Percival was posted to Heavy Conversion Unit 1651 at RAF Waterbeach, of which he then outlines his daily required workings and several experiences with Stirlings and Lancasters. He also sets aside time to remember his brother, who was captured at Arnhem, being imprisoned for the remainder of the war. Based at RAF Halton, Percival took a course that allowed him to be promoted, as well as higher pay, learning information about American aircraft and spending his weekends in wartime London. When the war came to an end, he was given 48 hours to leave the base and no celebration. Percival Robert Court believes his mother saved his life by not letting him go to a grammar school, explaining that if she had, he would have died in an aircrew.
Contributor
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Sam Harper-Coulson
Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
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1941-03
1943
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
1651 HCU
civil defence
dispersal
faith
fitter airframe
flight mechanic
ground crew
ground personnel
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
mechanics airframe
perimeter track
prisoner of war
RAF Cardington
RAF Halton
RAF Hednesford
RAF Waterbeach
Stirling
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1096/11555/ARichGW180417.1.mp3
1dfb5b93d5b8a4c1cd76f00dfc7569d9
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
Rich, Wilfred
W Rich
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Joe Rich (b. 1941). His father, Wilfred Rich (b. 1905) flew operations as a mid-upper gunner with 103 Squadron and became a prisoner of war.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-04-17
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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Rich, WD
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Other: Hang on-
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the 17th of April 2018, and I’m in Hove with Gerry Rich, whose father, Wilfred Rich, was a mid-upper gunner in 103 Squadron at Elsham Wolds. What were the original- What was the earliest information you have about your father? What his parents did and so on?
GR: That was as a child, I remember my father telling me that his father had been in the army and I seem to remember him telling me that he was a professor of music at the royal military school of music. I know that he was very much into music, my grandfather, because when he, when he finally passed away, he left my father a lot of books on all the great composers, you know, which, which my father was interested in. My grandmother was just an ordinary housewife, and they lived out their retirement years in Belgravia in London. That is, that is as much as I know-
CB: Yeah, yeah.
GR: -you know, about my grandparents.
CB: Ok.
GR: [Coughs] excuse me.
CB: And where was your father born?
GR: My father was born in Southsea in Hampshire, on the 3rd of January 1905.
CB: And what was, what was his father doing then?
GR: His father was in the army.
CB: He was in the army then as well?
GR: He was in the army then, yeah.
CB: Right, ok, and where did he go to school?
GR: Again, I'm not sure, but I’m just assuming that it was in Southsea, although obviously being in the army they travelled around quite a bit and he probably had various schools that he went to.
CB: Yeah.
GR: I mean in one period I know they were over in Ireland during the Irish rebellion in 1917 I think it was. So, he would’ve still been at school then. No- Yes, he would-
CB: No, he won’t, will he. Oh, yeah, he will, yes because he was born in 1905, yes, he’d be ten.
GR: He would’ve been still at school then, he was born in 1905. But again, I don’t, I don’t know.
CB: Ok.
GR: Literally don’t know.
CB: So, school leaving age in those days was fourteen, what did he- Did he leave school then do you think?
GR: Again, that is a complete, complete blank. I don’t know, I’ve got very little knowledge of his early life. I only know about his war years and, you know, various snippets of information.
CB: When did he join the RAF?
GR: He joined the RAF in January 1920, and he went to Cranwell as a boy, entered at fifteen, and he stayed there till around about 1927 when he left, and I believe came out of the air force, went into civilian life but trained as an air frame fitter and a rigger in- While he was at Cranwell I believe. But from 1927 onwards when he came out, again, my knowledge of what he did was, was very, very sketchy. He didn’t, he didn’t divulge a lot, you know.
CB: And when did he re-join?
GR: He re-joined in 1940.
CB: We’ll pause there for a mo.
GR: He went in- He re-joined the air force on the 20th of June 1940 at Cardington and then went to the 7- No 7 reception centre on the 23rd of June and on the 12th, I think it was, of July that year he went to No 9 school of tactical[?] training, stayed there until the- Round about the 22nd of November in 1940 again, where he joined 13th maintenance unit. Then on the 29th of October in 1941, he was posted to Iceland. Then- He was there until- I think it was about the 6th of March 1942 when he joined 56 Squadron, and on the 6th of August 1942 he’d been admitted into hospital at Ealing.
CB: Ely?
GR: Ely, I beg your pardon, Ely, and then discharged on the 17th of August ‘42 [unclear]. When he was discharged from hospital, he went to the AFDU, the air fighting development unit at Abbey Lodge and he went there on the 29th of November 1943 and then from there he went to 151, er 15 initial training wing where, his [chuckles] his love of being up in the air, which started when he was at Cranwell, when he was taken up in an Avro 504K and immediately fell in love with flying. That was rekindled, and then from there, on the 12th of February 1944 he went to No 1 air gunnery school and on the 30th of May ‘44, the operational training unit, and that was No 26 operational training unit. Right, so we started initial training wing.
CB: So, he’s in gunnery?
GR: Gunnery school, No 2 air gunnery school.
CB: So, he went to the operational training unit?
GR: Went to the operational training unit where, he knew he couldn’t be a pilot so- He still desperately wanted to fly so he decided to become a gunner and train for that.
CB: So, the operational training unit is before they go to the squadron.
GR: Right.
CB: We’ll just stop there a mo.
GR: Did I mention that before he went to the OTU?
CB: Yeah. So, we’re on the OTU, so what did he do at the OTU?
GR: At the OTU, he- They were- He was trained on Wellingtons and it’s where they were crewed up and that was carried out by placing all the aircrew’s, all the different roles, in a hanger and they managed to sort themselves out and form a crew. From there they went to the heavy conversion unit where they were trained on Lancasters, and from there they were posted- Or he was posted to 103 Squadron.
CB: When was that?
GR: That was in- On the 3rd of November 1944.
CB: Right, ok. So, what detail do you have about the operations they did?
GR: What, when he was shot down [unclear]?
CB: You’ve got a list of operations, haven’t you?
GR: Ah yes. He flew nineteen operations with 103 Squadron. The first one was on the 18th of November 1944, which is when ICOL[?] and the last one was on the 23rd of February 1945 Pforzheim where he was shot down and taken prisoner. And then he served the last months of the war out in a German prisoner of war camp and he was- He came back to this country in abut May 1945, I think.
CB: Good, and you’ve got a picture there, what’s that picture?
GR: The picture here is of him, taken at the German prisoner of war camp and-
CB: That’s part of his ID card?
GR: No, that’s-
CB: It’s not?
GR: That was taken by the German officials at the prisoner of war camp, with a number at the bottom, 11915, which I should imagine was his, his number which they gave him at the prisoner of war camp and as I say, he stayed there. He- A little story, while he was there, being very clever with his hands [coughs] excuse me- Being very clever with his hands, he made a telescopic toasting fork out of barbed wire which he managed to acquire from the fencing around the prison [chuckles] and, I don’t know what happened to it but it was quite something. A three pronged- Like a trident. Funnily enough, I remember us, after the war, using it to toast bread in front of the fire. But, as I say he was very clever with his hands having originally been an airframe fitter and a rigger and- He carried that, that skill right through his life.
CB: Yeah.
GR: He was always making things.
CB: What did he say about his experiences in the prisoner of war camp?
GR: Very little, if nothing at all. He did mention the fact that there was a separate compound in the prisoner of war camp for Russian prisoners who were treated very badly. There was no love lost between the Germans and the Russians, you know, especially the military personnel and he said they were treated really badly. But, apart from that he didn’t say anything, you know, didn’t say how he was treated whether it was badly or good or- I do remember him telling me that after he was shot down, he, he managed- He landed in Pforzheim, right in the centre while the air raid was going on, and he was caught by the local authorities, the local police or something, and handed over to the military and they made him stand in the town square while they covered him with fire arms from a safe point. I remember him saying that that was a very uncomfortable experience, and then they, they took him to a Luftwaffe base, where he was treated really well and he was interviewed by a German- A Luftwaffe officer who asked the normal questions, where are you based? What aircraft? You know, how many there? And etcetera. But he said, ‘All I can give is my name rank and number’, and he gave him his name, rank and number and the chap who spoke perfect English, and apparently was educated at Oxford said, ‘That’s alright old chap, no problem at all’.
CB: [Chuckles]
GR: And, before he left, because apparently they were marched down to the prison camp and I think he was saying it took about three days to march, and they gave them a slap-up meal at the Luftwaffe base before they went, which quite amazed him actually after what they’d done, you know, and after that obviously forgiven, as they used to say, ‘The war was over’, you know, and then he was repatriated in, in May and that was his war as experienced in the air force and of course he come out into civilian life then.
CB: Was the camp a Luftwaffe, a Stalag Luft camp or was it plain Stalag?
GR: Stalag Luft, it was a Stalag Luft. No, Stalag Luft, I think. Seem to remember him saying that.
CB: Right.
GR: But I couldn’t- I did try and chase it up online and talking to various people but I couldn’t, and the web master and the editor of the magazine up at Elsham, Keith McCray, he said that that’s often the case because as the allies advanced through Germany, when they came across, across a prisoner of war camp, the German authorities would destroy all records. So that’s probably how.
CB: Mhmm.
GR: Or the main reason why we don’t know where he was.
CB: How did he get out of the camp?
GR: He was repatriated by the Americans I believe, who were advancing through that part of Germany, and he got out that way and eventually got back to the UK and, as I say, demobbed in May. Although, it wasn’t May actually, he got back in May and I think it was later in the year that he was demobbed and I can’t remember exactly when.
CB: What about the conditions in the camp, any idea?
GR: No, again he didn’t say, he didn’t talk about it, so I’ve no idea what the conditions were like. I should imagine they were pretty uncomfortable, but I just don’t know for sure.
CB: OK, we’ll stop there for a mo. When did you say he was demobbed?
GR: I think it must’ve been-
CB: Does it say there? I imagine they demobbed him quite quickly. Do you know how he got back? Did they fly him back? See where I am, near Aylesbury is Westcott. Now, Westcott and Oakley (the nearby airfield) received between them fifty-four-thousand POW’s, flown in by aircraft. It would be interesting to know whether he came in that way.
GR: Again, that, that- It’s a blank, I don’t know.
CB: Yeah, it doesn't matter.
GR: I don’t know.
CB: But he was demobbed in ‘45 was it?
GR: In ‘45 yeah.
CB: Yeah.
GR: Yeah.
CB: They tended to demob there prisoners first because of the conditions they’d been in.
GR: Yeah, it looks as though it might’ve been August 1945 he was demobbed.
CB: Ok. Now, what do you know about what he did when he left the RAF? Did he immediately go into something, or what happened? Did the family- Before, I'm not, I'm not rolling it yet.
GR: I, I was still very young so I don’t really know. I know that he was in the catering industry, hotels and that, and they got an idea, went back into that. But we, we were living in North [coughs] pardon me. We were living in Northampton at the time, and we moved down to London so he could find work.
CB: Yeah.
GR: But he was away quite a bit, so I should imagine he got a job which necessitated him being away from home.
CB: Mhmm, was the whole, the whole of his life after the war, was in catering, was it?
GR: Yeah, he, he, he didn’t have a career as such
CB: Ok, let’s- We might as well get this. So you were born in the war? Where, where-
GR: I was born in [unclear]
CB: In ‘41.
GR: I was born in 1941 in Northampton.
CB: Where were you and your mother living during the war?
GR: Northampton.
CB: Right, why was that? What was the significance of Northampton?
GR: I don’t know, I don’t know [chuckles] quite honestly. We- It’s where we were, I’ve got, I’ve got a recollection of bombers flying over Northampton where, you know, we heard them where we were living and the sirens went off and my mother grabbing me and diving under the kitchen table [laughs], you know, for protection, although that wouldn't've given us much protection but, we did- Before we moved down to London, we went to my mother’s family, in a village called Flitwick in Bedfordshire, near Ampthill, and we stayed there for some time, until my father was demobbed, and then we all moved down to London.
CB: So, when he was demobbed, what job did he do?
GR: He went- He didn’t go back to his old job, so I think he just looked for a new job in catering, you know, somewhere down south, because he did work in the Northampton area before when he was in the hotel catering sort of line but, again, my, my knowledge is very, very sketchy. Simply because he didn’t tell me and I was too young to cotton on, you know, to what was happening.
CB: And what age did he retire?
GR: He retired at sixty-five
CB: Right
GR: But unfortunately, he died at seventy-three in 1978.
CB: Right.
GR: But I think- Looking back, I think the war took a lot out of him and it really knocked him for six, you know, as it did a lot of aircrew that survived, and I was never really close to my father. So, he didn’t confide in people much, he used to play his cards very close to his chest, you know, so- And that, that’s about all I can say, you know.
CB: How much do you think your mother knew about what he’d been doing, in the war?
GR: [Sighs] I don’t know what he told her. I, I should imagine she knew quite a bit. She knew- She must’ve realised what flying a bomber over Germany, you know, was all about and the risks involved.
CB: Well, he was quite an old man as far as- In terms of air force ages ‘cause he was forty when he was shot down.
GR: That’s right.
CB: Next day. So- Do you know what the reaction of the crew was to the difference in age?
GR: Well, I know the pilot- The pilot, Cliff Hart, was Australian, was in Royal Australian Air Force, and so was the- I think the wireless operator Angus- Trying to think of his name now. Angus McGrath, he was Australian, and they unfortunately both died when the aircraft was shot down.
CB: How many survivors were there in the-
GR: Pardon?
CB: How many survivors were there from-
GR: Five, there were five survivors.
CB: Right. But they were, they were both killed those two?
GR: They were both killed, they went down with the aircraft, but they never actually found the spot where they went down.
CB: Ok, stop there. The early parts you spoke of then, your father had been on a charge for doing something with his motorbike, what was that?
GR: Ah yeah, he, he was fined a pound for riding a motorcycle without lights on, and also, a short while afterwards he was fined three pounds for riding a motorcycle without a license [chuckles] so, he could be a bit of a bad boy at times.
CB: This is in the early days of him being in the RAF?
GR: That’s right, yeah. That was when he was quite young.
CB: Yeah, where was that?
GR: I believe, I think it was Biggleswade
CB: Right
GR: Mentioned Biggleswade in Bedfordshire, so- And I remember when he was in- He was based in Norfolk in the early part of the war, I think it was a place called Matlaske, Matlaske? But anyway, he was based in Norfolk and he was fined fifteen shillings for riding a bicycle [chuckles] without lights, so- He had his tanner[?] for breaking the road traffic laws.
CB: Yeah
GR: But, apart from that, I know very little about what-
CB: Did your mother ever talk about- To you, about what your father did in the war?
GR: No, never
CB: Did you ever ask her?
GR: No, I was too young at the time, remember I was born in-
CB: I’m thinking later years?
GR: Later years? No, no. No. He kept quiet, so I just didn’t ask, you know, it wasn’t a question of, ‘What did you do in the war Daddy?’, you know, it was, it was accepted that we don’t talk about it.
CB: Yeah
GR: And I think, one offshoot which I didn’t mention before was that my sister, went into the women’s air force for a short while, and I think that’s because my father was, was in the air force himself, I think that had a lot to do with her going in.
CB: You’ve got quite an interesting bunch of pictures there, and cards. What are they?
GR: These are all postcard size pictures which somehow my father had taken when he was a prisoner, or just after and they’re various pictures of the war from a German point of view, actual photographs I think taken, some of the Russian army, others of damage caused by the conflict, a couple of them are hand drawn coloured postcards which are obviously propaganda material but, I've no idea how he came to have them, no idea whatsoever, but they were in his [unclear] when he died, plus there was a Christmas dinner menu from 1941 at the RAF station Reykjavík in Iceland, which has been signed by quite a few people that he obviously knew when they were there, from various parts of the country. Also, another Christmas menu from RAF Bridlington, Christmas Day 1943 and a telegram, which my mother received from Elsham Wolds telling her that, and I quote, informing her that her husband, ‘Wilfred Dudley Rich is reported missing from operation on the night of the 23rd/24th of February 1945, letter follows immediately’, stop, ‘Any other information received will be communicated to you immediately’, stop, ‘Pending receipt of written notification from air ministry, no information should be given to the press’, and that was the telegram she received. Also, I have a ticket here issued by RAF personnel, third class return from Northampton to Stamford and Stamford back to Northampton, and that was dated the 7th of September 1943.
CB: What was the significance of going to Stamford, do you know?
GR: I haven’t the vaguest idea. Lincolnshire-
CB: Yeah
GR: I don’t know what was at Stamford
CB: Yeah
GR: He was stationed at Elsham Wolds and they used to go to Barnaby, Barnaby the Wald which is a station which is no longer there now, and also I have his national registration identity card, which shows his whereabouts, addresses- Various addresses he lived at, and stamps, the first one was issued ’45. This must’ve been after he came out of services. ‘Cause they’re stamped ’45 and ’46.
CB: Ok
GR: And the rest, the rest of his affects are on display in the memorial room at Elsham Wolds
CB: Which is the squadron base?
GR: That- Which is the old squadron base.
CB: 103 Squadron
GR: It’s on the corner of the old aerodrome
CB: Is it, yeah. What have they got? An old Nissen hut? Or, what’s it in?
GR: No, the- Anglian Water treatment works are there and they’ve allocated a room for the association where they can display all their memorabilia and- You know, information about people who served there and [unclear] very interesting.
CB: What sort of stuff does it have in it?
GR: It’s got countless stuff, old stuff from Lancaster bombers, it’s got the instrument panel from a Lancaster in there, got various parts of the mechanics on a Lancaster, various uniforms, records of people that served there, lots of memorabilia, you know, information about people who served there and died, you know, were killed on operations. It is very interesting, and right next door to it they’ve got a memorial guard to 103 Squadron and 576 Squadron who were both based there.
CB: 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 Gerald Rich
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
2018-04-17
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ARichGW180417
Format
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00:30:10 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Second generation
Description
An account of the resource
Gerald’s father, Wilfred, joined the Royal Air Force in January 1920 and stayed until about 1927 training as an aircraft fitter. He re-joined in June 1940 at RAF Cardington. In 1944, upon completion of training, he went to No. 1 Air Gunnery School and three months later to No 26 Operational Training Unit working on Wellingtons and crewing up. From there they went to the Heavy Conversion Unit training on Lancasters before joining 103 Squadron on at RAF Elsham Wolds on 3 November 1944. Wilfred flew 19 operations. He was shot down in February 1945, aged 40, being one of the five survivors. He served out the rest of the war in a German prisoner of war camp and was repatriated in about May 1945 and demobbed some months later. Gerald believes his father went back into the catering industry, retiring at the age of 65. He died aged 73 in 1978.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
Tilly Foster
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Pforzheim
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1920
1927
1940-06
1941
1942
1943
1944-11-03
1945-02-23
1945-02-24
1945-05
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
103 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
crewing up
Lancaster
prisoner of war
RAF Cardington
RAF Elsham Wolds
shot down
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1875/46461/SHarriganD[Ser -DoB]v280003.mp3
08541f3b83154c41ee84b01a17e24c30
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
Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-06-19
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.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire
Description
An account of the resource
34 items. Interviews with veterans recorded by Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire.<br /><br />Interview with Bertie Salvage <br />Three part interview with Dougie Marsh <br />Interview with Terry Hodson <br />Interview with Stan Waite Interview with John Langston<br />Interview with Nelson Nix <br />Two part interview with Bob Panton <br />Interview with Basil Fish <br />Interview with Ernest Groeger <br />Interview with Wilf Keyte <br />Interview with Reginald John Herring <br />Interview with Kathleen Reid <br />Interview with Allan Holmes <br />Interview with John Tomlinson <br />Interview with Cliff Thorpe and Roy Smith <br />Interview with Peter Scoley <br />Interview with Kenneth Ivan Duddell <br />Interview with Christopher Francis Allison <br />Interview with Bernard Bell <br />Interview with George Arthur Bell <br />Interview with George William Taplin <br />Interview with Richard Moore <br />Interview with Kenneth Edgar Neve <br />Interview with Annie Mary Blood <br />Interview with Dennis Brader <br />Interview with Les Stedman <br />Interview with Anthony Edward Mason <br />Interview with Anne Morgan Rose Harcombe<br />
<p>The following interviews have been moved to the relevant collections.<br /><span>Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46454">Kathleen Reid</a></span><br />Interview with Wing Commander <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46467">Kenneth Cook DFC</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46456">Colin Cole</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/document/46464">Charles Avey</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46470">John Bell</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46459">Les Rutherford</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46460">James Douglas Hudson</a></p>
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Interviewer: This is an interview with Ernie who was in 97 Squadron, at Tattershall Thorpe Camp, visitor camp on the 17th of April 2011. Off you go Ernie.
EG: Right. I first approached the RAF at Kidbrooke in London to join in the RAF and they said that they didn’t really need anybody at the moment but if I would like to give them some details and that about my address and all the rest of it they would be in touch with me. And this was in 1940. I was working in the City of London in a textile firm and from there I then received a letter one day to report to Kidbrooke which they took all my details and told me that they would call me in due course and let me know where to go and all the rest of it and what to do. I then, this was on the two days before Christmas in 1940. I then received a letter to say to report to Cardington which was as you know one of the big RAF stations where they had the airships there and I can remember that as if it was now because I actually went in. When I went to Cardington I actually went in the airship to have a look around and I was amazed. I really was. But two, two days before Christmas I received this letter and my dear mother she says to me, ‘Look,’ she says, ‘Why don’t you ring the RAF up and tell them that you don’t want to go before Christmas but you will go after Christmas.’ And I then explained to her all about what, what goes on and all the rest of it and I should be there on the due date. So, she said, ‘Well, you can’t do anything about it.’ So I arrived at Cardington two days before Christmas and there I received a Christmas lunch which was entirely new to me because being a civilian having a lunch in London you know with turkey and all the rest of it. We had pork and there was one or two moans and groans but, at the time. But then I was then told about a week afterwards after they had given me all the tests and all the rest of it to go home and wait to hear from them. Well, this went on quite a time and I was wondering what was going on and so I phoned up Cardington and said, ‘You know my name and all the rest of it.’ And by this way I had a number then which was 1239, 1235939 and I put my number down and all the rest of it and they said, ‘Well, don’t worry, we will be in touch with you in due course.’ Lo and behold I was then called up and went to Cardington again and was told that I would be sent to Credenhill in a few days which was right up somewhere near Wales, you know. I can’t remember where it was and that and I went there and I was told that I was going to be an armourer. So, I said, ‘What the devil’s that?’ You know, business. I didn’t know what an armourer was and he said, ‘Well, you actually play about with guns.’ So I said, ‘Oh well, you know. That’s it.’ And so when I got to Cardington I then went on the armourers course which I passed out quite well you know. And from Cardington I was then shifted over to a place called Finningley near Doncaster. During the war this is, you know and I really enjoyed it there because in no time I’d risen from being AC2 which I passed out, I then got my LAC pretty quickly because the arming officer then said that I was quite good with my knowledge of guns and the working of them and all the rest of it. And I then, they shifted me over to a new station that was opened called Balderton which was not very far from Finningley. I think it was about ten miles or nine miles something like that and then from there I went to another new station called Bircotes which is near Doncaster which was fairly new opening and that and I was about the first or second one there because when I got there there was nobody on the station. There was no food being cooked or anything else. And we were then told to go down to Bawtry Hall which was then Group 1 and I used to have my food there for a time. And then everybody started coming there and they had the canteen there and the NAAFI and all the rest of it and we started having our food there and I stayed there. I was then called back to Finningley again and from Finningley I then went to Blackpool on a fitter armourer’s course that they thought that, you know he knows a bit about things now. And I went to there and I was there which I had a very enjoyable time. I won my first dance championship there with a young lady and I came back and I was then posted here.
Interviewer: To Woodhall Spa.
EG: To Woodhall Spa and had a wonderful time.
Interviewer: What would your duties have been?
EG: My duties then I was a corporal then and I used to because the actual squadron didn’t come there until a little while afterwards. This was, it was either in February or March. I’m not quite certain.
Interviewer: Of forty —
EG: 1942.
Interviewer: Right.
EG: You know.
Interviewer: Yes.
EG: And then they started coming here, and which was 97 Squadron. By this time I’d been over to Coningsby and introduced to the people of 97 and that, you know that was there and they all came over here, you know. And within a week, it was around about a week oh sorry we started ops and within a very short time we were the first daylight squadron to fly Lancasters over Germany with 44 Squadron. 44 Squadron put up six aircraft, we put up six aircraft. All our aircraft came back safely but they lost —
Interviewer: Was this, was this the Augsburg raid?
EG: This was the Augsburg raid, yeah. And we, we were quite famous, you know. Let me think some more. Then we went on and I then was sent back to Blackpool on Bofors guns. I had to learn about Bofors guns and the rest of it. The next thing I knew I’d heard that the squadron had gone to down the road. Not very far. In Cambridgeshire. Bourn. They’d gone to Bourn but I didn’t go to Bourn. I went to Wickenby in Lincoln, you know. But what annoyed me most of all I would have gone to the squadron but I was put in the station headquarters. I knew quite a bit about things and they wanted me if anything had happened and that you know I could be available and all the rest of it. And the rest of the war literally I wasted time. You know, it was a waste of good time. But somehow all of a sudden something happened and I got this trembling business come on me and I then went to Rauceby you know.
Interviewer: The hospital there.
EG: The hospital.
Interviewer: Yes.
EG: And saw a chappie there and that and literally I said to them, ‘I’m alright,’ you know. But he may have seen something that I didn’t see and so after about a few months or so they demobbed me and I was amazed.
Interviewer: Ah.
EG: But he must have seen something because after that I went back to London you know, my old job and I then started trembling. I had a period for many months you know and I went to Guy’s Hospital where the, where they used to give me tests and all the rest of it and so that’s the end of the story.
Interviewer: Did you meet Guy Gibson somewhere along the line?
EG: I met Guy Gibson and well really I don’t want to talk about him.
Interviewer: No?
EG: No.
Interviewer: Oh.
EG: It’s something that I want to forget because to me [pause] awful man. Awful man. But, but I don’t want to say anything else there if you don’t mind.
Interviewer: No, that’s quite alright Ernie.
EG: Because you know I, Guy Gibson and myself and I had a rough old bust up and he treated his pilots like dirt you know.
Interviewer: Yes, I know. Yes. So you came out of the RAF.
EG: Yes.
Interviewer: And was that the end then of your, of your war career as it were?
EG: It was the end of my war career. I went back to my old job in the City of London but I was off, on and off at work for a period of maybe two or three years. I even, I was amazed because they sent me in and said they would like to see me and there was about four people and about a month after that I received a pension.
Interviewer: Oh.
EG: I was amazed, you know. But then about three maybe four years afterwards they asked me to go there and they said, ‘We’re going to knock your pension down fifty percent.’ You know. So I thought to myself well that’s fair enough because I was feeling much better but I was still getting these shakes now and again. So the reason was I don’t know or mentally something had happened or something about me you know.
Interviewer: Were you attached to sort of one particular Lancaster that you would take care of guns for or was it –
EG: Yeah.
Interviewer: But you’d look after guns on a lot of the Lancasters.
EG: Well, no. When, when I first came here I went around with a chappie and he showed me, although I knew quite a bit about it he showed me the system. He called it the system. He was looking after three Lancasters. The guns, you know. The Brownings, .303s they were and I learned it all then. And then after a time I took over three Lancasters you know.
Interviewer: Yes.
EG: And then you had somebody else and you teach them what it’s all about you know. But lots of people say they hated the old RAF and they hated the Army and that but I loved it. And I would think, I’m certain that I would have stayed in.
Interviewer: Did you get attached to the crews that you came —
EG: Oh, yeah.
Interviewer: Very. Yeah. And so you were here for how long?
EG: Sorry.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Ernest Groeger
1025,1026-Groeger, Ernest
Identifier
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SHarriganD[Ser#-DoB]v28
Creator
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Claire Bennet
This Interview was recorded by Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire.
Date
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2011-04-17
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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eng
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Sound
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00:14:41 audio recording
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Pending revision of OH transcription
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
Ernie Groeger volunteered for the RAF in 1940 while working at a textile firm. He undertook training to be an armourer and was posted to 97 Squadron at RAF Woodhall Spa. Over time he developed ill health and he was discharged from the RAF on health grounds.
Temporal Coverage
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1940
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
Contributor
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Julie Williams
97 Squadron
ground personnel
RAF Cardington
RAF Woodhall Spa
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1287/17229/PHarperL1901.1.jpg
b15c864ba39a5f20db6c24984d37c6c5
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1287/17229/AHarperL190521.1.mp3
46073482bffd601b5d01a9f978128194
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DE: So this is an interview with Len Harper for the International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive. My name Is Dan Ellin. We’re in Len Harper’s home in Chapel St Leonards. It’s the 21st of May 2019. Put that there and then we’ll try and forget about it. So, Len could you tell me a little bit about your early life before you joined the RAF?
LH: Yes. Well, before I just went to the ordinary primary school, which I enjoyed and I left school at the age of fourteen, and from then on I was out of work but I managed to find myself a job and by the end of 19 — Come on. Come on.
Other: Alright.
[recording paused]
LH: I decided that the RAF was the place for me. So having worked in a shop Wednesday afternoon was always our half day off and I told my brother, who worked with me, I said, ‘Tell mother that I shan’t be home for this afternoon.’ Instead of that I went off to Hanley in the Potteries and joined the Royal Air Force. That was in the April of 1939. From then on that’s where it started. I joined the Royal Air Force and I went down to Cardington where I did all my foot slogging, and then from Cardington I was sent to the Wireless Training School at Yatesbury in Wiltshire, and that’s where I took my course on radio repairs etcetera and I passed the course at the end of 1939. Of course, then the war had started in the September. And from then onwards I was posted from, from Yatesbury. I went to RAF station Wittering which was a lovely RAF station and I was there for two years when I was posted to India and Burma. That is a short account of my RAF.
DE: Okey dokey. What was, what was training like? Can you remember?
LH: Training was very, very good really. It was very good indeed. We did, we did learn and it was, it was easy to learn. I mean nothing was too complicated. I know I started, I started at the RAF Wireless School at Yatesbury in the September, and a three month course took me through to the end of December which was then supposed to have passed us through to the, to the training that we’d had. And of course I went straight on to radio maintenance, which I enjoyed very, very much indeed and that’s how it started with me. I had two years. Two years in, at RAF station Wittering. And from then I was posted to, overseas to South Africa and from South Africa to Bombay, India.
DE: Ok.
LH: And Burma.
DE: So what, what did your work entail when you were at Wittering? What was, what was your, what was the job like?
LH: It was repairing radio. Repairing. Mostly it was damaged radios that were damaged during the overseas work and we had a real full time job in trying to get everything going as quick as you could when the aircraft came down. This wanted doing, that wanted doing, and it had to be done.
DE: So was it lots of soldering and changing valves and things like that?
LH: Absolutely. That.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Oh yes. A lot of that. It was good really. I don’t know why I didn’t take it on after the war but I didn’t and that was it. And then in the February 1942 I was on leave to go abroad when I went to South Africa for three days strangely enough. And then from South Africa I went through to Bombay where I was there for what should, what should I say? About two years there and then I was posted to Burma. And from Burma I went almost down the east, east coast picking up various jobs that were required of me to do with regards to radio repairs. But India was quite nice. Well, what shall I say? A rare place. It wasn’t what I expected. We were looked on, some of us were looked on as fighters and what not. We wanted to get rid of India, sort of thing. Others thought the world of us. And we went on like that. And then of course I was posted overseas to Burma where I spent eighteen month. And it was illness that brought me back from Burma, back in to India and then I came back and did another year in India doing the same job that I’d done right the way through.
DE: What was the illness that you had?
LH: It was, what was it? Oh, I can’t think [pause] I’m just trying to think of it. I can’t —
DE: Dysentery or —
LH: It was dysentery.
DE: Right.
LH: Dysentery is correct. Yes. Yes. I had dysentery which I had, I’ve never even got rid of it. I even get yet touches of it nowadays. At my hundredth birthday. But it wasn’t that that took me out of the Force. I automatically left the Force in 1945, and my wife didn’t want me to go back. And having plenty of conversation I thought well she doesn’t want to go back in to the Women’s Royal Air Force so I tore my papers up and that was it and I went to work on the railway.
DE: What did you do on the railway?
LH: I was a railway signalman on the Derby-Crewe line. I enjoyed that. It was very, very nice. I could have stayed on there but once again lines were being taken up and we were knocked out and that was it. Good old days. And from then onwards I went in to various industries. I did work in the man-made fibres division with the ICI. I was there for approximately eleven years, and after then I didn’t see any sense in stopping. I learnt what I wanted to learn and I left and I went into the newspaper business. And that’s how it went on. Going from place to place. It was a good life really because I’ve always been interested in trains and —
[pause]
LH: I’m trying to think what else happened.
DE: That’s ok. We can, we can go back over some of this stuff and you might, you might think of some more things to say. I’m rather interested in why you decided to join the RAF.
LH: Yes. Well, it was rather strange because my brother joined the RAF in January 1939, and he came home after a while and said how good it was, this, that and the other. I said, ‘Oh, I might have a go myself.’ Which I did. I liked the idea of it. So, in the April of ’39 I decided to go and join the RAF, which I did and I’m glad I did. I could have stayed in the RAF for years if, if my wife would have liked the idea. But she didn’t want the idea of being [pause] well, what should I say? Being under the RAF.
DE: Sure, yes. When did you meet her? When did you marry?
LH: I met her long before I joined the RAF. We were married. We married in February 1942 but I met my wife long before that. And she joined, she joined the RAF. She was from Nottingham and there we were.
DE: So it must have been fairly hard. Only getting to see each other when you both had leave, I imagine.
LH: Oh, yes. Yes. We always managed to get together when leave was on the records. Yes. We did.
DE: What did she think when you got your posting to India?
LH: She didn’t like the idea at all but of course she was already in the Women’s Royal Air Force so it didn’t make much of a difference to her. We were, she put up with it and I explained to her that it was all for the best, which it was really. But to go out to India was rather strange. I never thought I should be sent out to India because I went to Bombay where we [pause] and then from Bombay I went [pause] I went to Quetta. I was at Quetta for three, four months taking a wireless course. And then we were posted. I was posted down to Calcutta. And from Calcutta I went through to the postal region, and I went into Burma. To a place called Dohazari. A very nice place. And I was there for two years until I got this dysentery and I had to go back in to India and I went to central India, to Agra where I was hospitalised there for eight months.
DE: What were conditions like in the hospital?
LH: Pretty good. Pretty good really. Oh yes. They did look after us. There’s no doubt about that [pause]. I had plenty of time to get about and I had some good times. I had, well I met a lot of people in India. I went to Bhopal, to Agra, to Quetta and all various places. And I got to know quite a lot of the Indian people and to me they were, they were quite, quite a nice lot in my opinion. But of course there was this time when they were wanting to get out of the British Raj and this, that and the other, and you didn’t know who you could really rely on for a friendship. And there it was. But Burma was a strange place. The Burmese didn’t like us. They liked the Japanese more than they liked, liked us. However, we got over that and as I say the third time I had to, I was posted back in to India with dysentery.
DE: So, were you part of the Third Tactical Air Force over there in Burma?
LH: Yes. Yes.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Definitely. Went down as far as Rangoon and it was quite good out there but Burma seemed a funny place. They didn’t like us. They liked the Japanese. They were more fond of the Japanese than they were of the British troops and I thought, well, that’s what I thought. That was my opinion.
DE: What were the living conditions like out there?
LH: Out in —
DE: In, in Burma.
LH: Pretty jungalised. We more or less lived like we should have done in the, in the jungle but it’s quite good. It was. We had some good food. We had our own, we had our own cooks and what not, so we didn’t do too bad. I suppose if I hadn’t had dysentery I shouldn’t have got back out of Burma.
DE: So, it was, it was airstrips in the —
LH: Yes.
DE: In the forest.
LH: Yes. Yes, it was. Actually it was a very interesting time. I mean people said oh this, that and the other, it was terrible but I didn’t find it terrible. I mean, you took it as it came and that was it. You knew what you’d got to put up with. You knew what you had to do, and you did it. And then of course when I went back in to India I was posted to a place called Santa Cruz just outside Bombay which was more or less, well it was like being on the Underground in London. It was very very good. And then from then on of course I came back in to, in to England.
DE: What was, what was the transport like? I mean, you say you liked trains. You must have used trains a bit and then obviously the, the troop ships.
LH: Well, trains. I could do with trains all the time. I was really a train man. I was brought up on the railways. I mean I was in a signal, signal box on the Derby-Crewe line for eleven months and I really got to know the railway. And I liked it very much. Training was good and you could move about if you wanted to or you could stay where you were. I moved from Derby-Crewe down in to Uttoxeter, and then back to Ashbourne and then from then it was wiped out. The junction was wiped out altogether and I was made redundant.
DE: Was that the cuts? The Beeching cuts.
LH: It was Beeching’s cuts.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Yes. It certainly was.
DE: What were the troop ship transports like that took you out to India and brought you home again?
LH: They were pretty groggy, let’s put it that way. As long as you did as you were told you were alright. But I didn’t like it at all. But then again if you did as you were told you were alright. The troop ships. No.
DE: Were they long journeys?
LH: Well, we started off from South Wales. Went up to Glasgow and from Glasgow back down to the, what was it, the Mediterranean. Then we were sent in to Freetown. We were there for a week because the Germans were outside waiting for us to get out and make after us. But we did go and we finished off going down to South Africa. South Africa we went to, to Bombay, and that’s how I got to know India. Karachi was, Karachi was quite nice. I liked India actually.
DE: What in particular?
LH: I liked the country. I liked some [emphasis] of the people. I met some very nice friends. And that was the main reason and I could get about the country which I did, and that was it. I could have stayed in India.
DE: You didn’t, you didn’t mind the climate then.
LH: No. No. The climate. No. Never worried me a little bit. Not a bit. As I can say I never wore, never wore a sunhat all the time I was in India. I still wore my old RAF hat. And I got some very nice friends.
DE: Was that other RAF personnel or, or —
LH: Well, Anglo-Indian most of them.
DE: Right.
LH: Most, most of the ones but I worked with them. We were BBC but we had taken a part of the Indian radio over and of course we met a lot of the Anglo Indians who had been drafted in to the Force and we got to know them very, very well.
DE: And this was, you were still working on the wirelesses, the radios from the aircraft.
LH: Oh yes. Yes.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Yes, definitely.
DE: So what sort of aircraft were they flying?
LH: We were flying, well mostly it was, what shall I say? We saw a lot the Bedfords, Blenheims, and Spitfires. Anything that came down that wanted repairs to radios we did it.
DE: Did you ever fly?
LH: Not to the extent of work flying. No. I did fly. We often used to manage to get lifts, you know around the countryside but I wasn’t aircrew.
DE: No.
LH: No.
DE: Did you ever consider it?
LH: I did think about it. As a matter of fact I was offered the chance to take a commission. The only thing that stopped me was the fact I knew I should have to do another two years out in India and I didn’t want to do that so I didn’t take it.
DE: What was the contact with your wife like?
LH: Oh, she was, she was in the RAF and of course she could get home from Nottingham back in to Ashwood. She was quite happy and she left the WAAFs before I left the RAF, and it was through that that I didn’t go back.
DE: Yeah.
LH: I wish I had have stayed in the RAF.
DE: But did you used to write to each other?
LH: Oh yes. Yes, we had. We did.
DE: How long did a letter take?
LH: Not too long. About a couple of, a couple of weeks sometimes. Sometimes you got a quick reply. Your answers would come a lot quicker. Correspondence was pretty good during the war. And then of course when I finished, I finished up with going to work on the railway [pause] which I did between Oxford and Uttoxeter. Pomfrey Junction, Leek and various places.
DE: I’ll just pause this.
[recording paused]
LH: But India is the fact that I only saw India, the places that I visited. I mean New Delhi, Delhi. I went there. Fatehpur Sikri, the forbidden city. That was all boarded up.
DE: What was it like?
LH: Pardon?
DE: What was it like?
LH: Well, we never, we never managed to get in to Fatehpur Sikri. We could go around it. I don’t know why it was, it was, it was shut off from the country. It was really quite a nice place. There was the pink city. Jahal. The best place I liked was the central India, was Agra, and of course I saw places that they advertise in the papers nowadays. It costs thousands of pounds to get there whereas I had it all free. Especially through the Taj Mahal. I did enjoy that.
DE: So you did some sightseeing then.
LH: Pardon?
DE: You did see some sights then.
LH: Oh, yes.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Yes. I did.
DE: Did you take a camera?
LH: Yes, I had a camera, and I had a bicycle which I bought to get around the countryside, where ever I wanted to. And I got in with some very nice friends who had been to India for years. And they took us in alright. We got on very well.
DE: So, you went, you went exploring when you had some leave then.
LH: Oh yes.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Yes. I went all over the country, even right down as far, as far as Ceylon [pause] They were good old days, you know when I look back. Really, really good holidays. You can come in Mike, don’t worry about upsetting us.
Other: I was looking to see where your photographs are.
DE: I’ll just pause it again.
[recording paused]
DE: So, I’ll just start recording again. I’ve —
Other: I’ve got the tea coming.
DE: Ok. I’ve been suggested that I should ask you about being chased out of Burma.
LH: Oh yes. We were chased out of Burma soon after we got in there. We’d just got in, more or less settling down and we were chased right out again. But we went back and that was it.
DE: What was it, what was it like when you were retreating from the Japanese?
LH: It was rather strange because the only thing they had between us was about a four foot wide, four foot, four hundred foot river. The River Ramu. And that was as far and they used to shout across to us across the river and they got two of our fellas because we brought their, all their stuff back with us when we left.
DE: So it was quite, quite a close run thing then at times.
LH: Oh, yes. Yes.
DE: Thank you. I’ll just pause it again because there’s tea.
[recording paused]
LH: [unclear] was the place in Burma that we went to. Cox’s Bazaar. That was a place. Ramu, The River [unclear]. That was all on the, all on the west coast.
DE: So, were you involved in the Battle of Kohima then? That sort of —
LH: No.
DE: No.
LH: No. I’m not really involved in any of the big battles. We had times when we, we had to be careful and this, that and the other but, no. It’s, I was pretty lucky actually. I’d say very lucky. I don’t know. [pause] Yes. But like everything, I mean say you think about these things. You try to remember all that you’ve seen and it’s impossible to remember everything. Oh, I liked Delhi. I liked Mandodari. That was very nice there. And what was it? Agra was very very nice. And so was Bhopal. That was nice. We were there just before they had that trouble in Bhopal.
DE: Going back to to Burma what did you think about the Japanese? What was your attitude to them?
LH: Well, we didn’t see a lot of them. We heard a lot of them but we didn’t see a lot of them and we were sort of one side the river and they were the other side of the river and that was it. And then we were suddenly moved off and we went back, we went back in to India. Well, I’d say we were pushed off really.
DE: When you were, when you were being pushed out of Burma. Burma. Were you, were you worried about being taken prisoner?
LH: No. No. We were lucky in that respect in as much that we, Burma we, we did hold the border. We held the border very well there and it was just a hop across on to the ferry and back into India. But then the second time when we went in of course we went right down as far as Rangoon, and of course the Japanese were pushed right out. But I did meet a few Japanese. A few Japanese prisoners. They didn’t like being taken prisoners. They seemed all right. I mean, they were only humans like we were but they seemed to be funny people. They thought nothing of committing suicide and things like that which we wouldn’t even dream of. I’m just trying to think of the point where we were stationed.
[pause]
LH: A lot of it has gone through my head and that. I can’t just recall it.
DE: Yeah.
LH: It’s seventy years ago.
DE: It is. Yeah. It’s a fair old while.
LH: But it’s nice of you to come and have a talk about things. Is there anything else that’s —
DE: Well, I’ve got, there’s other things we could talk about. So, where were you when the war ended? Where, were you on —
LH: When the war ended I was in central India. That’s when, that’s when it ended in India and Burma and we were, I was then enroute back to England and I remember passing, passing Malta and then we went through, right through until we got to England.
DE: So, did you, did you hear about Hiroshima and Nagasaki?
LH: Oh yes. We heard all about that.
DE: Yeah.
LH: Yeah.
DE: What were your thoughts?
LH: I thought it was scandalous. I’d never ever even think that they used bombs like that but of course that was it.
DE: So, did you celebrate the end of the war then?
LH: We did, yes. We celebrated well. I finished up at Morecambe strangely enough. We were all posted off to a camp outside Morecambe and we did a real good celebration there. A very good celebration. And from Morecambe I went home on disembarkation leave and I went there. I was there in 1940, ‘45. Christmas. I never went back. Never went back, which I ought to have done. I never went back in to the RAF.
DE: What was demob like?
LH: Ok. I went straight on to the railway when I, when I came out of the RAF [pause] But I did, I met quite a nice lot of people.
DE: Sure.
LH: In India.
DE: What did you think about the Partition of India?
LH: Well, we didn’t know really a lot about it. We knew what was happening and you could tell at the time that you’d got to be careful what you said and what you did and that was that. You never used to mention politics. You thought it better to remain silent. I mean you was always the British Raj this that, the British Raj that and they were going to do this and they were going to do that, but it never came off. I know there was a very good hairdresser in Agra I got to know. He used to do my hair pretty well.
[pause]
A place called Juhu, just outside Bombay. That was a very nice place. I could have stayed in India.
DE: So they offered you a promotion.
LH: Yeah. I could really have stayed in India.
DE: What would you have been doing then if you’d have stayed?
LH: I don’t know what I should have been. I should have had to take a commission I think. I think that was the only way that I could have stayed in.
DE: So then would you —
LH: It was when they said it would mean I would have to do another extra two years in India I thought oh no, that’s not for me. Bombay was a nice place in parts. I’ve got some photographs there which I took because I always had the camera with me.
[pause]
LH: Well, I think that’s about all I can recall.
DE: That’s really interesting. Thank you. Just one other question that I usually ask is is have you any thoughts about the way the Second World War has been remembered? I mean you said it’s seventy years ago now.
LH: In the way that, well I don’t remember very much of the end of the Second World War because as I say we were coming home from India at the time when it had happened in India and Burma, and we were getting back to England. But with regard to celebrating should I say, the end of the Second World War in England, it had already been done more or less. We all went back to our normal stations. I went, I went back to Cardington and then from Cardington back to Wittering and from Wittering I was demobbed. But it didn’t seem a lot to us, the celebration of the end of the Second World War.
DE: But what about the way it’s been remembered in the history books and on television?
LH: A lot of it was true. A lot of it was false. A lot of it was just made up as one might say. I know, my experience, the fact that I came out and I was posted back to the Army in Yatesbury, to the RAF in Yatesbury and I went back to my Unit and everything went just as normal. It was there that I was recommended I should stay in the Royal Air Force, but of course you know what. It didn’t happen. The one thing about it, we did see the world.
DE: Yes. Because you said you had three days in South Africa.
LH: Yes. That was a strange lot. We got off the boat, went walking around the city and this, that and the other and back to the boat. Back again in to the city. And on the third day we weren’t allowed out. We knew we were moving. We knew we moved from South Africa. We went on to Bombay then. Mumbai as it is now. All I remember of Bombay is the fact that in the harbour when we got there we’d nothing but a sea of floating turbans. Everybody had thrown their turbans into the sea. They were good old days, they were bad old days but I think [emphasis] the good seemed to mix in enough with the bad for it to say well it was just as you saw it.
DE: So even with retreating from the Japanese and being ill for eight months it was a, it was a good time.
LH: It was. It was, yes. It definitely was. The only Japanese we actually saw were prisoners. We didn’t see many of those. I had some good times, had some bad times. Taking it, taking it all in it wasn’t all too bad. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I did enjoy it. It was an experience. An experience which thousands of people would never experience. The only thing was, as I said if it hadn’t been for my wife I should have stayed in.
DE: Yes.
LH: Full time. But I didn’t.
DE: What did she do in the, in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force?
LH: She was a typist. She was just outside Newton. Outside, just out Nottingham and of course she wasn’t far from home. She could get home when she had a couple of days off and she was very, very happy about that but she left the Air Force before I did. Aye.
[pause]
DE: And I’m just wondering why you’ve, why you’re living here now? When did you move?
LH: Pardon?
DE: When did you move here?
LH: From [pause] I went to, I was born in Reading, and we moved down into Reading from Derbyshire. We were there for ten years in to the cottage where I was born. My aunt who lived in it bought the place and she left it to us in her will when she passed away. The only thing about Reading was the fact we couldn’t get a bungalow to suit my wife. She couldn’t climb stairs so we decided that we’d see what Lincoln had got. But having been six or seven months at Wainfleet during the war we went to Wainfleet. We went all around and we found this place in Chapel St Leonards and we liked it. My wife liked it so we decided that we would stay and we did.
DE: Right.
LH: I’ve always enjoyed it here. I still like it. I still like Chapel St Leonards. I like Lincolnshire.
DE: We haven’t talked about your time at Wainfleet. What were you doing there?
LH: Oh, at Wainfleet I was on the bombing range.
DE: Right.
LH: I was doing radio repairs on the bombing range. It was a crude place but mind you we didn’t half soup up some aircraft. It altered quite a bit after a while. It was just, it was just like a hut on the bombing on the side of the runway [pause] and we we held the radio communications for the station. Mango, Mango. That was our call sign.
DE: Was it, was it very busy then, the bombing range?
LH: It was very busy indeed. Very, busy. It was.
DE: And were they, were they dropping live, live bombs or —
LH: Practice, yes. Live bombs on the proper bombing range but practice bombs. They dropped quite a few of those. That was the days of the Blenheims. Most of them were Blenheims, and the Wellingtons. I always remember all those.
DE: And how accurate were they? How close to the targets did they get?
LH: They were pretty good. They got pretty good at it.
DE: So were you in communication with them when they were doing?
LH: Yes.
DE: Right.
LH: Yes. Oh yes. Radio communication. I can see it all now.
DE: So, how did it work? Were they told how well they’d done and how close they’d got to the target?
LH: Yes. Yes. They were given a report sheet as to what they’d missed and what they’d hit and it all added up I suppose to whatever they did. Of course that was the days of, like I say the American heavy bombers, our Blenheims and what not.
DE: Yeah. So, I suppose being posted to India when you were you, you didn’t see the big bomber fleets of Lancasters and Halifaxes.
LH: No. Only Halifaxes. Halifaxes. Saw all those aircraft in the hangars at the base.
DE: Did you ever work on radar?
LH: Yeah. Oh, yes. Yes, we had radar. We had a lot of radar repairs to do. We went down to the Isle of Wight for that.
[pause]
DE: What was that like to work on?
LH: Quite good really. You could see how things were developing. You could see as it was going to be the, well the means of communication in the end which it was.
DE: So, did you do any work with the navigation aids like Gee and H2S and things like that or —
LH: No.
DE: No.
LH: No. We used to go up in the bombers and test radios when we’d repaired them or when they wanted repairing. We used to go up with the, with the bombers. It was very [unclear] But I never really wanted to, to be in the flying crew. I don’t know why. I didn’t mind the odd journey in an aircraft. That was great. Absolutely was wonderful. Has it been of interest to you?
DE: It’s been fantastic. Thank you very much. Yes.
LH: Anything, anything else you would like to know?
DE: Well, usually the last thing I say is is there anything else that you would like to tell?
LH: Not really. Not as, not as I know of. Except I’ve had all the encouragement with my in-laws and family in doing the jobs that I wanted to do and, and there we are. But with regards to finishing with the Royal Air Force well it just, it came as I’ve told you if it hadn’t been for my wife who didn’t like the idea of [pause] what should I say, being out with me in the aircraft, and having our own, our own aircraft err our own houses, she didn’t like that idea at all. That’s what really put it down.
DE: Yeah. Right, well, I shall, I shall switch the recording off. Can I just say thank you very much again for —
LH: It’s been a pleasure.
DE: For the interview.
LH: I only hope I’ve told you enough to make you realise it was worth coming for.
DE: Well, there’s, there’s nearly, nearly an hour’s worth on the tape so—
LH: Oh.
DE: Right. So thank you very much.
Other: I want to ask you a question.
DE: Oh, ok. I should —
Other: You’ve mentioned Wainfleet.
DE: We have mentioned Wainfleet.
Other: Right. And was it the sergeant or the corporal coming on the motorbike?
DE: Oh, not had that. Is there a story about a non-commissioned officer on a motorbike at Wainfleet?
LH: Oh yes. Yes.
DE: Right.
LH: We, we were on a radio station and this corporal, Corporal Green he had a BSA motorcycle, and he often wondered I think why we were always busy working when he came. We got the beat of his engine, you see. We knew somebody was there so we were all ready for him. That was the —
Other: You used to speak to him on the radio.
LH: The good old days. The good old days.
DE: I shall leave it there then. Thank you very much.
LH: Thank you.
DE: Cheers.
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 Len Harper
Creator
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Dan Ellin
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-05-21
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AHarperL190521, PHarperL1901
Format
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00:55:02 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Len Harper registered for the air force in April 1939, influenced by the positive experience of his brother who had joined in January. Upon completing training at the Wireless Training School, RAF Yatesbury, he was posted to RAF Wittering, where he undertook radio maintenance for two years. Harper was posted to India in 1942, after marrying his wife, a Women’s Auxiliary Air Force typist based at RAF Newton, in February. He describes servicing radios for Blenheims and Spitfires, sightseeing with his friends, and sensing the political tensions. After two years, he was posted to Burma, where he completed radio maintenance for the Third Tactical Air Force. He recalls his impressions of the country, the living conditions in the jungle, and retreating from the Japanese. Eighteen-months later, an illness caused him to return to India, where he was hospitalised with dysentery for eight months. Harper returned home and despite enjoying his work, left the air force in 1945 following the wishes of his wife. Finally, he describes his service at RAF Wainfleet, his post-war career, and how fondly he remembers his time in India.
Contributor
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Tilly Foster
Carolyn Emery
Spatial Coverage
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Burma
Great Britain
India
South Africa
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Northamptonshire
England--Wiltshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942-02
1943
1944
1945
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Blenheim
ground personnel
love and romance
military living conditions
RAF Cardington
RAF Newton
RAF Wainfleet
RAF Wittering
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Spitfire
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/803/10783/PdiPlacitoLH1701.2.jpg
89587cbda0f20671b0c4ea1b85001701
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/803/10783/AdiPlacitoLH170209.1.mp3
bb9d0b5a910e57882406f39298fe61e0
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
di Placito, Lawrence Henry
L H di Placito
Description
An account of the resource
Two oral history interviews with Lawrence 'Lawrie' di Placito (1922, 1646268 Royal Air Force). He served in Air Sea Rescue.
collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-03-09
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.
Identifier
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diPlacito, LH
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DM: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre, the interviewee is Dav, the interviewer is David Meanwell, the interviewee is Laurie Placito. The interview is taking place at Mr Placito’s home in Line in Surrey on the 9th February 2017. Okay, Laurie so if we could start with you, your parents, where you were born and where you grew up.
LP: Yes, I was born in Chertsey, Surrey 21st 1st 1922. [Ringing sounds] with six boys, three girls and two children already pre-deceased at the age of three and four. I was educated at the Stepgate school, council school, until the age of eleven, where I passed the scholarship for the grammar school, which was Stroves Grammar School, Egham. And from there I left Egham, Stroves in 1936. I took up employment at the post office as a sorting clerk and telegraphist, at the wages of twelve shillings and sixpence per week, of which one shilling and three pence was stopped for unemployment benefit. War came, before the war came in 1939, I joined the sixth battalion of the Surrey Territorial Regiment, with the headquarters in Chertsey, Drillhall Road, Chertsey, which consisted then of two or three times a week marching up and down the roads, drilling and such like. This brought us up to the summer of 1939, before the war had started. I was called in to the office to say that I wouldn’t being going to the summer camp with the rest of the lads, because of my Italian parentage, I therefore, I was sort of thrown out of the Territorial Army. Now this clashed with my position at the Post Office because I was, at the Post Office I signed the Official Secrets Acts; the Postmaster told me, he said they can’t really do that he said, but things what they were, so I just had to accept it. Now in, war started September the 3rd 1939. I saw all my old friends go off before into the summer camp. They had about three weeks summer camp training. At the end of the training war broke out and these lads were shipped out to various places, with the barest of minimum of training, not firing a rifle in, in, anger or shooting, just all theory really. I therefore then, I left the post office and I was employed at a boatyard, building naval vessels in, on the Thames in Chertsey, where I was friendly, very friendly with another young lad. Now we’d talked about this air sea rescue business what we’d heard about, so we both decided to join. We went to Acton town hall to join the RAF Air Sea Rescue. We were called into separate rooms, but before this I didn’t have much knowledge of sea going, but David, my friend, he knew all about the sea and the points of the compass and such like and he genned me up on questions. So eventually we were called into two separate rooms. I was questioned concerning my knowledge of the sea but I explained I didn’t know much but anyway at the end of the day, I was accepted. You know, David came out of his room said how did you get on? He said they won’t accept me he said, because I am a trainee boat builder and I was only a labourer really, so that put paid to that friendship [laugh]. Going back previously to this, to early ’39, I was only seventeen, I went to Surbiton town hall near Kingston, was a recruiting office and I applied to join the Royal Scots Greys Cavalry Regiment, because I was so full of horses. Now the recruiting sergeant told me, he said for one thing you’re too young, you’re not seventeen and a half, he and another reason he said, forget about the horses he said you’ll never see a horse on active service. Well that, this was all previous to me joining up at the town hall. So, I waited quite some time for my application to come through before I was called up, and from there I received me travel warrant, to travel to Cardington in Bedford. Now Cardington was a pre-war airship station, and the airship mast was still in place where the, all the different airships used to moor. At Cardington I was issued with kit, which consisted of uniform, boots, shirts, etc. It was a bit of a hit and miss affair because you lined up in front of a counter and a fellow looked at you and said I think you’re about a size and threw you a coat or jacket hoping it would fit. Anyway, that soon sorted out. We was only there a very short time to draw kit, from there I was posted to Great Yarmouth, RAF Great Yarmouth to do basic military training. Now this consisted of marching up and down the, the roads, rifle drill, shooting, bayonet, with the bayonet with the dummy, you had to charge at the dummy with the bayonet. Now what that meant for me being an air sea rescuer [chuckle] I never, would never know., This was a very, quite basic training, but it consisted of assault courses, as I say, rifle shooting, the Sten gun what had just come into operation, using the Sten gun. Sitting in an enclosed room without your gas mask, when a gas was turned on you had to find your way, to get your gas mask on before the gas got too much for you, which obviously you had somebody standing by. We were there for about two, Great Yarmouth, we were there Great Yarmouth for about two, two months, marching up and down the roads. One particular thing I always remember was our drill corporal was a Yorkshireman, a Corporal Harrison. And on every march you had to sing On Ilkley Moor Bar Tat, I knew every word of Ilkley Moor Bar Tat. Anyway that came to an end and we travelled well at once to go to Tayport, on the Scottish Coast. Now Tayport, well obviously it was a port, but it was also home to RAF Leuchars It was an Australian squadron at Leuchars, mostly Australian squadron, but we were there just doing menial work ‘cause it wasn’t a training station for air sea rescue it was just a pit stop, so my day was employed either helping in the hangars, or we had a very zealous CO with his garden. That garden had to be kept up, it was pristine, there was even stones had to be painted white, all round the garden. What’s more, he had a dog, and this dog was obviously come and dig up where you had to. This lasted for a few weeks and for the first two or three weeks I was stationed, rather I was in barracks with the Aussie squadron, And all day long every time someone would come in it would play – what’s that Australian song?
[Other]: Waltzing Matilda.
LP: Yes, Waltzing Matilda, that would be on all day every day, Waltzing Matilda. Well eventually I came out of that, back into the English section of the RAF and from there, oh I had this thing of joining to be a flight, a flying airman, so I went into the office where you remuster, that’s where you changed your trade. Now I spoke to the recruiting I suppose he was an officer, I’m sure. I explained what I wanted to do. He said ‘Whatever for?’ Well I said I think I was just getting a bit fed up of waiting around for this air sea rescue. So I applied to be a wireless operator air gunner. His reply was ‘I’ll give you a bit of advice boy’, he said ‘Only birds and fools fly.’ Now I thought that wasn’t a very nice thing, because he’s sitting in an office all day long, with those poor fliers night after night out flying, doing a terrible job. Well, anyway, within the space of another couple of weeks I was posted and I didn’t hear any more of that application. So from Great Yarmouth I went up to Tayport, that’s how I got to Tayport. As I say I was at Tayport for a bit, killing time actually. And then we got posted to RAF Corsewall, Corsewall Point, that’s on the other side of Scotland. That’s at the head of Loch Ryan at the head which led down to Stranraer, the waters at Stranraer. Now here we commenced our training, our air sea rescue training proper. It was a very, very, what shall I say very complex because it covered so many subjects., We had to study for instance buoys, buoys how they was attached to lines underwater to a mooring called a mooring trot, how to scull a boat, a small rowing boat with one oar, navigation, morse code and semaphore flags. The morse code was, was [chuckle] was a bit of a laughable situation because you’d be paired off and you had to send, one would be sending, one would be receiving morse code course there was many rude messages sent from one airman to another! Also aircraft recognition you would be thrown cards and you, you had to say straight away, English bomber, English fighter, German bomber, German fighter such like, and also from school work you were given a books and pens and you had to write notes and notes down of rules of the sea, the meaning of flags and such like. And then there was the practical training where we were taken down to the waters edge to the port and it would be put on different vessels and you would practice how to work a boat. These were called sea plane tenders, there was a, an old hulk moored, moored out at sea and you had to come alongside. The coxswain would shout out ‘come along port side to or starboard side to,’ and you had to turn your boat round to starboard of course there was lots of times there was lots of crashes [chuckle] ‘cause not many boys were able to control boats like that. As I say it was very thorough, thorough training. It, although it was an uncomfortable billet. The billets were nissen huts scattered about in the woods. And for the washing facilities were very basic, you had wash tubs, but for the toilets consisted of, of a row each side just with sacking in between each person so you could have a conversation with the follow sitting opposite on the other side of you, and I’m saying when I said it was basic, it was basic. At the end of the, at the end of the, at the end of the huts, nissen huts there was a big container of a blue liquid. [Turns away] What’s that liquid, erm,
[Other]: I can’t remember.
LP: Perm, permanganate of potash,
[Other]: Yes.
LP: Every man had to gargle with it, permanganate, and if you didn’t and you went sick with a sore throat you were in trouble, you were on charge, as I say it was very basic the conditions. The nissen huts were equipped with a paraffin stove in the middle of the hut. Now you were issued with a ration of paraffin and that had to last you so much, so many days, or day or whatever it was. If you used it up that was your fault, but you’ve got to remember we’d be out at sea, or on the boats rather, you’d be wet and cold, so that paraffin did always last. Now another situation was you had to do guard duties, now the guard duties consisted of dotted around this camp, in the woods, sentry huts, well, just stands really, just a metal stand, you would do I think it was either two hours on or four hours off, or vice versa. This was after you’d done your days’ work at the training. Now, one of, one of the duties of the guard, night guard, was called a rover patrol, he would as the word say, he would wander round the camp just looking at different places keeping an eye. I’d have an old Lee Enfield rifle, First World War issue, with five rounds of ammunition. Now if you come across a German I don’t know what would happen [chuckle]. One amusing, well I don’t think it was amusing really, on my amble round the roving patrol I came across a big bowser, a big tanker, which I thought contained paraffin, I thought well this is lovely [laugh]. Now, I searched around to find a container, luckily I found this container, put it under the bowser, turned the bowser on but instead of paraffin it was all effluent, effluent that came out [laugh]. So I was in a bit of a state, the rest of the, that was cleaning me uniform. Food, I suppose for RAF food wasn’t bad you just had to line up and you were served by a WAAF, RA WAAF girls. But you held out, you had a mess tin, knife, fork and spoon and tin mug. You’d hold your mess tin in front of the WAAF and she would dish whatever was up – plonk. Well, the food wasn’t all that great, but another incident, rather amusing. The officer would come round. A shout would go up ‘Orderly Officer, any complaints?’ But the Orderly Officer would come round accompanied by an NCO, ‘Anybody any complaints?’ Well, one brave soul shouted out ‘Yes sir, I’ve got a caterpillar on my plate.’ The officer walked over, this is true, he walked over to the boy, he said ‘There sir, it’s a caterpillar.’ ‘Hmmm,’ he said, ‘just push it off’ he said, ‘with your spoon.’ ‘Well, I wasn’t going to eat it sir.’ So that was another happy episode. Previous to this I forgot to mention, when I was at Great Yarmouth there was one particular airman, late in the afternoon he would go up to the NCO in charge, say a few words to him and off he would go, well we had to continue till the end of the day. So I said to this boy, after a couple of visits I saw him. I said what do you say? What gets you to come home so early? ‘Well, I’m in the boxing club.’ So I was always interested in boxing as a youngster so I said ‘Can I join?’ he said we’d be only too glad to have you. So I joined the boxing club there which was an asset really, I boxed and a couple of times at Great Yarmouth amongst the RAF. Well also, now also, back up to Tayport, not Tayport Corsewall Point, Corsewall, there was a boxing section there. And the fellow in charge was a guy who was an athlete, a pre-war was a runner, he wasn’t a boxer, a runner oh can’t remember his name. We used to have running, training before going on duty so I joined the boxing club there. Now, I did very well there really, because I’m not praising myself, but every Sunday we had what’s called a uniform parade. We had two uniforms, there was the best blue. Now on this best blue parade, everybody was lined up on a Sunday morning had a full inspection, the flag would be hoisted, the CO of the whole section would come round and inspect each man, so he gets to me, the Orderly Officer who was with him taps me on the shoulder and says you stay there you and I thought ‘Now what’ve I done?’. And so when the parade was dismissed and everyone went, the CO and officers came up and congratulated me ‘cause I’d boxed the night before apparently and I won my two bouts. I always remember one because it was an officer and I anyway that was the end of that but also stationed there was, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of him, a Steve Donahue, now he was a champion jockey of England, Steve Donahue, like our Lester Piggott today. Well his son was Pat Donahue, now Pat Donahue was an officer, first of all he was just a NCO but the second time I visited he was an officer and he was a very good boxer. Pat, Pat Donahue, a very good boxer and I was very friendly with Pat although it didn’t do him any favours but was just the fact that we became good friends what with him being an officer and me being NCO, just a private. What more can I say about that? Oh, another amusing incident, on a Sunday as I say, you had the day off. They used to run the transport buses into Stranraer, which was quite a bus ride away and there were no such thing as seats and you was just clinging on, hanging on as best you could. I was hanging on at the back of the bus, and the fellow next to me, he said ‘Where do you come from?’ I said ‘Oh, you probably wouldn’t know, a place called Chertsey, in Surrey,’ and he laughed, he said he lived at Everstone. Now he turned out, he was Worts w-o-r-t-s funeral directors and Harry Wort was a funeral director, well there again there was another strange quirk because when we finally moved from Corsewall Point to various stations Harry moved off and I didn’t see Harry again till he arrived a year later when he turned up at Newhaven, he’d spent what they called the white man’s grave, the Gold Coast in Africa. Well, I don’t know quite how long we were at Corsewall Point because, it was a very long, as I say, it was, covered a lot of work, classroom work, practical work, seamanship and such like but eventually I passed out from the giddy heights of AC2 to aircraftsman first class with a rise in pay. [Laugh] I’ve got my figures actually what rise in pay. Shall I get those figures now? Well, my rise in pay, my pay in 1942 that was three shillings per day. And out of that three shillings, I made an allotment to my mother of one shilling and sixpence per day, so that was ten shillings and sixpence per week. And this was for twenty four hours a day service. [chuckle] But then in March 43 I was a AC1, I was getting four and ninepence per day and I was still one shilling and sixpence to my mother. August the 1st 1943 I was receiving five shillings and threepence and still making the allowance of one and sixpence to me mother and I think it was not until 44 that I was getting six shillings per day [papers shuffling]. But I had, had a very good family. My sister used to regularly send me money, so really I wasn’t too bad. I did not smoke, when I say I used to drink, it was, you couldn’t afford to drink a lot anyway. Now [pause, shuffling of papers] Can I go back to my days at Great Yarmouth?
DM: Oh yes, yes.
[Other]: [ Cough]
LP: Yes, during my days at Great Yarmouth, the raw recruit, you obviously jumped to any order that you were given. Now, the second day I was there, the corporal in charge tapped me on the shoulder ‘Haircut Hughes!’’ I said, ‘Corporal,’ I said, ‘I had a haircut yesterday.’ He said ‘You’ll have another one today.’ So everybody tapped on the shoulder had to have a haircut. Now after you had your hair cut, you had to give the barber a sixpence, so he must have done very well out of – him and cohorts. And also at Yarmouth I think it must have been a big college because it was a big open room with showers, no shower enclosures, just open showers. You had to have a shower today – another sixpence. So that was quite a lump out of my, those must have made good living the barber and the shower man. And also I must, [shuffle of papers] injection time. Now it would be a column of men you had to bare one shirt sleeve, go past a so called medical orderly for an injection. There was no just holding your arm, just walk by one big stab. No change the needle. Next one up, another big stab. And I see grown men what I don’t know if it was fright or nerves just collapse on the ground.
DM: Can you remember when you started actually active service? When you’d finished your training. 43 or 42
LP: It was the beginning of 43. January 43, yeah. Now, I’ll come to that now. I was posted from Coreswell Point, Scotland to Gosport, Portsmouth. I was only there a very short time and this consisted of we were based on Stokes Bay, part of Portsmouth Waters, Southampton Waters, it was a testing ground for torpedoes. At the end of a long runway, a seaway, was an old hulk, bored, the aircraft would come down, drop the torpedo obviously aiming for the hull. And our job was to patrol up and down retrieve the torpedoes and so forth. Well that lasted only could have only been there only a few weeks. From there I got a posting to Newhaven. Now Newhaven was a very busy station. And it was there that the actual air sea rescue began. I was, I was told to find a billet in the town, Newhaven town, because the actual nissen huts were full and the, a certain number of airmen were billeted with families in houses. Well I was stationed with billeted with a Mrs Cook, her husband was away on war work, she had two children and an old grandmother, but she did look after me. She used to obviously get a ration allowance for food. As I say, from there I was taken straight on to high speed launch 190. Now it took quite a bit of get used to because you were mucking in with old hands really and I was a newcomer, but I got quite capable. My first job was a gunner. The gunner at this time there was a stand outside each a stand either side of the wheelhouse with a Vickers drum fed machine gun. Now my job was to hang on to that machine gun. Don’t forget the boat is not just cruising up and down its moving. But, as I say it was, it was a drum-fed machine gun but these didn’t last very long as it wasn’t so long after the guns were taken off of that and then we had a for’ard gun, revolving turret with twin browning machine guns, that was my next job I was a Browning machine gunner front turret. The turrets, the armament on the boat as I say they disbanded these two shields machine guns. There was a front turret, a rear turret, and then they decided to put a twenty millimetre Oerliken canon right at the stern of the boat. Well that did slow us down a little bit, the cannon. For there I was the gunner, that was my job, I had to be in the gun turret, and it was only after that I took my second class coxwain’s course, I was called in one day, the CO said I think you should take a coxwain’s course. From there I had been at Newhaven, I don’t know, five six months, I was sent up to back up to Corsewell Point for another bout of training as a coxswain. Well I passed that out, that meant a, that meant a rise in pay and also a jump in rank from leading aircraftsman to corporal. By this time I was quite, what shall I say, well quite at home on the boat: I knew what to do and what not to do. And my job was to be in the wheelhouse. There was a first class coxswain, the skipper and the second class coxswain in the wheelhouse. And you took it in turns to coxswain the boat.
DM: How many of you were there on the boat?
LP: Well on the boat, the boat consisted of the skipper, obviously an officer, a flight sergeant first class coxswain, a second class coxswain, a wireless operator, a medical orderly, two engineers, and two more gunners. Roughly, sometimes you’d have eight of you, sometimes there’d be ten of you. Now, the day consisted of hours and hours of searching, we had, the first boat that was always called the first boat, on first degree, that was usually, the rendezvous thirty miles south of Beachy Head, that was the usual one for the first boat, you’d be on station if you were the first boat you’d be on station, at six o’clock you’d be on station if not near that you’d be on your rendezvous. Now when you were on your rendezvous, patrol up and down just waiting orders really, it could be a long, long long day. But suddenly you’d get a crash call now this was taken by the wireless operator and ours was a very good one named Norman and a good wireless operator too. If he didn’t have his helmet on, Norman he would have it by his side. Now he could pick up our particular call we were a seagull, seagull something, I forget my number but we were seagull something. As soon as Norman heard that, he’d get the signal and that came from the Navy. Now although we were RAF Coastal Command, we were directly under the command of the Navy when it come to positioning. So you would take the course of that call and go up and down, up and down and what you would do call a square search, you would do a certain distance, a mile, one way, turn starboard right then back again so you were doing a search square all the way to where it had been reported – a crash. And you would report search and search and whatever you did your search. Now sometimes you’d be there all day log and do nothing but another time you’d be flying here there and everywhere. On one particular, one particular search, I’ve got it written down here somewhere, we had a crash call I was a gunner at the time and I was still in the front turret. This was in my early days. We were patrolling along and suddenly this spitfire came overhead. I didn’t know it was a spitfire at the time, fired his machine guns in front of us. At first thought I thought it would be a German, he turned round, turned round again and then I could see it was a spitfire, and he took us right up to this pilot sitting in his dinghy, which was a good save, we saved him. Now on that journey, the turret and I’m not exaggerating or making it up, a mine floated past and I could have stretched out and touched it. But there’s nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t the first mine I’d see, they was quite frequent. Quite often you would see a mine broken free of its moorings floating. Now we used to have to report the Navy and the navy would send out a vessel and destroy it. But that was very handy when they would explode the mine you’d get buckets and buckets of dead fish, or stunned fish and it was just a case of scooping the fish up. Although when I was in a private billet I used to have, the landlady used to supply my rations, but the rest of the crew, or those who weren’t in private, they would draw rations for the day and we would have what they call a galley which consisted of a methylated spirit stove and you would do your cooking, but the fact that I wasn’t part of it didn’t make any difference really, you was just part of mucked in together. Clothing, clothing we were well-equipped. We had duffle coats which no other RAF had, proper rain coats, rain macs, we had sea boots, jack boots, just slippers for ordinary time on the boat when you were in harbour and also our CO he was Squadron Leader John D. Syme, a very, what shall I say, a man’s man. His main concern was the welfare of the boats crews. Now all of the boats crew and the probably the base crews as well, we had sheets to sleep in, not just a blanket because the ordinary issue was blankets, two blankets, but John D. always made sure we had sheets, clean sheets. On board, when you slept on board if you were on duty at night, then you would sleep in a sleeping bag, and you had fold down bunks.
DM: Would you be at sea?
LP: I’m sorry?
DM: Would you be at sea when you were sleeping?
LP: Yes. You would, there was no regulation you would be at sea eight hours, ten hours and then come home. It didn’t work like that. You went out until you were called. You just couldn’t say well it’s time to come home, you just did as you were called. As I say, I’ve got a record of it here where you’d be out. You’d do a crash call and that would take a day and then you’d still have to go out. So the hours was long. Also, another thing, it was, it was the only base in the whole of the RAF Air Sea Rescue that received a rum ration, going back to the old days. Once you’d been at sea so many hours, you were entitled to the skipper’s, to the skipper’s, to the skipper’s thoughts it was time for a rum and everybody had a rum ration. And if you stayed out longer and longer you still had another rum ration. But that was entirely up to the skipper.
DM: Did you ever get attacked? Did you ever get attacked?
LP: No. We were always told you must never open fire on anything unless you were attacked first. We lost a couple of boats on the, what they call it, the early landing, where it was a failure?
DM: What was that Dieppe?
LP: Dieppe, yes. We did lose a couple of boats, I wasn’t at Newhaven at the time, but we did lose a couple of boats there. Two or three got killed. When DD come here around we had armour plating put on top of the wheelhouse. And on the part of the fore deck was armour plated and you had a big five white star painted on the fore deck for aircraft recognition as an allied sign. Now I’ve got somewhere I picked up Germans, shall I tell you about?
DM: Yes, that would be very interesting.
LP: Right.
[Other]: Doc here ten past one in the morning.
LP: Yeah, ten past one in the morning, crash call to position 360 degrees Hove two and a half miles, search the area till hours when message received to return to harbour. After seen in dinghy airmen picked up German wireless operator from a JU88. We searched the area for the remainder without result. Returned to Newhaven, and prisoner handed over to Naval authorities at 0705 hours.
[Other]: No further incident 1400 hours.
LP: Then 1400 hours we searched till quarter to five, 1745 hours. Now going back to that German,
DM: Yes.
LP: Now going back to that German. This was early hours of the morning and we picked him up with a searchlight. Previous to that there’d been an air raid over Newhaven, the district. The funny part of it was. We kind of felt it was we picked, he’s sitting in the dinghy, he’s got a very pistol in his hand. We said ‘Are you all right? Are you all right?’ friend, no answer, he didn’t answer. And it took several minutes to realise he wasn’t British or Allies, he was a German. Part about it was on this particular journey the engineer was a Belgian. His name was Albert, They called him Albert. Now Albert wasn’t a regular on the boat, it was a one-off. Now Albert, was forced to leave Belgium in the German invasion. Albert hated [musical sound]
DM: Yes.
LP: Albert hated Germans he realised it was a German he was for throwing him back in! Well, it took a bit of persuading, but another interesting thing was, I kept his very pistol, the Nazi very pistol and had a whistle attached, and part of his parachute we divided up, silk parachute. I had quite a nice piece of silk parachute which I gave my sister for her baby girl at the time wasn’t it. It made her christening gown. I think the skipper had his boots, I think the skipper had his boots. Anyway we took him back to harbour. Oh, we clothed him, we had dry clothing, gave him dry clothing, we took him back to harbour and then it was quite a way from the water’s level to the harbour wall – which was up a steep. Somebody had the bright idea of blindfolding him. Well he put the blindfold on and he was absolutely shivering. He thought we were going to shoot him. Anyway we got him up on board and got him to naval and it was a couple of weeks later that a complaint came through that somebody had taken his fur lined sea boots, flying boots and I kept that very pistol and the whistle for not, four, five, years back.
[Other]: Four, five years.
LP: Years, then I gave it to somewhere in Newhaven.
[Other]: Museum.
LP: Newhaven.
[Other]: Museum.
LP: Yes, museum at Newhaven. Anyway to pick somebody up early hours of the morning just with a searchlight, he was lucky, wasn’t he?
DM: He was.
LP: Another. Which one’s this one?
[Other]: The Walrus, where you rescued the men from the Walrus.
LP: Not the one off the French coast was it?
[Other]: Don’t think so, no.
LP: This is another. This made the headlines in the paper this rescue. [shuffling of paper] That’s the original but,
DM: That one: ‘Six RAF men saved in the battle of the Seine’?
[Other]: That one.
DM: Six men saved from the wreck of a Wellington bomber, so that was you, you rescued those men?
LP: Well, it’s strange really, I won’t go into all the details of how we got there.
DM: Well you can do.
LP: Can I?
DM: Yeah.
LP: Well, shall I read off that?
[Other]: Hmmm
LP: If I read it off that, I can’t read it. [Pause] There’s a lot to read isn’t it.
[Other] You dropped the lifeboat.
DM: Which bit are we talking about? So they obviously came down over the other side of the Channel, the French side of the channel.
LP: The mouth of the Seine.
DM: Right. So why were you, were you sent there or were you already there?
LP: No, no we were on patrol in the channel when we got a call, so we had to break off from where we were to go there. Now, two RAF launches took place.
DM: When was this, do you know? Oh yes, July 17th 1943.
LP: Yes. Two launches were sent there. Now I was on 190 and after you see all the air, fighting going on we found that airmen, six airmen, were in an airborne lifeboat, it was one of the first that had ever been dropped. They climbed out of their dinghy into this airborne lifeboat. Now I think the other boat was 177, 190 177. 190, we reached the crew first. Now our coxswain, the first class coxswain, Bert Underwood, a very good coxswain, in his anxiety, he came along a little bit too fast for the crew. We threw ‘em a heaving line, we were going a little bit fast for them to hold onto the line, consequently we passed. 177 behind us, they picked the crew up. Strange part was, they picked the crew up, turned round and gone straight back to Newhaven. Now we were left out there, off the French coast [laugh] with this lifeboat. First of all, orders came ‘Sink the lifeboat, return to base’. So on board we had a tool chest consisting of axe and various tools these were passed along. At the last moment a message came up again, ‘Return to Newhaven with lifeboat.’ So that meant towing, so consequently, we had to put the tow line on the lifeboat and tow it back to Newhaven which took ages, ages. I don’t know what time we got back, I never know what time we got back, but that was a good rescue that.
DM: Did you rescue any other bomber crews during?
LP: Yes, yes. That another one? Routine patrol in the channel, a fine day, round about mid-day skipper said it’s about time we had something to eat, so we were preparing something to eat, when looking up at the sky, we saw a US American fighter bomber a P38 I think it was, a twin-fuselage. That disappeared and then we saw a parachute gently floating out. We followed him, where the parachute was going to land, and it turned out that when he had pulled his cockpit cover he’d dislocated his arm. He was floating in the water, unable to save himself. We were alongside in minutes. One or two of the crew jumped overboard, held him up while we got alongside him, and picked him up and took him back to base. I’ve got a letter from his CO, this letter is dated 29th of March 1944. Dear Sir, The excellent work of the members in your command when they rescued First Lieutenant T.G. Giles, United States Army, from the waters of the English Channel on the 16th March 1944 cannot be allowed to pass without an expression of appreciation. It is my very great pleasure to send you this letter of commendation for bringing about an operation with such happy and favourable results in the case of an officer of my command. Lt. Giles was forced to bail out of his plane while returning from an operational mission over occupied enemy territory. In so doing he sustained severe injuries. His condition was such that he was practically helpless when he reached the water. He was not able to find his dinghy and he would not have been able to get into it if he had and he was not even able to inflate his Mae West. It is fortunate indeed that launch 190 commanded by Craig as was brought alongside without delay. This pilot could not have survived any length of time in the sea on his own. The prompt and sure action of the ASR personnel in this instance merits the highest praise. The courageous action of the men who when over the side to render assistance is most noteworthy. I am fully aware that this rescue is not an isolated incident, but one of a number of superb accomplishments on your parts that have saved many ditched airmen, both British and American, under catastrophic circumstances, but one cannot disregard that if it were not for the immediate aid given so skilfully and successfully, and I am sure that Lieutenant Charles would not be alive today. The sentiment of the whole of this organisation when I express that thanks of a job well down. The crew of the HS190 was the Skipper, Flying Officer Craig, Flight Sergeant, first coxswain, Sergeant Placito, second coxswain, leading aircraftsman Fiddler fitter, LAC Hayes Leading aircraftsman Leading Aircraftsman Hyde crew. That was a good rescue that one.
[Other]: It was.
LP: There’s so many more [chuckle].
[Other]: Still there’s a sad one.
LP: How about or bore you too much, if you left me that, well there’s not much attached to that one, not so far off the French coast there were German floating stations which consisted of a bed, provisions for downed airmen. And on a couple of occasions we came across these stations but fortunately or unfortunately there were no airmen alive in it. We just inspected them, took note of what was there and left.
DM: Do you have any stories around D-Day? What happened on D-Day with your group?
LP: Well on D-Day it was quiet actually, our D-Day was very quiet. Our boats weren’t considered deep sea going; they were built for speed. Pictures of them where they came out. I’ve got no big thing about D-Day. We went out early, picked up odd, odd bits of floating material rafts and such like but no actual rescues. D-Day was a quiet day considering the other days you would be there all day and all night.
DM: You were talking earlier about a rescue involving a walrus.
LP: Yes,
DM: Okay so this is where you picked up a civilian body.
LP: 0710 routine patrol over Beachy Head. Crash call to position search direct by Beachy Head Beachy Head Station, that would be the station at Beachy Head.
DM: Coastguard, or maybe coastguard?
LP: Coastguard, that’s the word. We carried out in company with a Walrus and sir sea rescue aircraft at 1445 received another call to position. On position at 15:15 hours quantity of wreckage found at 1600 hours we sighted a body of a civilian
[Other]: Civilian.
LP: Position 5 degrees off Newhaven seven miles delivered body to police. Returned to patrol until 2115 hours. [shuffle papers] Yes, we picked that poor boy up, that civilian bather. What wasn’t nice, the skipper wasn’t pleased to take him on board, no he thought about either sinking the body or, but he was told, yes, that was sad that.
DM: Take you on now to the end of the war. What happened when hostilities ceased?
LP: Yes, just let me et me thoughts. Yeah, I finished the war off as a transport driver actually.
DM: How did that happen?
LP: The Japanese war finished in
[Other]: August.
LP: August. Okay then yeah. When peace, okay then, when peace was signed with Germany in May, it meant that there was no longer essential for so many routine patrols to take place owing to the fact that it was just friendly aircraft. When peace was signed completely with Japanese surrender, the station the RAF station I don’t know what to try and say.
DM: You were still at Newhaven?
LP: Yes, still at Newhaven. I know what, the end of the German surrender the Japanese war was still in. It was decided to send boat to the Far East. The boats that were chosen to go were copper plated hull that is the hill was plated with copper plate to stop borings from sea insects. 190 although I wasn’t aboard at this time, 190 got as far as Gibraltar when it was halted and that the operation to go to the Far East was aborted, was no longer necessary, The reason I was no longer on board at this time I failed a medical exam and you had to be A1 to be a boats crew. So I was taken off HSL 190 and given a shore job. I was lucky enough to be made a transport driver. We had a Bedford vehicle used to run messages to Thorley Island and into Brighton. This was a very good job because it was so easy going. The reason I got the job was an old friend of mine who was on 190 was a transport driver his job was to drive the warrant officer his name was Stevens a nice gentlemanly man, Steves, Stevenson, he was to take him where he wanted to do to go. Bill Stoneman used to frighten the life out of him wherever he drove. He wasn’t a driver he relied on somebody else to drive or whether Bill did di deliberately or not I don’t know but he fell out of favour with the WO I was called into the office by a friend of mine, Don Stovey, who was a clerk and said that Warrant Officer Stevenson wanted a new driver, a different driver would I take the job. Of course I jumped at it. So from there on I was the station driver. The strange part about it was, I was the only one knew where the vehicle was kept. It was kept in a side street in Newhaven in the town. So consequently we used it on many occasions at night for our trips into Brighton, [chuckle] but I think this soon came to an end when I think it was spotted by another, a Marines, not a Marines, a motorcraft, I beg your pardon a motorised section of the RAF in Newhaven at the time and I think it was one of their vehicles that was mistaken for us and anyway from then on the vehicle had to be kept outside the officers mess on the harbour. Yeah.
DM: So you finished your time in the RAF as a driver.
LP: I finished sa a driver, yeah.
DM: Can you remember when you were demobbed?
LP: I’m sorry?
DM: Can you remember when you were demobbed?
LP: I got demobbed in 1946 I don’t know, middle of 46, something like that, I was demobbed, yeah.
DM: Did you go back to the post office or
LP: No I didn’t I no, I didn’t I just worked for me brother-in-law driving and one thing an another. But it was such a funny thing feeling you know being under orders twenty four hours a day. I forgot to say, that when it got near D-day time, all the civilian billets were closed and where we used to have single beds in the, in the nissen huts they were all double bunked so, to get all, so all the boys were on call. Yeah, it was a good job driving because quite often they, the officer would go into Brighton to pick up papers and also the rations were picked up in Brighton at the, one of the big hotels I think it was the Metropole or the Grand Hotel which was run by RAF, yes, it was the Australians had taken over. Which was the hotel that was bombed? Was that the Metropole?
DM: That was the Metropole.
LP: Was it? Yeah.
[Other]: I think it was.
LP: Yeah, I think it was the Metropole yeah, well the Australians were living there they had taken it over, and that was also then, I used to have to go in for a clothing exchange because what usually happened, well it always happened, if you had something worn, your clothing were worn and you thought need a change we had a storeman at Newhaven, Tiny Wellman, he was a big fella, they called him Tiny Wellman, he was the storeman, and it was up to him if you wanted a new pullover or a new shirt or whatever, it was up to him whether you got it or not. Which was, you know he either liked you or didn’t like you. But after that, all the clothes were kept at Brighton and it was my job, I could take clothing in and exchange it, so consequently I did a good, had a good job changing clothes for the boys that wanted, you know new shoes, whatsoever. But you used to get up to all sorts of tricks to earn a shilling, because one particular, in the Metropole, the Australians had taken over, and there was one room with dozens of pairs of shoes, they would throw the shoes in, me and a friend of mine I used to take with me, we would sort out shoes, take ‘em in to the clothing exchange, get a new pair of shoes for pair of old ones. The things you did. [Chuckle] I tell you one other happy episode too. When the war ended, horse racing started, and Brighton was, I think it was the first race course in the south of England to open. Now, there was no signalling affairs, there was no way when the horses. I don’t know if you understand horse racing but when they go down to the start, there was no way that they knew where the horses were at the start or when the start, starting gate opened or not. So they came to Newhaven to look for a signaller or signallers. One of my best friends was a signaller so he said you come, he said you can do the transport, so I used to take the transport, it lasted for about three or four days. We would take two men down to the start of the racecourse, and two men at the finish with Aldis lamps because there was no speakers as such, and they would signal when the horses were ready to go off, to start, they would signal to us they’re off and then obviously we knew if they’d won or lost so we had a good few days, three or four days with that. But going back to that American we saved he piled cigarettes, whatever, in a day or two the CO sent down. I didn’t smoke, it didn’t matter to me, but one of the do-gooders there tried to put the block on it, to say you know you didn’t do it for, for cigarettes. Obviously we didn’t do it for that but that was his kindness to do it wasn’t it. I would have liked to have met that American some time.
DM: Yeah, I suppose all the people you rescued you don’t really know what became of them after they walked off your boat, that was it, they were gone.
LP: Yeah. We used to have something about the size of that polished wood and every rescue you’d put on you’d put a roundel on, you know, RAF roundel, you’d stick one of those on and we had that on the.
DM: Did you used to put a swastika on when you rescued a German? [Laugh]
LP: No, we didn’t put a swastika on, no. We had two Germans, two particular Germans. One German, I had only been there a short time. He was in the water or in a dinghy. We picked him up and he had the sense enough when he’d baled out he’d wrenched his leg and his leg I don’t know, was half off or half on the sense enough to have tourniquets round his thighs. We saved him. There you are, years and years ago.
DM: Yes, 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 Lawrence Henry di Placito. One
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Meanwell
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-02-09
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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AdiPlacitoLH170209, PdiPlacitoLH1701
Format
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01:27:39 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
United States Army Air Force
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
British Army
Royal Navy
Royal Air Force. Coastal Command
Description
An account of the resource
Lawrence di Placito served as a second-class coxswain on the RAF Air Sea Rescue launches during the Second World War. He was born in Chertsey and attended Egham grammar school where he was a member of the cadet force. Upon leaving school in 1936 he was employed with the Post Office as a clerk/telephonist. Early in 1939 he joined the 6th Battalion East Surrey (Territorial Army). Lawrence went through military training, but he was told he would not be allowed to remain in the unit because of his Italian parents.
At the outbreak of war, he left the Post Office and was employed building naval vessels at a boat yard on the Thames in Chertsey. It was here that he first heard about RAF Air Sea Rescue, which he successfully enrolled into. Following training at various establishments he was posted to Newhaven on High Speed Launch 190 as a gunner.
Lawrence describes rescue operations: a Spitfire leading them to an airman in a dinghy; a Wellington aircrew rescued close to Le Havre on 17 July 1943; a German wireless operator who baled out from a downed Ju 88 and his parachute being divided amongst the crew, and finally rescuing the United States serviceman T G Giles who baled out of a P-38.
Occasionally they would come across mines that had broken free. These would be guarded until the Navy arrived and detonated them. This would result in the surface being covered in stunned fish which the crew would be able to scoop up.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Chertsey
England--Great Yarmouth
England--Newhaven
England--Bedfordshire
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
France
France--Le Havre
England--Norfolk
England--Surrey
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-07-17
1944-03-16
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Ian Whapplington
Anne-Marie Watson
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
air sea rescue
animal
bale out
ground personnel
Ju 88
military living conditions
military service conditions
Nissen hut
P-38
RAF Cardington
RAF Great Yarmouth
shot down
Spitfire
sport
Walrus
Wellington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/832/10823/PGardnerHS1701.1.jpg
f02b7da4e2822a666278417321f431bc
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/832/10823/AGardnerHS171101.2.mp3
260ed726b523710ad64342a7d84b1015
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
Gardner, Harold Stanley
H S Gardner
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Harold Gardner (1923 - 2022, 1801381, 2606144 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a navigator with 106 and 189 Squadrons.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2017-11-01
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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.
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Gardner, HS
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DM: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is David Meanwell. The interviewee is Hal Gardner. The interview is taking place at Mr Gardner’s home in Saltdean, Sussex on the 1st of May 2017. Hal, could you say a bit about where you were born and your early life?
[recording paused]
DM: I’ll just make a correction to the date we are recording. It’s the 1st of November 2017. Thank you. Ok Hal, so if you could talk a bit about your, where you were born and growing up.
HG: I was born in Brighton. I’m a Brightonian and my father got a house after we’d had a flat initially because my mother, we, I had a sister of course a bit younger than myself and we started living in Brighton at Bevendean. Initially I went to school at St John’s School in Brighton until I was about eleven and then I sat the Eleven Plus Examination. Didn’t quite make the Grammar School but I had to sit again and I was an in between person and they put me in to the Brighton Intermediate School close to St Peter’s Church. That was my starting back to school. A very good school. I learned quite a lot. Good masters, good school and I progressed up to about fourteen when suddenly when I was on holiday, my father was in the Brighton and Hove General Worthing Gas Company in those days said he wanted to get me in to the Gas Company. And I had a few tears. I said, but I was fourteen then I wanted to be in the bank. He said, ‘Well, I think this is going to be what I think for you.’ And he, what he basically, sent me right from Hampshire on a coach on my own to sit this examination in Brighton and which I passed with a lot of other guys and I think there was about twenty at the time. And I was taken as an apprentice on Brighton and Hove And Worthing Gas Company in 1937. I wasn’t happy in the circumstances because I didn’t want to be in the Gas Company. But however, I got on with it and we were taught the trade, suppliers of gas, of how to make pipes fitted. How to make metres fitted. All the things you would know and I progressed from them up ‘til when I was about seventeen going with a skilled fitter to learn the trade. At seventeen I was called suddenly for no reason. I still do not know the reason. I was called by the, Ray Hanson, technical manager and he said, in his office, he said, ‘Gardner,’ he says, ‘We’re going to put you in the showroom.’ Now if you think that was around about 1940 just about the war time I couldn’t understand why they picked me because there was about fifteen all doing the same trade. Why they wanted me to go in the showroom. Never answered that unless they thought perhaps I was smarter I don’t know. Anyway, I was put in this showroom at Church Street which is still there these days although it’s a café now. And I went there first and when I got there I was quite surprised because apart from me in the showroom there were other more senior men and that was for selling gas cookers, selling gas fires. It was a totally different thing than I ever thought about. Anyway, I progressed quite well in there and I liked it. And suddenly of course about that year 1940 which was, that was in, we had the Battle of Britain then if I remember and what happened then was the government abandoned the Air Defence Cadet Corps and brought in the Air Training Corps that year I think. So I knew I was getting that I was seventeen that I probably would want to be called up because I was in Brighton and could see all the Spitfires. And that was with a lot of other guys. We just wanted, we thought this is something we could do. Fly a Spitfire. And so I had two, a couple of months I think in the Air Cadets and then I volunteered for training in the Royal Air Force. Now, to fly in the Royal Air Force in those days you had to volunteer. You could not be called up. So, I mean we were all or the ones that also went along we were all excited. What we were all thinking, so many of the lads of my age then thought yeah, a Spitfire. I mean it’s still a wonderful aircraft. And so we, we, you know we were accepted on the Air Force as air crew on a PNB scheme which is a pilot, navigator, bomb aimer scheme and I think it was, let me see I was eighteen. I think about 1941 I was called up and went to St John’s Wood in London with a lot of other Air Cadets and there we had basic training. One of the first thing I noticed too was in their uniform, in their glengarry hats we had a white flash which denoted that we were aircrew and had volunteered. So, of course it gave us a bit of an uplift of that and we thought we were the cats whiskers you know. Anyway, so I went then and got basic training in London. Sent to ITW, Initial Training Wing in Newquay and learned all the basics of navigation. A bit about flying. A bit about all aspects of the Air Force and as we were going to be aircrew the ones that were going to be pilots or wanted to be pilots were sent to Sywell in Nottingham after we’d passed the exams in Newquay. And we all did about one trip I think in a Tiger Moth and from that very trip they then sent me back to Manchester. Heaton Park where there was hundreds of air crew. All of us waiting to be posted somewhere for flying. Either in Canada or in South Africa. Those were the two main things. I was given the chance and went to Canada. And we were sent to Glasgow and got on a ship there. That was Queen Elizabeth Two. No. When is, that can’t be the Queen Elizabeth. I think the Queen Mary. It was the biggest ship in those times and there was about six of us in the cabin. We thought we were great then because going across to Canada in that escorted by Spitfires I mean we were quite happy. And then we got to Canada just about Christmas. On December the 19th 1942 that would be. December ’42. We got to Canada but we started actually in Canada in to the New Year of ’43 so really started operating as a Cadet about, I think it was January ’43 in a place called Bowden near Calgary. I spent about three months there flying like with the other chaps. I could take off and land with a, with an instructor with me but I just couldn’t get the feel of the aircraft. I mean if you learned to drive you know and you’re on the ground and you want to stop, you want to do something and change you would stop but of course when you’re flying you’ve got to think of exactly what you were doing. It wasn’t me and I had to check with the chief flying instructor who said, ‘Look —’ He said, ‘Well, you’re not doing too bad.’ So I said, ‘What options have I got?’ He said, ‘Well, you got either navigator or bombardier.’ So I said, ‘I think I’ll take a navigator.’ Now, having said this I was still green. I really didn’t know what the syllabus was until I was posted to an Air Observer’s School in Edmonton, Canada. A very nice place run by the Canadians and met another, a lot of Englishmen and we were on a course for flying. Hadn’t been in there long when I fell, we were playing basketball and I fell and broke a wrist and that put me back and I couldn’t get back to that same course. So they put me on to a course of Australians and New Zealanders. I couldn’t have done better. They were a great bunch. I like the Australians and New Zealanders. Anyway, I I worked on that particular course with them until we’d done enough training and enough ground work and enough flying and then we had the exams and I did quite well. I had about eight, I’ve got my logbook, I did eighty percent on ground work and seventy three percent on flying. Now, why I say that is because when all those courses went, were finalised two got commissions in each course. As a parallel course with ours the Australians and the New Zealanders there was a Canadian course and everything, everybody got seventy percent and they got, they got commissioned. And I was upset in a way because I didn’t get it purely because on my course there were two Australian officers who were ground staff and had transferred to flying and their, their marks were below us. Below mine. However, because of the way the situation was I didn’t get one. We already got two commissioned so I was disappointed. Anyway, forget that. I got on with the job and it was a difficult job. One I’d never, I mean I didn’t have the schooling perhaps than a lot of others. I wasn’t Grammar School and I wasn’t university but I worked hard and it was, it was a wonderful position. It was demanding, interesting. And of course, I come back. I graduated as you can see me there. Directly I got to this country I was posted to Dumfries to fly Anson aircraft as a navigator in this country and get used to some of the weather conditions we would, I would expect in flying in this country. I had a week there and then after that I was posted to I think it was initial, I think it was an OTU, no. Not an OTU. Let me see. I can’t quite remember what that was. Anyway, it was a group where we met all other categories. We met pilots, navigators, bomb aimers, air gunners, wireless operators and we were all put in a big hangar style of place and we had to choose our own crews. Now, we were all amazed and I understand it went through for a long time this way. You know, we’re sitting around. We’re all looking and thinking how do we do this as pilots? And people went from one to the other. ‘Have you got a pilot?’ ‘Have you got a navigator?’ ‘Have you got a bomb aimer?’ Have you got this? Anyway, an Australian, strangely enough came to me. Not the one that I’d been training with and he said, ‘Would you, have you got a pilot?’ I said, ‘No.’ He said, ‘Would you like to come with me?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ Quite happy because I’ve also got, I’ve also got an Australian wireless operator.’ I said, ‘Well, that’s great.’ Anyway, we picked up, we picked up a Scottish bombardier and we picked up a Welsh rear gunner and another man and we became a crew and that’s how it was done. The whole situation, all these dozens of aircrew got their categories, got their brevies etcetera and we had to make our own and it worked marvellous. Very few of the core, the crews that formulated themselves because I’ve spoken to obviously veterans over the years since and nearly everybody was satisfied. Occasionally an odd one had to be changed though for whatever reason. I don’t know. So there we were. We got through and we were then a crew. We were then posted to an Operational Training Unit and I think that was Bruntingthorpe in Leicester as a crew. And there we picked up, we started flying together on Wellingtons which is, which is a twin engine aircraft which was quite famous in those days. A Wellington was a very good aircraft. They were well constructed. We were quite happy and we were sent off from there. I’ve got them in the book how many, any flights we had flying around England in the dark. And let’s be certain of that. England was in the dark. Oh, you saw a few lights here and there but nothing like when you get up in an airport these days when you can’t see the airport for lights and when you get up there you can see the next place you’re going to almost. So that was up to me being a navigator. And of course, the other crew go through their motions and what they had to do. Those early days of course it was really a navigator and pilot had to work very closely. Anyway, after a certain number of trips our pilot was checked and we went on then to a four engine aircraft which was a Stirling because we had to then pick up an engineer. They gave us an engineer. We didn’t pick him ourselves. And he came to us as our skipper had to learn more about the four-engine aircraft and we all did our, I mean I as navigator and the rest of the crew went with him and we did so many hours then until he was proficient and the, and the engineer was proficient. And we were then sent on to what was called then an LFS. A Lanc Finishing School. And I think, I’m trying to think where that was. Lanc Finishing School. It’s probably in my diary. We can look at that later on. And there it was all to do with the pilot learning the Lancaster which of course we had heard about and of course, and as we know from now and we did after a while it was the best aircraft going at the time. But it was just one of those, it was another aircraft and we, we all did our turn in that and whatever we were doing as navigator. The others of course although they appeared to be solitary there was so much for them to do in their jobs when they, when we were on operations. It was a crew effort. So that, we ended Lanc Finishing School and then the first thing we, then when we were all ready we were posted to 106 Squadron, Metheringham. And that’s when I started my operations.
DM: So, can you remember roughly when that was?
HG: Yes.
DM: What year at least?
HG: Shall I get my logbook out?
[recording paused]
HG: 106.
DM: Right so —
HG: At Metheringham.
DM: So you arrived at Metheringham, February ’45.
HG: ’45, yeah.
DM: On 106 Squadron.
HG: That’s it. Yes.
DM: Ok. And what happened then?
HG: Well, it was a question of they were going through all of the things they needed to do before they sent you on operation. What we basically did was, initially was a radar cross country for me specifically I think, as navigator. And then we had formation flying in March. Then we had practice bombing in March. And then we had our first operation on the 5th of March ’45 to Bohlem. B O H L E M. Bohlem Oil Refinery in Germany. On the 6th of March, the next day, ’45 we went to Sassnitz, in the Baltic to attack shipping. On the 7th of March ’45 we were in Harburg. We went to Harburg which was south of Hamburg and that was for an oil refinery. And all those were night trips. All of them were night trips to start with.
DM: Do you have any memories of the first trip? Any impressions of how it felt and what your feelings were?
HG: Well, I think I was, let me start with the Bohlem. I had a problem when we started flying. I’d better go back to [pause] let’s start before we start flying. What happened in all squadrons there was, you were called to a briefing room probably about mid-day when all the crews were assembled in the briefing room. And then you got on the platform there would be a big board and there would be a map and there would be a curtain across it you see. And then the CO or whoever was going to give the briefing, and also the Met officer and the navigator, senior navigation officer would come on and then they’d pull the sheet apart and there would be the lines going to, the tracks going to the places we were going to bomb and either the experienced men would say, ‘Oh, that’s not bad.’ Or, ‘God,’ you know. This sort of action you know. And being new we just had to sit and watch. Now, in those briefing things on 106 Squadron if you’re going from one place to another and altering courses to get to this place in Germany or wherever we’re going it needed the tracks. The tracks between one place or another before you, there was a track here and a track there. Alteration course. Normally in, we understood that the navigator would have to draw it all out and work it all out. However, that’s, that particular squadron the senior officer, navigation officer did all the plot, all the plotting, the initial ones of where we were supposed to go and we all had the same. From my memory we all had the same navigation log to start with. So in other words we always, if we’d have all done it individually we’d have had similar answers but to me it was so obvious that if we got one person who was doing it and that was the senior man we all started on the basis line. So anyway, so we got our logs all ready and they started talking about the Met that was going this, that and the other and what possibly we might meet with. Certain parts of Germany with ack ack or fighters and all the other information that one would get. And then after that we would go back and have breakfast or whatever you would like to call it. Tea. We had something to eat. And then that would start in the afternoon about two and after we’d had something to eat we’d get out to the, and of course it would be dark. As you know it was dark because it was, it was February and March. We would then be taken out by, we’d get our parachute harness, our parachute. We’d take them with us and of course with the navigator he had a green bag and all our stuff was in the green bag. That’s the stuff we had to work the navigation out on. And we’d be taken out to the aircraft, wherever, in the dark and of course everything was dark and we would wait by the aircraft for a certain time and the pilot would say, ‘Let’s get in there.’ We’d get in and everybody would start. I think it was the port engine, directly we got in the port engine because that’s the other equipment in the aircraft especially for the navigator. You would start checking. Now that, we would then have a special time for getting or going ready for going around the runway. Getting around the rest of the aerodrome to the runway we were going to take off with and we’d all be waiting anything up to about fifteen aircraft all loaded with high explosives and other bombs etcetera with us. And we’d get around and I think we were probably something like about six or seven in front of us and what was happening on the runway that’s in use, the one we’re going on there would be a caravan and an officer. A lit up caravan and an officer there to let each aircraft go. He’d flash his green light. So we should go off one at a time. Now if I say we’d go off I’d better explain that when you got ready to take off what would happen is the engineer would open up the throttles against the brakes of the, the pilot would have his foot on the brakes and on the steering columns and then the, when he was given the ok the engineer would push, push the, all the throttles open and the pilot would take command then with, with his [pause] with his [pause] —
DM: Control.
HG: Controls.
DM: The steering wheel. Control.
HG: Controls. Yes.
DM: Yes.
HG: Anyway, what then? Then the navigator helps. We did our laps. We helped the pilot. What I used to do was to read the, on my where I was sitting I had an air speed indicator and I could read the airspeed off for him so he didn’t. He got all his attention on taking off and I’d read the airspeed going from say about sixty, sixty five, seventy, eighty, eighty five and ninety, ninety five and Roy my pilot said, he didn’t say, by the way I was called Stan in the Air Force. I’ll tell you that in a moment and he’d say, ‘Stan, it’s ok now.’ And we’d take off around about a hundred. A hundred miles per hour on the, on the air speed indicator. Now, you take off in the dark and from that time onwards you virtually don’t see anybody. You’re working on your, on your chart and also your log. Everything you’ve got down. You start off with, everybody starts on the same course but of course slightly different times because of taking off. And you’d climb to a certain premeditated height which probably from memory is around about eighteen thousand feet. We didn’t, we didn’t fly any lower than that from memory. I think we had been up to nearly twenty thousand. About eighteen thousand from my memory seems to be the operations that we did anyway. And then you would go through and of course what happens then each navigator is responsible apart from the initial stuff that we all had to start with. You then, you’re hitting winds and things and of course the aircraft gets off the course a bit. And what you, the navigator is doing all the time is checking. Checking the course by, what we had was a Gee box to get fixes. Now, I’ll explain the Gee box. Basically, it was, as far as I remember it was probably it was a round green, a green [pause]
DM: Screen.
HG: Screen. A green screen with two datum lines in white going across this and on the top, I think it was two on the top, or one at the top was a station, two at the bottom, they were British stations broadcasting. No, no figures on that. Nothing. Just the screen. As you know of course I mean we hadn’t seen screens before and there was no televisions or anything and they’re the sort of screens we get now but there were screens and these two datum lines and points were where the British stations were broadcasting. They would send their signals. Now, to get a fix on that quite from memory first of all you had to use a switch and then those, those things would vanish and then you would get two blips, I think from memory on, on the lines away from each other. You’d use another switch. Got the blips together like that. Push the switch and that gave you a fix. Still no numbers. Nothing on it. Just the figures. The movements of these little things on the screen. Then to get the fix you pushed another switch and you’d go on then to another datum point. We had a line going like that and then one there, one there, one there and another big one there, one there and the same on the bottom. But on part of that there would be another small thing marked and that small thing told the navigator because you knew what all those figures were going through there because otherwise the Germans would know them. If they put them through they’d have broadcast the job. So we had to know what these figures were. Well, once we got to the end of this scene we had about four figures and we had then to go to, not the plotting chart but another chart that was all over England and the continent with lines going all like that way and all around this way and that way. And you had to find the figures you’d worked out on this screen on that particular map which gave you then a latitude and longitude which you then transferred on to your plotting chart which gave you a fix. And that fix was relative to the track you were supposed to be making this certain, this try. And you might be lucky and right on it but generally speaking it was a little off that and you checked again five or ten minutes later. You had to keep on checking, working these things out all the time to see that what you’re, that what you’re getting by radio is matching what you’ve already drawn in. And occasionally of course winds change and you’d find suddenly while these fixes you’re given are more or less parallel with your track suddenly you see one go out and you know full well then you’ve got to change your wind. Anyway, so you saw that and then you went back on and got to go back all through to get another fix to see where that is. And from that fix you then had to work out the new wind. A wind direction. And I’m not quite certain now [laughs] I used, we had a Dalton computer and from memory we drew things on this plastic thing and, and moved the slide around. Things like that. I can’t really remember exactly how I did that but anyway we got, we then got another check on that, on that wind and on the course we were, on the course we were flying. We had to alter then to make good that original line which was the track. We had to alter course to that once we worked something else out and we’d give that to the pilot. I can’t remember saying, ‘Navigator to pilot,’ which was always the thing we should do. I think, I think we called each other Christian names basically. You know, it was Roy. I mean we were perfectly happy with that. And so we flew then and very rarely did we see, occasionally you saw if someone went down in flames. You might have have seen something but and you would note it in your log but we didn’t see much I must admit. I don’t think we had initially any air attacks. However, we did go out and get through a lot of flak. There was a lot of flak and when that happened all I could remember was that it used to come up, it used to come up slow and then when going past the aircraft you just can’t believe it. It’s gone like that. And so all the time you’re getting nearer to the target and you may have had, apart from the first track you were doing and keeping log on, your course on that. Then you would get another movement to alter course to get towards the target. Perhaps a short one or another short one just to get into the target. So there was quite a lot of alterations of courses which the navigator has to deal with with the pilot. And so the navigator is busy all the time which I was grateful. I must admit I’d never done navigation before and it was, it was difficult. It was. But it was interesting, it was because when you work these things out and they, and most of them that you worked out were pretty reasonably accurate you realise you’d done a good job. And all the trips I had with the, with my crew touch wood we didn’t get lost and it was all in the dark and we come back that way. When we reached the target my state of operations of course things had changed in the way the some of the bombings were taken. We had what was called a master bomber. Bomb aimer, and he would be a very good crew and he’d be flying lower than us and he’d have to direct the aircraft coming in on to certain flares that may be dropping from other aircraft. ‘Bomb on the green flares,’ or something like that. Or other factors came into that which he’d give instructions to the pilot as to what they should do and what they shouldn’t do. And then sometimes at the end he may have, may say to you, ‘Main stream finish. Stop bombing and return home.’ Or something like this and then you, you’d find all your tracks going and the tracks coming back weren’t the same. You had to go a different way so you couldn’t, well I wouldn’t say you couldn’t, you couldn’t cheat anyway with navigation. You’ve got to do each one as you come. And then you get back after an operation and there again we were lucky, of course. One or two didn’t come back but when we got back to the aerodrome, also when you think that we’re it’s an aerodrome in a field in Lincolnshire and all these others coming back. We get back and find if we were, if we were perhaps about on time we’d give instructions to the pilot. You get the instructions to land. On the other hand if we were perhaps a bit late and perhaps you were a new crew we’d be given instruction from the, the control tower. I think our aircraft was M for Mabel. Mabel. I think we had some other name for it. Anyway, you would fly Angels 9 and so we had to keep up at nine thousand feet going around in circle to there and we were given a number until our number was called so we would go in and land. That’s how they got rid of so many aircraft coming. They couldn’t all come in at one time. And that was the end of an operation and from then onwards obviously we were picked up in the aerodrome and taken to debriefing with intelligence officers. And I can always remember that because we’d get a drink of coffee or whatever it was and cigarettes. Well, of course all the boys go. I didn’t smoke. Someone else. I took them for somebody else. No. I never smoked. I didn’t like smoking. I never did. That was great. And so that was the end of one operation. So we’ll have a breather?
DM: So up ‘til now I think I’m right in saying your operations had been at night but you then started to do some daylight raids. What was the first one of those?
HG: Well, the first one I’ve got in there is the Essen raid which was an extremely big raid. We did, we didn’t really know that until we got there because I’ve got it here marked one thousand. But as we’ve seen from the, there was, there was actually one thousand and seventy nine aircraft which was the biggest one, a thousand bomber raids in the war. But the point was that there had been thousand bomber raids way back in ’62. This was the biggest one.
DM: ’42. Back in ’42.
HG: ’42. Yes. What did I say?
DM: ’62.
HG: Yeah. ’42. There had been thousand but then they weren’t using necessarily bomber squadrons. They were using OTUs, Operational Training Units to make them up. When Bomber Harris decided he’d have a thousand bomber raid he had to, had to scrape the aircraft from all over the country. But these other, this last one of course there were seven hundred and fifty Lancasters, two ninety three Halifaxes and thirty six Mosquitoes of all bomber groups. This was the largest number of aircraft sent to a target so far in the war. Three Lancasters were lost. We lost three on that raid. I remember in particular I think one of our squadron got, he didn’t get shot down, I think that’s when I saw one from there, the gunner, the rear gunner a big cookie which was a tremendous big explosive bomb dropped from above and knocked off. I think knocked off the tail of one of the other squadrons. That’s how one of them was lost that way. It was not, it wasn’t shot down by the Germans. But it does say there was three gone. I don’t know what the other reasons were. Four thousand six hundred and sixty one tonnes of bombs were dropped. The accurate, was accurate and this [grey blue] virtually paralysed Essen until the American troops entered the city sometime later. Essen’s recording system produced no proper reports but eight hundred and ninety seven people were said to have been killed which is not too happy for them but there we are. That was war. I know. So that was the biggest daylight and we did have a daylight again close to that to Dortmund the next day. That was another daylight but I’ve got nothing, I can’t remember anything about that one except it's in the log. Five hours thirty. And then we did go to the, 27th of March, getting to the end of March went to Farge marshalling yards. I can’t remember much. I can’t remember that one at all. So that then I think [pause – pages turning] and then we did have one very last night flight again. Nearly nine hours. Eight forty five and we went to Pilsen in Czechoslovakia. And I did see a note here we were diverted Harwell. I think that one when we came back we got diverted when we come back to England because I remember we were coming back in daylight in the end and I remember standing up and had a look back and all the, all the Lancs were coming all at different [laughs] behind us. Anyway, as far as I can remember then and then we left. Of course, we left, we left Coningsby, well thinking about it we left via [pause] we left Metheringham shortly afterwards.
DM: Were you told why you were leaving?
HG: No.
DM: You were told to go.
HG: And that’s what staggers me. All I can think of quite simply only since not then. Since other things have cropped up through life that at that particular time we did know about there was going to be a Tiger Squadron because they were going to attack Japan and I understand 106 was the squadron I found out afterwards was one squadron they wanted to go to Japan. Now, having said that because we had two Australians and I can’t remember whether they said anything. They may have said well they didn’t want, they didn’t want to go. At least to volunteer. This was going to be volunteer stuff and I think they wanted to get back to Australia and I can only think that was the one reason for to just send us off at the very end to just do one raid with a squadron we knew nothing about. I digress quickly here because only last week a public relations lady that deals with us veterans said an Australian wanted to phone me because I was on 189 Squadron and he wanted to know something about the squadron. And I said, ‘Well, yes. I was on it for one month and I can’t remember. I can only just remember that raid.’ And I mean we were there almost, and I mean one month was nothing. I couldn’t remember much about that.
DM: So you were sent to Bardney, changed a squadron, did one raid.
HG: Oh, yeah one thing, yes. I did one. When we were coming from Bardney I still remember my Australian pilot, he’d been commissioned. He was, he was a flying officer now and I remember him he going on all the courses and he had all our reports with him and he said I’d been recommended for a commission then. So I knew full well really that I should have had it. Personally it was only one of these things, unfortunate things, not because I didn’t deserve it because that’s how the system worked. There was two officers already in the course and they wouldn’t give any more. That’s how, you know that’s, so that was, I wasn’t very happy. And someone else, I saw another chap who was on the course originally said and I met him another somewhere along the line flying somewhere because of course between these sort of bombing raids of course we used to do trips. I’d take a squadron leader to somewhere. To another, you know nothing with my crew. He wanted a navigator and I’d do that for him and take him somewhere where he wanted. And so it’s all sorts of other things you know. Different things happened.
DM: Earlier on you said that you were called Stan.
HG: Yeah.
DM: When you were in the air. Why was that?
HG: Well, I go back to what we talked when I said I didn’t like my name Harold [laughs] I didn’t like it then and so I told the crew, you know, ‘I’m Stan.’ And so that’s how I, that’s right ‘til the end of the war. And so that was that. I don’t know what my mum thought about. I don’t think she worried very much. My father was in the First World War. He got in in 1914 and he got away with that but he died quite young. He had a, he wasn’t, he got shot in his finger I think but he other troubles. He died when he was about fifty nine I think. I’m sorry about that because I’d have liked him to have seen that I got through because he was still alive when I got back and I always remember he never asked me anything much [laughs] I don’t know why. At least I can’t remember if they asked me anything. I wasn’t such a jawbag then. I didn’t say so very much. Anyway, I just remember I came home to my mother and my sister and that was it, you know.
DM: So the war ended.
HG: Yes.
DM: You didn’t go to Japan because —
HG: No.
DM: I don’t think anybody did in the end.
HG: No. They didn’t. No. That was all gone.
DM: You didn’t go to India or anything like that.
HG: No. I didn’t.
DM: No.
HG: No. I —
DM: Did you make any, what did you do in the immediate aftermath of the war before you were demobbed? Can you remember?
HG: I don’t think there was anything in here. Wait a minute.
DM: Pause that a minute.
[recording paused]
DM: As a navigator on a Lancaster you were in your cubicle so you hadn’t got a view of what was going on outside. That’s, that’s right, isn’t it?
That’s right. You wouldn’t call it a cubicle. I’ll show you in a moment.
DM: Yeah.
On the wall I’ve got in the hall.
DM: Right. But anyway you couldn’t see —
HG: No. I couldn’t.
DM: What was going on.
HG: I was, I was, I was facing that way to the port engine with, well I’ve got my legs to here.
DM: Right. So looking out over the left hand side basically.
HG: Yeah. Well, my face was that way because all the stuff was in front of me. I’ll show you. I’ll show it to you in the hall. Yeah. Carry on.
DM: So did you ever get to sort of pop up in to the astrodome or or have a look out through the cockpit and see what was going on?
HG: I didn’t go up on the astrodome. I did go into the cockpit occasionally just to have a look around and got back quick. I think it was, I think it was over Essen when I looked out there because I looked down and we were bombing Essen through cloud. We had what they called Oboe which was I think the markers, I don’t know what, I think it was called Oboe and we had to bomb through cloud. All I could see down in Essen and I can always remember that. Looked down and it well it would have been eighteen thousand twenty thousand feet. Whatever. And it was just one, one mass of smoke. Couldn’t see Essen. I don’t know whether it was covered in anyway tremendous mile of well obviously it was you know we were, bombed in there. It was, that’s all I remember. Other times when we were flying friendly stuff and we had to go for another aerodrome to drop something or take somebody I can often remember going up the front with the pilot you know. We could set them on course and give them the course and know exactly what that was. Well obviously, I could know what we were going to do given the first course and go back and check on the next course if I wanted to stay up there with him and have a look around. We [laughs] I can always remember too the bomb aimer going up to the front there, having an argument, and he was Scottish with Roy. They saw a plane. They was just flying in England and he saw it and they were arguing whether it was above us or below us. Little things like that, you know. Crew stuff like that. And also we come back from, we were flying over England once going from east to west and I registered three hundred miles an hour which was, a Lanc did about a hundred fifty. We did. And in those days three hundred miles an hour was like a, almost like a Spitfire. But it was quite good. I remember that. And also we came back from coming back in the dark somewhere again on an ordinary trip and we had to do in Lancasters it was all part of the training for the pilot and his crew and everything else. You had to do certain things. Fly here. Fly there. And coming back I remembered we lost an engine over England. We lost an engine. We would come back on three engines but really nothing, no problem there because a Lanc could fly on one or two I think. They were quite good. And you see I have to look, I look back because I’ve met so many veterans and I know the sort of number of ops they’ve done and I know full well John Nichol who was after the war an officer used to fly I forget what they [pause] Tornadoes, something like that. When we bombed Iraq, you know. Saddam Hussein. Saddam Hussein and he called, he called the people who bombed before ’44, that was when D-Day occurred those that bombed after that were, what did he call them now? Tail End Charlies. Now, that was the term, terminology the, I think the fighters used that. The chap that used to have with fighters going into, more or less going into action they’d have a chap flying all into the back of them like this. Connected you know. And he was a Tail End Charlie to just protect their back to see what was coming along. There are so many, so many things you know that that happened and you hear of all sorts of things. And I know full well that that, I mean we came, I mean in that it took me all that time to get on operations and for the rest of the crew and it all really started because of failing as a pilot. I wasted half a dozen months in Canada. Well, not to say wasted like. Canada was a nice place. I wasted six months there trying to be a pilot and never did and so if I’d have got gone straight to a navigator I would much on squadron fire quicker and I might not be here. There’s an, there’s an awful luck I feel about it. Even so, even that’s one at Essen. We still lose. Apparently, I’ve got something even from the times I was flying from from roughly from January whatever it is up to when we ever finished flying we still lost, Bomber Command still lost about seven hundred aircraft. All of the other squadrons and so many other squadrons we were still, still lost a lot of guys. So we, you know, I think all of us at my stage of the game think we are really lucky but the other guys, some of the ones I’ve been we met. I mean they all know full well, I know full well first of all they were good pilots or crews, they were good crews. The training we had was good. There’s no doubt about it. The training we had was good. I mean to teach me navigation which I only went to an ordinary school wasn’t easy but it had to be the fact you wanted to do it. You had to do. And so to that end Bomber Command and ever since then you know I’ve been with veterans who have done a lot more and there’s no question there’s any difference between because I didn’t do as much. It’s not my fault. I had a longer time. No. It would have been more difficult. Put it that way.
DM: So before you came out you did some non-flying things.
HG: Yes.
DM: I think. What did you do?
HG: Well, there were basically, they were filling in time I think. Well, waiting for the Australians to go home and we look at them. Let me see. 18 Squadron, Bardney. That’s the funny thing. Twice I’ve got that for Fulbeck. Each one after the, after the last bombing raid in the war at night time. Six and a half hours. It wasn’t very far to Norway. Fighter affiliation. High level bombing. We used to do high level bombing. There was a place in, somewhere near the east coast where we used to take the aircraft, all of us and used to do practice bombs. And I always remember too one of those practice bombs we, our bomb aimer of course he, and by the way let’s get back. I’ve never mentioned the bomb aimer because he’d got his own particular job. However, in that squadron they did, we did have the bomb aimer sit with the navigator at times because the screen I told you originally because of those things up above the Germans used to put more and more of them. So he’d sit with me and make certain what was happening. If there was any others. And of course, we had also, I haven’t mentioned that, perhaps I should have done its come to me now and I’ll show you on the passage in a minute. Other side there was another screen. We had, underneath the aircraft we’d got a bulge and that was I forget the equipment there but that was giving us a picture in my, where I was operating from showed the contours of the land. In other words when you, if you went over Brighton you’d see the sea line and that sort going around to over to Dover and that sort of thing. It gave a picture and we could, I can’t remember how we did that we could get a fix off that to get a put on our charts. I can’t quite remember exactly that one. That’s another thing you know. And of course, the high level bombing. Well, that’s this. They’re filling up time here. Look at this. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven or eight there and I mean they sent the Australians home. Map reading. I’d done a lot of map reading. I mean we’d been doing high level bombing. Bassingham. That was another one. Only one hour forty. Just trips to waste time I think. Air to sea firing which we, oh yes. I can remember that. And we went over the North Sea and of course all this has to be combined with other, other squadrons who were close by and but of course you were given times of course for this and I always remember air to sea firing. Well, I don’t think my gunners ever had to fire in anger from memory. But when we were in this air to sea firing they were allowed to go. We had to attack something in the North Sea that was floating. I can’t remember. They all had, the rear gunner had a go and the mid-upper had to have a go. It was almost laughable because we killed ourselves laughing because the pilots, from memory I think even he said he offered them, I think even in those days five pound or something and no one missed them laughs] Formation flying. Yeah. Well, one hour five minutes on the 7th of April. January, February, March, April, May. Now, I’ve got something I might just mention about —
DM: So, before you left the Royal Air Force —
HG: Yes.
DM: I think you were sent to Cardington.
HG: That’s right. Yes.
DM: What did you do there?
HG: Well, I was put in charge of, apparently a lot of recruits were put there. Aircrew recruits and all wanted of course to fly and I had roughly about I think twenty or thirty in one, one block of the place there at Cardington and I had to look after them. Its strange there because one of the young men his, he was there and I think my wife knew him strangely enough but he was only just trying to join the Air Force and it was a lost cause really. I don’t think he, because I, well I did know about him. The next time I saw him he was playing for Brighton Football Club. And so I was just, it was what was it really? It was just something for me to do. And that’s like when we, I said my gunner and my bomb aimer went to, I think East Africa to learn to drive. They were giving us all odd jobs. I can’t possibly because they, they couldn’t get all of us demobbed there were so many of us. I mean Army, Navy, Air Force and I think they just pushed us around a bit until they had a chance to, to get us on to some place and get a demob suit and send us off. I wish there was a stalling arrangement by the government because of the number they wanted to get rid of. So, so it was, it was quite simple and I mean I could travel home from there and I quite enjoyed doing a job like that. I think I’d probably got a few raspberries from some of the younger ones. It was just a time waster really. I did, I mean I know it was Air Force and I was, obviously I wanted to get out of it now. I didn’t want to because these young chaps wanted to fly of course. What happened to them I don’t know. It was just a question again of something to pass. Being warrant officer, you know to look after them. See if they behaved themselves, I suppose.
DM: And when did you actually leave the Air Force? What date?
HG: Well —
DM: Effectively. So —
HG: That I don’t know. I would say it was, wait a minute [pause] I would say it was, yeah effectively discharged on the 25th of November 1946.
DM: Right.
HG: That would be it. The other one is, is when I got enlisted in the Royal Air Force Reserve in 1949 or whatever it was.
DM: What did you do after you left the Air Force?
HG: Well, I went straight back to my business. British, no it wasn’t British Gas. It was still Brighton, no. let me see. Let me try and think. I think it was —
DM: I think it was ’48 when it was nationalised.
HG: Yeah. So it would still be at Brighton And Hove General Gas Company and I went back and from memory I went back straight into the showroom. They put me straight back in the showroom. I’m just trying, I’m still trying to remember that. I can’t believe anything else other than show. I certainly, I can’t remember anything else other than the showroom. Yes. Yeah. I’m sure I went straight back into the showroom trying to get used to the equipment and all the things that happened even though I was only a few years away. See how the gas cooking and fires etcetera had progressed and, and shortly after that and I don’t know how many months it was the Gas Company advertised they wanted representatives to go in to meet people. To go around to premises to get gas. And I got out of the showroom then and I applied for that and I got as a representative. At the same time funnily enough there was several others, another two Air Force chaps I think both were ground staff chaps went the same, did the same thing and we became representatives from British Gas and were given an area to introduce gas to people and see builders. See what we could do with them. And I started that and I went on for a long long time as an ordinary representative which I enjoyed. In those early days of course we had to come, I had to come out as far as this place. It wasn’t as built up. Saltdean wasn’t as built up as it is now and in fact myself and one of the senior officers in British Gas, an older man than me we managed, there wasn’t much gas in this area and we managed to get there was supply right over the side and we had to get it right down the middle of Saltdean and once we started that and I was doing a lot with customers, builders to selling gas because what was happening in the world or in Britain was everything was going to be electric. They wanted all everything was going to be electric. They didn’t win. The gas took over and then we had oil coming in which we had to fight them to get and they had these old boilers to start with and we then we managed to get over the oil business because people had this oil in tanks in their gardens and that became problems and they were dirty things and and we were on the up. Gas was on the up. On the up. What was I saying then? It was, it was getting a hold. The representatives and all of us were, we weren’t all aircrew. One or two were and others were one or two Army and that sort of thing and we were doing our best to sell. We did a good job and we got a hold on and the gas built up from them days when we started that and then I used to come out here. And we used to have to go by bus in those days. We had to get by bus all smartly dressed. Smart dress. And if you wanted to get back in the office you had to find a phone box you see and walk to it [laughs] and put your four pence in. But then it was becoming good then. I become a senior in that department and then afterwards I wanted to get on better so I transferred to our commercial department which gave me instead of domestic houses I was dealing with places like hotels and police stations and all the big commercial buildings etcetera and also for restaurants and cafés. All the stuff where we were getting more money in of course. And I had that for some time and of course by that time we were given cars, or at least we bought cars and they’d paid us money for them. And then I wanted to get on further than that. I saw what I was doing as a commercial representative and then I applied with all the other commercial reps, some were Air Force, some were whatever they were. All were similar ages and we all wanted this job. I wanted to be, I wanted to be a management and I applied for management and I become an assistant manager. I always remember the, I had an appointment in London and there was several other guys there. I didn’t know them other than they were Londoners and we had to have an interview and one chap came out. He wanted me to talk about whatever they wanted me to talk about. I can’t remember that. And I said, and he said, ‘I’m giving up.’ I thought, giving up? I’m not giving up. So I went in to this when I had my interview. I can’t remember what it was but I had to talk about something and, and it also reminded me because when I got my commission as a PO, pilot officer and I think that was when after the war I had to address a lot of other officers and I had to stand on the front and talk about something or other. So so I suppose that’s when my talking started. In the business of gas and I did alright. I got the, I was an assistant, assistant industrial commercial sales manager and I enjoyed that. I enjoyed that right to the end and I retired in this place.
DM: Looking back did you enjoy your days in Bomber Command?
HG: Yes. Now, I sometimes mention that often with people I enjoy the navigator. I said, no that’s the wrong thing. Let’s be honest I was bloody frightened at times. I mean, no. Let’s put it this way I liked it because I was involved. I was doing something. I could, I could not have been a gunner but I couldn’t have sat there in my young days just sitting there and it was difficult for them. Especially for nine hours you’re sitting there watching the dark all the time. Very difficult. I had to work. Great. I liked and I still like working. I still, I’m now in my age now that, well I do a lot of work. I do have help but I still, touch wood I can still walk. I press myself. I think I’ve done that right all the time. I’m not wanting to be, I don’t think I’ve ever been lazy. Put it this way. And so to that end I’ve been lucky but yeah navigator, well any aircrew there was a worry you know. The times when everybody was silent because they were worrying about this and that and I mean I was silent because it was my, me doing of course navigating and touch wood I did all right. I was assessed afterwards as average. Now that’s great because one has to think that all there were some great aircrew. I know that some of the flights they were great and some of the navigators were great but of course the pilots were even so and they were extremely good, extremely good individuals of course. I couldn’t match with them. But there were so many of us were average and did average things except and went a lot on bombs and of course lost a lot of lives and all of us it was dangerous. But when you were doing that you hear things but you’ve got you’ve got a mind on what you’re doing here. So it was great to be involved and working. Now, you know it wasn’t enjoyable but it was worthwhile.
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 Harold Stanley Gardner
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Meanwell
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
2017-11-01
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.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AGardnerHS171101, PGardnerHS1701
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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01:03:36 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Harold Gardner was a navigator on 106 Squadron based at RAF Metheringham during the final months of World War 2. Known throughout his RAF career as Stan, he was born in Brighton. In 1937 when 14-years-old, his father arranged employment for him with the Brighton Gas Company. Enthralled watching Spitfires flying over the South Coast, Stan volunteered for pilot, navigator, bomb aimer training in 1941 with the RAF. After initial training he was deployed to Canada for pilot training. Although advancing on the course to take-off and landing solo, Stan was uncomfortable in the pilot role and he requested a move to navigator training. After graduating, he returned to the UK and following progression though Operational Training Unit and Lancaster Finishing School, Stan was posted to 106 Squadron in February 1945, with his first operation on the 5th March. He provides a detailed account of the procedure's navigators followed to ensure the aircraft remained on course, including constantly plotting their position and corrections from varying winds. Following the end of hostilities, Stan found himself posted to RAF Cardington in charge of aircrew recruits before being demobilised in 1946, when he returned to his career in the gas industry.
Contributor
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Ian Whapplington
Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-12-19
1945-03-05
1945-03-07
1945-03-27
1946-11-25
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
Germany
Great Britain
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Alberta--Calgary
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Brighton
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hamburg
106 Squadron
aircrew
bombing
demobilisation
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
military service conditions
navigator
Operational Training Unit
RAF Cardington
RAF Metheringham
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/931/11289/ALonghurstWJ180407.1.mp3
424c626566a83d4f46af2bc68695d0e3
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
Longhurst, William Joseph
W J Longhurst
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Bill Longhurst (b.1924, 1874159 Royal Air Force). He served as a flight mechanic with 620 squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-04-07
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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Longhurst, WJ
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DB: This is Denise Boneham and today I am interviewing William, Bill Longhurst, and today’s date is the 7th of April 2018 and it is currently 14.10. Bill, would you like to tell me a little bit about your life involved with the RAF?
BL: Certainly. Certainly, I volunteered for the RAF when I was just turned seventeen and a half, because I didn’t want to go in the Army. I was, had been in the Air Defence Cadet Corps, 1552 Squadron, Hackney Wick for two years and had decided that that’s where I would like to go, so when I got, I went to Euston Road Recruitment Centre, volunteered, had my medical and was awaiting to hear, my calling up, but before I got my calling up for the RAF I had a calling up paper for the army, or so I thought for the army. When I got to the Territorial Centre at Leytonstone after I had a medical, I went to see the reception, reception party there and I said, ‘could you tell me why I’ve been, received these calling up papers to come here?’ They said, ‘well, because you have your calling up for the army.’ I said, ‘Oh well I’m not,’ I said, ‘I’ve already volunteered for the RAF.’ He said, ‘have you been, got your papers?’ So I said, ’No.’ So he said, ‘well evidently they don’t want you.’ So I got a bit annoyed at that and thought what could I do? Well I walked away from the person interviewing me and I got called by one of the other interviewers, which was the second one along, and he called me over and he said, ‘there is an RAF officer along the corridor, about the fourth door on the left,’ he said, ‘go and, go along there,’ he said, ‘knock at the door and have a chat with him.’ Which I did. When I went along and knocked on the door and was asked to go in. I said sure enough I said there was a pilot officer sitting at the desk and he said,’ Can I help you?’ and I said, ‘yes, very much.’ I said, ‘because I volunteered for the RAF, I said, ‘I’ve been in the Air Defence Cadet Corps, which is changed to the Air Training Corps,’ I said, ‘and they’ve just told me now that I’ve been called up for the army.’ So he said, ‘that’s’ ridiculous, we can’t have that can we? We can’t lose someone like yourself.’ So he took full particulars and sure enough, I got my call up papers for the RAF. I, when I called up, I said, I called up and had to go to Bedford, and Cardington at Bedford, and when we got there, I said most of the people who lived around London I said, were called up and put in the billets. And the corporal come along, sorted us out in groups and we was marched off to get kitted out, with a greatcoat only. And I thought well that looks funny, this thing, this greatcoat fitted me twice! So I said, I said to the chap ‘this not my greatcoat surely!’ ‘Don’t worry.’ He said’ ‘you’re only going to get your photograph taken. So the next thing we did, we went along, and the chap draw the number, he had the one, he drew my number 187459 and I had to carry this piece of board, I said and sat down and do me greatcoat up, and I said you know I looked ridic, stuck, had a big greatcoat. Anyway, held the number in front and was told you know, no smiling, just look straight ahead. The photograph was taken and that was that, that was my first day at Cardington. On the evening, the chap came along, and was a sergeant this time, and he said, ‘right,’ he says, ‘you won’t be, tomorrow morning,’ he said, ‘you’ll be leaving here,’ he said, ‘so we’ll be kitting you out first,’ he said, then ‘with the kit,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be boarding the train which goes from the, there’s a halt specially for recruits.’ And he said, ‘by the way anybody live in London?’ He said, ‘there’s a poss’, oh everybody put their hand up, I said that’s great he said where’s the aerodrome you’d like to be? Well, being I lived in east London, I thought Hornchurch. I said, ‘I’d like to be at Hornchurch.’ There’s another couple of chaps also wanted and they were all saying all sorts of aerodromes which surrounded London, couple of you’s going to be very lucky then tomorrow. So the next morning when we rose, we got kit and then we marched on to the square which was quite close to where the halt was, and the train came in and eventually we climbed aboard the train and off we took. All the names of the stations during the war was taken down, so we didn’t know which way, where we were going, so we went to the, went away from the halt and on to the main line station and we started heading away to wherever we were destined to stop. We carried on along the track for some miles but no one could see or could remember which way we were going, [cough] and eventually one of the chaps turned round and said, ‘I’m afraid we’re not going towards London at all, we’re away somewhere else.’ So we all guessing, had a guessing game until finally [emphasis] we pulled in to Skegness. Now Skegness was a, when we got off the train there we were then marched straight away to have a meal and when we’d had our meal, we had to then form up outside and the corporal was there, they were drill corporals, they picked us, sorted us into sections and we were marched off to various places were our billets. Now the first ones that we went to was in Drummond Road in Skegness and that was a four-storey house, ex, people, you know, people that went there for holidays, right next to a place called the Arcadia: that was a theatre. And that’s where we were until half way through our training when we was transferred round on to the Windsor Hotel which was on the sea front. Now that was very good there, very good, big rooms and we were in the front room down stairs which was evidently a dining room which had beds in this time. [cough] We had these, our vaccinations and other, other inoculations and I unfortunately got vaccine fever and I was confined for twenty four hours, or sorry forty eight hours, excused duty, which one of the members had to bring back my food because I was confined to beds for forty eight hours. That they didn’t like very much! About three days later we had our, we did a stint of drill on the sea front, different things, doing this drill, we were then told to go indoors, change for PT, PE, well when we get inside everybody is shouting and talking, you know, getting ready to go. Unfortunately we had no blinds to pull and curtains to close, and two WAAFs was walking by, happened to stop outside the door, window, and everybody says oh there’s a couple of WAAFs out there and we said you know, everybody was saying, ‘oy oy, go on, move along, move along,’ because we were in a state of undress, some of us. So a sergeant suddenly walked through the front door, and he said, came in and he says, ‘right you lot,’ he says, ‘you’re on cookhouse fatigue tonight.’ So he says, ‘no need for that rumpus, you’re only attracting more attention.’ So that was that. So we ended up in the cookhouse which was unfortunate for me because I do not like cheese, no way do I like cheese and what we had for tea that night was toasted, sorry, fried bread with fried cheese on the top of it. So it was, well I had the job of washing all the trays out, that was my job. The only thing I had to eat that day was scrape the cheese off the fried bread and ate the fried bread: that was it, so that wasn’t very good at all. Right, so, the training was very good, and Alvar Lidell was a radio commentator, talking on the news on the BBC. Now he happened to be called up at the same time as we were, and in the paper a couple of days later it said: “Alvar Lidell is in Skegness. This is Alvar Lidell, a photograph of him and this is the square and Alvar Lidell bashing it.” Because when he used to announce on the BBC he used to say, ‘this is the news and Alvar Lidell reading it.’ The next thing I was I went on leave from, after did my infantry training and I went on leave and after that, I had my seven days leave I was posted to RAF Filton as a trainee mechanic. We had two Blenheims on this station at Filton, which is a, belongs really to the RAF and the Bristol Aircraft Company. Now we had two WAAF flight mechanics at the time, and most of the time I did more or less things that they asked me to do, different things, and if they wanted help, anything shape or form, I used to help them to do that. I used to have to prime the engines which are underneath the engine lascelles and they used to have the trolley action, tell the pilot, the other one used to tell the pilot when he’d to turn the props. So, sometimes they were, it was okay and sometimes it was a bit dodgy because, when they used to prime the aircraft, where you pushed the priming pump in it used to push petrol into the spider which was on the top of the cylinders and the pilot at the same time was told to turn the propellers to suck the petrol up into the engines and switch the switches on, make them start. Sometimes they’d start straight away and other times they used to just bang away and it’d frighten the pilot because it didn’t start first time and he’d switch the engine off. Which was unfortunate because by this time the petrol in the intake had caught light, and naturally the petrol, as it was an updraught carburettor, underneath, the petrol used to run down and drip out into the pour, under the aircraft under, the engine. The first thing you could do was to take your cap off, hold it over the air intake, signal to the chap on the trolley act and tell the pilot to start the engines again to suck the flames up into the engine and you finished up with a burnt cap! Oh dear, dear, dear. Right well.
DB: I’ll just stop it for a minute while you think about it.
BL: Our aircraft was mostly, being A-Able it was mostly the flight commander’s aircraft. Consequently, If they had a special job for it, SOE or a special person, man or woman, to be dropped they usually got the aircraft. Right. One day we was on the airfield and there was an aircraft landed, two actually, they were Flying Fortresses. The Flying Fortresses they landed, came round the perimeter track, parked somewhere on the field, and one of their coaches pulled up. The coach, it come from the hospital which is the Cheltenham, there’s a hospital, American, across over at Cheltenham, and they’d come to see some of their buddies that been, were convalescing there, but some of the ground crew that used to fly with them, they came along and they started walking round the aircraft. So, one of them came, coloured chap, big feller and two others, came round and stood in front of our Stirlings and looked up and said: ‘By Gal!’ he said. ‘What an aircraft,’ he said, ‘Look at the size of it, beat Flying Fortresses hands down. Look at the size of it, what a babe, look at the size of that.’ He said, ‘how many guns in it?’ When we told him four, he turned round and said, ‘four,’ ‘yeah and they’re at the back.’ So he walked, they walked round and had a look. He said, ‘I can’t get over the size, can I go inside and have a look?’ So I said, ‘yeah, I’ll come in with yer.’ Cause I didn’t know what, you know, what they might do, so we went into the aircraft and when we come out the aircraft after he’d had a look round, he came out, put his hand in his pocket, he said, ‘‘ere, have a cigar,’ he said, he put his hand in his pocket, ‘have two!’ Right, that’s that one. A couple of days later we had a fighter, American Mustang, came round the airfield, landed. I think there was an officer, colonel, somebody, evidently come to see his friend or whatever, and this was his aircraft, he parked it up. They’d been doing some work on the perimeter track and they’d dug up part of it, not a very big hole, but big enough, and when he came back, he got in his aircraft, taxied round the perimeter track and unfortunately very, very similar to the Stirling, he’s tail down, when you’re taxying with your tail down you can’t see over the nose, so you have to look side to side, and he goes, taxies you know, from side to side around the perimeter track. Unfortunately for this officer, found where they’d dug the ‘ole! And he ended up in the hole. Well, you know, his propeller got smashed [unclear]. It stopped the engine naturally, so didn’t catch fire or anything. But when we went and got him, walked over to him to see if he’s all right, he said, ‘my god,’ he said, ‘I’m in bloody trouble now!’ he said, because he shouldn’t have been there. [unclear] And that was it, but I don’t know what happened to it. I think the Americans sent a motor and got it out. We had to get it out of the hole with our Coles crane and they come and collected it, took it away. We actually got on very well with all the aircraft, all the aircrew on it and they were pals with everybody. They was, had, some of them had got themselves a second-hand car but they didn’t get enough petrol to go with it and always needed a bit of petrol. And unfortunately, we could only let them have a hundred octane, but, what we used to do, we used to give them some petrol in a car, in a can and we’d water it down with some oil, not too much: it smoked, smoked out the vehicle, and we used to do that, we used to help them out a little bit on that aspect, you know. And every now and again you’d get somebody would come out with the glider pilots, they’re going out for the night, some of them used to have some big motors. So I said don’t expect, I’m not trading this aircraft for your flippin’ car, no way! So, but no matter who you were, I won’t mention the names, but I used to have the flight commander and it was from right the way down, if they wanted help that way, I used to climb up on the undercarriage sometimes if I knew that the aircraft still had to be refuelled and drain off five gallons and put it in the motor, you know for them [unclear]. Might be their last night. So, that’s, that’s the way I helped them. They were very good to us, they used to save all their flying rations if they didn’t want them. They used to have nuts, raisins, chocolate, different things, sweet cigarettes, corporal, sweet caporal cigarettes, lucky strike, you name it, anyway it was all the, they used to come because they used to be a mixed crew. We always had a mixed crew, I don’t think I ever had an all RAF crew. And anyway, that was my way of helping them and they used to take us out every so often, and say meet you down the pub tonight boys, we’re not on our ops, all right, all right, meet you down the pub, and they used to buy us drinks and give us all their rations, throw ‘em on the table and we have, have a good night out really. Yes, or, or, they used to say right off tonight, all together, anybody fancy going to a dance in the village or wherever, and they used to take us out there and it was very nice and handy because at least we had an officer and they were allowed out after midnight and they used to, can be driving the car come through the main gate and the corporals look down look in and say Flying Officer or Pilot Officer so-and-so and company and right through. [Laughter] It used to happen quite a lot actually. That one. One day we was waiting for something to happen, as it’s coming, certain parts of, area of the, Europe, were being, after D, right, after D-Day we had a, quite a few places and things to do that we was working every day, doing all sorts of things, we was taking more troops, dropping supplies, dropping petrol for cars in five gallon drums, for lorries I meant, and tanks and that. We were very, very busy all the time, twenty four hours a day of doing work, stuff like that. Most of, some of them was on the dropping more specialist troops to areas that were needed out there and also arms and ammunition. The ammunition they didn’t have enough of that type of ammunition, that went over as quickly as possible. [Whispered] I’d love another one. One day we was er, decided to go, we had a day off, we did meet a couple of WAAFS, there were three of us: three men, three WAAFs. We all had our hopper bikes and decided as it was a beautiful day we decided to go down and see the river Severn because it wasn’t far from the river Severn. So we went down there, spent the day down there, you know like visiting the pub and one thing and another, and unfortunately one of the WAAFs got a little bit tipsy and on our way back to the camp, on our way back to the camp it was an uphill struggle on the hill. Got over the hill alright, she was a bit slow, but as she got over the hill it gathered momentum, unfortunately the, the road was resurfaced, just been resurfaced. And the resurface them days was tar spray and sprinkling of small shingle on the top and a quick roll over with the steam roller. Well, this poor girl got going so fast she couldn’t guide her bike properly, whatever, her mind wasn’t looking straight over, but over she went and she landed on her knees, tore her knees and laddered her stockings or her legs, oh, what a shame, you know she was in a bit of a state, so we was just walking back to the camp. I’m going to tell you now about our times when we used to go home on leave. Ah, well, we didn’t always get a ticket to go on leave. We always had to jump ship you would call it. Well, we used to have a chap who was very keen on talking to us chaps because he worked in the Orderly Room so no excitement in the Orderly Room, [laugh] no excitement in the Orderly Room so what he did, he used to come with us, you know, come to the NAAFI with us, and talk to us and ask us different things in the RAF as you do, so I said we, I want to go home on leave, for a couple of days, is any chance of giving me a 295, he said yeah, will you stamp it for me? Which he did. Right, right our crew, oh dear, our crew crashed at, in France on D-Day, or just prior to D-Day and we had a new flight commander arrive, Squadron Leader Bunker. Now Squadron Leader Bunker, he’s a legend. He joined the RAF on a short term and in just 1938, 1938 and became a pilot when war broke out and he flew right up until 1945, about 1945, 46 some time there, I haven’t got the correct time, date. And he was flying back, he was, took over from 620, 190 Squadron lost their flight, their wing commander so as he was a squadron leader in, on 620, they made him up to the wing commander. He took charge of the squadron and he was taking, they were doing the same ops as we were and he was flying cans of petrol to Belgium and bringing back prisoners of war, ex-prisoners of war to England and landing them at Oadby in Leicester, in Surrey, Sussex or Surrey, Oadby. Now when he landed there, they are still on operation and they are helicopters, large helicopters are flying from there, on the same station. Now when he landed there, there was a two, the Stirling had two tail wheels, one tail wheel was punctured and they decided to take off from there to go back to Dunmow because they had something on at Dunmow and one aircraft started going along the runway, the wheel, because the tyre was flat, shimmied and as it was going along it was shimmying and it eventually it caught light, because of the heat, and naturally he didn’t know this and when he put his undercarriage up, the two tailwheels went up into the aircraft at the back. The rear gunner was still in his cockpit and the tail of the aircraft caught fire and exploded and blew the turret out and killed the air gunner as he hit the ground. The pilot then couldn’t control the aircraft and it was flying towards the village of Windlesham and he saw a, saw a games field and decided to make for that, so he made for that and could only put the aircraft down because it was aflame, he put the aircraft down in the playing field thus missing that town of Windlesham. And the town people put up and erected a big [emphasis] memorial for him and his crew, a man, Bill, ex-RAF man, decided to erect this memorial and did a lot of work for it, to this, and also he wrote to the church in Windlesham, commemorating this memorial, wrote to the church and asked them for permission to fly the RAF ensign at the church tower every year on the same day that the accident happened, and this was granted, and from that day to this on the anniversary the flag flies from the mast. Now I attended the memorial service and it was well attended by the CO of Oadby and other officers and representatives and included, his son invited me to the funeral and Janet and I we went down and we attended the funeral and we went to see a service in the Clement Danes church in Oxford Street, and we attended a service in there and also a meal of, in the – where the hell was it – we attended a meal in the Royal Courts of Justice across the road to commemorate it. Right, our next trip was to Fairford, the adj, the crew and the whole squadron moved from Fairford to Great Dunmow. Now when we got to Great Dunmow that was a different kettle of fish because Great Dunmow was built by the American Air Force, air force construction gang. Now they had aircraft built and up and running before we got there. So quite a few roads, pathwords, pathways were built, the only problem when we first landed, we found that their toilet arrangements were quite different from ours. When went to the toilets when we arrived there we naturally wanted to go to the loo, we arrived there we walked into the toilets and there was a row of WCs, all in a row, no doors, no particulars, nothing. So we looked at one another and thought what the hell’s going on here? There was urinals there, but there was, on the toilet, WCs no doors, nothing, no privacy whatsoever. So, we was all looking at one another and laughing. Eventually someone said what the hell is this all this about? You know. So I turned round and kept a straight face, and said well you know the Yanks, said they like to read their comics, I said and when they sitting next to each other and reading their comics and they’re nearly finished, if they finished the comic they hand it to the next one, I said and they pass the comics along. [laughter]. Right, that’s the end of that one. The tin huts were the same huts as the others. The name on our door was called the gold brickers, that was painted on our doors and I understand, I don’t know if it was correct, but I understand the gold brickers was the lazy buggers, so I thought well maybe it suits us, I don’t know, but it wasn’t a bad place, but we never got a lot of coal for our winter when we stayed there for winter, so we had to end, we end up robbing, doing a little bit of getting some from somewhere else. So the WAAFs were fairly close, but their coal was behind big wire cages, so one winter we was in this winter there and I said well we’ve got to get some more coal lads, we’ve got no coal, flippin’ freezing in here, we been freezin’ all day out in the snow and that so we decided to do a recce and a raid, so we went out about five of us, and we went out and we were creeping in the dark, behind the WAAF huts. I climbed over first, climbed over the wire fence and kept sorting out the small enough bits of coal that I could throw over the wire, ‘cause they were a bit heavy, I’m not a weightlifter. So course we did it, and we got enough coal to go back, when I climbed back over, to last us for about a fortnight. So there we were, happy as pi – as hell. The next time we decided, there was a corporal, a corporal fitter, his name was Corporal Chatterjee. Now he was an Indian unfortunately, for us, but he liked it in our billet so he stayed, and he picked a bed near the fire which annoyed some of us, right, so we was, had to have another raid so I said to the corporal, ‘we’re going to get some more coal.’ ‘Good.’ he said, I says, ‘and you’re coming with us. So he said, ‘I can’t, I’m not coming I can’t do that, I can’t come and start stealing.’ I said, ‘if you want to warm yourself up mate, you’re coming with us or you’ll make things very awkward.’ So anyway we decided that he was going to come, and he certainly had to come, he gotta come or else. Anyway, we was finished going out, in the dark, and it had been snowing hard all day and the WAAFs had slit trenches outside their huts and course the snow had blown and filled the slit trenches up, so we didn’t know where the slit trenches were, you where they were. So away we went, once again I hiked over the fence, started throwing the coal and we got enough coal out over the other side, then we picked it all up, put it on our shoulders, walked it back through the camp and all of a sudden one of the WAAFs for some reason or other, because the lights was on in the hut, she opened the door, out the back, opened this door, lights shot out the door and silhouetted the corporal and me with these flippin’ great lumps of coal on our shoulder and she let out one horrific scream. Well the corporal started to run, not following the footsteps that we took going and went straight down the flippin’ slit trench, dropped the lump of coal, didn’t know what to do, he’s screamin’ his head off down the slit trench, cause it came up just to his armpits and he’s screaming out: ‘get me out of here, get me out of here!’ So I said, ‘hold on a minute, no, no, no, no. Give us the coal first.’ ‘No, no coal, no coal.’ So I said, ‘we want the coal first or you don’t get out. Get out yourself,’ so otherwise they’ll know that we been and pinched the coal. So anyway, eventually he give us the coal, I picked it up, we yanked him out and away we went back, he says, ‘no more, me no more do that, no.’ But that was a funny thing that night. Anyway, stop that one, that’s it. Next time we wanted some coal, we asked one of the chaps that, we was getting a bit low over the WAAFs quarters so we decided to raid the officer’s quarters. So the officers quarters was up on a bit of a hill and we decided to go there [unclear] we thought we’d take, ask the chap going on leave that used to drive, one of the – what was it – one of the Crossley, one of the lorries that used to tow the gliders, it was a Crossley, had no, nothing on the back only the tow bar, and it used to have a big galvanised tank in, on the back with concrete in it to hold the weight down, keep the back of the Crossley. Right, so this time we’re gonna go with this. Can we borrow your Crossley? He said ‘I’m going home on leave for the weekend, do what you like,’ he said, ‘but don’t mess about with it,’ he says, So I said we’re just going to get some coal. So away we went. There was the driver, was the Scotsman, and myself and somebody else sitting in the Crossley in the front, and away we went. We went round there, found the coal, got into position, got as much coal that we could get that night in there, and we’re driving this chap used to drive the oil bowsers driving the Crossley, he’s driving back. Well as we come away from the officer’s quarters goes down a hill swung round sharply to the right, there was a tree on the left hand side with a branch had come about three feet off the floor, off the floor and went across towards the road. Well, the Crossley’s quite wide and he’s driving this thing down there and he’s hit the corner of the cab on the near side, corner of the cab, lifted the cab up nearly off the chassis and smashed the, smashed the window, the windscreen. Anyway, we carried on going, we got back to the camp, we emptied the coal, emptied the coal, went and saw the chap who’s nearly ready to go out of the camp on leave, he’s dressed now, and said ‘ere we’ve damaged your lorry. ‘If you don’t tell me,’ he said, ‘go and get rid of it, I don’t know nothing about it.’ So anyway, they got a bike, put a bike on the back, drove the motor over round the other side of the camp, parked it, and then, somewhere, rode back on his bike, and then turned round and didn’t say a word. When the chap come back off leave, looked round says me bike’s not, me motor’s not in the MT, MOT, MT, somebody’s taken it out of the MT. So he went up before the sergeant, and the sergeant said, ‘your motor wasn’t signed in.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘well I’m sure I did, I certainly took it in,’ he said, ‘I might have walked out and forgot to sign it in.’ Anyway the sergeant, it was damaged, it’s smashed. Anyway they had a court, not a court martial, they had an inquiry into it, and it finished up they said that he didn’t sign it in, they couldn’t find any record so he’s guilty and he got seven days jankers and a seventy pound fine. Now, he used to, he used to run bets on the camp so he wasn’t worried about the fine, that’s all right said he was just upset about the jankers! Where the Scotch bloke that done the job, he got caught, you know, they found him and he got five days in the cookhouse. [laughter] He said I wouldn’t have minded if I’d got the fee he says cause I had the money to pay for it! And then we had sailors on our camp to help us out and this chap that was, used to sleep next to me. Well I went, he went on leave and I was going out one night, when he went on leave, and when I looked for my shoes, I couldn’t find me shoes, I only could find me boots, two pair boots, I had pair shoes, and I looked searched everywhere tipped every place upside down. Anyway, it finished up, his kit bag was next door to me. So I looked in the kit bag and there they were in his kit bag. So I went to the MPs, and I says look, my shoes are gone. I said ‘I believe,’ I said ‘I believe,’ I didn’t say I know, said ‘I believe that this chap has gone home on leave, he was an electrician, he went home but I believe he might have gone home wearing my shoes.’ So they said all right we’ll send a couple of our MPs round. Tipped his kit out and there’s my shoes, they yours, I says yeah, they’re my shoes so I said, so he said put it all back and when he come back we’ll have him. So he turned round, he got away with it, because he turned round said he didn’t know they was in there, someone must have put them in there and that was it. We was at the camp one day, at Dunmow during the day about four o’clock, and all of a sudden there was a tannoy message: “All personnel report, 620 Squadron report to the, report to their aircraft immediately.” So we all went down there, my one was well out the way, my one was AA, was at the front. The bomb dump was down where, when we got there BANG! Thought what’s that, you know, then there was another bang, a bang went up, as it went up this one exploded in the air. The bomb dump was alight, yeah, the bomb dump was alight. So we had to get down to the bomb dump as quickly as possible and get the aircraft out the way because there was the, there was the stock, so we all raced as fast as we could to where the bomb dump was. I got into one aircraft, cause there was no one there at the time. I got in there, started the engine up on the internal batteries, started the engines up and the four engines was running and by that time the pilot came to the aircraft and he, I got out and he taxied it across to the middle, middle of the airfield out the way. In the meantime these flippin’ bombs were going off! So of course I went back, after that I rode me bike back to my dispersal to wait and see what else had happened and the fire engine from Dunmow, ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling, come flying round the corner, came on to the airfield, on to the perimeter track, drove round, got as far as my aeroplane, stopped, got off the fire engine, and they’re looking, and they’re going boom, boom, these bombs are going off and incendiaries are flying all over the place, all of a sudden I suppose they thought got to go and sort this out if we can and they took off and went down there. I don’t remember much about it after that, you know. We just went and sat in the flight office, was down in, down a hollow, that was what we had to do. Time I was on night duty on night flying, I was, my turn to see the aircraft off, me and the rigger. So we went, you know, got go down there. I used to have a Claud Butler bike, a racing bike and of a night time I, if I had time off, I used to put me shorts on, go climb over the fence with me Claud Butler bike which I could lift up, light, and go for a ride round the country lane and that was me, that was a bit of my pleasure. Well this night, this day, I go, I thought, the hopper bikes were heavy, so I got me Claud Butler, got it out, got on to it and pedalled going down to the aircraft. Get out to the aircraft, course as I said my perimeter track went round, and as it went round, it went down to my first one, was there, so I’m going round, and I’m going, now Claud Butler was racing bike had one break, fixed wheel, one brake and a nipple on the end of the brake cable, so I comes flying down and when I got to, saw it on the aerodrome, there, saw it, the four engines was turning over. Well I’m, now I’m the engine mechanic, so evidently some, you know, the flight engineer probably, the skipper said start it up and the rigger, because this time I’m bike, cycling like mad, I’ve swung into the put me front brake on and the nipple on the cable broke and I’m going, I went straight underneath the props on the starboard side, straight under the props, and nearly hit the tail plane that sticks out the back, there at the back, and everybody sort of looking up and sort of saying bloody hell, good job it wasn’t a Halifax. Talking about my Claud Butler, I was on duty crew another night in the Control Tower and I was it was our turn to look after any aircraft that was coming in, you know, or what, we’re sitting in there, in the Control Tower, nothing happening, and all talking there and all of a sudden we had a call: there was some Halifaxes that couldn’t land at their own base so they were being diverted to us. So the flight control came down, says right, we need somebody at the far corner of the second runway, we shall bring the aircraft on behind the follow me car, behind on the perimeter track, that person on the end there will turn the aircraft down on to the spare runway. We want another person at the end of the spare runway, not too close to the main runway that’s being used and stop the aircraft there and park ‘em one after the other so you know, you had time to come round and do it. So of course I went, I said I’ll go to the end of the runway, send ‘em down. My mate says I’ll park them. So I said right and away we did it. So I rode me Claud Butler round, got the end of the runway, we parked my bike on the end, on the far side of the runway because the aircraft are turning just before it, and I stood there and said right, once I’ve stopped them, turn the aircraft with torches and then went like this and he could see the one up the end of the runway and he’ll follow them. I come to the last, I come to the last aircraft and as fast as I walk backwards, he followed me, so I turned this torch, turning me right hand torch as hard as I could so that he’ll turn round: still following me, so I thought he’s not going to do it. So I stopped him, walked over to the fuselage, bangs on the back door, somebody came and answers me at the back door, he said, ‘what’s the problem?’ So I said: ‘The problem is, the pilot is not turning to starboard, he’s got to turn now, lock his starboard wheel and rev his prop to get round otherwise he’ll miss going down the runway, right you got that?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Right.’ I walk back to where I was, I was standing there like a twit and the pilot signalled to me forward so that one’s solid, this one this way, you know. He started to turn, started to turn, eventually he come round and he turned, eventually he comes round and turned and I’ve gone like that and away he’s gone. The follow me motor was behind and he said you want a lift back to the control tower? So I said no I says that’s all right I’ve got me bike here, I’ll ride over. Went over to pick me bike up and the flippin’ aircraft had run over it, he’d run right over the bike solidly and even clipped the pedals. It’s a wonder it didn’t burst his tyre! Yeah, he squashed it completely, useless, frame, wheels, buckled, the lot! So I had to pick the bike up, walk back, walk about what, three quarters of a bloody mile it is, ever so sorry, the other side of the runway, and when I got back there, so no good telling anybody as I shouldn’t have had the bike on the runway. So I had to dump that, and that was the end of my bike and my pleasure. We were all standing on the end of the runway one day, on the side and just watching things, aircraft taking off, one after the other, or whatever, and all of a sudden, this by the way is, we have changed from Stirlings now to Halifaxes, very careful. So we’re standing out there, this Halifax starts to take off and all of a sudden he got to the end of the runway and we kept wondering whether he’s going to stop or he’s going to go. Eventually he went, he just took off the floor, went across the runway, went across the runway, over the hedges and then bomb, ploughed straight into the field. We all ran over there see what had happened, didn’t caught fire or anything, went over there see what happened, the pilot’s, all got out, all standing around, pilot’s standing outside of his cockpit, on the wing, standing there, you know, and as we got over there we said to him ‘what’s wrong, what happened?’ ‘Oh!’ he said, the flippin’ ailerons locked on me,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t turn the ailerons he said to take off.’ So, anyway, within that time the engineering officer was turned up in his motor, he came up, walked across, got on, climbed up on the wing, ‘cause by now that’s on the floor, climbed up on the wing, looked into the cockpit and the I’ve never heard an officer swear so much in all me life! He turned round and he said what happened to the bloke, pilot says, ‘the ailerons locked.’ He said, ‘I would think so, they are locked!’ so the pilot said ‘what?’ ‘They are locked.’ What had happened was, on the aileron locks which clip either side of the steering wheel so to speak, on the, I say there should have been a piece of metal painted red and it was hinged on to the aileron lock to stop them going like that, wind blowing them and this piece of rod supposed to go on a seat to stop the pilot sitting on the seat. He supposed to take that, undo this one and that, and take it off, give it to the flight engineer and stow it in the stowing box that was, in a bag, but they were on the [unclear] and this piece was missing. And you know when I said, that whatshisname was in that magazine didn’t they, that was in that magazine so the pilot really [unclear]. Yeah, yeah, I don’t know if he got away with it, I suppose he did really, cause it wasn’t his fault, it was [emphasis] his fault, well it was the engineer’s fault ‘cause the engineer should have should have accepted it, put it in the stowage bag. I’ve already told you where I used to help ‘em out. I’ll tell you a quick one Dunmow, not a nice, not a nice thing this. I used to catch rabbits. What meat was naturally short during the war so naturally if I could get, take home any rabbits or anything like that for my mum, family to eat I would do so, I wasn’t living far from London so wasn’t a problem. So the Americans that were stationed at Dunmow lost a lot of aircraft, there was a great big heap of smashed up Marauders, and every Marauder had an aerial, stainless steel aerial, so that it was made of nice bond wire, so I went round and cut most, a lot of them off. What I did, I made some snares. I made these snares and put them around where these aircraft were damaged because I could see a lot of rabbit runs in there, and see little piles of poo, so I did this, I used to catch quite a few. And if I wasn’t going home I would give them to other men to take home for their parents to eat. So one morning I went round to see if I’d any rabbits in me snares. I come along and all of a sudden I could see in the distance, I thought what’s that, I said the next thing I saw was this dog. It was a grey dog, with, it looked like a Welsh terrier, little curl, grey curly hair. When I got close to him, I said he looked at me, he caught this snare, foot in the snare, and he looked at me and he wagged his tail and I thought well that’s good, he’s a little bit friendly. But he hadn’t been caught for long because he wasn’t rushing around or well, he was just sort of stood there like that, if to say I’m caught, you know. So anyway I approached him, and he was approachable, I just slipped it undone, and when I took his paw out, he just run around as though nothing had happened, he wasn’t hurt at all so I thought well that was brilliant, so anyway it finished up that the armourers, evidently he was lost, the armourers on the site, 620, they took him under their wing and he used to be their dog for all the time they was at Dunmow. But we used to take, take the windscreens out of these aircraft cause they was perfect Perspex. We used to cut them into little hearts, and fire ‘em, we used to cut the crown and the wings out of the button, put ‘em on there, put the hot heat on to it, and that used to melt into it, put a little loop on the end of it and buy a little chain, you know, not gold chain, I couldn’t afford that, but a chain and give it to girlfriend or somebody you met at the dance, you know. They used to like ’em. They used to make all sorts of brooches. Sometimes they used to find a cannon shell that was in all the rubbish, find a cannon shell. They, what they used to do then, used go in the site hut what we used to have was a vice what we used if we have to, you put the shell in the vice, wiggle it a little bit to make it loose, pull the bullet out or the shell out and then tip out all the cordite or whatever was inside, put the cartridge case back in the shell, get a piece, a little bit of wood and a hammer, put it on the end of the firer, give it a hit, fire it off so it made it safe and then we used to make a lighter out of them. That’s it. We used to have one rigger that used to be a very lazy person, and that rigger annoyed me because he was an elderly man, and how he ever passed A1 I shall never know. He used to cut mens’ hair for six p, you know, and I never let him cut my hair I wouldn’t do it if it was tuppence. Because, see he used to annoy me very much, he used to go on the site – he hasn’t got his bowl - the dispersal and he used to walk down the steps used to lead down the bank to the hut at the bottom and come in there and he’d sit, always was a fire if it was cold because they used to be, keep it during the night when they was, keep it alight night and day because you sleep there, wait for the aircraft to come back. Well anyway, this, this morning, he came up and he turned round, and he said, ‘Ah,’ he said ‘bloody hell it’s cold out there, innit, bloody, just come back, bloomin’ cold I don’t fancy going out there.’ I said and because it was warm inside the windows’d steam up, I said, he’s over, greatcoat on, I said he’d wipe his cuff on his hands on his greatcoat and he’d look out the window, he’d say, ‘ah well, airplane’s still there,’ open the Form 700 and sign his signature to say he’d done his DI to his signature. Now that annoyed me, I was always very, very conscientious, you know, people’s lives and that, anyway he’s said oh well that was it and sign it. So of course I went back out the aircraft and there were talking with a couple of me mates out there, we’ve got to teach this bugger a lesson, I said I know what we’ll do, so I went into the aircraft, I got one of the very pistol cartridges. I opened it up, I’m not quite sure of the colour: green, red, blue, or whatever it was, it used to be [unclear] emptied them out, I banged the cartridge on the end like to stop it explode off so it was safe, took these things, took ‘em down to there, I got a brick, a block or something, the old fire was burning merrily there, we got a lump of rope, tied it round the door ‘andle and tied it to something was outside, I can’t think what it was now, we tied it up anyway so he couldn’t open the door, and there’s only one door and we climbed up on to the top of the – what’s the name – on the nissen hut, cause you can, you could walk up ‘em. We used to have rubber soled boots on the aircraft, we used to walk up there, although it might be bit dodgy, and I got the pellets, dropped these pellets down the flue and put the brick on the top. Well! The colours that came out the top of the flue, where it’s coming out, shooting out all different colours, smoke, filled up the place, he’s screaming his head off in there. We had to let him out because the place got so full of smoke. Terrible it was, yeah. But he wasn’t a very happy bunny, yeah. [Laughter] One more, Sue, one more, right. We was in the NAAFI, used to be the NAAFI, Sally Ann it was, Sally Ann used to come round the dispersal and used park out underneath the wings of the two aircraft at the dispersal where the flight office was and see they used to open it up and sell the old tea and buns. We was there one day and the tanker driver pulled up under the wing, pulled up under the wing of the aircraft there, sitting there, talking, they was all talking round, eating and drinking and all of a sudden is that a flame in your cab? And he looked, he run round, he opened the door and somehow there was a flame in there, whether it come in from the engine or not we don’t know. So of course everybody’s running round like, there’s two thousand gallon tanker underneath the aircraft, so anyway, one of them went, we got fire, only a few fire extinguishers, we got it there, of course they got these fire extinguishers and one’s firing it through one door, and the other one firing through the other door and they’re getting smothered in foam! You know, anyway, it didn’t take long, I don’t know what it was, but it didn’t take long, whatever it was, it went out with the two fire extinguishers. All of a sudden, because it was an emergency they rang the fire brigade at our station, so of course they came flying round the corner, yeah, and the tanker driver got his tanker out just in case it sparked off again, backed it out away from the aircraft and these firemen on the cab, come flying round, jump off the fire engine, grabbed hold of some axes and went round, one opened the door, the other one opened the other door and two of them smashed in the front windscreen, ahhh, sorry, craaaash! Crash, windscreen. The tanker driver says, standing there he said, ‘what you do that for?‘ He said ‘well there’s a fire in the cab.’ He said ‘bloomin’ well we’d already put the fire out! What you do that for?’ Talk about cases caught, that’s it. First of all my overseas trip. The aircraft, the sixth airborne was going to Palestine to quell the vision, the trouble between the Jewish rebels, outburst, call them rebels because that’s what they were. As far as I’m concerned I’m very annoyed because when the Polish war was, when the war was started it was the Polish Jews and everything on that, I know Hitlers’ condemned the Jews, done all this against the Jews, here we are out there, it wasn’t the Jewish population’s place or the Arabs, it was split between them at the time and it was going all right. Somebody said that it belonged to the Jews and the Jews started to, causing trouble, and people were getting shot and injured by the Jewish population, that was the bit that got me. So I wasn’t very happy, against them, I’m not against the Jewish population, but I’m against them attacking us, which helped them as best we could and lost a lot of lives doing it. Right, getting back to this one then. We sailed out of, went first of all climbed on the trains and we went up to Liverpool, right, we thought well that’s it. So we was there at Liverpool, we was there for just before Christmas and they sent us home on leave for two days at Christmas. We’re back all the way up there, then they decided they weren’t going to let us sail from there, we’re going to sail from Southampton, so we’re all the way back to Southampton and we caught the Capetown Castle. Now the Capetown Castle was a beautiful [unclear] it was a Castle Line boat, and it was beautiful, it held the Blue Riband for the crossing to South Africa and England, so no, no never had an escort of any sort, mind you it didn’t need it at the time, but it never did have an escort during the war when it made journeys because it was too fast for submarines, they couldn’t catch it, so they didn’t need escort. Right, so we went over there and ended at Port Said. Landed at Port Said and we got off there, marched along the ruddy railway track looking for the passenger train. What passenger train? No passenger train. Cattle trucks! So we had cattle trucks, so we all had to climb on board cattle trucks, put our gear on the cattle trucks, and sit there with the doors open with your legs hanging out the door. Well I remember my dad telling me this about the wogs they’re right rogues and that, I had a cigarette, so I’d just lit this cigarette, and it was just lit so it was a whole cigarette more or less, and one of these chaps came along in his night shirt, turned round and looked at me, leant up towards me cause I’m sitting higher than him on and with me feet out the train, and he turned round, and he wanted me to light his cigarette, so he give a little tug, give a little tug on my cigarette wanted to sort of take it, making out it was too hard to light his cigarette so I let my cigarette go like a fool and off the rat he ran with my cigarette and I thought, oh Bill you’ve arrived. That’s that one. One of our things we had to do, when you have a kit bag you have a kit bag lock and if anybody knows a kitbag lock is a piece of brass or whatever, a straight piece of metal on a hinge and one piece that looped over, which you hole, put it one through the other and padlock it. Well, of a night time, we used to have to padlock our rifles or our guns or whatever we had, to the bed, through the springs of the bed, and put it through the trigger guard and then padlock it, so that nobody sort of blow in your face if you like, make you roll over and take your gun from underneath yer. So that was a bit of a bind because it was a bit of a bind because personally when I went on board the boat I had a sten gun. When I got off the boat I had a rifle. So there I am with sten gun pouches, with sten gun ammunition in it and when I got off the boat I got a rifle with no nothing, no ammunition whatsoever, no spare whatsisname. Anyway so they took, the first couple of days they took ‘em all, everything off us, but then again they handed them back to us, I still got a flippin’ rifle. Anyway, I used to, when we went on guard, and we used to have to go on guard, the only problem with the RAF, I found from the beginning, and the only bones I had to pick with them was, if you was on a squadron you was a lodger, when you went on a main station, all the people that was lodgers, the squadrons, they had to do all the guard duties, all the fire picquets, all the rough and tumble but when it come to night flying we had to do that as well. We had to do night flying, we had to do duty crew, things like that, there wasn’t a lot. Now I was against that all the time, that was my bugbear with the RAF. Right, now when we come to the RAF station, we come to there, we used to have to go on lorries from the main camp out to the dispersals and what they used to have was a thirty hundredweight lorry, a few seats in the back of that and behind that was towed a trailer and it was like the trailers you see the Germans carted round and the trailers sitting in the back with the seats running side to side and people sitting there with their guns in the middle. So we used to have to go out and that was, but then put your gun somewhere and start doing your work during the day. That the toilets, now there was something you’d never heard of far as I’m concerned. They were built of brick, they were built of brick, they had some sort of an L shaped sort of urinal wall, with the urinals on the side, you walk in, walk past that and you go in and round the centre of the thing, was a centre wall built with seats the same height as you would normally get it, but between them was set, going towards the centre with a, a pipe comes up and through the middle which vented it below, below and when you went to sit in there, there was a piece of timber used to come down on top of ‘em. When you wanted to go to the toilet you used to have to pick up this seat have one hand behind your back to hold it up. And when you get up it automatic flop down, to stop the flies. But it doesn’t stop the flies. Nothing stops the flies. So anyway one night I went round in to the toilet, my dad, you know was telling me bits about different things, and I’m in the loo and I’m sitting there, thinking of England and all of a sudden, I had an American torch at that time it was an UA, American military torch, and it was one that stood up, and it had a clip on the side and the light faced horizontally at the top, very bright, a lovely light and I used to take this torch out, put it on the seat side, and it used to, sorry, it used to shine up on the white wall and light the place up a bit, so not only I got the benefit, so did other people. Anyway, I’m sitting there one night, and it wasn’t long, I think it was about fourth or fifth day I was out there, I was sitting there, no one else in the bloomin’ place, all of a sudden sominck went past me quick [whooshing sound] oh some twit had dressed a sheet over him and run past, run round, round the toilet, run round, anyway it made me jump. I jumped up, the seat automatically flaps down, hits me torch, lost me torch down the toilet, gone down the pit. I’m now in darkness, what’s that in darkness, oh dear, so I lifted the seat up quick and I could see me bloody torch shining down the toilet! I wasn’t half fuming I was, I didn’t half give everybody a row, what you talking about, I don’t know about it, you know, that was it. That was that one. We was, we used to have to do a guard at one time, when it finished the Arab Legion took it over. When that happened that was fine, because sometimes if you was on guard they used to have a wire, a thing where they used to go into the dispersal, the aircraft were parked, they used to have wire going across, barrier and you lift it backwards and forwards. Well if you was on guard you used to have to stand there, well when they used to come and empty these flippin’ toilets, they used to, I’m not going to say how they used to empty it, but they used to, and the cart they used to pour it in to take it away used to dry, used to dry, and shrink, the timbers used to shrink, anyway, it didn’t leak, wasn’t a metal one or anything, one nothing plastic or anything, so it used to be, when it used to stop there, for them to lift the barrier, and we then shut the barrier, pfff, that whatever used to drop out of there it used to smell bloody horrible. Anyway that was that one. That was nasty. The little, another of my quickies. We used to have a little wog, we used to have water bowsers and they used to have taps along the back. Now they used to have big wasps, like, looked like bloomin’ hornets, big black, brown and black, white and yellow ones and they used to go up the tap, when you went out for [unclear] like that, bloody thing would come down the tap wash your mouth round so you had to be careful. But what the little, we used to call them, what the little wogs used to do, because they used to come on to the and sell you oranges and things like that, or scrounge what they can, and he used to come on and what they used to do, they used to get a matchbox, and they take their skull caps off - oh I’m sorry I’ll have to stop this - they used to grab their skull caps, grab these waspy things, get a matchstick, squash their bottoms out, take out the sting, but we didn’t know that, put them in these matchboxes, and then when it was tea time, or tea breaks, they used to come in, go in the middle of the room, and stand there talking and they’d see these wogs and that they used to undo these match boxes and throw ‘em on the floor. Cor! Can you imagine! Everybody used to run out of there, pick up all their buns and run out of there. Yeah. So that’s what they used to do. That was terrible. I went to Benghazi, when an aircraft landed there because burst it’s tail wheel, I went there to fix an engine, because it only done the tail wheel, somebody slung his sten gun over his shoulder when he was on guard and the bullet, block came down, took one up the spout, went through the aileron so we didn’t know whether it had damaged anything inside the aileron, so we had to send back an aircraft to Palestine for a new aileron. There’s that one. Cairo West, Cairo West we had, I told you about the lady, girls in the swimming pool, I, one minute I’ll get meself sorted in a minute. So I adopted a dog at Cairo West, it was a white, white alsatian, he was a beauty, brown nose, big white, big white, creamy white tail and everything. But he was, had got loads and loads of ticks. So what I had to do I had to go to get some petrol out the aircraft, put it in a can, used to go back up there, and I used to get hold of him, put him between me legs, and I used to get a matchstick, dip it in the petrol, touch the back of the whatsisname and it used to unscrew its neck and drop on the floor and I had to get them out of his ears, and off him wherever I found one, I got one, god rid and lovely. I had him for about two three months and someone come in and said the South Africans have just run over your dog. They used to have a little South African squad on the camp and they’d gone out on the beer that night and come back and they’d run over, went out looking for him and found him, and he was runover him, shame wasn’t it. That was that one. What was the other one? Sandstorm. We had a sandstorm, at, in Cairo West, blew all our tents down, blew our tents down, [laughter] that was a right do that was. Went to Iraq, Habanya, and then on to, oh, can’t think of the other one, Hibanya and the other one, can’t think of it. Went to Nicosia, we took, we used to take boats over to Nicosia, and we used to go over there to service the aircraft, while it was over there for a couple of days and they used to come back and we used to do that regular before leave, you know, you could come home. And that was that one. Well, I don’t think I can, there is others, there’s lots of others bits and pieces that I think’d make you laugh, but I think I’ve said enough. Well I was demobbed in Heliopolis, caught the bus, caught a tram [laugh], caught a boat for going home, it’s called the Duncott Castle. Now that was on the Medlock trip. Now on the Medlock trip they used to go from Mediterranean which was Port Said to Greece, Piraeus and then back again, do that trip then they used to catch a train right through Europe. Except for this time they was told, the crew was told that they was going home to England, but they didn’t, they came back to pick us up, right. So a lot of the crew jumped ship, says right, no, we ain’t going to do it, we’re going home, wo they went home. So when the boat got to Egypt, when we were on board they any RAF personnel is interested in being the ship’s crew, like to come to the ship’s Orderly Room we will sort a job out for them. So the electricians went in to the electricians, engineers were whatever wherever, I said well and my mate, come on let’s go, got be good. So of course we went there and when we got there we were made waiters, stewards, made stewards, looking after the senior NCOs and WAAFs, in there, and they were on board ship, they used to get special, waited, others used to have to queue up. Anyway, so that was it, so we went there. When we got there we used to say how do we wash in the morning, can’t get washed, oh use the crew, you’re crew now. We didn’t, when it was deck drill we used to be ‘we’re crew not RAF’, and when we were crew we are RAF, anyway we done all right out of that cause we used to, sugar was on the table, and we used to keep filling up bags of sugar, putting in the boot, we come back with sugar, tea, coffee you name it, plus the fact you used to have egg and bacon as much as you want in the morning, we did all right. We used to, we didn’t have to but went up in to the crew’s quarters to have a wash and shower, where the other blokes didn’t have any. Decent toilets sit on a what they say sit on a thing, water used to run through like that, sometimes somebody would light a bit of paper, put it in the water while we’re sitting there! Anyway that was that. Right. Now, when they, we finally came home, we found we got paid for it as well, they had to pay us, they had to pay us. We went to the, this, what they call it. I finally got demobbed at Preston. I said to the, it was, 1947 Winter, 6, 47 winter, February, beginning of February I think it was and I went to, I said to them right, they said throw your greatcoats over there, I said hold on I said, I think we can buy our greatcoats, I said I think I’ll buy mine I ain’t going out in that in just a mac and a suit, you know. So he said throw your greatcoats over there, so I said can’t we do it? No. They refused to let us buy our greatcoats, so we had to go home in the flippin’ whatsisname, freezing cold. Anyway the next thing I knew I tried for a job, tried for different jobs. I tried for a job in the gas company, cause I didn’t want to go in the building trade ever, tried for a job in the gas company, in the turbine house. I kept falling asleep, cause we did the night time, you know, and you couldn’t fall asleep cause there used to be a water tank used to have to keep filling up to keep the turbine working, the turbine an I keep falling asleep. I’m packing it in, I can’t have this. So I packed it in, that’s what I thought. I went down the labour exchange to see if they’d got anything and they said we’ve got a job at Ford’s. So funnily enough they let me pack it in there, so I went to Fords, got a job on the Ford V8 engines. But it’s not what I wanted, I wanted to be in the engineering centre, I wanted to be in the machine shop, want to be in the machine shop, says yes, okay, got the job, went there. Next thing I know I’m being traipsed along to a bloody whatsname line, Ford V8 assembly line, putting pistons in the piston block, and that was everything I don’t want take day. I see you ever see Charlie Chaplin in Modern Time, well I was in there like that, I shut me eyes go to sleep and I could see it, you know, monorail. Anyway, I finally finished up, I did leave. I said machines were made to help man and not make him a slave, I’m out of here and you can do what you like. Well anyway, he didn’t take any notice and I finally went back in the building trade and I stayed in that until I retired.
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 Joseph Longhurst
Creator
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Denise Boneham
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-04-07
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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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ALonghurstWJ180407
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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01:35:34 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Cyprus
Egypt
Great Britain
Libya
North Africa
Cyprus--Nicosia
Egypt--Cairo
Egypt--Port Said
England--Bedfordshire
England--Essex
England--Hertfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Surrey
Libya--Banghāzī
Description
An account of the resource
William Longhurst served as an engine mechanic through the Second World War. He was a member of the Hackney Wick Air Defence Cadet Corps before volunteering to enlist in the RAF after his seventeenth birthday. Following basic training at Skegness, technical training was undertaken at RAF Filton. Initially working on Blenheim aircfraft, William went on to gain experience on both Stirlings and Halifax’s. He provides a colourful account of his experiences throughout his service career, which ended when he was demobilised in the Middle East in 1947.
Contributor
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Anne-Marie Watson
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945
1947
620 Squadron
B-17
Blenheim
fuelling
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
mechanics engine
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
P-51
perimeter track
RAF Cardington
RAF Filton
runway
Stirling
training
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1826/33140/BScottEWScottEWv1.1.pdf
92a9acd045c19578c33cacdec86958b1
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
Scott, Eric William
E W Scott
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
2017-04-06
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Scott, EW
Description
An account of the resource
139 items. The collection concerns Flying Officer Eric Scott (1425952, 188329 Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, a memoir, correspondence, documents, newspaper cuttings, a flying course handbook and photographs. He flew operations in North Africa as a bomb aimer with 142 Squadron and then after an instructional tour in Palestine started a second tour on 37 Squadron in Italy where he was shot down and finished the war as a prisoner. <br /><br />The collection includes three albums.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2040"><span>Album 1</span></a> <span>Photographs of Jerusalem, Bethlehem. Tel Aviv, Haifa and friends.</span><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2041">Album 2</a> <span>Photographs taken during training in the United States and England and during his service in North Africa and Italy.<br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2046">Album 3</a> Correspondence, newspaper cuttings, documents and the last issue of the Prisoner of war Journal.<br /></span><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Jacqui Holman and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
The Memoir of
ERIC WILLIAM SCOTT
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Immediately before and during
WORLD WAR II – (1939 to 1946)
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ALLIED
EX-PRISONER OF WAR
MEDAL
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Obverse: The prominent feature of the front or obverse side of the medal is the strand of barbed wire which has entrapped a young bird, symbolic of freedom itself. These elements surmount a globe of the world indicative of the international parameters of the medal. The wording “International Prisoners of War” encircles the entire design.
Reverse: The haunting and vicious barb of the ever present wire is used symbolically to divide the reverse side of the medal into four elements, each bearing one of the words in the phrase “Intrepid against all adversity”.
Ribbon: One of the most distinctive medal ribbons yet designed, it is woven 32mm wide with an unusual feature in having a symbolised strand of white barbed wire 2mm wide placed centrally, this is bounded on either side by 4mm black bands representing the despair of the compound. These, in turn, are edged by two further white 2mm bands representative of the second and third fences of the compound, outside of these are 7mm bands of green, reminiscent of the fields of home and finally, both edges are comprised 2mm red bands symbolic of the burning faith of those who were interned.
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FOREWORD:
From the age of 14 1/2 years old – 1936 – I was employed by Clayton Dewandre Co. Ltd., of Lincoln. Initially my work included machine shop and fitting practices. During the latter part of 1938 I was accepted as a student apprentice and commenced work in the Research and Development Department as a student Technician. I attended evening college, on Monks Road, Lincoln, four nights each week studying for an ONC in Engineering.
When war was declared in September 1939 I was concentrating on the development of a twin piston air compressor, to provide air pressure for a new tank being developed at the Ministry of Defence at Chobham. I was involved in other projects too; new air/oil coolers for the Spitfire and Hurricane, power assisted controls for the same aircraft, radiators/coolers for army vehicles and tanks and new braking systems for vehicles and gun limbers.
In January 1941, having successfully completed my ONC Engineering Course, I decided that I would volunteer for the R.A.F. Because of my reserved occupation my only option was to try and be accepted for aircrew duties, which is what I wanted and would prevent Clayton Dewandre from blocking my acceptance.
R.A.F.V.R. TRAINING
I arrived at the RAF recruiting office in Saltergate, Lincoln, in February 1941. The necessary forms were completed, I was almost 19 years old at the time. Notification was received in March from the RAF to attend Cardington, Bedfordshire, for written, oral and medical examinations over a three-day period. These examinations did not prove difficult except for one oral question of “what route would I take if I flew from England to Turkey, without crossing belligerent countries?” My geography was never a strong point and I had to admit to the four officers of the board that I didn’t know.
However, I was accepted into the RAFVR as a Pilot under training (U/T Pilot) and sworn in along with approx. 50% of those attending at the time. My RAF number was 1425752 and a silver lapel badge showing RAFVR letters, with an eagle, was issued to each person.
The officer in charge of the intake of applicants explained that they had too many aspiring aircrew at the time, and because of the limited training facilities, we would now be on deferred service until notified. I returned to Clayton Dewandre and continued with development projects until call-up papers were received in August 1941. These instructed me to report to St. John’s Wood, London, adjacent to London Zoo! It was always known as A.C.R.C. (Air Crew Reception Centre).
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AIRCREW RECEPTION CENTRE
12/7 FLIGHT – LONDON – AUGUST 11TH 1941
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We were billeted in large flats – six bunks to a room. I was “closeted” with five Scotsmen and for some days just couldn’t understand a word they were saying. What with shedding ones hair and other “foreign” phrases it was very difficult to communicate. However, they became very staunch friends during our initial training.
During our three weeks at A.C.R.C. we were re-examined medically, given all the necessary injections, inoculations, blood tests, etc., including a smallpox vaccination. Many of the recruits suffered quite a lot of pain from this intensive treatment, particularly from the vaccination. I was fortunate since, having been treated as a child, my reaction was minimal.
“Kitting out” was a major operation – large kit bag stuffed with spare boots, best blues, vest – airmen for the use of – underpants, numerous pairs of socks, four shirts with eight loose collars, two ties, two side caps, shoe cleaning brushes, button cleaning equipment, sewing wallet, gas masks and tin hat. We had to remove our civilian gear to the Wembley Warehouse and don our battledress equipment. Each side hat came complete with a detachable white flash which fitted around the front and was held in place by one of the turned-up peaks. This indicated that the wearer was aircrew under training. Whilst at the warehouse in Wembley we were instructed to pack our civilian attire and wrap it in brown paper, with the address clearly printed on the label provided. These were then dealt with by the RAF stores personnel.
Whilst at the A.C.R.C. we were divided into Flights of approximately fifty recruits and were drilled, drilled and drilled – every day – to “lick us into shape”.
Being a short person i.e. 5ft 6” I was always halfway down the flight rank. Those at the front and the rear were mainly ex-policemen. It meant that we shorties had to almost run to keep up with those in front and, to prevent those at the rear from treading on our heels. The corporal in charge eventually got the stride distance sorted out – R.A.F. Standard - which suited all concerned.
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STRATFORD ON AVON
INTIAL TRAINING WING
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PROMOTION TO L.A.C. NOVEMBER 3RD 1941
[Postcard]
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INITIAL TRAINING WING, STRATFORD-ON-AVON :
AUGUST 1941 – NOVEMBER 1941
We were billeted in hotels commandeered by the MOD. I was in the Falcon Hotel – a very old building with sloping floors, small windows and creaking stairs and floorboards. Whilst at Stratford we had to do guard duty – two hours on – four off – from 6.0 pm to 6.0 am. During the winter months it was not very pleasant and the creaking/groaning of the swinging hotel signs were, initially, rather daunting particularly when coupled with the church clock chiming and listening for the officer and NCO of the guard watch coming round to try and catch us out.
During our stay at Stratford we were taught Morse code both sending and receiving, including Aldis lamps, navigation and the Dead Reckon Type with Mercators charts, maths, aircraft recognition, theory of flight, aero engine design and, of course, drilling!
Our working day commenced with reveille at 6.0am and breakfast at 7-7.30am and ended at 4.30pm (16.30 hours). Wednesday afternoon was for sport which I spent rowing on the Avon. I also had the opportunity of seeing a few shows at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre.
We sat our exams at the end of October 1941 and I was promoted from AC2 (the lowest Non-commissioned rank to LAC – (Leading Aircraftsman) on the 3rd November 1941. This entailed sewing a cloth badge showing an aircraft propellor onto the sleeves of our uniforms. Pay also increased from two shillings and sixpence per day to five shillings per day. I was suddenly rich beyond my wildest dreams.
FLYING TRAINING
The way was now open to commence flying training. Prior to going home on my first leave, we were issued with an additional kit bag containing an inner and outer flying suit – special flying socks, flying boots, silk, wool and gauntlet gloves and flying helmet with goggles. Taking all this gear home was quite a problem, the total kit comprising one large kit bag, one flying kit bag, upper and lower pack, side pouches, gas mask and tin hat.
One week after completing I.T. Wing training I was posted direct to RAF Watchfield, No. 3 E.F.T.S. The airfield was all grass and was mainly a beam approach training school flying Oxfords and Ansons. Supplementary to this was an Elementary Flying Training School with Tiger Moths and Biplanes made by DeHaviland [sic, and this was my destination. The weather that November was very cold and a few minutes in the air, with the open cockpit aircraft, froze our faces. The bulky fling suits were a necessity and the boots, lined with sheepskin, did manage to keep the circulation going in the feet.
My fling instructor was Lt. Bembridge, a Battle of Britain Pilot. He was very anxious to show me the aerobatic qualities of the Tiger Moth. Often, after landing, my face would be ashen and I felt very sick but I was never actually air sick. The
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WATCHFIELD, NR SWINDON
[Postcard]
GYPSY 7 ENGINE – 200 H.P. MAXIMUM SPEED – 120 MPH
NOVEMBER 21ST – DECEMBER 1ST
Total hours flying 6 3/4 in which time
I passed out Solo
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aircraft was very good to fly being light and responsive to control changes. It was, however, quite difficult to land because of its lightness and we rookies often found ourselves trying to “put the wheels down” whilst we were still ten feet or more above ground level. This, with the subsequent bouncing, was known as “walking it in”. Undercarriage repairs were required every day, but on completing the required flying exercises – see pilot’s log book – and after 6 hrs 10mins dual instruction I was allowed to go solo. It was a tremendous feeling and quite frightening to know that I was on my own and a safe take off and landing was my responsibility. There were other RAF men on the ground watching my progress and biting their nails. I cannot remember exactly but I think I completed three take offs and landings during the 00.35 minutes solo.
The time at No. 3 E.F.T.S. Watchfield was apparently an elimination period. Those who had gone solo, 8 hours allowed, were detained to go for further training to either Canada, America, South Africa, Rhodesia, or Australia on what was known as the Empire Air Training Scheme. Those cadets who needed a little extra flying training, but showed promise, were posted to other E.F.T.S. schools in the UK whilst the remainder had to re-muster as navigators, wireless operators or air gunners.
The Empire Air Training Scheme was initiated because of enemy action and weather conditions severely limiting flying training courses in the UK therefore preventing the flow of trained aircrew, with operational service, at the rate required.
Generally, the country providing the training paid for new airfields to be built and a large proportion of the training costs. This included the U.S.A.
THE ARNOLD SCHEME – UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Following a brief period of leave from Watchfield in December 1941, I was instructed to report to Heaton Park, Manchester. The weather was atrocious with rain and fog. Approximately 3,000 cadets congregated at that venue and we had to “hang around” until our names and numbers were called when we went to a billeting clerk to be told who we were to stay with and the address.
John Player and myself were given the same billet – a Mrs. Pimlett – the address escapes my memory. On arrival we were met by a middle-aged lady in best “bib and tucker”, complete with carnation. She welcomed us into her home, showed us our room and explained that she was going to a wedding. She then invited us to go to the evening reception and wrote down the address.
After a bath and general “tidy up” and, with best blues donned, buttons shining and boots polished, John and I went to the address given.
We were truly welcomed by the wedding party and enjoyed the evening with them, eventually returning home with Mrs. Pimlott.
We learned that our landlady had an invalid husband and she financed their living by taking in sewing of pre-cut garments and of course now by providing a billet for such
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Mid-Atlantic on board the ‘Montcalm’
12th January 1942
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Our only company across the Atlantic the ‘Volendam’
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Moncton Railway Station
Canada
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as John and I. The sewing side was almost slave labour and she had to work all day and well into the evening to obtain a meagre income.
John and I departed Manchester for Glasgow on January 6th and embarked on the S.S. Montcalm. This ship had been an armed merchantman before being converted into a troop ship. A 4” naval gun was mounted at the stern and this ship was, we were told, of 13,000 ton capacity. We set sail on January 8th 1942 with a sister ship names Volendam which also had RAF cadets on board, and in convoy with other ships and destroyer escorts. After leaving Glasgow we called at Milford Haven and then nosed out into the Atlantic. The weather, after two days at sea, became very stormy and the ship pitched and rolled to an uncomfortable degree. Many men were sea sick and food was definitely out of order. John and I lived on arrowroot biscuits and lemonade for eight of the fourteen day voyage to Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada.
During the very story crossing we were called upon to carry out various duties and mine was submarine watch! I couldn’t have recognised a periscope if I had seen one and in any event, the waves and ship movement were such that just staying upright was enough without looking for submarines.
Although I had been allocated a hammock for sleeping purposes, I just could not get into one, and kept falling out the opposite side so swapped for a bunk – even though the ship’s movement was intensified by a fixed bunk.
Because of the atrocious weather conditions our destroyer and convoy of ships disappeared after five days out into the Atlantic. The Volendrum went out of sight after a further two days sailing.
Eleven days after leaving Glasgow the bad weather gradually abated and we started eating Navy food again on the mess deck, but it was necessary to hang on to the plates to prevent them sliding off the end of the table.
After thirteen days at sea we were thrilled to see the bright lights of Moncton appear on the horizon.
The first things I saw after docking were large stalks of bananas – my favourite fruit – which I had not seen since 1939/40. I bought a complete stalk and shared them with John – they were delicious.
The temperature in Moncton was well below zero and a good covering of snow was evident. The cold could easily cause frost bite but it was a dry cold and providing that we were well covered, including ear flaps, a good walk would generate a pleasant glow.
The barrack blocks were well above RAF standards as also was the food.
We were at Moncton for only a few days whilst the “powers that be” allocated the 3,000 cadets from the Montcalm to the various training establishments in the U.S.A. and Canada.
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Canadian Prairies in January 1942
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Albany, Georgia, USA
Looking down Main Street – January 1942
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Our barrack hut – No 5 – 9th Feb 1942
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British Cadets marching back from Retreat Turner Field, Albany
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Right
Our black waiters at Turner Field Albany, Georgia
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Our train journey commenced late January – destination: Turner Field, Albany, Georgia, USA, and lasted for five days. We slept in bunks which hinged down from above the windows. The Canadian prairies and Northern States of the USA were thick with snow – see photographs.
The train stopped for a short time at Grand Central Station, New York and also at the AMTRAC main station of Washington DC. We travelled south through Virginia, North and South Carolina and Georgia and the weather became warm and pleasant.
TURNER FIELD, ALBANY, GEORGIA
Our stay at Turner Field was only for approximately two weeks during which time we were introduced to the American Army Air Corp disciplines and daily routines.
We were housed in two-storey barrack huts – see photographs – each room housed two cadets and the standard of comfort was very good. The base had its own band and this marched round the camp at 06.30 hours at Reveille, at which time we had to don our shorts and ‘T’ shirts for thirty minutes of P.E., always starting and finishing with press-ups. With this rigorous daily routine we quickly regained our fitness. Each cadet was weighed by a dietician and allocated a “weight” table in the dining room and, by that means, the calorie intake was controlled. I was on an underweight table, weighing in at just eight stone. This table had lots of rich foods and unlimited bottles of milk. Needless to say, my weight remained the same but I did justice to the food!
During our visits to the dining room we were instructed that we must only sit on the first two inches of the chair. Why this stupid rule existed I do not know, also our backs had to be upright at all times, i.e. sat to attention. At 18.00 hours we were marched to the parade ground for the last post and lowering the Stars and Stripes, at which time we had to sing the American National Anthem.
CARLSTROM FIELD, ARCARDIA, FLORIDA
Our stay at Turner Field ended with the transfer of John Player, Stan Gage and myself, along with approximately thirty American and British Cadets, in total, to Carlstrom Field, Arcadia, Florida. Arcadia was only a few miles from Sarasota and Fort Myers. Miami was approximately 200 miles further south.
Carlstrom Field had been a civilian pilot training base operated by Sembery Riddle Co. All staff were civilians except those responsible for discipline and routine flying checks. The civilians were taught on Piper Cubs whereas service personnel were trained on the American Military Primary Trainer, the Boeing PT.17 Stearman. This aircraft, although a biplane, could not be compared with the Tiger Moth. It was much heavier, more powerful, had a Wright Cyclone radial engine and, to our horror, had wheel brakes, the control of these brakes were by treadles attached to the rudder bars. This resulted in numerous ground loops with Cadets landing the aircraft in a tense condition and, inadvertently pressing down on one or more of the rudder bar brake treadles. Consequently, the maintenance staff were kept very busy repairing damaged wings.
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[Picture]
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ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE CADET’S HANDBOOK
LATERAL CONTROL
Ailerons – The ailerons, which are the surfaces used for lateral control of the airplane (wing down or up) are situated on the outer, trailing edge of the wing and are used for rolling the airplane ….
[Pictures]
LONGITUDINAL CONTROL
The Elevators – are horizontal, movable control surfaces located, on conventional aircraft, on the tail group, controlled by forward or back pressure on the stick and are used for obtaining longitudinal control (up and down).
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NB: Handbook still complete and in good condition
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FRONT COVER FROM CADET’S HANDBOOK
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[Picture]
CARLSTROM FIELD – 1941
Compared with the photo to the left, Carlstrom Field – 1941, as pictured above, may with all conservatism, be termed the ideal training ground for fledgling pilots.
Constructed at a cost of over a million dollars, the new Carlstrom Field facilities offer the utmost in providing for the student pilot’s health of mind and body. Moreover, every piece of flight equipment is the finest available, insuring insofar as is humanly possible, the student’s rapid advancement as a steady, dependable pilot.
The instructors at RAI have been chosen with extreme care and trained at RAI’s Instructors’ Courses to the end that you may be taught to fly by an aviator who is one of the best in the game.
It is a matter of tradition and record, substantiated by the rosters of Military and Commercial aviation, that pilots trained at Carlstrom Field have gone forth as some of the most capable in aviation’s history.
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My instructor was a Mr. R.L. Priest, a very patient man. We were all issued with a book which gave a detailed account of how to carry out various manoeuvres including aerobatics. I was allowed to fly solo on the 24th March 1942 – see Certificate in Cadets Handbook – after being checked by Mr. Jane. Further checks were made at 20, 40 and 60 hours, and if satisfactory the specified stages of the Primary Training were complete.
During our stay at Arcadia we were allowed off base – “open post” from 4.0pm Saturday until 10.0pm Sunday. After exploring Arcadia – only one day necessary – we ventured further afield to Sarasota and Fort Myers. Before being able to hire a car we had to obtain a licence from the local Sheriff which meant driving him round the block.
Eight of us shared one car. Those who had driven before and held British Licences went first and those, such as myself, hung back. However, after five cadets had taken the Sheriff round he said “Okay boys, let’s give you your licences”, so we all qualified.
John Player, Stan and I generally went into either Sarasota or Fort Myers during “Open Post” staying at the cheapest guest house we could find. Our pay was only five shillings, plus two shillings and six pence flying pay, plus six pence colonial allowance per day, i.e. eight shillings per day. The rate of exchange was 4.50 dollars to the pound. The American cadet pay was 10 dollars per day.
We met many good and generous hosts during our breaks from camp but we were amazed by the number of people (males) who wore Stetson and spurred boots, without a horse in sight!
Sarasota had a very large caravan trailer area, mainly used by Americans going south to escape the winter snows and cold weather in the north. The weather generally was very pleasant during our stay at Carlstrom but the extreme humidity made life rather uncomfortable and it was common practice to shower at least once during the night.
During our training, one of the flying exercises was pylon eighties which taught the cadet to allow for wind drift. This meant selecting a field and flying the aircraft with the wing tip held on one of the intersections, then flying diagonally across the field so the wing tip again intersected with the opposite corner of the rectangular field.
I am certain that almost all cadets were guilty of taking empty Coca Cola bottles up on this exercise and, choosing a field with cows, we would drop one after another of these bottles causing almost a stampede. The bottles gave a loud whistle during their descent. Many farmers waved their fists and tried to get our aircraft number on these occasions.
It was during my stay at Carlstrom that I heard the black staff – generally dining room and similar duties – join together after evening meal and last post, singing blues songs. They were very impressive and this practice among them was experienced by me at all of the other bases to which I was posted.
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[Photograph]
The first batch of mail from home
Carlstrom Field, Florida
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Taken in the air, showing P.T. 17 flying above another aircraft – Carlstrom Field.
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Indian Children of Seminole Tribe, The Everglades, Florida
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Eric (left) & John – relaxing in Florida
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Home of the Stewart Family
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Dexter Ave. Montgomery
(Pop’s Car)
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Cameron Stewart at The Lake
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Four day’s leave was granted at the end of our Primary Training. John and I decided to try and hitch to Miami. Our first lift, given by an insurance collector, took us a good 150 miles to Fort Lauderdale, calling in the Everglades at Indian settlements for their premiums. We met and spoke to the Seminole Tribe families and were permitted to take photographs of their children. A second lift took us into Miami where we checked in at a hotel. We didn’t expect to arrive in Miami on the same day as we left Arcadia.
During an evening meal we were approached by a middle-aged man from another table who enquired who we were and what we were doing in the USA. He asked us where we were staying and promptly said he would ring and cancel out room because we could stay in his hotel without any payment and this included all meals. He introduced us to his wife and friends and told us that he had emigrated to America after World War I and was from Sheffield. It was our good fortune to have been in the right place at the right time!
GUNTER FIELD, MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA
We returned to Arcadia after our leave to be posted to Gunter Field, Montgomery, Alabama for our Basic Flying Training.
Gunter Field was approximately six miles from Montgomery – the capital of Alabama and between the two was Kilby prison. During our first few weeks at the base it was noted that the electric lights dipped intermittently on quite a regular basis. We later learned that it was caused by the Electric Chair at the prison – very disconcerting to know that a prisoner was being executed when the voltage dropped.
Our aircraft for basic training was the BT.13 monoplane with fixed undercarriage. The exercises taught were virtually identical to those covered during Primary Training, except that we were not allowed to carry out snap rolls as they tended to twist the plane and fuselage. See Pilot’s log book for details of flying exercises. This part of our training concentrated more on instrument flying and cross-country daylight and night exercises.
My instructor was an ex-British Cadet from an earlier course, P/Officer Rogers. He was a good instructor and I enjoyed flying with him. Formation flying – three aircraft in ‘V’ formation could be somewhat traumatic at times, wing tips had to be placed and maintained between the wing and tail plane of the lead aircraft and not more than one wing length at the side. With air turbulence, particularly during afternoon flying, it was very dodgy. We also had to carry out low-level formation flying, as low as fifty feet. On one occasion, when flying along the Goosa River, the instructor in the lead aircraft was so low that water spray splattered us in the wing planes and a man who was fishing was so startled as we swept up the river, that he jumped in. Landing in formation was also very precarious. The lead aircraft pilot signalled by hand how many rotations of the main flap he was applying – we had to apply a higher number of rotations to ensure that we didn’t over-shoot him. On one occasion, I was rapidly rotating the flap handle when it came off its spindle. I had to make a rapid break from the formation. On another occasion an oil pipe in the engine nacelle fractured, spraying the windscreen and blocking all forward vision. Again it was a
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[Photograph]
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case of breaking formation and a hasty return to base, landing with only side vision! See large photographs of BT.13 – I am flying the nearest aircraft)
My Basic Training concluded on the 2nd July 1942. Durin my stay at Gunter Field, the first anniversary of Pearl Harbour was “celebrated”. The three American services decided to hold a parade in all major cities. The British contingent at Gunter were instructed by the O.C. RAF to take part. A Union Jack Flag was obtained and had to be paraded and escorted at the side of the Stars and Stripes. The first time they brought the British Flag onto the parade ground it was upside down. We were all issued with rifles – many months since we had carried out rifle drill, and even though it was July, with temperatures in the 90 degree F. region, we had to wear RAF Blue uniform. When we took these out of our kit bags the buttons were green and it took quite some time to bring them to parade ground condition.
Following the march through Montgomery, John and I made for the ice warehouse where we could buy a water melon to quench our thirst. It was at this point that an American youth came to us and suggested we should return home with him for lime drinks. He said his parents were across the road and they would drive us home. The youth was Cameron Stewart and his parents, Vannie and Pop. John and I went to the Stewart’s house and into the country on the Goosa river, almost every open post after that day. Very often Pop would pick us up to save us getting the bus into Montgomery. At that time Pop was co-owner of a gents outfitter’s shop. Their house was typical of those in the Southern States with Clapboard outer skin and very much like a plasterboard inner lining. All rooms were air conditioned and the freezer size, huge. All windows and door frames were wire netted to keep out the flies and mosquitoes.
The American hospitality was really rather marvellous, lines of cars would be parked outside the base on “open Post” and cadets were picked up at random and entertained by families for the weekend. Pop and Vannie’s hospitality continued when John and I were posted for Advanced Training to Craig Field, Selma, Alabama – a round trip of 100 miles from Montgomery – which Pop drove every weekend to pick us up.
This was the final stage to our graduation and the Advanced Trainer was the AT.6 Harvard, a high performance aircraft within the 200 mph bracket.
My instructor on this aircraft was P/O Percival and he allowed me to go solo after 2hrs.35 mins dual instruction. My stay at Craig Field was very short. During circuits and landings at an auxiliary airfield I was involved in an accident with another aircraft on the landing strip. The other aircraft was occupied by an American instructor who had disregarded all the ground rules for taxi-ing after landing and had decided to taxi to the take off point along the same route on which he had landed. I had chosen this line of approach to land and as the aircraft had already covered most of the landing length when I approached I did not see him reverse his tracks before I touched down. With a rear wheel it is not possible to see ahead after landing, until zigzagging when taxi-ing. Both aircraft collided.
Although there was a control aircraft on the airfield my instructor advised me that I wouldn’t receive any support from the American controller as he was a good friend of
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EXTRACT FROM PILOT’S FLYING LOG BOOK
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Telegram from mum on my 20th birthday – 10th March 1942
Also received telegrams from Jessie Brown, sister Dora Dickerson and sister Ethel Dixon (all telegrams still preserved in their original envelopes)
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PICTON, ONTARIO, CANADA
1942
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Approaching Canada’s Horseshoe Falls
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the instructor. Three American Officers checked my ability to fly the aircraft and at no time was my flying criticised. However, there had to be a scapegoat and that was me.
REMUSTERING – CANADA
On leaving Criag Field I was sent to Ottawa, Canada to appear before a board of officers who controlled the training of RAF cadets both in the USA and Canada.
During my interview we discussed the events of my accident and I was asked what I thought my next stage of training should be. I requested that I be considered for posting to an advanced flying school in Canada to complete my pilot training, having now achieved 130 hours in American aircraft.
I was instructed to report to a Group Captain on the board the following day for their decision. On attending this appointment I was told that they would agree to my request but I must also give written agreement that I would convert to twin-engine aircraft and stay in Canada for at least one year as an instructor. After much thought I declined their offer and opted to be retrained as a Navigator/Bomb Aimer at a school in Picton, Ontario. As my navigational training had already been concluded in America it was only a matter of a few night cross-country exercises to complete this part of my course, plus the written exams. The bombing and gunnery aspects were completely new, including theory and practice.
I graduated at the end of November 1942 and during my stay at Picton I had the opportunity of flying over and photographing the Niagara Falls. I was also able to make two visits to the Falls.
Other places visited were Hamilton and Toronto, the latter was visited on a number of occasions. It was at Picton that I met up again with Carl Hurlington and Jimmy Milichip both of whom had been sent back for retraining from pilot courses in Canada. Carl and I stayed together up to squadron allocation in North Africa.
RETURN TO THE U.K.
We embarked at New York, along with 30,000 other servicemen, on the Queen Elizabeth I – two weeks before Christmas 1942. The journey to Greenock (Glasgow) took four days and there were no escorts as it was considered that the ship could out-run the ‘U’ boats.
Only one cooked meal was served each day and every individual was given a ticket which showed which mess and meal time, which was part of the 24 hour serving. Supplementary food could be purchased from the various shops on board [sic] It was an uneventful journey and quite the opposite to the out-going one.
On arrival in Glasgow we were held for three days on board before it was our turn to be ferried ashore, after which we entrained for the RAF centre at Harrogate.
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[Newspaper cutting]
Last week saw the departure of another contingent of British Pilot Officers, lads who had, many of them, passed through stages of their training at Maxwell and Gunter Fields, at Selma’s Craig and Dothan’s Napier, and have since been stationed as instructors at various points in the Southeast. Many of these chaps will remember Montgomery as the site of their “getting acquainted” with America, and many of them have formed ties with our town which will endure long after this present war is history.
When, some twenty months ago, Montgomery was invaded by the British, our capitulation was prompt. We fell before their onslaught like a Sicilian village before our own advancing troops. Into hundreds of Montgomery homes these cadets of the RAF were invited, perhaps a little doubtfully, but most of them quickly established themselves as wholesome lads, a little different in surface mannerisms and speech, but actually very like American boys, and very happy to find a friendly welcome in a strange land.
What began as a gesture of Montgomery’s hospitality developed, often, into fast friendships, and many Montgomery homes became “home from home” for youths from Yorkshire and Wales, Londoners and Scottish lads. RAF blue was a common sight on Montgomery’s streets. And, as the training program progressed, RAF men who had trained here began to take part in the raids over France and Germany and in other theatres of war. Montgomery is represented on these RAF sweeps over enemy territory just as it is represented in the actions of our Flying Fortresses.
Now the sight of an RAF uniform has become a rarity. With the exception of those who sleep on the hill above Montgomery, the RAF trainees have taken their wings and gone to the combat areas. They write back to Montgomery as if writing home, and Montgomery has a warm place in their hearts. Almost without exception they want to return in happier times to revisit this heart of the deep south.
“I know you’re glad to be going home’ someone remarked to a departing officer The officer hesitated. “Well yes, of course But I shall be back…definitely”
Written by ‘Pop’ Stewart for the Montgomery Advertiser
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Receipt for diamond engagement ring
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Jessie Brown 1942
Below: Sister Eva outside No. 4 William Street, Lincoln
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I was eventually interviewed by Leslie Ames the cricketer, who decided that because of the extent of my pilot training I should be a better asset to the RAF by being posted to a Wellington Operational Training Unit acting as Bomb Aimer, second pilot and supplementary navigator. I wasn’t sure how I could cope with it all but I agreed to his suggestion. – The following day I was given Christmas leave.
At this point in my memoirs I must introduce Jessie Brown. I met Jessie during the brief time that she worked at Clayton Dewandre and we began to go out together between my attendance at evening college and also at weekends. This was the period between my acceptance for the RAFVR and actually reporting for training.
Before leaving Lincoln we agreed that if either of us met someone else we were quite free to go out with them. However, both Jessie and I corresponded on a regular basis during my stay in this country and also during my time in America and Canada. Also we spent my leaves together. When I returned from Canada we decided that our relationship was very special to us, even though we had not known or been together very long. It was during my Christmas leave that we decided to become engaged. We went to Gravesend to see my sister Eva who was in the ATS and was stationed there. She was a telephonist on a Heavy Ack, Ack Gun Site but managed a short spell off duty so we went for a meal together and shared all our news. We travelled back to London and stayed in a rather cold and drab hotel off Regent Street for the night and went to a jewellers called Hinds to buy an engagement ring. Jessie chose a white gold ring with five diamonds. The assistant in the shop gave her a diary and this diary and the receipt for the ring are together in our memorabilia. At the same time, whilst on leave, we decided that if I was again posted abroad we would marry before I left.
Imagine my surprise when on arrival at Moreton-in-Marsh O.T. Unit we were told that, on completion of our training we would be posted to 205 Group British North Africa Forces. This news meant very hurried preparation for our wedding to take place at the end of March beginning of April. With the very limited facilities available and rationing of food, clothes, etc., the planning of such an event was very difficult and celebrations had to be extremely limited. The flying weather conditions during the first three months of 1943 were atrocious and our wedding date had to be postponed on two occasions but everyone was very understanding about these changes of plan. However, it did make life rather difficult for Jessie and others trying to make final arrangements.
The first and most important stage of OTU training was to “crew up” with other members of aircrew who it was thought could work as a team. I was a member of a crew made up of Pilot – Cyril Pearce – also a 42H class member in the USA but at different air bases – Jock Taylor (Scottish) navigator – Jock had joined straight from college and was the youngest crew member; Jack Morvel – WOP/AG and hailed from Bury – said he dyed to live but now lived to die – very encouraging and jovial character; Ted Peters – London – rear gunner.. [sic] Ted was a bit of a loner but we always encouraged him to join us in our out-of-base activities, mainly in Moreton, which at that time was just packed with airmen. Our crew was all NCO, and we knitted together very well. Most of our training was night flying on long cross-country exercises – Bulls Eyes – going from cities in England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, carrying out various laid down routines such as infra-red simulated bombing of docks,
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19th April 1943 – St. Swithin’s Church, Lincoln
Carl Harlington, Enid Scott, Eric Scott, Jessie Brown, Eva Scott, James Brown
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factories etc., which would record on camera for accuracy. On some occasions the cloud base was so thick and low that we never saw the ground from take off to landing and all navigation was done by dead reckoning and Astro-shots. Our accuracy in locating “targets” and turning points were very hit and miss, hence the postponement in completing our training. Some crews were lost during this period, either crashing in the Welsh or Scottish mountains or from the mechanical failure of the aircraft. It was also during this final part of our training we had to “stand to” for participating in a 1,000 bomber raid on Germany. I never found out the intended target because it was cancelled prior to briefing.
Our training completed – not without a few hair-raising experiences, we eventually went home on “embarkation” leave.
Jessie and I were married at St. Swithins Church on 19th April 1943 and our reception was in the ‘Gym’ room of the Rose and Crown Inn at the junction of William and Dale Street, Lincoln. We really appreciated the number of local people who helped us and we didn’t seem to miss out on anything with regard to food. Carl Harlington, who was also at Moreton and who hailed from Thorne, Nr. Doncaster, was my best man, but he was the only RAF person present, though one or two others were invited.
Jessie and I spent our wedding night at my sister Mary’s house in St. Hughe’s Street, Lincoln and the following day we travelled by train to Stratford upon Avon where we stayed in a B & B which we found on arrival – address : Sheep Street. After three days we returned to Lincoln as my leave was completed.
On my return to OTU I found that Cyril Pearce had also married during his leave, to a WAAF – Doreen – who was stationed at Gloucester. They married on the Saturday and we on the Monday.
Our final stage at Moreton was to “pick up” a new Wellington aircraft from a dispersal airfield near Gloucester and fly it on a number of exercises to ensure that everything functioned satisfactorily before taking it out to North Africa. As this exercise usually absorbed three weeks of our time, Cyril and I arranged for Doreen and Jessie to join us at Moreton for a week, I.e. the last week prior to departure. We stayed at the “Wylwyn Café” which also let rooms. One of the events which stays in my mind was our visit to the circus at Moreton. We all went along including Jock Prentice – another pilot who had also been married during his leave and whose wife had joined him at Moreton. The circus acts were extremely poor but what topped the lot was the smell – particularly when they let the lions into the “arena”. One can imagine the shouts and comments which ensued from a few hundred airmen!
We learned during this last week at Moreton that Doreen was AWOL from Gloucester, so Jessie and Jock’s wife loaned her civilian clothes to wear to hide the fact that she was a service woman, bearing in mind that the Service Police were well represented at Moreton and the surrounding area. The final day arrived when we had to say goodbye to our wives and walk to the airfield knowing that we would be flying that day, 27th May 1943 on the first leg of our journey to North Africa – which was from Moreton to Portreath in Cornwall.
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OPERATIONAL TRAINING UNIT
MORETON-IN-MARSH
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We stayed overnight at Portreath and on 28th May at 6.30am took off and set a course to go around the tip of France, across the Bay of Biscay, momentarily seeing the coast of Portugal and Spain and crossed the Moroccan coast at Casablanca. We then corrected course for our overnight destination at Ras-el-ma. On landing, at approximately 3.30pm British time, i.e. a nine hour flight, we were relieved to open the hatch and climb out. The air temperature suddenly hit us as we stepped onto the ground and we were surrounded by black people (local) in strange uniforms and cloaks and even stranger rifles and other firearms. This was the guard for our aircraft. RAF Ground Personnel took us to report in, and then to the “canteen” (tent) for our meal before going to our billet to make our bed for the night. During the late afternoon, Cyril and I changed the engine coolers to the tropical type as instructed at Moreton. We took our tropical khaki uniforms, with the “long shorts” as issued and our Blue kit had also been changed to khaki to “merge” with the desert sand.
On 29th we set course for Blida near Algeria which was the Headquarters of 205 Group. This took us across the Atlas mountain range which was a truly magnificent sight. This flight was only of four hours duration.
My only significant memory at Ras-el-ma was when we started the engines to fly to Blida. It was my job to prime the engines and then give Cyril the “thumbs-up” to crank them and, if they didn’t fire straight away I gave another pump on the primer which was at the Nacelle. Normally three pumps were required to get the engine – a Hercules Radical – to fire. No-one told us that in warmer climates two pumps were adequate and consequently flames poured out of the exhaust and burned my hair, eyebrows and singed my eyelashes. The smell was terrible but luckily I was not injured in any way. The second engine was started with two pumps and yours truly stood well back.
On landing at Blida we were told that we would be staying there the following day. This station’s billets were ex-Foreign Legion and the beds were curved upwards towards the centre from top to bottom. Here we encountered for the first time the French Loo!! We never thought we would manage to cope with it but practice makes perfect!
We went into Algeria the next day and saw oranges growing on the trees in the streets, experienced our first Arab Souk and the way of “hard bargaining” before purchasing anything. We had received some pay in Francs before going into town but, apart from buying “lunch” and coffee I can’t recall paying for anything else.
On 31st May we once again took off and set course for Kairouan, Tunisia. It was a three hour flight and we landed at 3.0 pm, having had to circle for thirty minutes because of exploding oil drums at the “airfield” which had been “touched-off” by the heat of the sun.
Kairouan was a number of white buildings just a mile or so from the airfield. This airfield had previously been a cornfield and the stubble was very much still in evidence. Steel, interlocking tracking – made in USA – had been laid on top of the stubble to form the runway and of course it became very hot and was the main cause
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of tyre bursts, of which there were many. The accommodation was all tented as was the various messes, because the squadrons were a mobile unit. The two Wellington Squadrons – 142 and 150 which had been sent from Waltham, Lincolnshire had been giving tactical night bombing support to the 1st Army which had landed at Bone. The “Desert” Wellington Squadrons who were now also based around were 104, 40, 37 and 70 and further support was provided by a squadron of Liberators, South African manned, and one of Halifax’s. These night bomber squadrons formed 205 Group and could produce between 80 and 100 aircraft for a night’s operation.
FIRST OPERATIONAL TOUR – 142 SQUADRON
I flew my first operation with Sergeant Cox, his B/A was sick. He had completed two thirds of his tour and Jock Taylor and I shared his tent. The target was a small island occupied by the Italians and from which they could attack our shipping. It was only lightly defended from air attacks and it was an “easy” target. This operation was one June 9th and the island, Pantelaria. (see log book).
We didn’t fly again until the 19th June when we flew as a complete crew – the target was Messina. This target was just the opposite to my first trip and we learned very quickly how to shorten the bombing run to a minimum and weave to avoid the AA shells which, on all major targets, proved to be very accurate. Sergeant Cox and his crew failed to return on this trip, which came as quite a shock to Jock and myself, reminding us that we were very vulnerable.
We continued to attack targets in Sicily and the area in Italy near to Sicily, in readiness for the invasion which took place on the night of July 9th when we were told to stay over our targets for at least thirty minutes dropping one bomb at a time and attracting the searchlights which we must then machine gun. Jack Morvel went into the front turret for this time over the target, which for us was Syracuse. Major targets such as Naples, Leghorn, Salerno, Pisa and all the airfields, were heavily defended by both AA guns and fighter cover. We had a few close shaves and there were a number of occasions when the AA shells exploded and splattered our aircraft and the cordite passed through the fuselage. On one particular trip over Naples when we become coned in the searchlights, Cyril had to throw the aircraft around to try and escape because the gun-fire was uncomfortably close. Jack Morvel was hanging onto flares in the tricel shute ready to release them when I warned him what was going to happen. The sudden, almost vertical bank that Cyril made caused Jack to lose balance and he fell into the side of the Elsan toilet which promptly broke loose and emptied its contents all over him. He wasn’t ‘flavour of the month’ for days after and had to replace his uniform battle dress. We did however manage to locate and bomb the target and return home – but had to make a second bombing run.
Our first tour was completed – thirty eight operations – by a visit to the Civitavecchia marshalling yards on October 3rd 1943, i.e. June 9th had started a four month period.
During that time I wrote and received many letters from home and received parcels with a variety of contents. We were entertained by professional artists on make-shift stages in the open air – names such as Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Dorothy Lamour, Charlie Chester and others. Members of the War Cabinet made visits to the Group
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142 SQUADRON, NORTH AFRICA – JUNE 1943
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From left to right : Ted Peters, Eric Scott, Jack Morval, Jock Taylor, Cyril Pearce
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from left: Ted Peters and J Prentice with two crew who were killed over Naples July 1943
Our camp near Kairouan, Tunisia
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and told us what was and was not happening and why. We complained about the rations – mainly melted bully beef and biscuits, and the cigarettes that were issued. They changed the cigarette packets from ‘V’ to Woodbines, the contents remained the same, terrible. Fortunately we could purchase various other true brands from the Sergeant’s Mess.
We made several visits to Sousse, Hammamet and other smaller coastal places for a dip in the Mediterranean.
The lovely white walled city of Koirouan was a myth, it smelled to ‘high heaven’ and we couldn’t go to the Souk unless there were five or six of us together. The Arabs were definitely objectionable, probably because we were very tight in our bargaining at “tent level”. They did however win the “top award” when they took a tent whilst five men were asleep inside!! It was quite a shock to the occupants when they awoke.
Water allowances were very limited. The daily ration for a tent of five was a five gallon drum. This had to be for washing ourselves, our clothes and for drinking. The drinking water was kept in a hole just outside the tent, using a brown pot jug which kept the water at an acceptable temperature.
The air temperatures were very high during the day but were pleasantly cool at night after sunset. It was not possible to touch metal exposed to the sun after 10.0am and it was common practice to fry an egg on a metal plate in the sun. Our wash basin was an upturned tin hat with the inside removed and fitted into the tail fin of a bomb. Other improvisations such as making a comfortable bed frame and raising it from the ground away from dung beetles, scorpions, etc. were introduced within days of arrival or were “bought” with cigs, chocolate, etc., from crews who had completed their tour and were leaving.
Flies were a big nuisance, settling on food and spreading disease. Gyppy Tummy and Dysentery were experienced by virtually everyone and ‘having the runs’ was no fun at all.
Jock Taylor went down with yellow jaundice and was in the hospital tent for at least a week. He perspired considerably and every day his shirts were encrusted with salt from the body. His feet were also very odorous – but he did consent to leave his socks off during non-flying hours!
We had to be very careful not to get sunburn as this was a chargeable offence if it prevented anyone from flying.
Our posting to Tunis arrived and we were to stay at the transit camp for further instructions, presumably to await either air or sea transport to the U.K. During our stay in Tunis we met ‘Poni’ (the only name we knew him by). He was Maltese and his mother and sister, together with himself and his horses escaped from Malta because of the siege and came to Tunis where he continued to earn his living as a jockey, with his horses pulling a ‘cart’ on two wheels around the local race tracks. They appeared to be a wealthy family and he took us around Tunis for dinners in local hotels and objected then we insisted on paying for an occasional meal.
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PALESTINE – MAY 1944
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Y.M.C.E. Building – Jerusalem
Right: The British War Cemetery
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‘Mount of Olives’
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‘Garden of Gethsemane’
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We also visited Carthage, the construction of which astounded us, with the running water and drainage system. This ancient city is a must to visit for anyone travelling in the area.
We had a severe shock when our posting came through. Only Jock Taylor was returning to the UK because of his jaundice, the rest of us were to fly to Cairo by Dakota, have leave and then proceed to Palestine where a new Operational Training Unit was being opened to instruct RAF personnel coming through from Rhodesia, South Africa and other Empire Training countries, prior to joining 205 Group.
We flew from Tunis across the Sahara Desert, visiting Tobruk on the way and landed at Cairo airport. We were taken to Heliopolis, a large transit camp about five miles out of Cairo and were incarcerated there for three weeks.
Cairo was visited almost daily. We had lots of back pay to draw upon and we visited a number of shows and night clubs. Jack Morvel blotted our copy book on one occasion when a troop of dancers were caterpillering off stage and he promptly dashed onto the stage and joined the end of the line. We had to leave but we had seen the show at half price. The Arabs in Cairo had to be watched very closely. They would steal anything, even the wealthy merchants from the Souk area couldn’t be trusted.
Eventually we left Cairo by a train which had wooden lattice seats, for two days of journeying to Tel-Aviv. Our bums were numb by the time we arrived! Upholstered seating was out because of the bugs which abounded in the Middle East and all bed legs had to the placed in tins partially filled with paraffin to prevent the bugs getting into bed with you!
Our destination from Tel-Aviv was 77 OTU Qastina. The station was only partially complete when we arrives and we were the first “instructors” to enter the station. The Sergeant’s Mess had not been completed at that stage and our aircraft had not arrived.
We spent Christmas 1943 on the Station. The accommodation was brick built blocks with three persons to a room. We had good beds, good showers new ‘mossie’ nets and plenty of storage room. The temperatures were quite moderate and we had to wear our Blues during the early part of the year.
Most of the construction work was being done by Arabs with RAF supervision. They would only work when they needed money and would arrive on their donkey, hobble the two front legs and report for duty – all very slowly. Occasionally we would unhobble a donkey, slap it on the rump and then at the end of the day watch the face of the owner then he found it was missing. They always dramatised everything that happened to them.
The airfield had been built on a small plain which was also the grazing area for local village animals. This resulted in considerable difficulties controlling aircraft movements because the Arabs would drive their sheep, camels, etc., across the airfield and runways at random. We tried to discourage them by rounding up their animals,
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BETHLEHEM
A Judean Home
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Mother of Pearl Workers
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TEL-AVIV
Boulevard Rothschild
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Habimah Theatre
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HAIFA
The Road to Mount Carmel
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Technicum
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putting them into a compound and then insisting that they pay a ‘fine’ to get them back. The local Mokta (Mayor) visited us frequently and we prevailed upon him to stop the villagers from crossing the airfield. The climax came when a Defiant hit a camel which was crossing the runway. Unfortunately the aircraft was a write-off and we didn’t think much of the camel steaks either!
Eventually we were able to educate the Arabs to keep off the runways and, if they needed to cross, to wait for a green Aldis from the control tower. The Arab women could carry very heavy weights on their heads and this was demonstrated when two of them dropped bales of compressed straw onto the runway – we had to use the 15 cwt Chevrolet to drag them clear.
Whilst in Palestine we took the opportunity to visit the sights mentioned in the Bible. Jerusalem, Gol-Gotha, Haifa, Sea of Galilee, Bethlehem. The Jewish people were not kindly disposed to us. It was the period when ships with European immigrants were being turned away and would-be leaders were conducting terrorist activities. It was necessary to always be on the alert against attack.
Our main entertainment was either visiting Tel-Aviv for the day, being invited to the Polish Armoured Division near Ramalah, or having a dance in the Sergeant’s mess. The ATS and WAAFs were brought in by truck for these occasions.
When a course of ‘pupils’ passed out, one per month, they would invite their instructors to join them in the mess to celebrate the occasion. Many did ‘pass out’ but it was quite an event each month and I never needed rocking off to sleep on such nights.
The only other significant occasion I remember was P/O Izzard who was being taught to fly on one engine. I was also in the aircraft instructing a bomb-aimer. The screen pilot asked his ‘pupil’ to unfeather the port engine and return to normal power but unfortunately he feathered the starboard engine. We were too low to recover any power and the screen pilot had to crash land the Wellington in open country. Luckily no-one was injured but the aircraft was written off.
A week later I went for the weekend to The King David Hotel, Jerusalem. When I woke up the next morning my hair from ear to ear was on the pillow. I thought that someone had played a prank on me but soon discovered that my hair was still falling out. On my return to Qastina I reported to the M.O. who sent me to Tel-Aviv hospital. The Specialist went into raptures because he had not previously seen such a perfectly defined Alopecia profile of hair loss – just in line with the medical book. He brought into his consulting room both junior doctors and nurses but my question was what could he do about it and how quickly would it grow. The response was quite negative, I was told it would re-grow but over a period of months. The cause – delayed shock from the crash landing.
During the early part of my stay at Qastina I was sent to Ballah, down the Red Sea, on a Bombing Leaders and Instructor’s course. We worked fourteen hours every day either in the classroom or flying. We had to cram a three month course into two weeks. Immediately on arrival we were given a smallpox vaccination, apparently it
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had broken out in the area. Fortunately for me it didn’t take. They tried three times but then gave me an exemption certification. The course was very enlightening – our tutor being a Squadron Leader and ex Oxford University Professor. I came second in the course with a 96% pass, beaten by a New Zealand Maori with 98% - a man with considerable retentive abilities.
I continued to teach at 77 O.T. Unit, Qastina, until the end of June 1944 when I agreed to team up with Brian Jeffares a NZ pilot to return for a second tour of operations, based at Foggia, Italy.
My other recollections during the stay in Palestine were the frogs and toads. Thousands of them came out after dark and made such a fearful noise when we walked across the grass verges and tarmac roads they just squelched under our shoes. The other was the cheapness of fruit. We had a plywood tea chest, normal size, which we would half fill on a bi-weekly basis. This would cost around five shillings. Huge grapefruit was stacked at the side of the roads, like sugar beet, and left to rot because of the lack of transportation to send them to other countries.
Jack Morval and I were, on one occasion, invited out to a meal with an Arab family by a Palestinian Policeman. Quite an experience. We sat on mats around a large dish full of mutton portions, including eyes, of which everyone present had to eat at least one. This was not pleasant but I did manage to swallow one with my own eyes closed! The Arab family were upper-class and very good hosts and could speak quite good English. I was under the impression that the Palestinian Policeman dined with them on a regular basis.
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205 GROU – FOGGIA, ITALY 1944
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Our Crew see dots:: Brian Jeffries (NZ) Jack (Canada) Snowy Ayton (NZ) Eric Scott (UK) Jack Nichols (UK)
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SECOND TOUR OF OPERATION – 205 GROUP
Our Crew:
P/O Brian Jeffares New Zealand Pilot
W/O Snowy Ayton New Zealand Rear Gunner
F/Sgt Jock Nicholls Scotland W/O Air gunner
F/O Jack Canada Navigator
F/Sgt Eric Scott England Bomb/Aimer
We left as passengers in a Dakota bound for Capodichino airfield, Naples, on 23rd July 1944. Our first touch down for refuelling was Benghazi, then further stops at Tripoli, Bari and finally Naples. Flying time was 11hrs 50 minutes but the duration of the overall journey was fourteen hours. (See Log book).
We were allocated to 37 Squadron of 205 Group flying MK X Wellingtons but these were now fitted with the MK X1V bomb sights, another Barnes Wallis invention and considerably superior and more accurate than the old MK IX. It worked on a gyroscopic principle so that if the aircraft banked the sight only rotated half the amount, thus keeping the sighting vertical. This enabled short bombing runs to be made with great accuracy and gave profound relief to the crew as this period was the time most likely to be hit by Anti-Aircraft fire and coned by searchlights.
Following two days of air tests to acquaint ourselves with the locality and hazards we were listed for our first operation to an aerodrome in the South of France. A trip of almost nine hours duration. We had two bombs ‘hung up’ and I had to chop out a section of the ‘cat walk’ above the station concerned and then release them manually over the sea.
Over the next twelve days we completed seven operations, two of which were to the Ploesti oil refinery complex near Bucharest. This was the third most heavily defended target in Europe with many searchlights, light and heavy AA guns and, I have since learned, a ratio of two fighters to every bomber.
Our losses were very high in 205 Group, around 10%, but not nearly as much as the Americans who followed us on daylight operations. They lost well over 100 aircraft each day.
Our first operation on Ploesti was quite reasonable and we were not coned, although the gun fire was accurate and the smell of cordite in the plane was quite unmistakeable we came out unscathed. The next attack was quite the opposite. We approached the target at 15,000 feet and were at least three miles away from the aiming point when a master searchlight came straight onto us, followed by at least five others. We corkscrewed, dived and did every manoeuvre possible but could not get rid of them. We were then down to 8,000 feet and being hit by light and heavy AA fire. We did the shortest bombing run ever and then continued to take avoiding action, losing height all the time. We levelled out at 700 feet, at last free of the defences and about seven miles from the target. We saw a number of aircraft being shot down and much air to air firing by observing tracer fire. We knew that some of the fires on the ground were dummies and that some of the ground explosions were to make us think that
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more aircraft were crashing than was the case. However, our losses on that occasion were high.
Following the Ploesti trips two crews in our Group refused to go on any further operations. They were court martialled and accused of ‘lack of moral fibre’, lost their rank and brevet and sent to detention. I often wondered whether the court of officers presiding had ever been to Ploesti or any similar targets. It was a very frightening experience especially with such a small force of aircraft.
We pressed on, operating through August, September and into October. Being an experienced crew we were sometimes called upon to carry out Path-finding, when we had to locate the target using flares, in Chandelier then make a second run to drop target markers of either Red or Green, then a third run to drop our bombs. Not very healthy and also we were not equipped with ‘H2S’ or ‘G’, blind target identification aids, as fitted to all four-engined aircraft operating from the UK.
Some of our operations involved dropping mines on the Danube which prevented, delayed, or damaged barges being towed with German supplies to their front lines in Hungary, it particularly restricted the supply of oil to their forces in Italy and Germany.
Dropping mines was known as ‘Gardening’ and each crew were given a ‘Bed’ or stretch of the river in which the mines must be delivered. Naval officers briefed and de-briefed us on these occasions. We usually carried four mines. When about 100 miles from the target and depending upon the terrain, we would drop to between 600/700 feet to be under the Radar beams. As the river came into view, bearing in mind that it was always a full moon situation, we would drop to 200 feet. On identifying our Bed we would further reduce height, sometimes to 100 feet before releasing the mines. This ensured that the mines would not break up on impact with the water.
Inevitably there was much light gunfire from the banks and also rocket launches on barges in the river. The rockets whistled past the aircraft but we were never hit by either of the defences and we didn’t waste time getting away.
One of our squadron crew was shot down over the river on one mine laying trip but they managed to ditch, swim to the bank and three weeks later arrived back on the squadron. We wanted to know why it took them so long!
With the Russian advance, guns and fighter aircraft became even more concentrated and targets more difficult to attack, consequently our losses also increased because of this.
About the middle of October, Wing Commander Langton, our C/O sent for our crew and told us that the Group was converting to Liberators. He said that our tour of operations would be completed in the next week or so and that we would then return to the UK. It was not worth the expense of us converting for a few operations. The following day I filled in the necessary forms to apply for a commission as I considered that this would be more beneficial to me on my return than a Warrant Officer rank
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[Photograph]
Beside the main road from Bucharest to the famous oil town of Ploiesti, lies the beautifully tended Commonwealth War Graves Commission Cemetery. While British Defence Attaché in Romania (1979-82) the author became curious to know how the 80 British and Commonwealth airmen, who lie in this peaceful place, met their deaths between May and August 1944.
He discovered that they were from the RAF’s 205 Group which, flying from airfields in the Foggia Plain of Italy, was the night bomber component of the Mediterranean Allied Strategic Air Force. They had lost their lives during the sustained day and night offensive against the Romanian oil industry and its distribution network, the transportation system supporting the German front in Moldavia and the mining of the Danube.
The cost to the Group, against these well-defended objectives – rated third after Berlin and the Ruhr - was 254 aircrew. 154 lost their lives, 73 became prisoners, while 27 evaded capture and returned to Allied lines after many adventures. 46 Bombers were lost.
Patrick Macdonald’s account of these operations is based on the contemporary official reports and intelligence assessments fleshed out by the recollections of many of the men who were there from all corners of the Commonwealth.
‘…a riveting story, well organised and well told… Patrick Macdonald’s book convincingly justifies his assertion that this bomber offensive, though little publicised at the time was no side show when set against other events nearer to the main arena of the war and for those who took part in it.’
British Army Review
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which was imminent. I was interviewed the following day by Wing Commander Langton who said that he would forward a recommendation to Group HQ without delay.
On the 17th October we carried out what we thought would be our final operation on a marshalling yard in Yugoslavia. However, on the afternoon of the 21st we were asked to fill in for a crew whose pilot had reported sick. The target was Maribor marshalling yards in Yugoslavia. Everything went wrong on that day. The aircraft was an old MKIII and one engine was ‘playing up’ when we checked it out in the afternoon. When we went to take off the engine was still showing high mag. drop. Further work was carried out but eventually we took off fifteen minutes late and with a slower than normal aircraft. Our arrival on target was at least twenty minutes behind schedule and, of course, we were on our own. After dropping our bombs we turned for home and tried to do a bit more catching up. On approaching the Yugoslavian mountains we were attacked by a German fighter from below. No-one saw it as it was in a blind position. The damage was mainly to the petrol tank on the starboard side, so I switched both engines to that tank to save fuel.
Despite the fact that we dog-legged, changed height and changed our position every few minutes, we were again attacked about fifteen minutes later and on this occasion the aircraft went out of control. Brian gave the order to abandon the aircraft. I opened the front lower entry/escape hatch, saw Jock and Jack the navigator go forward, then picked up Brian’s parachute and gave it to him, meanwhile he was trying to slow the descent of the aircraft which was quite considerable. On trying to clip on my own ‘chute I could only feel a clip on the left side – the right hand clip seemed to be flattened. Being dark I couldn’t see what had happened. There was very little time to ponder the problem because we were over the mountains which I could see from the side window. My only chance of survival was to jump and hope that the canopy shrouds would not entangle so that the ‘chute would open.
I said a very quick prayer asking God to give me a safe landing and then swung out of the forward hatch. I then felt for the rip cord handle and pulled it. Almost immediately there was a very load crack and I was jerked into a floating situation. At the same time I saw our aircraft explode on the ground. Not being sure of my ‘angle of dangle’ I was not ready when I hit the ground with considerable force. My face hit a boulder on the mountain side – I’ve never looked so good since. It was pouring with rain and numerous dogs were barking, presumably because of the exploding aircraft.
HOSTAGE/PRISONER OF WAR
The first thing I did after releasing my parachute was to thank God for my life, and also prayed that somehow Jessie and the family would know that I was safe.
After wrapping myself in my parachute for warmth and protection from the rain I went to sleep.
The tolling of a church clock and the barking of dogs woke me at daybreak. The rain had ceased and looking around I realised that I was about one third of the way up the mountain and it was mainly boulders and scree around and below me. My face was
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[Photograph]
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stiff and sore and coated with dried blood on one side. I collected my parachute into a manageable ball and then examined the harness. The right hand clip was torn away and the remaining metal, near the harness, was very distorted. It was apparent that either a bullet or shell from the fighter had hit the clip and torn it away. The thought of such a ‘close call’ made me shiver and I was thankful for my safe deliverance. I hid my parachute between a boulder and the ground on the face away from the valley.
There was a farmhouse near the bottom of the mountain in a concealed position. I watched the activity at the house for at least three hours. The farmer came out of the house with his dog, followed by a woman who assumed to be his wife. Later, a girl who was probably about twelve years old and a boy 8-10 years started to do tasks around the farmhouse. By this time the chimney was smoking. Looking at my watch I saw it was around 10.0 am when they all returned to the house. At 11.0 am I decided that the family were harmless and that I would approach them for assistance to try and contact Tito’s Partisans.
I didn’t have any problems negotiating the descent and arrived at the farmhouse unseen. The lady opened the door to my knocking and audibly gasped. I explained who I was with gestures and she called her husband. When asking them for help I tried to explain that my parachute could be retrieved and given to them in return. The man came with me and helped to bring my parachute down to the house. I offered him a cigarette and, with the ‘hot end’ I burnt a piece of the canopy as a keepsake. What I didn’t realise was that the farmer had sent his son the alert the military authorities.
On the boy’s return the farmer motioned me to follow his son, giving me the impression that he would guide me to the Partisans.
My freedom was short-lived however, as by evening we were picked up by the Croation Military who were co-operating with the German Army and also fighting the Partisans. They were a very ‘trigger-happy’ bunch of soldiers and I knew that it was useless to make a run for it so, with a number of guns pointing in my direction I was escorted to an ancient truck and driven under guard to Gospic and the Military H.Q. where I met Snowy, Jock and Jack. We were locked in a room and left overnight but were given a meal of what seemed like pasta and jam. It was good and very welcome. I quietly asked the other crew members about Brian, whether anyone had seen him or heard about him. Snowy said he thought he had gone down with the aircraft. Apparently, just before I escaped, Snowy had gone out backwards with the turret rotated at 90° to the fuselage. This was quite a common practice and a much quicker escape route for rear gunners. Unfortunately Snowy had got his feet tangled up with the firing cables and this prevented him getting clear of the turret. He then put his helmet back on and asked Brian to hold the aircraft a little longer so that he could clear the cables. Whether he told Brian when he was clear is not known but there is no doubt that Brian sacrificed his life for his New Zealand cobber – a very generous act of self-sacrifice and discipline. I do not know where Brian is interred or whether he has any known grave.
After sleeping fitfully we were allowed to go one at a time to wash etc. Meanwhile an American-born woman married to a Croation came to see us and provided breakfast
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[Post Office Telegram]
TRANSCRIPT OF OFFICIAL TELEGRAM
Mrs E.W. Scott 4 William St. Great Northern Terrace Lincoln
From Air Ministry 73 Oxford St. PC 23/10/44
Regret to inform you that your husband 1425752 Flight Sergeant E.W. Scott is reported missing as the result of air operations on 21st October.
Enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross Committee and any further information received will be communicated to you immediately.
Should news of him reach you from any other sources please advise this department.
Letter following shortly pending its receipt no information should be given to the press.
1140 A
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and a cup of tea. She also arranged for me to be taken by a guard to the local hospital to have my face treated and accompanied me to translate when necessary. After two days in the Military Headquarter, during which we were relieved of our identity discs – much to my disgust – we were taken to the local prison and locked up in a cell about 12 feet x 8 feet with a stone floor. It was very cold and we couldn’t seem to persuade the guards to give us some blankets.
Eventually the ‘American lady’ came to see us and explained that we were not prisoners of war but hostages. She arranged for blankets to be issued and reassured the guards that we would not harm them. This conversation produced a complete change of attitude from the guards who shared their Schnapps with us and a few days later brought playing cards out. They never won, Snowy was a past master at cheating.
About one-two weeks after capture, the military advised us that they were going to hand us over to the Germans as being only hostages they couldn’t be responsible for our safety with the Russian advance. We objected and asked why they wouldn’t allow us to contact the Partisans, if they showed us their location on a map we would attempt to walk to them. They would not agree to this and the following morning in heavy rain we had to board an open lorry for transit to Zagreb and the Germans. The journey took several hours and we were soaked to the skin when we were taken into the German camp and locked in cells which were constructed of wood. A long passageway linked each cell and we quickly found out that there were American airmen in the next two cells to ours. Apparently they had been shot down a few days previous after returning from a raid on Vienna.
The Feldwebel in charge of us was a very dour, Prussian type of German and shouted at us at every opportunity, and at the same time hitting us with his rifle butt whenever we wanted to visit the toilet. The food provided was very poor, but nevertheless, it helped to fill an empty stomach. The Americans decided enough was enough with the hostility of the Feldwebel and with us in accord started to sing ‘Or would you rather be a mule’. The Germans went berserk, hitting us again with their rifle butts until the Unter Officer intervened.
The following day we were handed over to four Luftwaffe guards and taken to the local railway station where we boarded a train bound apparently for Budapest.
None of us had smoked a cigarette for some time and, on boarding the train, we saw long cardboard-type holder s with what appeared to be tobacco inside. On closer inspection, however, they were only the tubes which had been attached to Turkish cigarettes – disappointment all round. After many hours of train travel with a lot of stops we arrived at Budapest Station around mid-morning the following day. We had not eaten or drunk since leaving Zagreb. The 8 plus 4 of us were taken to the German Military Police office on the platform, given a chunk of black bread and some German sausage. It was then we heard the Russian shells falling on the City and in fact they were hitting part of the station complex. The German guards, who were all in their fifties, herded us quickly back onto the train and with civilians who were cramming into the compartments and on the carriage roofs, the train left the station leading North from whence we had come.
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[Crest] AIR TRAINING CORPS [Crest]
CITY OF LINCOLN SQUADRONS
Nos. 204 & 1237
Lindum Holme, Lindum Terrace, Lincoln Tel: Lincoln 914
From O.C. 1237 Squadron. A.T.C.
Dear Mrs Scott,
It is with very deep regret that we learn that your son, Flt/Sgt. Eric Scott has failed to return from recent operations.
We need not tell you how very proud we are of Eric’s record with us and subsequently with the R.A.F. and how sincerely we hope that you may soon receive brighter and reassuring news of him but in the meantime please remember that all ranks of his old A.T.C Squadron are with you in thought and sympathise with you in these dark times.
Yours in deep sympathy,
[Signature]
Flt. Lieut.
O.C. 1237 Squadron, A.T.C.
AIR MINITRY,
(Casualty Branch),
73-77 OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.1
P/424636/3/P.4.A.2.
29 October, 1944.
Madam,
I am commanded by the Air Council to confirm the telegram in which you were notified that your husband, Flight Sergeant Eric William Scott, Royal Air Force, is missing as a result of air operations on 21st October, 1944.
The telegraphic report from Air Force Headquarters, North Africa, states that your husband was air bomber of a Wellington aircraft which set out to attack marshalling yards at Maribor, Yugoslavia and failed to return.
This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded, and if he is a prisoner of war he should be able to communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross Committee, and as soon as any definite news is received you will be at once informed.
If any information regarding your husband is received by you from any source your are requested to be kind enough to communicate it
/immediately
Mrs E.W. Scott,
4, William Street,
Great Northern Terrace,
Lincoln.
immediately to the Air Ministry.
It is desired to explain that the reference to publication in the Press was included in the telegram informing you of the casualty to your husband in order to avoid prejudicing his chance of escape by undue publicity, should he be at large in enemy-occupied territory. This does not mean that any information about him is available but it is a precaution adopted in the case of all personnel reported “missing”.
The Air Council desire me to express their sympathy with you in your present anxiety.
I am, madam,
Your obedient servant,
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The following morning saw us travelling through Yugoslavia again, with a number of stop/starts. Eventually we stopped and, on looking out of the carriage window I saw to my horror two Typhoon fighter/bombers of the RAF, fitted with rockets. They were only 200-300 feet high and I then guessed they were going around to line up with the train. I immediately altered the guards and the Americans. The main carriage window could be pushed down to act as an emergency exit and by this we hurriedly vacated the train, ran up a grassy slope, across a village green and positioned ourselves on the protected side of a stone war memorial. The rockets hit the engine and machine gun bullets ripped through the carriages. Although the train was marked with a Red Cross the majority of passengers were German Army personnel and many were wounded in the attack and some were killed. This caused considerable bitterness and a number of army men man-handled us from the village onto the grass slope and lined us up for execution. Our guards just didn’t do anything to protect us. I bowed my head and said a prayer for all of us, fully expecting to be shot there and then. Was I frightened? very much so. I thought that I had been brought safely through a number of traumas only now to be executed.
In those few seconds, however, a German officer ran in front of the armed squad of soldiers and commanded them to return to the train, which they eventually did with reluctance. He came to us and apologised and explained that he had been a prisoner in England during the First World War and had been very well treated and was not, therefore, allowing German soldiers to ignore the Red Cross and Geneva Conventions for prisoners.
We stayed with our guards on that grassy slope until lunch time the following day when a replacement engine was coupled and the train once again began its journey North. Our destination was Vienna.
On arriving at the outskirts of the City it was apparent that all was not well. The German Officer who had protected us from the firing squad explained to us that there had been an American bombing raid on the City that morning. Many residential areas had been hit and it was too dangerous to go across the City with our guards. However, he arranged for a fit young army man to run with us across the City to the other station and hand us over to their military police – our guards were to follow in a more leisurely and safe manner. Although we were much less than fit and ravenously hungry, we ran for dear life across Vienna. Chunks of stone, brick and other forms of masonry came our way but nothing hit us and we managed with our guide to dodge the people who tried to cut us off.
We all reached the station without injury and were pleased to be handed over to the German military police who once again issued us with the usual rations of black bread and sausage, for which we were very grateful. When our guards eventually arrived we boarded a train and had an uneventful journey to Frankfurt and were incarcerated in the German Dulag Luft, i.e. the interrogation centre for airmen.
We were each locked in a cell with a bed and blanket and a barred window gave light but an electric light burned day and night. There were many bed bugs which made life uncomfortable but it had to be accepted. If the toilet was needed we had to pull a cord
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Dulag-Luft Germany
13TH NOV 1944
I have been taken prisoner of war in Germany. I am in good health – [deleted] slightly wounded [/deleted] (cancel accordingly).
We will be transported from here to another Camp within the next few days. Please don’t write until I give new address.
Kindest regards
Eric Scott
F/Sgt
R.A.F.
[Telegram]
TRANSCRIPT OF TELEGRAM
Priority CC
Mrs. E.W. Scott 4 William St. Gt. Northern Terrace, Lincoln
From 73/Oxford St. PC 966 W1/QW/PP
Information received through International Red Cross Committee states that your husband F/Sgt Eric William Scott is prisoner of war in German hands.
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near the door and this dropped a wooden lever on the outside. When the guards were sufficiently satisfied that a prisoner could go to the toilet without seeing anyone else they opened the cell door and escorted the person to the toilet. Food was put into the cell by the guards three times each day. Breakfast consisted of two thin slices of black bread coasted with erstaz butter and jam. Lunch was a thin ‘watery’ soup and one slice of bread. Evening meal was once again black bread and sausage. I had four interrogation sessions whilst at Frankfurt, all were during the night between midnight and 4.0am. My interrogator was the same officer on each occasion. He offered me a cigarette which I took and, when he turned his back to me to look at a map, I took two more cigarettes from his box and put them into my pocket. Following several threats, because I had no proof of identity, with the absence of my dog tags, he told the guard to return me to my cell. After being locked up again I took a cigarette from my pocket but then realised that I had no means of lighting it – I had fallen for that one very easily.
The remaining interrogations were very similar to the first except that during the last one he told me more about 205 Group than I knew, so he was well informed.
Finally they sent me down to another part of the building for political interrogation. The next cell to me was occupied by an American and it was possible to talk to each other because the cells were open-topped. It was during this interrogation that I learned of the death of President Roosevelt. The following day and about ten-fourteen days after my arrival at Frankfurt, I joined the rest of our crew and entrained for a POW Camp.
We had an uneventful journey to Bankau, Upper Silesia and Stalag Luft VII.
Just prior to leaving Frankfurt we were each given a card to fill in for sending home saying that we were prisoners of war and were well. Also a cardboard suitcase with American-style clothing was handed to us through the Red Cross. This consisted of a great coat, pair of boots, four pairs of socks, woolly hat, two vests, two pairs of pants, two shirts and part of a Red Cross parcel of food.
STALAG LUFT VII
On arrival at the camp, most of the occupants crowded at the entrance to see if there was anyone they knew. It was then that I learned of the Arnhem fiasco and that the Dulag Luft housed many of the Glider Pilots. The entrance to Stalag Luft VII was by two large gates about twenty yards apart and both were well guarded. The compound was rectangular, with accommodation huts down each side. Each hut had at least six rooms off each side of a central corridor. The hut was about eighteen inches above floor level to allow the dogs to go underneath. Each room was equipped with a coal stove mounted onto a steel plate and eight bunks – four upper and four lower.
I was allocated an upper bunk in the first room on the left in the second hut on the right looking from the entrance of the compound. The rest of the inmates of the room were Aussies, a New Zealander, a Scotsman and English. In the same hut were two other Lincoln people, a Glider Pilot taken at Arnhem and a wireless operator shot
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CUTTINGS FROM THE LINCOLNSHIRE ECHO
[Newspaper cuttings]
A letter from ex-Cadet E. W. Scott brings the good news that he has been promoted to Flt.-Sgt. And is at present in Italy, starting on his second tour of operations. Flt.-Sgt. Scott is a bomb-aimer and has seen service in North Africa, Sicily and Italy. On completing his first tour he had a short leave in Egypt and then went to Palestine, where he has for several months been instructing. He is now looking forward to finishing his second tour and then coming home.
LINCOLN FLIGHT-SERGT IS PRISONER OF WAR
Flight Sergt Eric W. Scott, R.A.F.V.R, reported missing in the Adriatic theatre of war two months ago, is a prisoner of war in German hands
His wife, formerly Miss Jessie Brown, of William-street, has received a post-card saying that he is well, but as he was expecting to be moved, told her not to write until she heard from him again.
Flight-Sergt Scott is the second son on Mr. and Mrs F. Scott, of William-street, Lincoln, and before joining the R.A.F. in 1941 he was employed in the research department at Clayton-Dewandre Co. Ltd. He was a member of the 1237 squadron Lincoln Air Training Corps.
Members of the squadron will be very pleased to learn that their old comrade Eric Scott, now a prisoner of war in Germany, has been granted a commission. Apparently this very excellent news came through about a week before he was reported missing, but his relatives have only recently been notified, and it is still doubtful whether Eric himself yet knows he is now a pilot officer. Congratulations, Eric, from your old squadron.
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Goodbye to the Wimpeys
ROME, Monday. – The Wellington bombers with the R.A.F. in Italy, the “Wimpeys,” have been replaced by Liberators for land warfare, it was announced tonight. Only a few remain for anti-submarine and shipping strikes.
Their four-year record began with the famous “mail runs” to Benghazi. Since then they have ranged over all the battlefields, from Iraq through North Africa to the Apls and the Balkans.
But now, said an R.A.F. officer tonight, “the old ladies are just not fast enough.” – Express News Service.
down in a Sterling [sic]. A third Lincoln man, by the name of Dennis Martin, was also in the camp.
The compound was enclosed by (a) danger wire approximately eighteen inches from the ground and fastened to posts driven into the ground at regular intervals. If anyone crossed the wire, for whatever reason without permission, the guards could legitimately open fire. (b) About ten yards further out from the ‘danger wire’ was the inner fencing, strong with barbed wire and with the top angled inwards. (c) A third fence, similar to (b) encircled the compound and was made in a similar fashion. Between (b) and (c) were coils of razor sharp wire about three feet in depth.
Four sentry boxes were positioned down each side of the compound and one at each end – the latter being centrally located. These boxes were approximately twenty feet from the ground and gave each sentry a good vision of his area. All boxes housed a ‘searchlight’ which arc-ed across the compound at regular intervals during darkness or could be manually moved by the sentry. A machine gun was also mounted in each box and each sentry had his own rifle. All were loaded.
When playing ball games, including golf, if a ball went over the ‘danger wire’ limit the guard had to be attracted and his permission obtained to retrieve it. Even then it was a bit dicey and it was advisable to have a number of the prisoners on hand when going beyond the wire to ensure that the sentry knew he was being watched.
The total number of inmates during my short stay there was 2,600. I arrived mid-December, the camp had only been opened the previous July. Some POW’s had, however, been transferred from other camps to ensure a smooth routine and operation. Our camp leader was an Australian, Bill Thompson. I met him again at a POW reunion about twelve-fourteen years ago at Nottingham. He was a good and hard working leader and all complaints from POW’s and German Staff were channelled through him. The escape committee consisted of six POW’s (old hands) who vetted each plan for escape. Many were turned down but, even when accepted, the people concerned had to wait in the queue. Many POW’s helped out with escape details, i.e. false papers, uniforms etc. The camp included a library and school. There was no shortage of teachers, some were tutors from the top Universities in the UK.
The Auditorium was also well used to promote plays, particularly those with satire against the Heronvolk, which usually resulted in the German Officers stamping out before the end. The German guards with or without dogs patrolled the compound and huts every day to try and ensure that prisoners were not engaged in activities which were ‘verboten’. Gardening was a regular task for prisoners, when the opportunity was taken to bury the spare radio. The news from the BBC was circulated to each hut once a day. Only two men knew who held the radio, the one who retained it and the camp leader. It was the duty of the occupants of the camp to keep the Germans occupied to ensure that the maximum number of guards were needed to operate the camp.
Every morning and evening all prisoners had to fall in by hut in the compound and be counted. Because I was relatively short in stature I was asked to be in the rear or middle line of three and, after being counted to move swiftly to a point in the line yet
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[Drawing]
BLOWER/COOKER-POW CAMP-STALAG LUFT V11
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to be counted. This ‘false count’ often meant being ‘on parade’ for at least one hour and, with the weather being extremely cold and with falls of snow it was no joke but had to be done. The senior NCO of the German guards became very hysterical and fired his revolver in the air if, by the third count, the number was one or two out of the official number.
With the two other Lincoln men I went for a one hour walk around the compound each day and then spent time making blower units for sale on the weekly market. A good blower, for high speed cooking was worth three blocks of chocolate from a Red Cross parcel. In the short time I was in Stalag Luft VII I made three blowers. See sketch.
Each prisoner received a Red Cross parcel each month. This meant that there were two parcels to feed the eight men in each room every week. The British parcels contained a tin of skimmed powdered milk, 2 blocks of high calorie chocolate, 100 cigarettes, dried prunes, tins of spam and corned beef, a very unique tin opener, tins of fish, flour, sugar, a pack of margarine, currants or raisins, tea and cocoa, the American parcels also had coffee. These supplemented the loaf of black bread, ersatze [sic] butter made from coal, ersatze [sic] coffee made from acorns and the watery soup plus sauerkraut, which was plentiful and was collected by one room member from the cookhouse each mid-day.
It was on one of these occasions that one of our POW’s was shot and killed by a sentry guard. The camp and Bankau air raid sirens had sounded about one hour previously. When this happened, all POW’s had to return to their rooms. This was quite a frequent occurrence and American Fortresses once again flew over the camp on the way to their target. We had to wait for their return before the all-clear sounded. On this particular day the Bankau all-clear was heard and it was past 12 o’clock – which was the time for collecting food from the cookhouse. Even after a further five minutes we did not hear anymore sirens so one sergeant, thinking that the camp siren must have gone, dashed out from his hut to be the first in the cookhouse queue. Half-way across the compound he was shot and killed.
Pandemonium broke out. POW’s with artistic flair immediately took pencil and paper to draw the facial details of the sentry. German officers tried to disperse the POW’s but there were far too many for them to make any impression. Our camp leader and two assistants came along with the Prussian Camp Commandant when he insisted that the sentry should be photographed and his name and other details should be given to our Camp Leader for action to be taken by the appropriate authorities at the cessation of hostilities. The sentry in question was relieved of his duties and posted without delay.
Sometimes ‘SS’ troops were brought into the camps for guard duties as a rest period and it was necessary to be very wary of these young Nazi enthusiasts.
Bearing in mind that I went into the camp in mid-December 1944, I was soon ‘volunteered’ by the other seven room occupants to try and make a Christmas pudding.
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[Newspaper cutting]
SCATTERED in the path of the Allied armies are many prison camps and internment camps. Some in the east, as the map shows, have already been overrun by the Russians.
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We had the flour, fruit and milk mix, also sugar and it was possible to buy potatoes and carrots from the Germans for a few cigarettes. My biggest problem was knowing what to cook it in even though it could be steamed. One of the room inmates had a spare pyjama jacket so it was unanimously decided that the pudding mix be stuffed down a cut sleeve and tied at both ends. This was done with great ceremony and the pudding steamed in a large gammell with a tube bottom made from tins out of the Red Cross parcels. We were usure regarding timing but decided to steam it on the stove for two hours.
On Christmas Day our mid-day dinner consisted of :
STARTERS
Mixed Stewed Fruit
MAIN COURSE
Fried Spam, Fried Potatoes, beans cooked in a tomato sauce
SWEET
Christmas Pudding
We finally had to steam the pudding for another hour. It was very solid and only a very small amount could be eaten. We shared the rest with other rooms in the hut. To say it tasted like Traditional Christmas Pudding would be an exaggeration but we enjoyed it and slept well during the afternoon on an unusually full stomach.
Although the food at Stalag Luft VII, supplemented by parcels, kept us going we didn’t increase in weight, rather the opposite for most POW’s. However, I remained at about 8 stone. On the Squadron my weight was between 8 1/2 – 9 stone.
The week after Christmas there were strong rumours of the camp having to be vacated because of the rapid Russian advance into upper Silesia. We were advised by our Camp Leader to make preparation for moving. I made a back-pack from my papier-mâché suitcase which measured about 18” x 12” and was waterproof. Four holes, one punched in each corner, allowed me to thread rope through to form shoulder straps for carrying. In this suitcase went spare vests, socks, pants, shirt and the blocks of chocolate I had been hoarding for such an occasion.
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[Postcards]
Postcards written on 10th and 17th December 1944 from Stalag Luft V11 just prior to the forced march
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On the 18th of January, with snow up to 12” deep and temperatures 10-15 degrees C below zero, we were told that we would be leaving Stalag Luft VII by foot at 4.0 pm that day, i.e. at dusk. We were each handed a Red Cross Parcel, the contents of which were distributed around our bodies. The first night of walking and freedom was a welcome experience. Each dawn, or thereabouts, we went into a farm and into the barns or cattle sheds to sleep. Because of the depth of snow my socks were always wet. I wore two pairs at a time to try and keep my feet warm. The pair I took off went into my shirt to dry and a replacement pair of dry socks put on before going to sleep. On one occasion during the first seven days, a pig had been slaughtered and made into soup in a large cauldron. The demand far exceeded the supply so I didn’t get any. The contents of the Red Cross Parcel virtually vanished after the first week. Washing faces and hands was a problem and generally had to be done using snow. My boots were pushed into the hay or at the side of a cow in an attempt to keep them above freezing but, with very little success. Generally it was necessary to hand-manipulate the shoe leather in order to get them on when it was time for moving.
The weather conditions became worse, blizzards as well as icy conditions – it was really appalling. Our breath froze in our beards and it had to be gently warmed by hand to prevent it being a mass of ice.
By this time the novelty of freedom had well worn off and airmen who had been injured during their bombing trip or on baling out and crashing, were very much the worse for wear. Some had to be left behind in houses, the occupants being mainly of Polish origin in Upper Silesia. Our rate of progress was very slow, about 20 miles each night.
The second week of walking was similar to the first except that the men were getting weaker and with little or no food provided our tummies started to shrink and become painful.
By February my chocolate store was exhausted, even though I had used it as a supplement to whatever food I could find, mainly frozen sugar beet, which now became my staple diet. A number of men went to sleep in the barns and didn’t get up again for the next night’s walk. Others collapsed at the roadside in the snow. Whether they were taken care of by the local inhabitants I don’t know. Even the German guards were dropping out because of hunger and cold.
There were occasions when we were urged to cross a bridge over a river and, on reaching the other side, the bridge was dynamited. We were surprised at this because all the rivers were frozen solid and could easily have carried vehicles.
At this stage of our journey we were allowed two nights each week to rest up because we were so close to complete exhaustion. We were told that we were heading for Luckenwalde Stalag IIIA, near Potsdam, Berlin. We were also told that the German High Command had been told to execute prisoners rather than hand them over the advancing British, American and Russian armies. We still managed to get news information so our radio was still with us.
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[Letter]
Letter sent to home – March 1945 – from Stalag IIIA
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There were so many days during the latter part of this forced march that I would have been quite willing to have laid down and died but yet it seemed so futile to give up after having endured so much since October 1944. I prayed very often for help to keep going and for a successful return to Lincoln but my expectations were very much tinged with the prospects of not making it at that stage of the march. The appalling weather continued and I felt very much like a zombie, just putting one foot in front of the other because the man in front of me was doing the same. We came to a point in the journey when the Camp Leader said enough was enough and told the Germans that they either abandon all of us to await the Russian Army or they provided transport for the remainder of the journey.
After three days at a large farm, where we did get a little food and where I saw airmen fighting each other for a piece of meat in a stew because of their hunger, we were walked to a railway embankment and, by helping each other, boarded a train with cattle truck accommodation. This was sheer luxury compared to walking.
A three day stop/start journey with the train halting each night, brought us to Potsdam and a relatively short walk to Stalag IIIA.
It was apparently late February but time didn’t mean anything anymore. The size of this camp was staggering. We were told that it held around 75,000 people, the majority being displaced workers of all nationalities and age ranges. Children were even being born in the camp.
From a military viewpoint there were Russian, Polish, French, Dutch, British and Americans. On arrival at Stalag IIIA we were each given a Red Cross Parcel. The priority however was for a shower and shave. It was apparent that we were covered in body lice and, even after showering and putting on a clean vest, the lice quickly reappeared in all of the vest seams. Boiling the vests and our battle dress tops in tin baths on open fires did not make any difference. When I first went into the shower I was stood next to the C of E Padre. He was at least 6ft 3in. tall and his ribs were really hollow and I just laughed but, when I looked at my own ribs they were identical. The small bar of swan soap – similar in size to that issued in hotels – just disappeared between our ribs. We were a good case of a starvation diet and over exercise. When the German doctors re-X-rayed us they also weighed us, I was just six stones.
With regard to the Red Cross Parcels, Lofty the Glider Pilot, sat in the aircrew compound, opened his tin of Peanut Butter and ate the lot – no bread or anything with it – it gave me a nauseating feeling just watching him. We didn’t know how long it would be before we got another parcel so we made this issue last as long as possible. The shrinkage of our stomachs also meant that we didn’t need much food to feel full.
Three weeks after arriving at the camp there was a full scale battle, with air attacks by both sides across the area. We had to take whatever cover we could as bullets and rockets passed across the compounds. We made a large white cross and laid it on the compound floor between the line of huts. The battle see-sawed back and forth for three days – it seemed more like three weeks. At first light on the third day all the German guards were gone and we were in control of our own compound. I immediately went to the German medical centre to try and pick up a Leika camera, a
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[Photograph]
Badges from a German Uniform
[Photograph]
[Photograph] Issue of RAF Watch – still working today
[Photograph] Right: Prisoner of War identification tag
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[Record Card]
RECORD CARDS RETRIEVED FROM CAMP RECORD OFFICE (see over)
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[Record Card]
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number of which were used for X-raying. I was too late but moving onto the record office I managed to find my own record cards and these I kept.
The Russian army arrived in strength the same day. Tanks just crushed the barbed wire fencing so that one side of every compound was open to free movement of prisoners. The Russian prisoners in the next compound to us went berserk. They were immediately given access and disappeared with the advanced Russian troops who were all of Mongolian extraction. The general appearance of the Russian advance troops was very rag-tag. Lorries had hard tyres, mules were used for towing guns, the soldiers didn’t have tin hats and their rifles and automatic weapons, etc., were of very varied make. Some were weapons captured from the German army.
When the main body of the Russian soldiers arrived they were all uniformed and more disciplined. However they were not well disposed towards us and if we wanted food we had to find it in the locality. Lofty and I went around the area including the outskirts of Potsdam to see if food was available. Many houses had been abandoned in a hurry but the food left behind was very meagre. We went into a Tailor’s shop and it was there that I found and kept a pair of scissors which I have used for decorating ever since. I also thought that the considerable length and very sharp points of the scissors would be a handy weapon if needed for my defence.
The Russians placed large tubs on open fires and made their yoghurt. This was all the nourishment they could offer us but the smell from the sour curds was terrible and despite my hunger I just could not eat any. Lofty however, devoured both portions! Many of the Russian troops had not seen flushed toilets before and continually came into the compound toilet blocks, put their feet into the bowl and pulled the chain several times, grinning all over their faces.
It was at this time ant a Russian took my watch and did his best to steal my wedding ring but he relented eventually and left me. A senior Russian Officer, with many aides, sat at a table in our compound and we had to file past giving our name, number, origin, nationality, etc. This took over a week to complete as many POW camps of British airmen had been sent to Stalag IIIA, including those from Sagan. Hence we now had a Group Captain, demoted by himself to Flt. Lt. in charge of the British aircrew contingent, irrespective of rank.
He advised all the men not to try and make their own way to the West of the Elbe because we would again be taken prisoner or shot by either side. The Russians wanted to arm us and send us into the battle for Berlin but of course this was refused based on the Geneva Convention. The Russians did not acknowledge this. Their next ploy was to send us home via Moscow. We were the first major bunch of British aircrew released and our leaders again refused this, really upsetting the Russians who put a loose guard around our compound.
Some days after the Russians had ‘released’ us numerous American trucks turned up at the side of our compound. All were driven by black soldiers and unarmed. Two white American officers were in charge and they had apparently been sent, with agreement by the Russians, to collect us and take us across the river Elbe to the American sector. The Russians who were responsible for us didn’t want to know and
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[Crest]
CATERPILLAR CLUB
26th April, 1945.
Mrs. Scott.
4, William Street.
LINCOLN.
Dear Mrs. Scott,
[Underlined] F/Sgt. E. W. Scott. [/underlined]
I was very glad to hear from the above that he had saved his life with an Irvin chute, and at his request have pleasure in sending his membership card herewith.
I regret that due to supply restrictions we are not able to order Caterpillar Pins for Prisoners until after the war, but one will be sent as soon as available.
Please excuse the form letter, but this is due to pressure of work.
With best wishes for his early return, I am,
Yours sincerely,
[Signature]
Leslie L. Irvin.
MEL.
Encl. Card.
[Photograph] Cloth Caterpillar Badge
Right: Membership card of the Caterpillar Club [Photograph]
Below:
Two Caterpillar pin badges
[Photograph]
Piece of silk burned from parachute after bailing out
[Photograph]
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put an armed guard around the trucks and flatly refused permission for us to move. This situation continued for three days, then the American lorries were allowed to return – empty to their sector. One or two men managed to get away rolled in a tarpaulin in the trucks. One of these was Dennis Martin who went to 4 William Street and told Jessie that I was alright.
After a further two days we were ushered into Russian lorries and driven to the Elbe and once there we disembarked, crossed the river on foot by pontoon bridge and given a terrific welcome on the other side. We were all still full of body lice and, as we passed through a medical tent, we were checked for T.B., and D.D.T. was pumped from small guns down our vests and shirts.
The Red Cross, bless them, issued us with toilet and shaving gear. It was a very painful, but necessary task to remove my beard of three-and-a-half months, although I had done a rough trimming job with the tailor’s scissors. My battle dress trousers gaped open just above the leg pocket due to the material having rotted, particularly with boiling them in an endeavour to lose the lice. I looked more like a tramp than an airman.
We stayed with the Americans for two days and had some wonderful food, but could only manage small amounts.
Air transport them took us to Brussels airport where we were again given a warm welcome and fed and watered. After a further twenty-four hours it was my turn to board an RAF Lancaster to fly home. It was May and, although I had missed V.E. day, I though with a bit of luck I would make V.J. day. I never did identify the airfield at which we landed but we were bussed to a railway station and boarded a train – normal passenger service – to Cosford. I felt really uneasy being among civilians again and my torn uniform and general appearance in the compartment was cause for comment by the other occupants. The other significant factor was that I had no idea of the current news so couldn’t make any conversation. A lonely journey and one of self-consciousness.
On arrival at RAF Station Cosford I was ushered into a queue, in line with a table, behind which sat a records clerk with a sheaf of papers. These tables extended from one end of a hanger to the other. When it came to my turn the clerk asked me for my RAF number, rank and name but none of these appeared in his papers. He then asked me whether I had received any mail from home and I told him I hadn’t. The question now was, did my wife and other members of my family know that I was alive. I told him that I had sent the usual pre-printed card from Dulag Luft Frankfurt and had written letters home, Even so I had no evidence or knowledge of whether they knew I was a prisoner of war.
This lack of evidence, plus the fact that I was not on the register of returning prisoners caused me considerable concern. I couldn’t telephone anyone because I was not aware of telephone numbers. The clerk gave me papers to get clothing equipment, badges of rank, medal ribbons, shoes, and the many other pieces of equipment we had to have in the RAF. After visiting the ‘tailor’s shop’ where numerous local women were sewing on all the badges of rank etc., I took my equipment to a hut allocated for
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[Newspaper cutting]
In memory of the PoWs of the ‘Long March’
By Peter Davies
[Photograph]
The commemorative statue by the sculptor Pamela Taylor
THE MEMORIAL to RAF prisoners of war who died on the ‘Long March’, unveiled by the Duke of Edinburgh at the Royal Air Force Museum, Hendon, yesterday, is a reminder of one of the Second World War’s most extraordinary – yet unsung – feats of endurance amid extreme privation and suffering. This was the enforced march of British, Commonwealth and Allied PoWs to western Germany from camps on the eastern borders of the Third Reich in the winter and spring of 1945.
In the summer of 1944, with the Red Army already on the borders of Germany, there were around 200,000 RAF, army and naval PoWs, besides thousands of Americans, in camps dotted throughout Germany and the occupied territories. Many of these lay in the east of the country and included Stalag Luft III, of Great Escape fame, 100 miles south east of Berlin. Others were more remote still: in East Prussia, Poland and Czechoslovakia.
To prevent their occupants being liberated by the advancing Russians, Hitler ordered that they should be marched westwards, out of harm’s way. Put in charge of this operation was an SS lieutenant-general, Gottllob Berger, a man with a history of brutal suppression of unrest in the occupied territories. However, with the Third Reich collapsing around him he seems to have felt it might be politic to ignore the Führer’s severer orders for the treatment of PoWs.
In the chaotic conditions of Germany in early 1945 when the evacuations began, this scarcely made any difference. Driven from the shelter of their camps, bullied, beaten and hectored by their guards, shot dead if they lagged behind or fell by the wayside, a quarter of a million PoWs stumbled and shuffled their way hundreds of miles to the west, without adequate food, shelter or clothing, in the bitterest winter Germany had experienced for 50 years.
The harrowing tale of the 86-day trek of the inmates of the notoriously brutal Stalag Luft IV at Gross Tychow in Pomerania to Fallingbostel in Lower Saxony, 500 miles distant, may stand as representative of the collective ordeal. A number of these prisoners had already made the 250-mile journey by sea from Stalag Luft VI at Heydekrug on the borders of Lithuania the previous summer, piled below decks in the disease-rife hold of a rusty cargo boat.
The march-out from Stalag Luft IV began on February 6, 1945, with the temperature 20 degrees below zero and with snow falling. Just 11km were covered before nightfall. Blisters on feet were soon bursting, opening them to infection. In the extreme cold resistance to disease was soon eroded. Injuries suffered in baling out or in combat were exacerbated.
Over the following interminable ice-cold days some lucky few might find a barn to lie in at night, but most were compelled to lie in the open. In snow- and waterfilled shell holes men clung to each other for warmth under a shared greatcoat. When guards were not looking the men raided the fields for potatoes, turnips and mangolds.
Raw rat became a delicacy. At times men were reduced to chewing grass. So near to starvation were they that one PoW recalled looking at his arm, suddenly realising it was a piece of meat and wondering, lightheadedly, whether he could bring himself to take a bite out of it.
The men were plagued with lice and the constant battle to rid themselves of them was a losing one. “If you kill one a thousand will come to its funeral” was the grim PoW saying. But the killer was dysentery, robbing men of their vitality – and dignity. In the utterly insanitary conditions it was almost impossible not to catch it. Men often chose to soil themselves as they marched, rather than falling out to risk being shot. Yet no one could afford to discard even the filthiest rags in the intense cold.
The brutality of their guards was compounded by the hostility of a populace who regarded the airmen as Luftgangsters and Terrorflieger as a result of the widespread damage from bombing raids. Friendly fire in one form or another was a constant peril. As the Stalag Luft IV men entered Swinemunde, bombs were falling on the port, while shrapnel from the flak defences fell among them.
In one of the worst incidents another group, ex-inmates of Stalag Luft III, were targeted by RAF Typhoon fighter bombers. In spite of frantic gesticulations by an officer who bravely exposed himself to cannon fire, waving his RAF greatcoat aloft, more than 60 PoWs, including him, were killed by pilots who could have no reason to imagine that a column on the move consisted of other than the enemy.
The figures for those who perished on these marches can only be estimates. Somewhere in the region of 10 per cent did not survive the ordeal. Commissioned by the Royal Air Forces ex-PoW Association, Pamela Taylor’s iconic study of a PoW dragging his remaining possessions on a makeshift sled commemorates those who did not reach the end of their terrible journey.
An extract from The Telegraph Newspaper after a ceremony to commemorate those who died on the ‘Long March’. Summer 2002
‘The marches were long and desperately arduous. Some POW’s walked for more than 500 miles and were on the road for many months. Hundreds died of exhaustion, disease and starvation. Those who survived were awed by their experience. How they escaped with their lives and eventually reached home is a gripping story of endurance and courage.
Extract from ‘The Last Escape’ by John Nichol & Tony Rennell
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us to ‘disrobe’ and shower. Our old uniforms were dumped into large containers but I did remember, however, to keep the piece of my parachute canopy and also my POW’s identity plate, together with the tailor’s scissors – my acquisition from Potsdam.
After donning my new uniform and packing the surplus equipment in a kit bag, I reported to the station orderly to collect a travel warrant, food coupons and some clothing coupons. My train time to Birmingham was given to me and I caught the next ‘lorry’ to leave the camp for Cosford Station. However, I had to stay overnight at Derby Station because of my lateness of departure but caught the early morning train to Lincoln to arrive home around 5.00 -6.00 am.
As I neared Lincoln I began to panic because of not knowing whether Jessie and the family knew of my existence. I walked from the Midland Station and arrived outside the door of No.4 William Street – and knocked.
Jessie came to the door with Dad’s mackintosh over her – we couldn’t believe we were together again. Everyone got up, even Grandma Dowse, to welcome me home. They did know that I was safe and had received my letters. It had been eight weeks however between receiving the ‘missing’ telegram and getting my first card from Dulag Luft, which was much longer than the norm for being advised. This of course was due to being held as a hostage and also travelling unnecessarily to arrive at Frankfurt.
Coming home was a wonderful experience and it was necessary to once again get to know my wife. There were both emotional and mental problems to pass through. I suppose today these would be dealt with by counselling, but such a process was not known in 1945.
Within twenty-four hours of getting home Jessie told me that I had been commissioned and had even received my new RAF number. The commission was backdated to my application in October 1944. It was therefore necessary for me to return to Cosford to obtain the changes of uniform, clothes coupons, shoes, socks, shirts etc. This meant staying two days at Cosford and then returning to Lincoln, but using first class travel. What a difference a day makes!
On my return home I went to Atkinsons the military tailors to be measured for my ‘best blues’, peak cap etc. All of this I had to pay for myself. I had already purchased a Canadian Crombie great coat from an officer who was being demobbed at Cosford before returning home. It was of better quality than could be obtained in the UK and was in excellent condition. I was able to obtain my mackintosh coat straight away so for May was adequately equipped.
After a few days in Lincoln Jessie and I went to Bridlington for a week. We stayed at Maud Gilberts, she had lived in Lincoln on Great Northern Terrace and Jack and Ethel had helped and supported her when she lost her husband at Dunkirk. As she hailed from the North East she had eventually returned to Bridlington.
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[Photograph]
Flying Officer Eric William Scott and Mrs Jessie G Scott
[Photograph]
Identity Disc
[Photograph]
New Wings
[Photograph]
Final entries in Observer’s and Air Gunners Flying Log Book
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I forgot to mention that my leave was for sixteen weeks and if I wanted anything either medically or otherwise I had to report to RAF Wittering, near Peterborough. Jessie gave up her job to be with me. As it happens I did have to go to our local G.P. because a rash of spot appeared on my body. He said it was caused by enrichments of the blood with returning to a normal diet. During my leave I went into town towards mid-day and to the Black Bull in the Hight Street as I had learned that returning military personnel congregated there. On my first visit I was amazed to see my old school friend Frank Curtis. He was a WOP/AG on Halifax’s, flying from Yorkshire. His left leg was missing, apparently having been virtually severed by shell fire whilst attacking flying bomb sights [sic]. He had been in hospital for some months but was now home on indefinite leave and on crutches. He was married to Lillian who unfortunately had contracted TB, but recovery was hopeful. The four of us spent many happy hours together and I travelled with Frank to Ely hospital to try on his new tin leg. After two or three visits he eventually came away with his tin leg on. It was a painful process learning to walk again, but eventually he succeeded in using it permanently with the help of a stick, and handed back his crutches.
During my sixteen-week leave I was visited by Jack our Canadian Navigator and I also saw Jock Nichols at Cosford. Snowy I did not see but learned from other New Zealand Ex POW’s that he was on a draft to return home, so that accounted for the four crew members who had safely returned to the U.K.
Wel all enjoyed V.J. day together – Frank and Lillian, brother-in-law Jim and sisters-in-law Mary and Janet, the latter cartwheeling down the road and also paddling in the beck. My leave came to an end and I reported to RAF Wittering where they fed us on venison and knocked us into shape military fashion. I was volunteered to lead a flight of NCO’s and other ranks on an official parade in Peterborough. I had forgotten all of my drill procedures so had to go ‘cap in hand’ to the Station Warrant Officer for verbal and physical instruction to enable me to carry out this function. So Flying Officer Scott had his first official function to perform since being commissioned.
After two or three weeks at Wittering I was re-musterd as a Flying Control Officer and posted to Pershore, near Evesham. We worked in three eight hour shifts 6.0am-2.0pm being the first. It was interesting work and, with the aid of a batwoman (WAAF) who kept my uniform, shoes, etc. immaculately clean, woke me at the appropriate times for duty, made my bed, changed towels, dealt with the laundry etc., life was quite good. Another officer who had been on flying control at Pershore for some months had rented a house in Cheltenham and his wife and daughter lived there whilst he commuted every second day to stay with them for 36 hours, which was allowed within the shift system.
It transpired that he was going on leave for two weeks and that the house would be vacant for that period. He gave me the opportunity of living there with Jessie for that time, paying rent and fuel costs. We jumped at this opportunity of being together and Jessie travelled down to Cheltenham, Ist Class! to meet the departing wife and family and to get to know the house and its workings before they actually left.
I had already received my cycle from Lincoln so, on my 36 hour break from duty I would pedal into Evesham, catch the Black and White bus to Cheltenham and they
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[Photograph]
Jessie and Eric with Jacqueline - (aged three months)
[Photograph]
Vickers-Armstrong Wellington III
Postcard sent from Jack and Marjorie Morval on 1st August 1994
[Page break]
would look after my bike. It was a good arrangement and we really enjoyed that time together, even visiting Weston-Super-Mare. On departing Weston-Super-Mare on one particular visit we decided we would purchase a block of ice cream to take home. We put the block on the luggage rack above us as we were on the front seat near the door. Imagine our surprise on seeing runny ice cream dripping off the rack at the back of the bus. It was definitely a case of keeping a ‘low profile’! Cheltenham at that time was a very high class Spa town and we explored it thoroughly.
Following Jessie’s return to Lincoln, I was sent to Watchfield, the place where my flying began, on a Flying Control Officer’s course. This lasted two to three weeks. I then continued my duties at the control tower at Pershore until my demobilisation became imminent in August. The RAF advised me that they would be willing to extend my commission, but would require me to be posted to Hendon as a flying control officer on passenger transport. I pondered this issue and received much advice from both service friends and those at home. I decided eventually that if I stayed in the RAF both Jessie and I would be shunted around both in the UK and overseas and that our times apart would be unacceptable. I advised the RAF that I wished to be demobbed. Towards the end of August I reported to London where I received the necessary discharge papers, sports coat and flannels etc. and a travel warrant to Lincoln.
My life in the RAF was at an end and my leave was given to the end of September. After a week at home, before which Jessie had moved from 4 William Street to her mothers at 61 Great Northern Terrace, I reported to Clayton Dewandre to take up my career again as a technician. Because of my break in apprenticeship I was classified as a Dilutee. My weekly salary was £4.19s.6p, barely a living wage but somehow we managed.
Jacqueline was born on 18th of October 1946 at Great Northern Terrace and was the first baby to be delivered by our ex Royal Navy GP Dr. Leane. He always referred to her as his first demob baby.
That winter of 1946/47 was very cold with hard layers of snow. A quick thaw in April 1947 caused widespread flooding in Lincoln and we had to move out, going uphill to my sister Mary’s in St. Hugh’s Street. It took many days of mopping up, cleaning and disinfecting to make our two rooms habitable again.
In June 1947 we acquired a house to rent at 22 Chelmsford Street, through the good auspices of George James’ mother (sister-in-law Janet’s mother-in-law) who knew the Landlord, a Mr. Dalton.
After six/eight weeks of hard work we moved in and this was really the beginning of our life as a family.
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[Newspaper article]
THE
Prisoner of War
THE OFFICIAL JOURNAL OF THE PRISONERS OF WAR DEPARTMENT OF THE RED CROSS AND ST. JOHN ORGANISATION, ST. JAMES’S PALACE, LONDON, S.W.1
VOL. 4. No. 39. THE FINAL ISSUE July, 1945
Message from Field-Marshal Lord Chetwode
THIS is the last issue of “The Prisoner of War.” There is no longer any need for the journal since those who were prisoners or internees in Europe are now free and with few exceptions are at home again.
The Red Cross and St. John War Organisation rejoices that this piece of its work has been finished. No Editor, I am sure, ever saw his paper come to an end with such satisfaction as the Editor of “The Prisoner of War.”
The flow of letters that has come from next of kin has told us how eagerly each copy of the journal was looked forward to each month. Time and again, mothers and wives have written to say that it has seemed to bring their dear ones nearer to them. I am certain that all who were prisoners and are now happily restored to their families will remember it as one of the best services which the Organisation has rendered. Their gratitude is a reward which we are proud to have earned.
To every man who has been a prisoner, and to every family now reunited, I wish a future of abiding peace and renewed happiness. They will all be mindful, I know, as are we in the Red Cross and St. John War Organisation, that war still rages in the Far East and that men and women of our race are held captive by the Japanese. There we still have work to do and for their next of kin we shall continue to produce “Far East,” the sister journal of “The Prisoner of War.” I am confident that we shall have the good wishes and the active support of all to whom, directly or indirectly, this journal has been a source of comfort during the three years of its existence.
The Editor Writes –
IT falls to me as Editor to make my final farewell in this last issue of The Prisoner of War. At the beginning of 1944 I wrote in these columns that the best New Year’s wish I could offer to all our readers was that before many months had passed they would no longer be our readers. That wish was fulfilled for some, as the repatriation ships came in during the year, but for many the eagerly awaited day was deferred until victory had been won. To-day there are no more Kriegies, no more letters from German camps and lazarets, no more Red Cross parcels – and no more need for this journal.
I cannot believe that any editor ever owed so much to so many of his readers. It has been on their letters, and those they received from their men in exile, that this journal has been built up. We depended on them for most of the news and all the photographs of life in the camps that we have published.
“Far East” will Continue
Far East, our companion journal, which started on its separate existence near the beginning of last year, will outlive us. It will be published as and when information becomes available about the lot of those in the hands of the Japanese. Unhappily news in the past has been rare, and the services that it has been possible for the United Nations to render have been limited, irregular, and unevenly distributed. But everything that it is humanly possible to do is being done. The Governments, the Red Cross Societies, the Protecting Power, the International Red Cross Committee and their delegates on the spot are leaving no stone unturned to bring succour to the prisoners.
“Not Forgotten”
On other pages of this last issue appear articles by the heads of the various sections of the Prisoners of War Department which have ministered to the many needs of prisoners in Germany and Italy. For all of them and their colleagues their work has been in the nature of a mission cheerfully and lovingly undertaken in the knowledge that they were not only succouring fellow-countrymen and women in exile but were helping them to realise that they were not forgotten by those at home.
F.M. Lord Chetwode, O.M.
On this page appears a message from Field Marshal Lord Chetwode, O.M., the Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Red Cross and St. John War Organisation. It is upon him, as its supreme administrator, that the heavy burden falls of directing and inspiring the manifold human activities of the Organisation.
Not the least of the reasons why hundreds of thousands have had cause to be grateful to the Organisation for its work during these war years had been its “personal touch.” Sir Philip Chetwode crowned his brilliant career as a soldier by this great mission for the men in the Forces. Our readers will join us in congratulating him upon the barony which the King had conferred upon him in recognition of his distinguished work for sufferers in this war.
IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENTS
(See Page 16)
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Title
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The memoir of Eric William Scott
Description
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Text and numerous b/w photographs (some of which are also located in sub-collection albums) covering from immediately before and during World War II - (1939-1946). First page has colour photographs and description of prisoner of war medal. Continues with account of RAFVR training including time at the Air Crew Reception Centre, St John's Wood, London, initial training at Stratford-upon-Avon and elementary flying training at RAF Watchfield. Gives account of journey to the United States to continue training on the Arnold Scheme at Turner Field, Albany, Georgia, Callstrom Field, Arcadia Florida, Gunter Field, Montgomery Alabama and Craig Field, Selma, Alabama flying Stearman, BT-13 and Harvard. At the last location an accident brought an end to his pilot training and he continues as navigator/bomb aimer at Picton in Ontario Canada. Pages contain many photographs, exttracts from the cadet handbook and his logbook. On return to UK he did operational training a RAF Moreton in the Marsh where he crewed up. He got married just before posting to North Africa. Gives account of journey to join 205 Group in North Africa and of first tour on 142 Squadron where he flew 38 operations and of life in North Africa. After this he was posted as an instructor to an operational training unit in Qastina Palestine where he had an opportunity to visit Jerusalem, Haifa, Bethlehem and Tel Aviv. In June 1944 he agreed to do a second tour and was posted to 37 Squadron at Foggia in Italy. Gives account of operations including gardening in the Danube river. Gives account of final operation to Maribor marshalling yard in Yugoslavia where after attack by night fighter he baled out of his aircraft. Follows with account of capture by Croatian military. hand over to the Germans and journey to Stalag Luft 7, Upper Silesia and life in prisoner of war camp. Then underwent the long march back to Germany in the face of Russian advance. Concludes with repatriation and life after return to England.
Creator
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E W Scott
Format
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Thirty-seven page printed document with text and photographs
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BScottEWScottEWv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Lincoln
England--Bedfordshire
England--London
England--Warwickshire
England--Stratford-upon-Avon
England--Wiltshire
England--Manchester
Scotland--Glasgow
Canada
New Brunswick--Moncton
United States
Georgia--Albany
Florida--Arcadia
England--Gloucestershire
England--Cornwall (County)
North Africa
Algeria
Algeria--Blida
Tunisia
Tunisia--Qayrawān
Middle East--Palestine
Middle East--Jerusalem
West Bank--Bethlehem
Israel--Tel Aviv
Israel--Haifa
Italy
Italy--Foggia
Romania
Romania--Ploiești
Slovenia
Slovenia--Maribor
Poland
Poland--Opole (Voivodeship)
Germany
Germany--Potsdam
England--Shropshire
Florida
Georgia
New Brunswick
Israel
West Bank
England--Lancashire
Danube River
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-02
1941-10
1941-11-03
1941-12
1942-01-06
1942-01
1942-02-09
1942-03-24
1942-05
1942-06
1942-07-02
1942-11
1943-04-19
1943-05-27
1943-06-09
1943-10-03
1944-06
1944-07-23
1944-10-21
1945-03
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.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Anne-Marie Watson
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription. Under review
142 Squadron
37 Squadron
aircrew
bale out
bomb aimer
Caterpillar Club
Dulag Luft
Flying Training School
Harvard
lack of moral fibre
love and romance
mine laying
navigator
Operational Training Unit
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Cardington
RAF Cosford
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF Watchfield
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
shot down
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 7
Stearman
the long march
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/882/17768/BHorshamESHorshamESv10001.1.jpg
1498f141e57378d19034478a39f3c1ce
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/882/17768/BHorshamESHorshamESv10002.1.jpg
fa89ca4452609cb8cf940cfdec1f3b52
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
Horsham, Eric
Eric Symonds Horsham
E S Horsham
Description
An account of the resource
14 items. An oral history interview with Eric Horsham (b. 1923), 9 photographs, and his memoirs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 102 Squadron from RAF Pocklington.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Eric Horsham and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-01-05
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. 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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Horsham, ES
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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Eric Horsham - Memories
[photograph]
[inserted] MU/G ENG NAV P B/A W/OP R/G [/inserted]
I was born at Woolwich, part of which was Winns Common, Plumstead on 12 June 1923. Winns Common was the open space at the top of our road, 500 feet above sea level. I well remember the Royal Artillery with gun and limber, drawn by four fine horses, carrying out exercises at speed.
1930 came and at the age of 7, I was now taking note of events, for instance, an unusual noise caused us to look up to the sight of a huge elongated balloon. We knew later it was an R101 airship, on its way to London, guided by the Thames. “What a sight!”
By 1937 I had joined the Air Defence Corp, later to be the Air Training Corps, 56 Borough of Woolwich Squadron. The year Len Hutton scored 365 runs, not out. As a junior clerk I was attached to the British Railways Press Office at Westminster. I had started work at the age of 14 in the Woolwich Arsenal but later the railway examination was a must.
I was called up in 1942, being vetted A1 at Cardington the onetime home of the R101. Being selected for service as a Flight Engineer, a new trade in those days. The new four engine bombers were now appearing. Joining many others at Lord’s Cricket Ground we soon found ourselves at Initial Training Wing (ITW) at Torquay with other aircrew trades. St Athan in Wales was our next home for six months. The next posting was to Number 56 Conversion Unit, Marston Moor, near York, where I made up the seventh member of a crew, here we got together for the first time.
Shortly after which we were posted to Pocklington, the home of 102 (Ceylon) Squadron. We were now in a different world, where the realities of the job were very apparent. Men have their different ways of overcoming unproductive thoughts, we now began operations along with some 30 other crews. People came and went but we
[page break]
were very aware of empty seats at breakfast. There could have been 7 more casualties on the 16 November 1944. Our target was Julich, Germany to assist the Army’s push into the Ruhr.
Leaving the target at 18000 feet we were caught by German radar They were very accurate, the word on the intercom was “Dive, Dive, Dive” at the same time there was an almighty bang which destroyed our hearing, I remember tasting the cordite. The skipper had put the aircraft into a steep dive and down, down we went out of range.
How comforting it was to feel the plane levelling off. As a flight engineer, I could move around and now saw large holes in the starboard side of the aircraft’s fuselage. The flaps had also disappeared on that side and vapour could be seen in our slipstream as the large petrol tanks drained away. I had to quickly transfer fuel from the port side to the starboard engines. Our mid upper gunner Jim Finney, who came from Hull, had received damage to his leg and needed immediate attention.
It was fortunate that by now we were over our own lines and our skipper Edgar Francis (known to us as ‘Fran’) had taken a direct course to the nearest landing strip, Woodbridge Aerodrome. As we approached the coast fog had closed in, fortunately the runway was lit by FIDO (Fog Incandescent Dispersal Organisation) and Fran made a fast circuit to line up the descent. We were without communication with the ground, therefore it was my job, as engineer, to fire warning flares. I loaded the flare gun in the roof of the cockpit and fired continuously as we prepared to land. I was anxious that flying control should know we were there. We had no brakes but luckily this was a very long runway. We were down. The feeling of relief was palpable. Needless to say Jim was whisked off to hospital.
As to the rest of us, we joined hundreds of others who found themselves in the same predicament, in the mess very late on this foggy November afternoon.
[inserted] DAMAGED LANCASTER WING [/inserted]
[photograph]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Eric Horsham - Memories
Description
An account of the resource
Brief recollection of Eric Horsham from his early years in Plumstead, training at Lords, Torquay, St Athans, Marston Moor then 102 Squadron at Pocklngton. On one operation they were badly damaged but made a successful forced landing at RAF Woodbridge, assisted by FIDO. Included are two photographs, one of his crew in front of a Halifax and another of the damage sustained to the 'Lancaster's' wing (actually a Halifax).
Creator
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Eric Horsham
Format
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Two typewritten sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BHorshamESHorshamESv10001,
BHorshamESHorshamESv10002
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Cardington
England--Torquay
Germany--Jülich
Germany
England--Yorkshire
Wales--Vale of Glamorgan
England--London
England--London
England--London
England--Bedfordshire
England--Devon
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
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1942
1944-11-16
Contributor
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Roger Dunsford
102 Squadron
1656 HCU
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
FIDO
flight engineer
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
RAF Cardington
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Pocklington
RAF St Athan
RAF Torquay
RAF Woodbridge
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/759/17702/BCruickshankGCruickshankGv1.1.pdf
dfd3c2b42238313849a60c2315a4bb2c
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
Cruickshank, Gordon
G Cruickshank
Description
An account of the resource
76 items. Concerns the life and wartime career of Flight Lieutenant Gordon Cruickshank DFM who joined the Royal Air Force in 1938. After training as an air gunner he flew 52 operations on Manchester and Lancaster with 50, 560 and 44 Squadrons. Collection consists of a 1956 memoir with original photographs donated separately, a memoir of his life on squadron from December 1941, his logbooks. a further notebook with memoir, playing cards annotated with his operations, official documents, lucky mascots, medals and badges, dog tags, memorabilia, crew procedures, as well as photographs of aircraft, targets and people.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Linda Hinman and catalogued by Nigel Huckins
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-04-28
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. 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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Cruickshank, G
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
FLT/LT G CRUIKSHANK D.F.M
RAFRO
16, DEEPDALE,
NETTLEHAM,
LINCOLN
1
“Lincolnshire” 1956
As I lay in Johnson Ward of the County Hospital once more, under the now familiar faces of the Sister and Nurses!!
Thinking back over my life of its ups and downs, memories of the past come back to me – the experiences, the thrills, and comradeship which I will never forget.
Maybe to some they’ll mean very little, but to me everything!! I am one of millions – and my living earnt [sic] the hard way, as it is with most of us!! my name not even famous – but one that I am proud of, so it is that perhaps my life as [sic] been average? let me tell you about it!!
The date is 1914/15, and my Father was a regular in the army – then stationed at the “Verne” Portland, Dorset, he was a widower with three children!! two girls Bella and Lena, and George the son – who was killed in that war, Father was Scotish [sic] and his home was in ‘Aberdeen’.
Mother, who was a widow with eight children!! five girls, and three boys – the oldest Henry being away in the navy, having been called up for the war!! was later wounded in [page break]
2
action.
Mother was English and born in Dorset, her maiden name being ‘Corbin’, and married name Butler!! her husband having been killed in an unfortunate quarry accident, how they met [self-corrected] – well that is somethink [sic] I cannot answer!! but they did, and married shortly after.
Then my brother Lewis, myself and Norman!! who died in early childhood – and making me the baby of twelve, when looking back over the years – my Father, whose name was Lewis Cruickshank – going from Aberdeen to Dorset and marrying Mother Clara Daisy Butler, and years later myself moving from Dorset to Lincolnshire and marrying a Joyce May Butler.
I was born at the end of the 1914/18 war, we lived in a very large house in Portland – known as underhill, for being like the Rock of Gibralter, [sic] with a long hill of about 2½ miles in length from the bottom to the top – the bottom being called “Underhill” and the top “Top-Hill”, and we were situated about halfway up the hill. [page break]
3
I think Dorset a lovely county, and Portland although small a beautiful place!! with its lovely harbour – and barracks overlooking that, the large prison!! forts around the cliffs – two castles, the coves and steep cliffs, “Portland Bill” itself – with its lighthouse and famous “Pullpit Rock” [sic], not forgetting the [self-corrected] Chesil [/self-corrected] beach which is 22 miles long consisting of Millions upon Millions of egg shaped pebbles!! which goes from Portland to Bridport, and lastly the quarries which get out the famous Portland stone.
On one occassion [sic] a stranger asked me about the islands places of interest!! I replied, this is not an island “Sir’, but a “Peninsula’, meaning a portion of land nearly surrounded by water – which of course Portland is!! I was rewarded a penny.
With two years or so between us all in ages, Mother never had us at home altogether!! for when us younger ones were born the older ones had left, first Henry, then Mabel who married a regular in the Navy, their two girls now married and with children of their own – Aurther [sic] her husband having done his 22 years service and now working in Portland Dockyard.
[page break]
4
Bessie had married another time serving sailor and moved to Portsmouth!! they had three boys, two are now married with children – and the third is at “London University”!! Frank her husband did 28 years service, [sic] and works in Portsmouth Dockyard.
Gwen met a Soldier in the “Buffs’ then station [sic] at the “Verne’ Portland, they married and settled in Portland!! he [deleted] h [/deleted] is a Dockyard Policeman now, and have two married children.
While this came about I was growing up, and had started school!! our school being situated on the cliff edge over looking the sea.
Remember a French Schooner getting wrecked just below us, and was never refoated [sic] again!! when the sea around us got rough – it very often came over the top of the beach and flooding a large area.
My school days was more or less like any other lad!! but we had our moments, swimming, football, scouts ex [sic], and climbing the cliffs after eggs!! chasing wild goats – remember once catching a large “billy” and trying to ride it, but not succesfully. [sic]
Then we wanted to camp out as most lads do!! Lewis sent me home to ask – but on
[page break]
5
arriving no one was in, so helped myself to our requirements and set off back – we got nicely settled in our tent when both Mum and Dad arrived – they had been looking everywhere for us!! of course we went through it I can assure you, couldn’t blame them for I had taken her best blankets and sheets - apart from failing to let them know where we were, and I was unpopular with Lewis too!!
While at school, “Silv’ and Reg both joined the boys service of the Navy!! now they are out after 24 years service, [sic] Silv married and settled in North Shields – Reg and Violet his wife came and settled here at Lincoln.
Lewis had left school and was on the boats crossing the channel from Weymouth to “Guernsey” and “Jersey”, he later joined the navy and is nearly finnished!! [sic] Married a Portsmouth girl and settle there – they have two boys.
My schooling now over, and helped my brother-in-law window cleaning – until I got myself a shop assistants job in Weymouth, Mother moved shortly afterwards to Weymouth!! how pleased I was about that for it meant the end of my 10 mile [page break]
[Photograph missing]
Self [underline] “The 4th Queens Own Hussars” [/underline]
Early 1936 [underline] Warburg [/underline] [underline] Barracks [/underline]
[underline] Aldershot [/underline]
[page break]
6
daily ride.
Ethel married a regular soldier serving in the “Dorsets” stationed at the Verne they have two lads, and live at Hamworthy near Bournemouth.
He completed his service some while ago, having gained the rank of “Colonel”.
I was about sixteen when my other sister Rose married, she married a Portlander and have two girls, one married and still at Portland!! Fred her husband works for a quarry firm and during the war served in the Navy.
On reaching eighteen I joined the Army “The 4th Queens Own Hussars”, this was the 2nd January 1936, and was stationed at Warburg Barracks, Aldershot!!
We were Cavalry and had not yet been mechanised, this came in 1937!! so I did a full cavalrymans [sic] training and had just completed Army manouvres [sic] around Arundel castle area, and one Aldershot tattoo when we started to get mechanised with bren gun carriers and bren guns. Father had been ill for some time – and after he died Mother had me released on compassionate grounds. [page break]
7
George V had died, and the Prince of Wales had become King!! later abdicating, and now George VI was King - and just before his coronation in 1937 I was released this was April 20th 1937.
Back home again my work at that time was with Walls ice cream – “stop me and buy one”!! as it was known then - using a three wheeler bike and cycling from Weymouth to Portland Bill and back daily a distance of about 24 miles.
This was only a summer job, and when over I took a porters job in one of the hotels at Weymouth, things were very unsettled for me – and when in 1938 it looked like another war I applied to R.A.F. for enlistment.
It was early 1938 when I was instructed to go the [deleted] indecipherable letter [/deleted] R.A.F. centre at Bristol some 90 miles from Weymouth!! had to be there 9.30. in the morning, this would be impossible unless I traveled [sic] the evening beforehand – for their [sic] was [sic] no trains early enough, money at that time was as it is now – short!! but just the same I went up over night – spending the night on a bench in one of Bristols parks!! [sic]
[page break]
8
Using the public convinience [sic] to shave and wash before going for my examinations, which I passed!! and was finally enlisted at “West Drayton” on 13th December 1938 for seven years.
My first R.A.F. station was “Uxbridge” a training centre, having been in the Army I was trained in foot and rifle drill – also PT, so the first part of my service came easy!! my pay was, as in the Army 14/- per week and instead of Trooper was now A.C.2 A.C.H. (aircraftman second class – aircrafthand) none tradesmen.
We shortly moved to Cranwell – and I soon made up my mind that it would be better to have a trade!! so I applied for a Group II trade course on balloon’s [sic].
Before getting my course, I was posted to RAF Warmwell, Dorset near Dorchester and about nine miles from home!! shortly afterwards going to Lime [sic] Regis on airsea [sic] rescue, a [sic] Anson bomber had come down on a beach further along the coast and we went by boat – and I was left to guard it!!
After being at Lime [sic] Regis returned to Warmwell - my posting came through to go to No. 3 Balloon Centre Stanmore [page break]
9
to start my trade course – this was early summer of 1939.
This camp was situated a few miles north of London, and at that time Henry my oldest brother was working at the “Trocadero” in Shaftsbury Avenue!! and lived at Beckingham, Kent – used to visit him whenever possible. I was making great progress with my training, and was well on the way for completion when on September 3rd 1939 war was declared on Germany.
Things were then rushed along, we were given trade course’s!! [sic] and with the Auxiliary Air force we were sent out all over London to form independant [sic] balloon sites, ours being situated at Muswell Hill north London!! it was a striking effect when we completed our task and saw hundreds and hundreds of Balloons airbourne. [sic]
The men I was with, turned out a grand lot and we had many enjoyable times together!! my trade result came through and I was made A.C.1 Group II tradesman, this made a great difference to my pay.
Just before Christmas of 1939 I was [page break]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1502-0002
[underline] Taken Felixstowe early 1939 [/underline]
Self, second row, second from right to left
[page break]
10
posted to Felixstowe, where others and myself from different units to form a new Balloon Group at Felixstowe and Harwich.
We heard the destroyer “Gypsy” had hit a mine and blew up with all hands – this must of [sic] been our first loss in regards to warships?
The weather was terrible – and our hands got very cold handling the Balloons, and getting them first on bardges [sic] – then on land sites!!
My first Christmas dinner of the war was there – and still that “menu’, what a grand food we had too, soon after Christmas my L.A.C. came through and a further increase in pay.
Often went into Felixstowe and Ipswich for evening s off duty – had some grand times with the chaps who I had paled [sic] up with!!
One of our 5 toners [sic] had been left at Cardington, Huntingtonshire – some hundred miles inland, I was sent to fetch it back!! although I could drive, had never drove such a large lorry before – still I didn’t let that worry me!! spent the night at the camp there and reported to the motor transport section to get it early the following morning, but was informed [page break]
11
I was to take two five ton trailers of hydrogen gas back with me – due to a heavy storm back at Felixstowe, a heavy loss in Balloons, and they were in urgent need of gas!!
Well I was shaken beyond words – but only asked for a look-out, they sent along a A.C.H.
Got the lorry and trailers connected up ex [sic] and with my fellow airmen looking out we set off for our long journey to the coast – believe me driving it, and with trailers on for the first time was no joke for the length was a terrific experience, but we succeeded_ later on I learnt that driving with two trailers was stopped by “air ministry”.
Early summer of 1940 I was made a Corparal [sic], and was then of a Balloon site with another Corparal sharing duties, his name was Charles Miles and we had a crew of ten and were self supporting!! The Battle of Britton [sic] was on – we could watch them over London area doing a great job. I applied for aircrew.
We got on fine at our site – and apart from losing our Balloons during storms, we kept it up pretty well!! I remember a jerry bomber [page break]
[Two photographs missing]
Photos of our near miss!!
Felixstowe 1940
[underline] showing 150 ton lifting crane in background [/underline]
[page break]
12
flying on to bomb the main camp but his bombs [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] fell short and nearly had us instead, we were shaken I can assure you!! “this called for the camera”.
Then one of our Hampdens flying low on returning from a raid, hit into the cable of one of our Balloons, cutting away half its wing and causing it to crash into a factory nearby – all were burnt to death in the fire it caused!! luckily the factory was closed.
Ted Drake and Cliff Baston [sic] the footballers came to Felixstowe to do their training – I met them in the canteen, but I guess they’ll not remember now.
After the fall of [self-corrected] France [/self-corrected] – “Dunkirk” and my brother Sylvester helped in the evacuation of our troops from the shore of Dunkirk making several crossings!! a lot coming into Harwich where I was now stationed having been moved from Felixstowe – things looked black for us!!
I know when traveling [sic] home on leave, going through London after air raids was almost heart breaking – and longed to be “aircrew” to have a smack a jerry in return, soon this was granted – and after I had just done a fourteen day course on anti tank guns ex [sic] with the Army stationed near Ipswich!! I was posted to [page brake]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1502-0003+PCruickshankG1502-0004
[underlined twice] Evanton [/underlined twice] “gunnery school class”
August 1941
self middle, Fred Daley centre back row
[underline] centre row [/underline]
Ken Smith, first, centre row, Vic Greenwood next.
From next to right
[page break]
13
number 8 air gunnery school Evanton, Scotland.
This was the 28th August 1941.
We commenced our course on the 29th, I made friends with Ken Smith, Vic Greenwood and Fred Daley. The aircraft then was the Blackburn Botha a twin engine fighter with a gun [self-corrected] turret [/self-corrected].
Our course was short, and after only four weeks – and 7 hrs 25 mins flying we were passed out Sgt airgunners!! the increase in pay for me was only 6D per day – for being a tradesman Corparal [sic] my pay was nearly that of a Sgt airgunner, only pilots and other Branches of aircrew got the 13/6 per day as Sgts.
28th September I traveled [sic] home on leave, afterwards Ken Smith and myself spent the end in London before proceeding to 10 O.T.U. Abingdon, Oxfordshire.
We were to complete our training there, before going to an operational “Sqdn”!! gunners at that time weren’t very respected - believe [sic] due to the fact that Sgts having just been introduced into aircrew branch of [self-corrected] airgunners!![/self-corrected]
Aircraft in use at Abington at that time, “Handley Page Whitley”, this was just before Christmas of 1941. [page break]
14
Our other station "Stanton Harcourt" was where I first started flying on them - "all circles and landings" night and day with the following pilots, Sgt Stewart, P.O. Harcourt, Sgt Clarke, P/O Blease, P/O More, P/O Archer, F/O Warmer, P/O Luoid [?] and Sgt Butt, Have often wondered if any of them survived the war!!
When free, we visited Oxford, or into Abingdon - the Red Lion, Vic, Ken and I shared the same billet so we always were out together, not forgetting Fred Lacey and Colin Gray who we were also friendly with.
November 1941 was flying from Abingdon with P/O Dodds, Flt/Sgt Rees and Flt/Sgt Griffin on air tests, instrument flying and air firing, getting off about 2,000 rounds, and my total flying hours now 23 hrs - not much!!
Course completed had Christmas at home, and early January of 1942 was posted to number 50 Sqdn then stationed at RAF Swinderby Lincolnshire – [deleted] 1[/deleted] 8 miles from Lincoln, and the same distance from Newark the other way, Bassingham 2 miles away being our nearest village.
We had a "pub" called the Halfway House [page break]
15
on the main road near by - and the "Fossway" [sic] some half mile further up the road towards Lincoln!! these were used quite often when free, not forgetting the "Black Swan" Basingham [sic]
Aircraft on our sqdn were the "Hampden" 'flying pencils', with a crew of four!! although we had come to be crewed with the soon expected "Manchester" had the opertunity [sic] of flying on them if we wished - [smudged]some[/smudged] did, but I prefered [sic] to have a crew of my own and not do any spare bod flying - I considered this unlucky.
Colin Gray, Fred Dacey came with me to this Sqdn - [smudged] Alan [/smudged] Mason and several other gunners I knew !! Vic Greenwood went to 44 Sqdn Stationed at Waddington and Ken Smith went to Binbrook on Wellingtons.
Wing - Commander "Gus" Walker had been the C.O. of 50 Sqdn - his place having been taken by "Curly Oxley" D.S.O. D.F.C.
"Gus" was a well known rugby player - but at his new station [deleted] ed [/deleted] !! Syerston near Newark some months later a 4,000lb bomb blew up, as [correction one letter deleted before as] he was going to investigate and he lost an arm, and I believe he his [sic] still in the service now, a [sic] "Air commodore" [page break]
16
and several times decorated.
Things were pretty dull at first - and when a fellow aircrew got killed in a crash, and I was a bearer at his funiral [sic] with other Sgts it depressed me even more - and he was one of the many that were to lose thier [sic] lives in the battle for freedom!! God Bless them all.
Time was creeping on when in March 1942 the Sqdn moved to Skillingthorpe [sic], because of runway repairs at Swinderby.
The Manchesters had arrived and I was crewed with a Flying Officer Norman Goldsmith a Rhodesian, an exsperienced [sic] pilot - who had nearly finnished [sic] his 200 [deleted] hrs
[/deleted] operational flying hours which were at that time considered a tour !! it was soon changed to trips afterwards
There was no flight engineers or bomb aimers at that time, we had second pilots!! and the navigator went forward and dropped the bombs
Our crew consisted of Norman, Terry [self-corrected] Tuinin [/self-corrected][Taerum?] a Canadian from Calgary - "Navigator", Colin Gray a Welchmen [sic], as mid-upper gunner, myself rear, and a chap from Norwich, wireless operator - cannot [page break]
17
recall his name !! hope he'll forgive me.
And the second pilot Sgt Wiseman, or Lew Manser, a crew of six altold [sic].
We commenced flying together on the 23. 3. 42, doing local flying, crew training, alt [sic] test with 4,000lbs bombs.
Our Gunnery Leader F/O Trevor-Roper!! and was in 'B' flight under S/LDR Everett, known as the "boy wonder" - on the 15. 4. 42 we did an N.F.T. (night flying test) and later attended my first briefing!! and my total hours now 34.
Was very excited, our target was St Nazaire France, "Mine laying", or gardening as we called it, with four "Veg" "height 800ft"!! "Veg" meaning "Mines".
A quiet trip which took 6hrs 15mins
Let me explain to you some of the proceedings before flight.
When arriving at your "Sqdn", you are put into "A" or"B" flight !! a Sqdn normaraly [sic] having two, and each Sqdn have sections for its aircrew - such as gunnery section, engineers - wireless, navigation ex, and a main crew room for all - and a[sic] officer in charge of each, usually a Flying Officer or Flt/Lt, and the flights under a Sqdn/Leader, a Wing commander over the "Sqdn" !! and "Group Captain" in [self-corrected] charge [/self-corrected] of the station. [page break]
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During the day the C.O. ex [sic] are informed that so many aircraft will be required for operations!! the C.O. calls in his flight commanders ex [sic] - how many crews he'll need from each flight!! this done, a crew list is posted up in all departments - including the mess's
On seeing your crew are on - the pilot gets in touch with all members of his crew to do a N.F.T. "night flying test", a short flight of a half an hour or so in which all equipment is [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] tested for snags!! on landing and returned to your dispersal point - where all snags are reported to the waiting ground crew,
Who [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] will soon put them in order - also get the aircraft bombed up!! and the correct amount of petrol ex [sic]!! until briefing you are usually free - and mostly particulate [sic] in a game of cards ex. [sic]
Then briefing which is held in a large room with a full scale map of all Europe on the wall - your route marked with coloured tape ex[sic]!! all information given by the specialist in turn, (weather - fighters - time of take off, and time due over target ex [sic]).
Our target is Gardening off "Ameland" the evening of the 19.4.42, we are to carry four vegs and our hieght[sic] is to be 700ft. [page break]
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After briefing you enjoy a good meal - collect your rations ex [sic] (chocolate, orange juice or oranges, chewing gum) and some half hour before take off you collect your flying clothing ex [sic] (lucky mascots) and proceed by transport to your dispersal point !! on arriving you wait arround [sic]- then you climb aboard, being rear gunner you see the ladder in and door firmly locked !! the pilot tests engines -after getting into your turret, leaving your chute safely in its place - locking your turret doors, load the four guns, check again everything - plug in intercom and report to skipper !!
When time draws near you make for the runway in use - on arriving you call up for permission to take off!! this given, you turn onto the runway - clear engines, then the pilot [self-corrected] usually [/self-corrected] checks with all members that he is going to take off ex.[sic]
With an all up wieght [sic] of around 65,000LBS you fill the power of the [smudged] engines [/smudged] as you roar down the runway, on reaching a speed of 110 MPH you leave the runway!! and you are now airbourne [sic] - hearing the pilot say under carriage and flaps up you give a sigh of relief, in the early days we set course over base and gained [smudged] height [sic/smudged] on route, testing your guns over the "North Sea", our bombing hieght [sic] never [page break]
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much higher than 11,000FT, later all this was changed - we are now over the coast, and ask for permission to test guns - this given you fire a couple of short [smudged]bursts[/smudged] into the sea, report back guns OK to the skipper.
And proceed looking the sky for enemy fighters ex, when the target area is reached - and your mines have been dropped you make haste back for base!! on arriving back at base, you join the circuit and call up for permission to land - when your turn comes - this is given, on landing you make for your dispersal where your [sic] met by the waiting ground crew, inform them any snags ex, the transport arrives and you are taken back to the crew room - park your flying cloths [sic] and atend [sic] the debriefing!! where you first enjoy a cup of tea, after debriefing you have a good meal, and so to bed !!
April 22nd, an early N.F.T, briefing ex, gardening again!! this time Kiel Bay, 'Germany', our height 1,000Ft - with 3 veg [sic], a steady trip of 6hrs 25 mins.
Manchester aircraft were terrible - infact [sic] death traps !! talk about the Lancaster coming soon? 44 Sqdn and another already had them, "Nettleton" - Wing - Commander of 44 Sqdn did a daring daylight to Augsburg with his Sqdn and the other, they suffered very heavy [page break]
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lossis [sic], the raid was successful and Wing Commander Nettleton was awarded the Victoria Cross !!
I still hadnt [sic] done a real bombing raid, but it was soon to come, Micky Martin and his crew, Dave Shannon and crew were also with us, later on Micky, Dave. their crews, Trevor-Roper our gunnery leader, and my navigator, and friend - Terry Teurum [sic] a Canadian from Calgary were to fly with Wing Commander Gibson V.C. D.S.O. D.F.C. on the now famous Dam-raid, on which Gibson won his Victoria Cross, Terry went has [sic] his navigator, and Trevor-Roper rear gunner.
Norman had one more trip to do - and wondered who would be our new pilot? we managed a little local flying - and on the 24th April 1942 we did an N.F.T, briefing later ex.
Our first - or rather my first bombing raid, it was to be 'Rostock Germany' our second pilot of that night was F/O L.T. Manser, "Lew" as we called him - like Norman and the others [self-corrected] was [/self-corrected] one of the best !! and I wondered if we were to be his crew when Norman left.
Our take off was to be 22.00 hrs with a bomb load of 14 250LB INCD [self-corrected]bombs[/self-corrected]
Our aircraft Manchester L7432 was all ready when [page break]
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we arrived at our dispersal point about half an hour before take off - we talked a little, and then climbed aboard - with everyone in !! I closed the door and made for my turret at the rear, having parked my chute ex [sic] got into my turret and closed the turret doors, pluged [sic] in my intercom checked my turret over again - mean while Norman & Lew were running the engines, afterwards checking with all the crew that everything ['g' overwritten] was alright, we then made for the runway in use !! I was completing the loading of my four guns.
We made a good take off - heard Norman say undercarriage and flaps ups [sic]!! and check time ex [sic] with Terry our navigator !! pin pointed over drome and set course for Germany, out over the North sea I asked permission to test guns - making sure no ships near first, then fired a couple of bursts, reporting back guns O.K. "Skipper"
Having gained over 3,000 ft oxygen on, also switched on my electrical jacket - we didn't have a full length at that time, I usually had a blanket around my legs to help [deleted] indecipherable letter [/deleted] keep out the cold and three pairs of gloves - plus flying boots and long socks, and ervin [sic] jacket over my electrical, [smudged] may [sic][ /smudged] west and parachute harnest [sic] [page break]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0026+PCruickshankG1501-0027
"Rostock" Germany 24th April 1942
Fires, still burning among about 61/2 acres of workshops at Neption [?] shipbuilding
[page break]
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and believe me very little room to move, for I was close on [self-corrected] fourteen [/self-corrected] stone.
My job was defence, and I believe in a continuous search for enemy fighters from base to target to base, a tail gunners job is a very lonely one - and at times very depressing - you had to know your aircraft well - also wings spans, this was most important if attacked.
Sometimes, the navigator would ask for a drift reading, this was done by you!! the wireless “opp” [sic] or another member dropping a smoke float on to the sea - you line your guns on it!! and read the drift seals on the side of your turret ex [sic], so many degrees just on starboard and inform the “Nav”.
We were getting near the target - and felt it, and when I heard them say the target was in view - and Jerry going down in the nose to drop the bomb I was keyed up beyond words!! guess we all were?
Bomb doors open!! Jerry saying left left steady ex [sic] - then bombs away, felt the sudden uplift as they went and felt much relieved!! for we were only 5,000 FT the searchlights and flak getting dangerously near a [sic] we weaved to get out - I noticed some very large fires burning below!! but much to [sic] close for me.
[from previous page] ton shipbuilding’ yards, day after our bombs Command raid [/from previous page] [page break]
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getting clear we set course for base - after what seemed endless hours we crossed the English coast and Jim [?] pointed to base, joined the circuit and called up to land!! when our time came we landed and headed for our dispersal - I was busy unloading my guns!! and by the time our dispersal was gained I was done - and out of my turret with the fuselage door open breathing the cool night air.
Having reported any snags ex [sic] to the waiting ground crew - bless emm [?], we were taken back to the crew-room, parking your flying clothing ex [sic] and made for the de-briefing room - where you enjoyed a hot drink first!! reporting ex [sic] the raid and having completed made to your mess and after a good meal you made for bed.
The raid was very successful - and took 7 hrs 45 mins.
Norman had now finished - and was later awarded the D.F.C.!! but unfortunately was killed some months later on starting his second tour of operations.
I was now without a pilot, life [overwritten] was mostly cards, tossing two pennies - learnt off my [/overwritten]
[page break]
[picture missing]
[inserted] About to take off at night inserted [/inserted]
[page break]
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Aussie friends - and beer ex [sic] and crap game!!
I remember sometimes playing for days on end, only stopping for meals ex!! Poker being a popular game - which included dealers choise [sic]!! sometimes winning - and of course losing too, life then was always a gamble anyway.
Once playing straight poker - "nothing wild” with Fred Dacey [?], who was in the same class at gunnery school, also one of my closest friend [sic]"!! Spam Spafford and Joby Jenon [?] - two Aussies, also Micky Martins [sic] gunners, myself and another.
I drew four Queens - a lucky draw, which I kept without changing the fifth card – watched’ what the others drew ex!! thought I was a certain winner, and went the haul hog - unfortunately Fred had drawn two more Kings to the pair he held already, and of course I went out broke!!
It was now early May - and was due 14 days leave. Mother had been bombed out completely some while before - but [smudged] escaped [/smudged] unhurt thank goodness.
My wireless "opp” [sic] friend took me home to his home in Norwich - just our luck, first night there Jerry made the first bombing raid on Norwich and upset things a little, his folks made me welcome and I [page break]
26
enjoyed myself pretty well under the circumstances.
We returned to Skellingthorpe late May and found Lew had taken over another crew and was operating as a first pilot - unfortunately I was down with cold!! and [sic] a pilot named Calvert [?], a [smudged] pilot [/smudged] officer from New-Zealand [sic] came to 50 sqdn and took over our crew!! Colin Gray my friend and co gunner keeping my place in the crew free for my return.
It is May 30th 1942, we still had the Manchesters - plenty of excitement, for it was to be the first thousand bomber raid, and the target "Cologne"
Everyone was on - except me, I was sick unfortunately!!
Roy my pilot ran into trouble over Cologne, and came back on one engine - he was awarded the D.F.C. and Colin Gray the D.F.M a little later, but Lew also had trouble, but what courage!!
It was some weeks afterwards that the story of his most conspicuous bravery was told by members of the crew - yes, they had come back to England, via Gibraltar in the record time of 21 days!!
As I said before Lew had taken over another crew after leaving us - and what a pilot [smudged] he [/smudged] was, [page break]
[Picture missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0016+PCruickshankG1501-0017
Cologne after first 1,000 Bomber raid 1942.
[page break]
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As the aircraft was approaching its objective it was caught by searchlights and subjected to intense and accurate anti-aircraft fire (Flak) Flying Officer Manser held on his dangerous course and bombed the target successfully from an [sic] height of 7,000 FT.
Then set course for base. The Manchester had been damaged and was still under heavy fire. Flying Officer Manser took violent evasive action, turning and descending to under 1,000 FT, it was of no avail.
The searchlights and flak followed him until the outskirts of the city were passed, the aircraft was hit repeatedly and the rear gunner wounded. The front cabin filled with smoke; the port engine was over-heating badly [sic]
Pilot and crew could of [sic] have escaped safely’ by parachute. Nevertheless, Flying Officer Manser disregarding the obvious hazards, persisted in his attemp [sic] to save aircraft and crew from falling into enemy hands. He took the aircraft up to 2,000 FT. Then the port engine burst into flames it was ten minutes before the fire was mastered, but then the engine went out of action for good, part of the wing burnt, and the air-speed of the aircraft became dangerously low [sic]
Despite all the efforts of pilot and crew, [page break]
28
The Manchester began to lose height; at this critical moment, Flying Officer Manser once more disdained the alternative of parachuting to safety with his crew. Instead, with grim determination, he set course for the nearest base, accepting for himself the prospect of almost certain death in a firm resolve to carry on to the end.
Soon, the aircraft became extremely difficult to handle and, when a crash was inevitable, Flying Officer Manser ordered the crew to bale out, a Sergeant handed him a parachute - but he waved it away, telling him to jump at once as he could only hold the aircraft steady for a few more seconds while the crew were descending to safety they saw the aircraft, still carrying their gallant captain, [smudged] plunge [/smudged] to earth and burst into flames.
In pressing home his attack in the face of strong opposition, in striving, against heavy odds, to bring back his aircraft and crew and, finally, when in extreme peril, thinking only of the safety of his comrades, Flying Officer Manser displayed determination and valour or the highest order.
Flying Officer Leslie Thomas Manser, R.A.F.V.R. 50 Sqdn was awarded the "Victoria Cross" "Posthumously" [sic] [page break]
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It is now late June and we are back at Swinderby.
Leave again - yes!! this was quite frequent for aircrew. I went to North Shields to see my Brother [sic] and his wife - and an enjoyable time too.
It was early July, Terry and I shared a room together in the "Sgts mess", we were getting the new Lancasters!! did two local bombing flights on the Manchesters with Roy - then they were grounded, and we started flying the "Lancs" on cross countries N.F.T., local beam flying, dark landings ex [sic] and bombing!!
Colin Gray had become our bomb aimer, Bert Braned [?] engineer, Alan Connor, an Australian as wireless operator mid-upper gunner, Lew Auston, wireless operator another Aussie, Roy Calvert pilot, and after Terry left - [smudged] "Sears [/smudged] or Stevens, and later Medina, our navigators in turn, and myself rear gunner.
It was July 25th when we did an N.F.T. and attended briefing for our first raid together on the "Lancs" our aircraft was 'S' for sugar 5702 - which we kept to its end - and nearly ours too!!
Our target was "Duisburg" load one 4,000 lb bomb and [self-corrected] incendiaries [/self-corrected]. [page break]
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a [sic] good raid - much better than the Manchester aircraft, it took us 4 hrs 20 mins.
Next evening found ourselves on again - this time "Hamburg", load 1, 4,000 LB and 6, 500 LB, 2, 250 LB.
Another good do, time 5 hrs 30 mins. on [sic] the 31st July we are doing some formation flying - plus an N.F.T.
Later attending briefing, our target "Dusseldorf", load 1, 4000 LB and [self-corrected] incendiaries [/self-corrected], plenty of life - but we missed it, bombed at 10,500 FT time 4 hrs 30 mins [sic]
August 3rd another N.F.T, briefing ex!![sic] Mine Laying Kiel Bay. "5 Veg", lucky night - shot up enemy gun post.
time [sic] 6 hrs 10 mins [sic]
Free till the 6th then on again - this time "Duisburg" load 1, 4,000 LB and 30 LB [smudged] incendiaries [/smudged], Cloudy - bombed on T.R.
3 hrs 25 mins
N.F.T. on the 9th briefing target "Osnabrück" cookie & incends [sic] "Special stooge" [sic]
Meaning, we had to fly around afterwards!! not a job I liked, when I heard over intercom - those relieving words, bomb doors open!! and bombs away, I liked to get the hell out of it!!
31
The raid was good and took 4 hours –
9 days leave again!!
Yes, our leave for aircrew was around 64 days a year!! often more, believe me well earnt [sic] for ther [sic]were always a flow of new faces around, the comradeship of all was first class, with both aircrew and ground crews!! who I must say worked hard to keep aircraft serviceable - and on duty at all hours – to them, and my fellow aircrew, “I say God Bless you all”
Returning from leave, a little fighter affiliation, N.F.T.s, August 24th briefing – our target “Frankfurt” load 1,4,000lb & 10 cans 30lb incendiaries – time 5hrs 20mins. Couple of nights out with the lads in Lincoln – plenty of beer!! on 27th August, formation flying and NFT, later briefing ex[sic]. Target “Kassel” usual load, quiet trip of 5hrs 30mins.
Again on 28th Target “Nuremburg” but bombed Augsburg instead!! how, I really dont [sic] know!!
time 7 hrs.
Bomber Command, under Air Marshal A.T. Harris was really getting down to it now – and many aircraft, and those fine lads who flew them was [sic] to go missing!! Germany had to be well and truly bombed at all costs – all well and good for some!! for, they did’nt [sic] have to go. [page break ]
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All my friends were to go - and thousands and thousands of others too.
September came in with a “bang”
1st Sept, Air to Sea firing, an N.F.T. briefing ex – our target “Saarbrϋcken”, load 1,4000lb and 10 cans 30lb incendiaries. Somehow the (P.F.F.) pathfinders marked “Saarlous” [sic] instead and that was wiped out!! time 5hrs 25mins.
Again on the 2nd , briefing ex, “Karlsrune” [sic] the target, usual bomb and petrol load – time 5hrs 35mins.
One night off, then briefing on 4th Sept this time Bremen is the target, load 5, 1900LB H.E.
Bombed F.W. Factory - good raid!! 5hrs 15mins
6th Sept Visit to Waddington, back to base, N.F.T. briefing, target “Duisburg” , load 1,4000lb 12 cans 30lb incendiaries – uneventful, 4hrs 5mins.
Two nights out in town, N.F.T. on the 8th briefing, target Frankfϋrt, usual load, cault [sic] in searchlights [smudged] searchlights [/smudged] over target – flak to [sic] close for my liking!! after ages we managed to get clear, time 5hrs 55mins
(“Shaky do” far to [sic] many searchlights)
One free evening, briefing ex, target “Dusseldorf” load 1,4000lb 8, cans 30lb incendiaries – “Bang on”
3hrs 45mins
[page break ]
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Next two days N.F.T. ex [sic]
13th briefing, “Bremen” 1,4000lb 12 cans 30lb incendiaries “4 flares “ – good trip – 4hrs 20
Again on 14th briefing ex [sic], “Wilhelmshaven” usual load – 4 flares. 4hrs 35mins
“Essen” again on the 16th Sept – usual load!!
4hrs 55mins
Thank God a few clear nights!!
But not for long, 23rd find us on an N.F.T. briefing, low attack on “Wismar”, Aeroplane factories of J.U.88 & Dorniers, bombing at 2000FT – cault [sic] by light flak, port centre tank hit – port tail fin!! to [sic] damn close returned fire freely.
Time 7hrs 15mins.
“Sqdn” moved back to Skellingthorpe again – Swinderby being turned into a “con” training unit!!
Heard my friend Ken Smith had gone missing!! poor Ken, he was one of the best.
Next few days plenty of flying – low level formations, fighter affiliation – bombing ex [sic].
October the 12th we have a change of aircraft – “R” for “roger” (ours being overhauled.
N.F.T. ex our target is “Wismar” again [page break]
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Height 5,500FT, load 14 cans of 30lb incendiaries – time 6hrs 40mins “good raid”
My friend of gunnery school Fred Dacey had gone missing – [smudged] how [/smudged] I miss his cheerful ways!! Fred and I had been the closest of friends.
14th October briefing again – “Kiel” is the target, load one, 4000lb 12 cans of 4lb incendiaries.
good trip of 5hrs 25mins
Free for a day or so – out again to Lincoln!!
17th October 1942, find [/self-corrected] usual [self-corrected] early briefing for the exspected [sic] “daylight raid”.
The target is “Le creucot [sic] France
our commanding officer [smudged] w/cdr [/smudged] Oxley D.S.O. D.F.C. said after briefing now chaps ‘don’t [sic] go mingling with the traffic in the streets, when passing large Cities [sic] or Towns!! this was a low level attack of 94 Lancasters, our bombing HT. 7,200FT bomb load 5, 1.000lb GPs .
We took off 12.05, and after formating flew South out into the bay of ” Biscay “ turned into St Nazaire, it was as we crossed the French coast at a little above roof tops I noticed a French farmer ploughing his field with a “pig”
What a laugh that was – the weather
[page break ]
35
was grand – lucky no enemy fighter about!! after bombing at dusk, made our way back to base
time 10hrs 20mins to [sic] damn long.
My other friend Vic Greenwood, who was flying from Waddington had gone missing –
“gee” only myself of us four left!!
We had a new W/cdr, Russell – nice chap too!!
Oct 22, briefed for our first Italian raids, “Genoa”, load 2, 1,000LB bombs H.P.s, 6 cans incendiaries, what a trip!! lovely passing over the “Alps”, we bombed at 7,000ft, a round trip of 9hrs 40mins – Landed at Waterbeach
Oct 23 returned to Base
24th October, briefing very early again – another Daylight [sic], this time Milan Italy, load 12 cans of 4lb incendiaries, our take off time 12.20
It being a low level afair [sic] – excepting of course the crossing of the Alps.
Having had our flying meal, collected rations ex [sic], we made for our usual dispersal – ‘S’ for “sugar”, it was a grand October morning – after a short chat, climbed aboard, locking the door after [page break]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0018+PCruickshankG1501-0019
“Genoa Italy” Damage in Ansaldo fitting out yard after raids in late 1942 [written down left hand side of page]
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pulling in the ladder, making my way back to my turret in the rear!! see my chute ex safely stowed I got in – pluged [sic] in my intercom, over which was going on a lot of talking ex!! loading my four “Brownings “ – checking the gunsights & lights, oxygen ex, I checked the intercom with the Skipper – Roy, had been running in the engines meanwhile.
We took off at 12.20, and formated a little later at the arranged time and place – afterwards heading South towards “Selsey Bill” nr Portsmouth where we were to pick up our escort [deleted] of fighters!! who would go with us part of the way across France, it was grand sight!! 84 Lancasters flying at roof tops.
After the departure of the fighters – luckaly [sic] it was cloudy!! so the formations broke up making our own way towards the Italian Alps, on arriving we gained height – then going over, looking out – not only for fighters , but also our own lads!!
Over the Alps we came down to low level again making for Milan – it was a lovely clear sky, everyone was excited, I can picture us now arriving at Milan – people running, as we went down the main street [page break]
[photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0020+PCruickshankG1501-0021
Milan Italy. After Daylight raid 24th October 1942 [written down left hand side of page]
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with bomb doors open – and hundreds 4lb incendiaries droped [sic] among the buildings!!
With bomb doors closed we flew clear of Milan, where seeing a train we went in and I give it a burst or two with my Brownings, a gun post [self-corrected] opened [/self-corrected] up on us – but soon stopped when I played four guns on them !! making our way towards the Alps – gaining height as we went – and was crossing them as the sun was setting, and the moon rising, a most beautiful sight of colours over the snow covered tops.
Arriving back at base a few hours later, joining the circuit - after landing, reporting for debriefing – a meal, and so to bed once again!! time 9hrs 20mins.
“A really good trip”
Heard that my brother Reg had been torpedoed in H.M.S. Dunedin, near the equator in mid Atlantic Ocean, [self-corrected] by [/self-corrected] a Germany “Sub”, out of just under 700 men that [deleted] indecipherable letter [/deleted] got onto rafts ex – only 64 survived!! Thank God he was one, but what an ordeal they must of [sic] suffered – apart from the heat, Baracuda [sic] fish – who jump out of the water and take bights [sic] of you, sea sore, [?] no water to drink ex [sic] for 3 days and 4 nights of hell, my brother swimming among sharks tying the rafts together – so they wouldn’t drift apart – and get a mention in dispatches.
[page break]
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It is early November of 1942, informed of my award of the “Distinguished Flying Medal” called for a few beers ex [sic]
Joyce my wife now – was very pleased too, unfortunately she was to lose her Mother very soon afterwards.
Nov 6th W/cdr [sic] Russell DFC required me as his rear, we were briefed, our target again Italy, “Genoa”
[self-corrected] Usual [/self-corrected] load – full petrol ex [sic], a really bang on do, but again to [sic] damn long 10hrs 15mins.
7th November found myself on again – back with my own crew, I didn’t really mind for I was nearly finnished [sic], we had briefing – again “Genoa” Italy!!
Usual load – plus full petrol load, really on the mark again!! it was while on one of the Italian trips that when we returned to our base – two of Waddingtons [sic] Lancs crashed into one another and blew up!! poor devils, I watched them go – a most heart breaking [self-corrected] sight, our circuit, and that of Waddingtons were very close together.
Our time 8hrs 30mins
The 9th Nov 1942, My [sic] wifes [sic] Mother’s funeral – she had died a few days before, it was also my last raid of my first tour!! and nearly our last altogether.
Having attended briefing – our target was to [page break]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1503
Sgt Alan Conner
F/o Power
Self
Sgt Wilson
Taken after crash landing.
“Bradwell Bay”
After Hamburg raid 9th November 1942
Wireless operator Sgt Lew Austin R.A.A.F. being killed
Pilot, F/O Calvert, R.N19.A.F wounded
Navigator, Sgt Medina RAF wounded.
[page break]
39
be “Hamburg”.
Our crew was now changed a bit, Colin Gray our bomb aimer, had completed his tour – his place taken by a Sgt Wilson, Bert Branch was stood down – to enable a pilot to get experience, before taking his own crew on operations, his name F/O Power!!
Our Navigator was a Sgt Medina, Lew Austin, Wireless operator, Alan Conner, mid-upper gunner, self rear – and Roy Calvert pilot.
The raid, was to be a nuisance raid!! only 5 Group, which we were in, particulating [sic] of just over 100 bombers – usual load ex.[sic]
In our own “S” for sugar aircraft.
On arriving around the target area, it turned out to be about 9/10’s cloud, we couldn’t pin-point our correct position, and seeing some searchlights some miles from us – Roy asked the “Nav” if that could be Hamburg, he said no – deciding to go over and bomb them!! arriving the bomb aimer said lovely built up area below in the break though [sic] of cloud, so having said bomb doors open – started our run in!! but held in far to [sic] long, when the whole aircraft shook as we were the main target for them – We had been hit badly, the intercom going out of action – Roy weaving, diving, doing everything to get [page break]
[Photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1504+PCruickshankG1505
[Underlined] Bradwell [\Underlined]
After Hamburg 1942,
showing self, P/O Power, Sgt Wilson, Sgt Conner.
Both Power and Wilson going down on a later raid.
[page break]
40
clear, I felt completely cut off – for without the intercom you were an isolated spot, the others could at least see each other!!
After what seemed hours – a knock on my turret doors, Alan had brought a message from Roy to come forward!! no use staying, for my guns were u/s anyway.
Alan informed me the Navigator was wounded – also Roy, and that Lew was unconscious!! I noticed the aircraft was full of holes as I went forward behind Alan – going first to see the Skipper and Navigator, returned to see Lew, feeling his pulse – thought him still alive, and got him to the rest bed position, laying him down, his head on my lap, Alan set to with trying to fix the wireless ex!! but it was hopeless.
With no means of contacting base or the ground, we made for the English coast – arriving around the essex [sic] coast, where Roy flew in a triangular route – to inable [sic] the observor [sic] corps to plot our position!! they would know we were in difficulties and inform the searchlights in our area – who would show us the way to the nearest drome, lighting up the runway and enabling us to make a crash landing on “Bradwell Bay” near Chelmsford. [page break]
41
Roy made a pretty good crash landing there!! I tried to upon [sic] the door – but excitement must of [sic] got the better of me, so I used the axe to break upon [sic] the lock, always found myself using that anyway.
Luckaly [sic] no fires started –
The “Doc” who was aready [sic] on the spot – informed us that Lew Austin had been killed instantly, Roy and Medina were taken to Hospital, not hurt seriously thank goodness – and would soon be out again, as for me – well I was a bundle of nerves.
Bomber Command had photos taken of our aircraft – for believe me it was [sic] mass of holes, our flying time was 5 hrs 35 mins!! of which I shall never forget.
Now that I had done operational flying – I was granted forteen [sic] days leave when back at base!! Mother was, at that time living at “Barry” – so I spent a week there, and the remainder at my sister-in-laws at North Shields.
I was posted after to 11 O.T.U Westcott, near Aylesbury as a gunnery instructor.
Colin was at “Upper Heyford”, Roy was awarded a bar to his D.F.C, Alan Conner a D.F.M, the navigator a D.F.M the others nothing!!
Wilson and Power both went missing shortly [page break]
42
after Hamburg, Bert Branch, [deletion] indecipherable word [/deletion] some while after to [sic] went down over enemy territory.
Roy and Alan completed flying, Roy going as an instructor at Swinderby, Alan to another station.
It is early 1943, I have made friends with some grand lads at Westcott, some Canadians – New-Zealanders and Assies!! [sic] who like myself enjoyed a game of “poker”
Colin was going to Buckingham Palace, I went down thier [sic] too, Met his Mother and friend of his family!! had a real enjoyable time together before my return to camp.
Had made a close friend of a Canadian FLT/SGT named [smudged] Wetheral [/smudged], from “Ottawa”, some people in Aylesbury who we had made their home open to us at all times – him and I, and George Cleary a Canadian from Montreal, often staying there – and once when visiting Aylesbury with my wife, we called in to see them.
I did a little flying on Wellington’s [sic], but my nerves were still shaky, so on reporting sick I was grounded. [page break]
43
The weeks skipping by now, and it was early March that I received news my investure [sic] at the Palace was for March the 16th 1943, Informing Colin – who said he would come – also my brother Henry, my wife, we arrived the evening before!! my wife and I staying at a Hotel near [smudged] Tottenham Court [/smudged] Road.
On the day of the investure [sic], before going, we enjoyed a drink – arriving at the Palace gate in good time, having only two invitations!! Colin waited at the gate, like I had when he was invested.
We give our tickets – duly signed by the Lord Chamberlain, stamped ex [sic] 16th March 1943 at the gate – who tore off the end piece and gave us back the remainder!
Making for the investure [sic] Hall, my wife unfortunately wasn’t wearing a hat – and was stopped from going in by those on duty [smudged] there [/smudged], because of no hat, fortunately one of the staff let her have a scarf to put over her hair – she was then amitted. [sic]
Everything inside was organised to the detail, rooms for all to go in, from the V.C downwards ex [sic] – each in your turn being put in your seniority, so when the King arrived and the investure [sic] started – when the Lord Chamberlain called out the number, rank, and name [page break]
[Photograph missing]
Sgt Colin Gray and self, after investure [sic] 1943.
[page break]
44
who evers [sic] turn it was – it was him and no other!! you already had a miniture [sic] hook fastened on your breast already [sic] for the King to hang your medal on –
So let us now carry on, soft music is being played in the background – the investure [sic] is on!!
My turn came round the Lord Chamberlain, calling out 629128 Sgt George Cruickshank, Bomber Command.
Turning towards the King, bowing, one pace forward, the King hooks on your medal – shakes hands, one pace backward, bow again, and turn off the opposite way – someone takes off your medal, put [smudged] it in a box [/smudged] box and return [sic] it back to you.
Of course my name is Gordon - not George, so although the Lord Chamberlain made that mistake I took very little notice!! for the honour was great, and the formalities thrilling to worry about that.
On leaving Buckingham Palace, my wife, Henry and Colin, myself, enjoyed a good meal and a drink or two, later going to the “Apollo” Shaftsbury Avenue to see Terence Rattigans [sic] “Flare Path”
The next day we returned home, my wife and I, [smudged] were [/smudged] still living with her Father at Nettleham [page break]
[Photograph missing]
Card playing at Westcott showing F/O Pattison R.C.A.F, self, and F/Sgt Jack Waters R.N.A.F.
[Photograph missing]
Self and Bob Wetheral
at a friend’s house in Aylesbury.
[page break]
45
On my return to Westcott, found little change – my old cardpals were still there!! Bob Weatheral recieved [sic] news of his award of the D.F.M., so it called for beer all round.
April came and my flt/sgt [sic], which was overdue anyway!! the exstra [sic] money came in very useful – things were nearly always the same, card playing with Jack Waters, a New-Zealander, F/O Pattison, George Cleary - and Bob, and myself – or into the “Red Lion” of Aylesbury beer drinking.
Heard Terry Tuerum [sic], Trevor Roper, had crewed up with Gibson!! also with them was Micky Martin and crew – except Toby Temon [?], for he had been killed awhile beforehand, not forgetting Dave Shannon & crew – and others from different Squadrons, had come to Scampton to form a new Squadron to be called 617, and train for special bombing at low level - my wife and I lived only a mile or so from Scampton.
So when home on leave in May of 1943, Lincoln was where we mostly went – and while in Lincoln, my wife and I met Terry, the day after the Dam [sic] raid!! he told me about it – and how succesful [sic] it had been, thier [sic] aircraft having only one hole in it. [page break]
[photograph missing]
[written vertically down on left side of page]
Bob Wetheral’s investure [sic] 1943
[page break]
46
Shortly after, W/cdr [sic] Gibson, was awarded the Victoria Cross, to the D.S.O. D.F.C. he held already, he left 617 Squadron – and his crew, were taken over by another pilot, they were killed on a raid over enemy territory later
My leave over, I returned to Westcott – and enjoyed myself card playing ex [sic], Bob was going up to London for his investure [sic] – so I went along too, we stayed with some friends of his, they looked [smudged] after us [/smudged] very well indeed, on the day of the investure [sic] we all met – including Bobs [sic] brother who was in the army, and some people from near his old station near Grantham.
We made our way over to the Palace – and waited at the gates till it was over!! then a photo near by [sic], was arranged – of course I kept off, thought I was intruding, in his excitement Bob never noticed – he did, when the photos came later – he was furious with me.
Bob had taken to a New Zealander, a Sqn/Ldr name [sic] Frazer-Barron D.S.O. D.F.C. D.F.M., and said when he returned to operations he would take Bob as his gunner.[smudged]
[self-corrected] Time [/self-corrected] was creeping on now, and July 27th 1943 – had a telegram to say I was a Father, a boy of 8½ lb
[page break]
[photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0006+PCruickshankG1501-0007
[caption - written vertically on LHS of page presumably for landscape orientation of photo]
Moehne Dam. The breach of about 200 ft width in the Moehne Dam.
May 1943 Raid by 617 Squadron.
[page break]
47
who we called Richard. This of course called for a drink or two in the “Red Lion” “Aylesbury”
August came, and things were about the same, I was feeling a little steadier – thought I would see if I could get myself passed fit again, and return to operations.
Having a medical later at number 1 C.M.B London, and was passed fit aircrew again, within a week was posted to Woolfox Lodge, near Stamford – a convertion [sic] unit, before going to a Squadron.
On arriving found it a convertion [sic] unit for “Stirlings” - which I thought terrible, and applied for a Lancaster convertion [sic] unit!!
Meanwhile I used to hitch hike home – a night out in Stamford, remember before leaving we had the singer Monti [sic] Ray at our mess!! when I was posted to Swinderby – which made me a lot happier, found on my arrival, that they knew nothing about me, so I was sent back again to Woolfox – them in turn sending me back to Swinderby, by this time I was feeling feed [sic] up and when [sic] before [smudged] S/Ldr [/smudged] Everett – and he informed me that I was to fill a place in a pupil crew, I was far from being myself -
Asked him, if I have to return with a
[page break]
[photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0008+PCruickshankG1501-0009
[heading] 617 Squadron [/heading]
[caption - written vertically on LHS of page presumably for landscape orientation of photo]
Elder [sic] Dam The south-east end of the storage lake with the dam breached between the two valve houses at a point about 400 ft from its western end. Water is still pouring through the gap flowing fast downstream towards Kassel
[page break]
48
pupil crew - was it possible to go to 44 Sqdn!!
If the others were agreeable it would be arranged – I asked them, and next day we were on our way to 44 Sqdn – now at Dunholme Lodge a mile and a half from home.
F/o Terry Fynn,[?] was a Rhodesian – 44 Sqdn, was a Rhodesian Squadron, so it suited Terry fine.
I took him home with me, also the lads to our village locals!! but our crew were to be illfated [sic], when it came to flying.
W/cdr [sic] Nettleton V.C. had been the c.o. of 44 Sqdn, but he had gone down on a raid – his place, being taken by W/cdr [sic] Bowes!! we were in “a” flight under S/Ldr Lynch, started flying for the first time on October 16th 1943.
It was October the 22nd when we did an N.F.T. and later briefing – our target “Kassel”
After our flying meal ex [sic], we made for our aircraft 'K' for King at the far side of the drome!!
Everyone was keyed up, including myself – and wondered how this crew would shape up to things!! with everyone aboard – I was mid-upper gunner, thought a change from flying rear, engines were [page break]
49
running up - got my intercom pluged [sic] in, my guns loaded and turret rechecked – called up Skipper for checking intercom!! then sat back waiting for them to make for the runway in use and take off!!
We made a good take off – and undercarriage and flaps up ex [sic], flew to Nottingham and back gaining height – height reached, we set course over base.
Having gained the French Coast, our navigator, a Sgt, broke the silence by saying he could'nt [sic] coup [sic]!! well, well, Terry asking me for my advice - had a talk with the Navigator in respect to time, and how much off route ex [sic], and said to Terry it would be wise to drop our bombs in the sea and find our way back to base!! this we did.
On landing at base, we were before the c.o.!! after we exsplained [sic] the trouble – our navigator was asked what his excuse was, he said he thought of my wife and son – nice maybe, but I like to do the worrying on thier [sic] behalf, not any members of my crew!! he was later reduced to the ranks – time airbourne [sic] 2 hrs 15 mins
[page break]
50
Things were'nt [sic] quite the same as before I noticed, bombing heights were nearly twice that of my first tour
No pigeons now, and a thing called “window” was dropped when over enemy territory, this was to mess up enemy radar screens ex [sic].
Also height was reached before setting course for the target – and not gained on [sic] route. Which meant the testing of guns was now out of the question!!
I liked to test mine, for I will always remember the time we had been on twice, and was unable to clean my own guns due to the fact of needing my sleep ready for the next raid.
So my guns were done by someone else, when we had taken off and was clear of the English coast – I asked for permission to fire my guns, when I tried doing so – nothing happened, this I repeated!! on inspecting them closely I noticed the breach blocks werent [sic] touching the firing pins – which meant all my breach blocks were in the wrong guns, by now I was sweating – [page break]
51
But set too [sic] to change them, which was a slow job – what with taking off my gloves – doing a little, putting them on again to warm up my hands, looking the sky for enemy night fighters, your [sic] understand why I had only two guns servicable [sic] by the time we reached the target area!! and after bombing, the lads wanting to come down for a little shoot up – that I wasn't at all pleased about it, for I liked to have all my guns in working order – incase [sic] we run into trouble, and didnt [sic] believe in looking for it.
Anyway I didn't let on, but believe me I was blessing someone for thier [sic] careless mistake, which could of [sic] easaly [sic] cost us our lives, had I not checked them.
Also the gunners [sic] flying cloths [sic] were different now, and a new suit had been issued, which I took an instant dislike too [sic], far to [sic] bulky when on, and you sweated terrible – until you reached a reasonable height to cool off, and a hell of a job getting in and out of your turret, often wondered if you would manage it – if in a hurry.
Also the temperature was often -50, or 50 below [page break]
[Photograph missing] -PCruickshankG1501-0024+PCruickshankG1501-0025
After Berlin Raid
late 1943 [written down left hand page margin]
[page break]
52
as some would say, and not [self-corrected] unusual [/self-corrected] to keep clearing your oxygen tube and mouth piece [deleted] indecipherable word[/deleted] of ice which formed there.
Shortly after being at Dunholme Lodge, I was made warrant officer - this was unusual in respect to gunners in the R.A.F. at that time, only got as high as FLT/SGTs [sic] - warrant officer, being newly introduced, barring of course commissioned gunners.
We were free up to November 3rd 1943, being so near home - I was home whenever possible, [sic]
Our target for that night was Dusseldorf. Having had briefing ex [sic], half an hour before take off - we proceeded to our dispersal point, still K for King on the far side of the drome.
Things went fine on this trip and our time was 4hrs 35mins - fairly good bombing.
The next [self-corrected] fourteen [/self-corrected] days consisted of a height test, 26.500 FT, fighter affiliation at Digby, and N.F.T.s
18th November find [sic] us being briefed for “Berlin” usual bomb and petrol load, a really good raid _ time 8hrs 35mins
Bar a couple of short flights we were free up to November 26th [page break]
[photograph missing] -PCruickshankG1501-0004+PCruickshankG1501-0005
Visit of Southern Rhodesian Premier to Rhodesian Squadron
1944
[written down right hand page margin]
[page break]
53
At briefing, we find our target is again “Berlin”
After take off, and well on our way, we had trouble from the rear gunner, complaining about his turret ex [sic] – Terry was really fed up, I said nothing - Terry decided to return to base!! We had been airbourne [sic] 3hrs 25mins
I wondered what would happen now, and it was not long after when Terry said to me that he was going to take over another crew, and he was sorry in respect to me - but I said don’t worry about me Terry, I’ll ring up my old pilot at Swinderby and see if he’s returning!!
Christmas soon came, and the new year too!!
Had given Roy a ring in respect to myself - and received the pleasent [sic] news he was returning as flight commander of 630 Sqdn East Kirkby, and would try and get me posted to his crew - I was to leave it to him.
Before leaving Dunholme we had an aircraft crash into the Sgts mess, luckaly[sic] the mess was empty - but the crew were’nt [sic] that fortunate, they were all blown to pieces over a large area - poor divels[sic][page break]
54
Early January of 1944, I was doing very little - mostly home, and going into Lincoln having a few beers, often heard the odd line shoot!! one in particular -
A bomb aimer was saying we were just coming up to the target ex [sic], and going on saying bomb - doors open!! left-left, steady, hold it, and suddenly he broke the silence by saying - back abit [sic]!!
On the 12th, had word I was to proceed to R.A.F. station Syerston- to be crewed with my old skipper, Roy Calvert - now D.F.C. and bar, and also a Squadron/Leader
On my arrival we [two letters crossed out] did two flight - ex 19, Searchlight Co-op, and ex 21, a Bullseye - a total of 7hrs 30mins night flying!! and on the 15th January we proceeded on our way to 630 Sqdn East Kirkby near Boston Lincolnshire, and still in 5 Group of Bomber - Command.[sic]
Our crew were Roy - pilot, Sgt Hogg, bomb - aimer, Flt/Sgt Mooney, Engineer, Sgt Freeman, rear gunner, Alan Conner, Pilot Officer, as wireless operator!! who of course had also been with us on our first tour, F/O Beauvain [?], Navigator, a Canadian, and myself as mid-upper gunner.
So we had one New-Zealander, two Aussie’s, and one Canadain[sic], [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] three Englishmen. [page break]
55
630 Sqdn was under W/cdr[sic] Bill Deas [?], who was on his third tour, we were in “B” flight under our own pilot - who was flight commander.
I soon settled down, and having done a few hours flying “Y” training and air to sea firing, plus another “Bullseye”. We were briefed for “Berlin”- our bomb load 11,400 lbs, and correct amount of petrol required, for although we could carry 21.050 gallons-you could only get that on long trips ex [sic] - sometimes you were topped up just before taking off.
It is the evening of January 27th 1944,when we took off - gained height ex [sic], and set course over base for “Berlin” - plenty of weaving, and searchlights in there[sic] hundreds, in groups of around 25, the flak was pretty tense[first two letters crossed out] and accurate around, and over the target area!! we made our bombing run - and was relieved [sic] when I heard “bombs away”.
A good raid, time 8hrs 50mins.
After that we had leave, before proceeding I applied for my commission!!
Alan Conner knew some people in Nottingham, they had lent him their Sunbeam Talbot for use at our Station, although I had never met them-or in fact never even knew their names, must of [sic] been grand folks, to lend [page break]
56
their [?] car to us, I myself had a Morris 8 at that time, which I used for going home - or into Boston, and leave’s if enough petrol
Feb 22nd we did an N.F.T, and on Feb 24th was briefed for Schweinfurt - usual load ex [sic], time 8hrs 30mins.
Next evening Roy had put me rear for a Flt/Lt Weller, which I thought unfair - considering I was already so many trips in front of them!!
Our target was “Augsburg”
We took off, but unfortunately my oil pipe got caught in the turret - busted, releasing all the oil, making the guns useless, we had to return to base after 1hr 50mins flying.
My leg was pulled for days afterwards, but a pure accident I can assure you.
My commission came through, back dated to the 8th Feb - felt very proud of myself, had a couple of days off to get myself a uniform!! Now a sprogg P/O
Also Mooney had been made P/O so it called for a drink or two around [sic].
Lossis [sic] of aircraft and aircrew were getting higher, [page break]
[photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0014+PCruickshankG1501-0015
“BERLIN”
after raid in 1944
1, Machine tools, range finders ex [sic], 2 Turbines, 3 Numerous[?] producing auto equipment,4 Welding, 5 Accumulators, 6 Chemical and printing
[written down left hand page margin]
57
we could’nt [sic] keep a gunnery leader for long - there was a flow of new ones in a short period of time, I kept things ship shape until a new one arrived!!
On the 1st March 1944, we did an N.F.T 8 local, later attending briefing - our target “Stuttgart” usual bomb load, and correct amount of petrol ex [sic],
Good raid, fair amount of action - time 8hrs 30mins.
The next week consisted of local bombing, air-test, cross country ex [sic]!! and of course usual nights out on the beer - or hitch hiking home to Nettleham, some 25 miles inland.
10th March finds [sic] us being briefed for Clermont Ferrand, in France - usual load ex [sic], and bombed from 6000 FT[sic], time airbourn [sic] 6 hrs 30mins
We had now started stepping things up - also the losse’s [sic]!! 15th Briefed for Stuttgart again turned out really interesting airbourne [sic] 7hrs 20
19th Briefed for “Frankfurt” - time 5hrs 50 mins
22nd again for “Frankfurt”- time 5hrs 25mins [sic]
March 24th again on, this time “Berlin” again- a real good raid - well on the mark, plenty of excitement!! time 7hrs 30, landed at Spilsby Lincs[page break]
58
Returning to base on March 25th.
26th find we are on again, how our losse’s [sic] are growing too!!
Briefing over - our target ”Essen”!!
Later having our flying meal ex [sic], and some half hour before take off, made our way to our dispersal!! Which was quite near by[sic].
The raid was good, and took 5hrs 30mins.
Free again the next couple of days - bar for doing air test on two of our aircraft.
March the 30th, another memorable raid!!
Having attended briefing, our target “Nürnberg” [sic] usual bomb load, and petrol, the required amount.
Having seen to my guns earlier, I was free until our flying meal, after that collecting my rations - flying clothing and chute ex [sic], and made for our dispersal point!! Roy and the engineer running up the engines with all aboard - and the fuselage door closed.
I was soon in my turret loading my guns, checking everything over again!! called up Roy - for checking of my intercom, we then made for the runway in use.
Roy made a good take off, and was soon [page break]
59
gaining height – oxygen on, suit switched on, and gun sight light, guns to fire!!
A lovely grand evening, we set course South, via North London and over Selsey Bill, where normally three searchlights roamed the sky, and helping you to pin point your correct possition [sic] – thought a nice night for fighters and kept a keen lookout for them, it was as we just crossed the French coast, that I noticed one, two, three, four, five streaks across the sky – and then a terrific flash, I reported to Skipper, this was repeated over, and over again – the lads said I was seeing things, but I knew different !!
And stopped reporting anymore – but telling them – you wait and see our losse’s [sic] will be heavy tonight!!
On reaching the target things were a little better – we made our bombing run, and after bombs away, and bomb door closed, we made haste for base, on landing and returning to the crew room, and on to de-briefing where I reported again all I had saw – the lads laughing, after that, a meal, and so to bed!! [page break]
60
we [sic] were woken by the police – who informed us of our total losses, 97 aircraft, I then noticed our billet was empty – bar us three of our crew who sleep there.
Later looking at intelligents [sic] reports of the raid, we saw our loss’es [sic] were 144 aircraft!!
Also a few apploligies [sic] to me, from them.
our time 8 hrs
Will always remember the courage of a young air gunner, he, and his crew were about to start operations – when taking off, the pilot got off the runway, and tried to take off, & got to about 100ft when it dived – as it did so, the rear turret breaking off, a terrific bang, you can picture a bomber – plus full bomb and petrol load blowing up, they had no chance atall [sic]
But the rear gunner was still alive, although he was partly stripped of his flying clothing – and what was left on, was all in shreads, [sic] his nerves completely wrecked – and know [sic] wonder, he stayed on at the Sqdn refusing to be grounded.
I had left when I heard of what had happened to him later, when he restarted flying – [page break]
61
He had crewed up with another pilot and crew, and after a few successful raids – had run into trouble over enemy territory, and were shot up badly, on arriving over the English coast, the pilot said, the aircraft would have to be abanded [sic] – and give orders for his crew to bail [sic] out, on going for his chute, found it useless – the other gunner to [sic] had also noticed this!! and said don’t worry - we’ll go together on mine, this they did, but on pulling the rip cord, the sudden opening of the chute, broke his hold, and the other gunner could do nothing but watch his co gunner go to his death.
W/Cdr Gibson V.C. D.S.O. D.F.C. paid our Mess a visit, he was now stationed nearby – he to [sic] was to crash later over enemy territory in a twin engined fighter bomber, had heard that he hit a hill while low flying on a daring raid.
Bomber Command were certainly going through it – our [self-corrected] loss [/self-corrected] even greater, which meant fewer aircrew completing a tour – or second, third –
5.4.44 Our next raid was Toulouse-Montraudan “France” A real good do, landed at Morton-in-the Marsh, time 7hrs 40mins [page break]
62
The 6th April returned to base
Bob Weatheral who had returned to Operations with S/Leader Frazor-Barron [sic] D.S.O. D.F.C. D.F.M. had completed a number of raids, but unfortunately two Lancasters crashed head on over the target – and both aircraft were blown to pieces!! Bob was one, how I [smudged] one letter [/smudged] miss his cheerfulness – For Bob [self-corrected] Weatheral [/self-corrected] was one of the best, and I have yet to meet a better.
On my last leave, when a few miles from Portsmouth, a con-rod had broken, and went clear through the crank case – it was late at night on a lonely road, and my wife was nursing our son, who was but a few months old, I did'nt [sic] have much choice – but to drive it, the row was terrible and when entering Portsmouth folks shouting!! take that thing off the road – had to switch off and get out and push it, I did have some luck – two Sailors give me help, thanks to them we managed to get to my Sisters [sic] house in Portsmouth o.k.
Now it was ready for collecting, and went down to Portsmouth to get it – the price of that accident was £30; and drove back at 30 M.P.H. taking eleven hours – felt very tired when I arrived back at base early morning of the 8th April. [page break]
63
April 9th briefed for “Danzig Bay”
Gardening with 5 ‘veg’, our route across Sweden, full petrol load. height around 1,000FT.
Having had our flying meal, collected rations, flying clothing and chute ex [sic] – made for the dispersal.
Everyone in, fuselage door closed – engines OK. We made for the runway in use, called up for permission to take off!! this given, we turned onto the runway – [one indecipherable word] engine’s,[sic] then started our run – gaining speed every second, on reaching 110 M.P.H. we were airbourne!![sic] flaps and undercarriage up, we circled the drome and set course for “Danzig”
I switched my heating on – after some while I could smell burning!! called up the Skipper and mentioned it – who in turn sent Alan back to investigate, then saying he could'nt [sic] see or smell nothing – Roy informing me.
Later I felt a pain under my right arm and instantly turned off my heating – as we were fairly low I said no more and carried on with out [sic] heat, which I did'nt like one bit, we were now well on our way, and soon came to Sweden – who [page break]
64
upened [sic] fire on us – but well clear, I enjoyed an orange whilst crossing, throughing [sic] out the peel in return.
We dropped our mines with little interference, and returned back the same route, on landing at base – and at the crew locker room. I found I was burnt through all my cloths [sic] and also burnt underneath my arm
time 9hrs 5 mins
Of course we had some laughs to, [sic] remember a a [sic] W.A.A.F. who give birth to twins in her quarters!! and reckoned she did'nt [sic] know she was expecting – perhaps she was right? and the stork made the wrong delivery, who knows !! I know that I don’t!
It was April the 20th before we got airbourne [sic] again. Doing an N.F.T. and “Air test”
Later attending briefing, our target “Paris Railways” quite an uneventful trip – in fact dull!!
time 5hrs 20mins
Next we did [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] [inserted] some [/inserted] local bombing on the 22nd, and were later briefed for “Brunswick”, we were to carry special oil bombs.
We were well over enemy territory, when I was looking arear [sic]!! saw a streak of cannon or tracer coming [page break]
65
straight for our middle, shouted dive Roy!! who did so instintly [sic] – it missed our middle ok, but cault [sic] our aircraft about the wing, much better than the middle !! did'nt [sic] fancy that lot there – and us, with a full bomb load on too, the rest of it came easy – but that fighter was far to [sic] close to be healthy.
time 5hrs 50 mins.
Group Captain Cheshire D.S.O. D.F.C. was also stationed nearby, he was well liked by everyone!!
We had heard that Munich was a [self-corrected] hard [/self-corrected] target to hit, and was very heavily defended – more so than Berlin!! Group Captain Cheshire had said, let me go in a “Mossie”, twin engined fighter bomber, followed by two Squadrons of P.F.F. and backed up by 5 Group of Bomber-Command [sic] I’ll see it's hit alright they adgreed!! [sic] and it was.
On the 24th April 1944 we were briefed – and our target “Munich”
Full petrol, and bomb load – and in the last wave. Had our flying meal ex [sic], collected rations – mascots, flying clothing and made for our aircraft!! which was all ready on our arrival – after awhile [sic] climbing aboard, engines running – fuselage door closed ex [sic], got into my turret and loaded my guns, pluged [sic] in intercom [page break]
66
oxygen, switched on fire & safe – to fire, gun sight light ex [sic] – called up Roy for testing intercom!! we then made for the runway, permission given we took off – gaining height, undercarriage and flaps up!! around 3,000 ft oxygen on, getting up to around 20,000FT set course over base for “Munich”
On route it was fairly quiet, until near the target, things then were active!! heard them say there were a lot of fires over a large area, we started our bombing run, bomb doors open - left-left, steady, steady, bombs away!!
We were cault [sic] in the searchlights, Roy diving, weaving - doing his upmost [sic] to get out, when suddenly Alan shouted fighters – he had picked up four on his radar screen, under his instructions, plus what we could see at times we opened fire, things were difficult; one minute you were looking at the stars – and another the dark background of the ground, we had a running combat over Munich – getting clear of the searchlights found us very low over the target outskirts, to [sic] low to be healthy – and got to hell out of it, we believed we had one fighter and damaged another!!
[page break]
[photograph missing]- PCruickshankG1501-0022+PCruickshankG1501-0023
[underlined] Munich [/underlined] after 5 Group of Bomber Command raid 24th April 1944 [written vertically down left hand side of page]
[page break]
67
We arrived back at base after 10hrs of active flying, after reporting any snags to the waiting ground crew – made for the locker room, and so on to the de-briefing room – reporting ex [sic].
A good meal after and then to that wonderful thing called bed.
Next afternoon I went to the intelligents [sic] room, and saw photos of the target, one by Cheshire’s navigator – he had made sure his marker flare was dead centre, for the photo showed his aircraft flying up the street lower than the house’s [sic] – what flying, and Munich was well and truly hit.
Shortly after Group Captain Cheshire was awarded the Victoria Cross!!
I never knew him personaly, [sic] but I doubt if your [sic] come across better, both as a comrade, or pilot – he sure was respected by everyone.
I was now nearly finnished [sic] and certainly would'nt [sic] be sorry when it was – the losse’s [sic] were heavy!! and often wondered how great? Bomber Command, it was made up of eight groups!! 1 and 5 Group around Lincolnshire, 4 and 6 Group about Yorkshire – 3 Group and P.F.F. Cambridgeshire (P.F.F. 8 Group) 2 Group Norfolk ex [sic] [page break]
68
and approximately at the height of the war 200 bombers a group, and much less beforehand!! it was not until after the war that I found out how great our losses were, it was 1949, Tuesday November 8th when I attended the service of the presentation of the memorial books of 1 and 5 Bomber Groups, a total of 22,000 names of those killed in action – and later a book presented to York Cathedral, of a further 18,000of those in 4 and 6 Group!! and other groups yet to come, so I think now how lucky we all were would did in fact complete our tours, no wonder your chances were given – was little, or none of finnishing [sic]
So Bomber Command, not only took a beating but was slaughtered at some stages of the war, and must of [sic] lost thousands upon thousands of aircraft
Have you ever seen any of the lads after crashing, with or without fire!! it was heart breaking, but their spirit you couldn’t break!! to them, and others of the service’s [sic] who suffered like wise.
I say God Bless you all.
26th April I was briefed for “Schweinfurt”[sic] usual load ex [sic] – a long trip, and very lively- time 9 hrs 30 mins
How I longed for my last – and it [page break]
69
was to come on April 29th 1944
Our target Clermont-Ferrand, [self-corrected] usual [/self-corrected] bomb load ex [sic], airbourne [sic] 7hrs
After nearly 350 operational hours I was certainly glad I had finnished.[sic]
Later Roy was awarded another bar to his D.F.C. and bar, Alan Connor a D.F.C. Mooney a D.F.C., both holders of the D.F.M.
Our Wing/Commander Bill Deas was to go missing just before I was posted to 17 O.T.U [indecipherable] two letters [/indecipherable] Silverstone!!
Hast[?] ever flown deep into Hunland where the cold searchlights shimmer and shake, where like pink snakes the tracer uprises [sic] and life is no helping of cake
Where the heavy flak rattles and sends you, while Messerchsmitts [sic] queue for a shot and you’ve only your guns to defend you?
You haven’t?
Then you’ve missed a lot! [page break]
[Picture missing]
Wife & Self late 1944 [Written down left hand side of page]
[page break]
70
May of 1944 find [sic] me at 17.O.T.U Silverstone, The camp was good, also a good crowd of chaps – W/Cdr Lister was our c.o [sic], unfortunately for me he and I were alike – so when I first arrived, and used to put my head through – or rather around an open [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] door!! the lads used to stand up, thinking I was W/Cdr Lister – until of course they noticed my one thin ring, instead of those thick ones!! this happened often
My wife and I used to live out in Towcester!! It was while at Silverstone – when the wonderful news came through that we had started the invasion, it was thrilling – after some of the set backs [sic] we had recieved, [sic] such as Dunkirk, the “middle east”, Russian convoys, the sinking of the Hood – The heavy losses of ships in the Atlantic Ocean!! the fall of Singapore, and heavy losses of men and ships of the far eastern command, and not forgetting the heavy bombing here.
Misfortunes too – such as the liner Queen Mary failing to turn, and in doing so cut the Cruiser ‘Curucio” [sic] in half with the loss of all lives
We had some luck too!! with the stopping of the German invasion of our coast, destroyers going full out casing barges to turn over, then the sea [page break]
71
being set on fire, those that did get through being mowed down like rats by the waiting Army on the beaches.
I wasn’t to stay long at Silverstone, and in the summer of 1944 was posted to Swinderby as assistant motor transport officer, I again lived out!!
Somehow I couldn’t settle and asked for a posting, which I got soon after – a course on administration at NO1 school of admin at Hereford.
At Hereford late 1944, I paled [sic] up with Charles Sleight, Eddie Ball, and several other officers – who were doing the same course as myself!! on completion we had leave – and of course our posting, arriving at Morecambe, when we were moved by train to Liverpool – and aboard the liner “Monarch of Barmuda” [sic]
Sailing very soon after!! our destination “India’, three weeks aboard, and I really enjoyed it!! through the “Med’, stopping at “Cairo” before going through the Suez canal and on to “Bombay”
Our first place in India was the R.A.F [page break]
[photo missing]
Worlie [sic] early 1945
[photo missing]
Self centre, Charlie Sleight on right and a friend. [page break]
72
transit camp of Worlie [sic], just outside of Bombay, whilst waiting our postings – we enjoyed Bombay!!
We were soon all posted, myself going to Delhi – where I was a staff officer until being posted to Chacular, [?] near Jaunapur as a station “Adgt” [sic]
It was not a good place, in fact the lads hated the sight of it – so on hearing the war with Germany was over made our way by train to Jaunapur to celebrate!!
Received a parchment from the Governor of “Bihar” (T.G. RUTHERFORD) commemorating the ending of the war in four languages!! another souvenir for my collection.
Soon after I was again moved to Barrackpore near Calcutta – and again shortly after to “Poona”
In Poona a week or so, and on again to “Bhopal” staying at Bhopal to my release!! I spent some happy times then – hunting, how I sometimes recall those evenings out with my fellow officers – having mess parties!! and cooking our catches over sputals!! [?]
When the war was over, I applied for my releasement [sic] & this granted, and was soon on my way!!
Worlie [sic] again – and whilst waiting a sight seeing tour of Bombay again
My ship, the Scythia leaving India late [page break]
73
November of 1945, arriving Liverpool around the 10th December. on [sic] my arrival at the demob centre things were pretty good – and after a couple of days finally released December 13th 1945 [sic]
Home, and a new life!! yes but what? First [sic] a good holiday, a job, and of course our own home.
I got a job at A.V. Roes aircraft repair factory at Bracebridge near Lincoln – afterwards seeking a small house in Lincoln. after [sic] purchasing one – set too [sic] redecorating inside and out, finishing it to the best of my ability and later moving in!!
We were friendly with a South African named Tony Broquit, [?] who was still in the Air-force – and also a Flt/Lt!! when he was and returned to his home in South Africa – we used to write, telling me of the lovely conditions ex.[sic] out there!!
September 11th 1946, we had another child – a girl, we named Jennifer Ann!! I wrote to Tony telling him of the happy event. His reply, and congratulations came – also that his firm was progressing fine, and that if I was keen on going out there – he would put me right, this was great news – as I was unsettled here, decided to write and we would come!! [page break]
74
We sold up, and returned to live with my wifes [sic] Father [sic] again- but we later had our letter returned, unknown!! what a dissapointment [sic] to us.
It was now 1947, and once again unsettled – thought I would try my hand at business, so bought myself a morris [sic] 12 – but unfortunately going round a bad “S” bend near home a spring broke and I landed up in a six foot ditch!! Gilberts of Lincoln said it would cost me about £80 to do – so I let them go ahead with it.
Meanwhile I bought a 1947 long wheel base lorry (Jordan) and set too [sic] to obtain the acquired licence!! what with objections ex [sic], going to court, I was months before I finally got my “B” licence – coal carrying for Parsons coal firm, from the pits to the depot in Lincoln!!
Things started to go nicely – then the Labour Government decided to Nationalise the railway, and was informed by Parson that as the railway used to fetch the coal before the war they required it again – so out I went.
No work, got connections at Boston ex [sic], and started again!! meanwhile I got the bill for my car – the price £177 I was speechless!!
Things were getting fairly better, obtained another lorry – and did it up to working order, got a “A” contract [page break]
75
licence and put it to work.
But my luck didn’t hold, two or three bad drivers landed me in trouble – and on the Nationalisation of road transport it put things right in the cart – for the 25 limit on us, which were it Nationalised really put paid me and thousands of others too!!
And nearly had to give lorries away, for no one seemed to want to buy them at that period – had my car with a hackney carriage licence, tried putting things straight – but luck was again against me, for it was always giving me trouble!! I was forced to sell.
And I was broke, [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted] mid 1949 – and set to finding myself work!! Shortly starting at Ruston Bucyrus Ltd Lincoln.
Working all hours to get money to straighten things out!! 1950 came and I felt a little easier – but a long way to go before I could relax!! for we had no home of our own – and worst of all, no money.
4th March 1950 we had another girl, we named her Linda Carol, the time flew by – and I was hoping we might manage one of the new house’s being built nearby!! and 1950 soon came – and still no house yet.
October 16th 1951 we had another girl – our last!! we named her Margaret Alison. [page break]
76
Things were getting better, wages were increasing and I felt a lot happier – then things happened, my wife went into hospital, I had the children in four different homes!!
And to make matters worse, she had a very bad [smudged] hemorrohage [/smudged] [sic] – having six blood transfusions, I visited her twice daily!! But it caused me a great worry, and longed for her return – and have us altogether again, 1952
Early of [smudged] 1953 [/smudged] we got the key to our new house – how pleased we were, then of course I had new worries!! it had to be furnished.
We progressed along reasonable [sic], and with four children to bring up made things difficult – but with working hard things would come right in the end, [smudged] we [/smudged] did it [sic] have any holidays – the things needed in the house came first.
Afterwards gardening, wallpapering, painting ex [sic] as time rolled by!! I thought perhaps our luck would change, but it was not to be – for November of 1954 my [smudged] voice [/smudged] began giving me trouble, my Doctor sending me to see the throat specialist at the “County Hospital”
15 days later I was in, and a small growth [page break]
77
removed [sic] from my vocal cords.
Afterwards feeling fine, returned to work just before Christmas – we had a somewhat enjoyable time, considering that I had a month off just before, and the children did too.
Early January I felt a pain in my stomach and after seeing my Doctor, I was ordered to bed, just my luck, a fortnight in bed – with a suspected ulcer!!
I was up a [sic] around again, and after six [word missing] felt like work again – but it was not to be, for just before tea I had a very bad hemorrhage [sic], lasting 4¼ hrs off and on – my wife fetching the Doctor!!
By 11 o/c that evening I was once again in hospital.
After six weeks in bed – I started to get up, although far from myself!! having been up about seventeen days – my wife had to go into hospital again, and I was left to manage the house & children. [deleted] indecipherable word [/deleted]
Things went fairly well, my sister-in-law helping whenever possible, unfortunately for me a sickness was going around at that time – and of course mine [page break]
78
would have to catch it – no sleep for me, in and out of bed for two nights!!
Poor Alison, my youngest – she had been sick, heard her crying, and went into her room, poor dear she was flat on her back and sick everywhere, including her hair.
I managed to pick her up, and carried her into the bath room [sic] – run some water, and tried washing her!! but it was to [sic] much for me, so I ran off the bath and bathed her.
On finnishing [sic], she started laughing – I said I am not laughing Alison? she replied but I am Daddy – bless her.
After three weeks Mother returned home – how pleased to be together again – during that year I had Linda, and Jennifer both in hospital, and I had six months off work.
It was just before the holidays of 1955 when I returned to work – and thought perhaps I can save and enjoy an [sic] holiday next year!! set to get things straightened out – first Christmas, saying we would have a good one.
Time went by, [self-corrected] no [/self-corrected] pains, and I [page break]
79
thought my troubles were about over, and we did have a good time at Christmas.
Afterwards settleing [sic] down to work, and save, for that long waited [sic] holiday!! but it was not to be, Feb 20th 1956 returning from work – I had another hemorrhage [sic], and 7 o/c that evening I was once more back in Johnson ward.
Luckily it wasn’t so bad as before – and after just over three weeks in bed I began to get about again, and after nine weeks returned to work – but I returned to [sic] soon, for I was only back just over a week, when early on May 4th 1956 I had yet another hemorrhage [sic] – 9 o/c of that morning I was back once again in Johnson ward.
Five weeks more off work, and I was feeling really fed up with things!! hoping perhaps this time was my last – when after seeing the Surgorn [sic] who recommended an operation. I had some very severe stomach pains!! this was June the 9th after only nine days at work – I was ordered once again to bed, and although I am up now, and waiting to be admitted once more to hospital – I have some more [page break]
80
weeks in bed to come, and many more weeks off work – but perhaps this will be my last, I know I sincerely hope so!!
[Addendum – Short piece repeating some of the details from the main account which took place between December 1941 and Npvember 1942]
[underlined] I Flew Rear [/underlined]
It was late December 1941, we!! that is several other gunners and myself had just been posted to 50 Sqn 5 Group Bomber Command, a Hampden sqdn!!
It was a cold December, and the station [deleted] ed [/deleted] seemed miles from anywhere – we said what a place, my pals and I soon got settled in making many new friends and waiting to see who we were going to be crewed with, it was after a short period there – when I learned I was to fly with Norman Goldsmith, Terry Tuerum [sic], Colin Gray – they were in my mind the best!! our aircraft Manchesters, for we had just changed from Hampdens.
After flying together for some days we started operations – but I felt that these aircraft were useless, and this proved correct for they were later to be grounded.
On the night of April 24th/42 we were briefed for Rostock, Germany, carrying 14. 250 incd [sic] bombs – our second pilot was a chap called Manser who was later awarded the V.C. the raid was good, and although we couldn’t get above 5,000 ft it will always be remembered as one of my best.
After Norman completed his first tour, we were left without a pilot – we were hoping Leslie Manser would take us over!! but this was not the case, our pilot was [page break] Roy Calvert, a NewZealander. [sic]
It was not long before we came to be a first class team – all keen, Roy was a likeable chap and a damn good pilot, in fact I will go [one word deleted] [inserted] as far as [/inserted] to say one of the best there was, our sqdn now was at Skellingthorpe very close to Lincoln – this was much better, for a night out was easier; & not so far to return after a hectic night on the beer.
Operations started [last two letters overwritten] piling up, Hamburg, Dusseldorf, Kiel, Duisburg, Osnabrück, Frankfurt, Cassel [sic], Saarbrucken, Karlsruhe, Bremen – we seemed to be doing fine – now will our luck hold? for some the answer was [underlined] no [/underlined]!!
Leslie Manser was one, the night was May the 30th 1942 Target Cologne, the wars [sic] first 1,000 Bomber raid – full crews from all sqdns, everyone was [deleted] all [/deleted] on [indecipherable letter deleted], Cologne was indeed to get a pasting – and our boys!! don’t lets [sic] forget them they suffered too.
Les & his crew run into trouble on approaching the target, when cault [sic] by searchlights & intense anti aircraft fire, they were hit badly – but pressed on to bomb at 7,000 ft, with searchlights & flak still giving them Hell !! things were bad – damned bad, the rear gunner [page break] wounded, the aircraft losing height – and now fire – aircrews [sic] worst enemy, after awhile [sic] this was mastered, but it left its mark – the wing badly [deleted] burnt [/deleted] burnt & the engines failing badly, when with efforts of all the Manchester began to lose height – Les gave orders for his crew to bail out, disdained the alternative of parachuting to safety himself, but held the [deleted] aircraft [/deleted] aircraft till [sic] all were out – but too late for himself, it plunged in flames, with a man of great courage & strength. Flying Officer Leslie Manser was awarded the Victoria Cross. “Posthumously”
Summer came we were all in high spirits – perhaps the weather? or that we had decent aircraft to fly in the (Lancaster) they had now brought in the bomb aimer & flight engineer, so our crew being altered slightly, and Terry Tuerum [sic] having completed his tour, so we had to [get?] used to another again –shortly afterwards a boom in operations, Frankfurt, Bremen, Wilhelmshaven, Essen, Wismar.
When training for some low level stuff, often remember our c.o. remark dont [sic] go mingling with the traffic below – then it came low level daylight on Le-creucot [sic] led by wing commander Gibson [page break] & the [sic] another on Milan – allright [sic] maybe!! but to me 10½ hrs in the rear turret is a hell of a long time.
It was nearly my first tour over, Genoa, Genoa, & Genoa again – dont [sic] they know any other place!! – they did on the night of Nov 9th 1942 “Hamburg” which was not only my last raid but nearly our last altogether
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Memoir Flight Lieutenant Gordon Cruickshank D.F.M. RAFRO
Description
An account of the resource
Memoir written in 1956 by Flight Lieutenant Cruickshank. It starts with his early childhood and family life. It includes his early time in RAF after enlisting in December 1938 with first job as balloon operator and then training as an air gunner; details his postings to 50 Squadron and later 630 Squadron, crew members and friends.
The bombing operations he took part in are described, as is his investiture and his time in India as an administrative officer.
Cruickshank then moves to Instructing before returning to Operations including Nuremberg. He then describes the transition to civilian life after his demobilisation from the RAF, poor health and his attempt to build a business in post war Britain.
Some of the photographs mentioned were donated separately and some are recorded as separate items.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
G Cruickshank
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1956
Format
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One hundred and seven page handwritten notebook with cover
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BCruickshankGCruickshankGv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Royal Air Force. Balloon Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Dorset
England--Portland
England--Bristol
England--Hampshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Bedfordshire
England--Suffolk
England--Essex
England--Aldershot
England--Felixstowe
England--Harwich
England--Middlesex
England--Herefordshire
Scotland--Ross and Cromarty
France
France--Clermont-Ferrand
France--Saint-Nazaire
France--Toulouse
Germany
Germany--Munich
Germany--Braunschweig
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Hamburg
Italy
Italy--Genoa
Italy--Milan
Germany--Schweinfurt
England--Northamptonshire
Germany--Rostock
Poland
Poland--Gdańsk
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
India
India--Mumbai
India--Kolkata
India--Bhopal
England--Liverpool
Germany--Augsburg
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Düsseldorf
India--New Delhi
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Gloucestershire
England--Lancashire
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-04-17
1942-05-30
1942-05-31
1943-05-16
1943-05-17
1944-03-30
1944-03-31
1944-04-05
1944-04-06
44 Squadron
50 Squadron
630 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Anson
Bombing of Augsburg (17 April 1942)
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
bombing of Toulouse (5/6 April 1944)
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
Distinguished Flying Medal
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
Hampden
Lancaster
Manchester
Mosquito
RAF Abingdon
RAF Bradwell Bay
RAF Cardington
RAF Cranwell
RAF Credenhill
RAF East Kirkby
RAF Evanton
RAF Felixstowe
RAF Silverstone
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Swinderby
RAF Uxbridge
RAF Warmwell
searchlight
superstition
training
Victoria Cross
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1058/18690/LPackhamG1214349v1.1.jpg
b15c3d4aa225bb719740649340d90bbd
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
Packham, Geoff
G Packham
Description
An account of the resource
Nine items. An oral history interview with Pilot Officer Geoff Packham (b. 1922, 161076, 1214349 Royal Air Force), photographs and documents. He flew operations as a pilot with 550 Squadron from RAF North Killingholme and became a prisoner of war after being shot down in June 1944.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Geoff Packham 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
2016-08-25
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.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Packham, G
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
RECORD OF SERVICE
UNIT DATES FROM TO
[Unit] REC. CENTRE CARDINGTON [From] 18.1.41 [To] 20.1.41
[Unit] BRIDGNORTH [From] 21.1.41 [To] 4.3.41
[Unit] ACKLINGTON [From] 4.3.41 [To] 31.5.41
[Unit] BABBACOMBE [From] 31.5.41 [To] 14.6.41
[Unit] TORQUAY. 3. I.T.W [From] 14.6.41 [To] 1.8.41
[Unit] WILMSLOW [From] 1.8.41 [To] 20.8.41
[Unit] 31 E.F.T.S. CALGARY [From] 20.8.41 [To] 16.10.41
[Unit] 31 E.F.T.S. DE WINTON [From] 16.10.41 [To] 24.10.41
[Unit] 34 S.F.T.S MEDICINE HAT [From] 24.10.41 [To] 30.1.42
[Unit] NO 1 "Y" DEPÔT. HALIFAX . [From] 10.2.42 [To] 28.2.42
[Unit] BOURNEMOUTH. 3 PRC. [From] 10.3.42 [To] 25.4.42
[Unit] HARROGATE. 3 PRC. [From] 25.4.42 [To] 4.5.42
[Unit] 12 AF.U. GRANTHAM. [From] 4.5.42 [To] 29.6.42
[Unit] [deleted] 297 Squadron. [/deleted] AFU HURN [From] 30/.6/42 [To] 7/8/42
[Unit] HGCU. Brize Norton [From] 7/8/42 [To] 12/8/42
[Unit] LONG NEWTON. GLOS. [From] 12/8/42 [To] 20/9/42
[Unit] HGCU. BRIZE NORTON [From] 21/9/42 [To] 13.10.42
[Unit] C.G.S. SUTTON BRIDGE [From] 13.10.42 [To] 31.10.42
[Unit] 7 AG.S. STORMY DOWN. S.WALES [From] 1/11/42 [To] 20/11/43
[Unit] 18 O.T.U. FINNINGLEY [From] 23/11/43 [To] 26/12/43.
[Unit] RAF. WORKSOP. [From] 26/12/43 [To] 29/3/44.
[Unit] RAF. LINDHOLME. [From] 29/3/44 [To] 8/4/44
[Unit] 1667 CON. SANDTOFT. [From] 8/4/44 [To] 13/5/44
[Unit] L.F.S. RAF. HEMSWELL [From] 13/5/44 [To] 24/5/44
[Unit] 550 Squadron. Killingholme [From] 24/5/44
[Unit] No 61 RESERVE CENTRE DONCASTER [From] 29/10/51
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
Geoff Packham's Record of Service
Description
An account of the resource
A list, taken from Geoff's logbook, of RAF stations where he served or was trained.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Geoff Packham
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One printed sheet with handwritten annotations
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LPackhamG1214349v1
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--Acklington
England--Torquay
Canada
Alberta--Calgary
Alberta--De Winton
Alberta--Medicine Hat
England--Halifax
England--Grantham
England--Doncaster
Alberta
England--Devon
England--Northumberland
England--Yorkshire
England--Lincolnshire
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Angela Gaffney
1667 HCU
18 OTU
550 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
Air Gunnery School
Flying Training School
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster Finishing School
Operational Training Unit
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Brize Norton
RAF Cardington
RAF Finningley
RAF Hemswell
RAF Hurn
RAF Lindholme
RAF North Killingholme
RAF Sandtoft
RAF Stormy Down
RAF Sutton Bridge
RAF Torquay
RAF Wilmslow
RAF Worksop
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/495/17732/OCollerAS1874018-1600803-020001.2.jpg
15c5adefc794d4ec58befa2155a73abf
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/495/17732/OCollerAS1874018-1600803-020002.2.jpg
b46cbef334f0c8c6f719e6fc754ad20a
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
Coller, Allan Stanley
A S Coller
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Coller, AS
Description
An account of the resource
17 items. An oral history interview with Allan Coller (1924, 1874018 Royal Air Force). Also a number of other items associated with the Air Cadets and his service in Sri Lanka and India including a scrapbook of photographs.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Allan Coller and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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
AS Coller Grade Card
Description
An account of the resource
Grade Card issued to AS Coller after a medical examination at RAF Cardington.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-11-19
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided printed card with handwritten annotations
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Service material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
OCollerAS1874018-1600803-020001,
OCollerAS1874018-1600803-020002
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
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
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. HM Government
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-11-19
aircrew
RAF Cardington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/167/2445/LAllenDJ1880966v1.1.pdf
9e5a668d1c670d39cf4e1ba2b8204224
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
Allen, Derrick
Derrick Allen
D J Allen
Description
An account of the resource
75 items. The collection covers the career of Flight Sergeant Derrick John Allen (1880966 Royal Air Force) who was a mid-upper gunner on 467 Royal Australian Air Force Squadron at RAF Waddington in 1944-45. Collection contains his logbook, Royal Air Force documentation, notes on air gunners course and photographs of various aircrew. Collection also contains maps and photographs covering the loss of his Lancaster near Spa in Belgium from which he successfully bailed out on 2 November 1944. There is also an oral history interview with his family.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Judy Hodgson and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-08-30
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. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Allen, DJ
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
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
Derrick Allen's flying log book for navigators, air bombers, air gunners, flight engineers
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. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LAllenDJ1880966v1
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
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Description
An account of the resource
Navigator’s, air bomber’s, air gunner’s and flight engineer’s flying log book for Flight Sergeant Derrick Allen air gunner, covering the period from 11 February 1944 to 25 April 1945. Detailing training and operations flown. He was stationed at London, RAF Bridlington, RAF Bridgnorth, RAF Pembrey, RAF Silverstone, RAF Wigsley, RAF Syerston, RAF Waddington, RAF Strubby, RAF Blyton, RAF Cardington, RAF St. Athan and RAF Spanhoe. Aircraft flown were, Anson, Wellington, Stirling, Lancaster and C-47. He flew a total of 19 operations with 467 Squadron, 6 daylight and 13 night, his aircraft was shot down on his ninth operation to Dusseldorf, when Pilot and Rear Gunner were killed, he abandoned aircraft. Targets were, Kaiserslautern, Wilhelmshaven, Bremen, Walcheren, Brunswick, Homberg, Dusseldorf, Ladbergen, Politz, Dresden, Chemnitz, Dortmund-Emms Canal, Sassnitz, Harburg, Essen, Komotau and Tonsberg. His pilots on operations were pilot Officer Landridge, Flight Lieutenant Evans and Flying Officer Rodinson.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Czech Republic
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Norway
Poland
Czech Republic--Chomutov
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--London
England--Northamptonshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Shropshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Essen
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Chemnitz
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Harburg (Landkreis)
Germany--Homberg (Kassel)
Germany--Kaiserslautern
Germany--Sassnitz
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Norway--Tønsberg
Poland--Police (Województwo Zachodniopomorskie)
Wales--Vale of Glamorgan
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Braunschweig
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
1944-09-27
1944-09-28
1944-10-05
1944-10-06
1944-10-07
1944-10-11
1944-10-14
1944-10-15
1944-10-30
1944-11-01
1944-11-02
1945-02-07
1945-02-08
1945-02-09
1945-02-13
1945-02-14
1945-02-15
1945-03-03
1945-03-04
1945-03-06
1945-03-07
1945-03-08
1945-03-11
1945-04-18
1945-04-19
1945-04-25
1945-04-26
1654 HCU
17 OTU
467 Squadron
619 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Anson
bale out
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
C-47
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
Operational Training Unit
RAF Blyton
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Bridlington
RAF Cardington
RAF Pembrey
RAF Silverstone
RAF Spanhoe
RAF St Athan
RAF Strubby
RAF Syerston
RAF Waddington
RAF Wigsley
shot down
Stirling
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/319/8302/ORaettigDW1136657-160623-02.1.pdf
900563d93a07a6ac552e853c80cf40e2
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Raettig, Dennis
Dennis William Raettig
Dennis W Raettig
D W Raettig
D Raettig
Description
An account of the resource
72 items. The collection concerns the wartime service of Leading Aircraftman Dennis William Raettig (b. 1920, 1136657 Royal Air Force). Joining the Royal Air Force reserve in 1941 he trained as a flight mechanic (Engines) before being posted to 104 Squadron (Wellingtons) at RAF Driffield. This squadron number was later changed to 158 Squadron flying Halifax at RAF East Moor, followed by moves to RAF Rufford and Lisset. The collection consists of a memoir, correspondence with family and acquaintances, family history, service and personal documentation, lucky charms,personal items, cap, boots, squadron tie, research on bombing in Hull as well as photographs of air and ground crew and aircraft. It also includes an oral history interview with Joan Raettig (Dennis Raettig's wife).
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Sue Burn and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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
2016-06-23
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
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Raettig, DW
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 service and release book
Royal Air Force Form 2520A Airmen
Description
An account of the resource
Made out for LAC Raettig W, Class of release 'A'. Release authorized 23 July 1946. Served from 23 February 1941 to 28 May 1946. Awarded Defence Medal, good character reference.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1946-07-23
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Cover and 17 internal pages
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Service material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
ORaettigDW1136657-160623-02
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Bedford
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1946-07-23
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
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
RAF Cardington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/84/9870/MCluettAV120946-150515-30.2.pdf
516fbc7984c25bb1917a6a0bbe7b678e
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
Cluett, Albert Victor
Albert Victor Cluett
A V Cluett
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Great Britain. Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
68 items. The collection concerns Leading Aircraftman Albert Victor Cluett (1209046, Royal Air Force). After training in 1941/42 as an armourer, he was posted to 50 Squadron at RAF Swinderby and then RAF Skellingthorpe. The collections consists his official Royal Air Force documents, armourer training notebooks, photographs of colleagues, aircraft and locations as well as propaganda items, books in German and Dutch and items of memorabilia.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Albert Victor Cluett's daughter Pat Brown and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-05-15
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Cluett, AV
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
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
This Folder
Will help you during your stay at
No. 102 PERSONNEL DISPERSAL CENTRE ROYAL AIR FORCE CARDINGTON
If you arrive before 15.00 hours on your release date you will be directed to the N.A.A.F.I Waiting Room, from where you will be called by tannoy into the release documentation procedure.
The time you spend in the Waiting Room may be anything between 5 minutes to an hour, according to the numbers on hand. The average time to pass through the whole of the documentation is half an hour.
You will then be directed to the Civilian Clothing Centre, and provided that you are not unduly fussy in your choice of clothing, you should complete all procedure in that department, including the collection of your baggage and purchase of cigarettes and chocolates from the N.A.A.F.I in another 45 minutes.
Just outside this department there will be a transport waiting to convey you to Bedford railway stations.
[page break]
Royal Air Force Station, Cardington
[inserted] Site map of RAF Cardington [/inserted]
GRATUITIES TO THE STAFF ARE FORBIDDEN. THE DONOR AND RECEIVER BEING LIABLE TO DISCIPLINARY ACTION
[page break]
The map will assist you to find your way about the camp.
In daylight hours there are Guides wearing an armband “102 P.D.C.” They will give you every assistance, so don’t hesitate to ask them for any information.
Normally you will not be on this station very long, as the process of release and the drawing of your civilian clothing is a speedy one.
If, however, you arrive in the late afternoon or evening, you will not be released until the following morning, so turn to the back of this folder to see how you can spend your time.
Remember that you are going to be interviewed by a R.A.F. Advice Officer, so if you have any service problem, any difficulty regarding civilian life, or any thing you want to get off your chest – this is the opportunity. He will help you to the best of his ability.
Don’t forget that if you wish to postpone your release form the Service, it is not too late to change your mind.
When you have drawn your civilian clothing, you will find near the counter where you receive your leave ration of cigarettes and sweets, a suggestion box. If you have any comment, complaint or suggestion to make to us regarding your release, write it on the paper provided and put it in the box.
It should be unnecessary to remind you that if you wear your uniform on release leave, it must be worn in the correct manner.
Many instances have occurred, however, of airmen on release leave wearing a mixture of uniform and civilian clothing, whilst other abuses of a similar nature have been frequently noticed.
The Royal Air Force has won the admiration of all by its behaviour and deeds in war, and you will not wish by any act of yours to diminish this respect in peace.
I hope the short time you are at Cardington will pass quickly and pleasantly and I wish you the best of luck in the future.
THE COMMANDING OFFICER
[page break]
1. If you arrive overnight, you will be directed to the Orderly Sergt. At 102 P.D.C. Headquarters, who will give you full information regarding sleeping arrangements, the following day’s routine, etc.
2. Your meals are to be take in No. 4 Wing Dining Hall. This applies to all W.O.s, N.C.O.s, and airmen reporting for release. A night cook is always on duty for the benefit of personnel who arrive late.
3. Institute. Airmen should use the G.S.T. School Institute in Cruikshank Road. It provides all the usual N.A.A.F.I. amenities and is open between 12.15-13.15 hrs. and 18.00-21.30 hrs.
4. The Sergeants’ Mess is very crowded, but W.O.s, F/Sergts., and Sergts. are at liberty to use the mess during the lunch interval and evening except for meals.
5. The Station Cinema is situated near the Main Guard Room. One performance is given on weekdays commencing at 18.30 hrs. and two performances on Sundays at 17.15 and 19.30 hrs.
Entrance 6d. and 1/-.
Cinema programmes are displayed in Institutes and Dining Halls.
6. A Lunch Time Musical Concert is held in the cinema on Tuesdays at 12.45 – 13.15 hrs.
7. Station Dances open to all ranks are held in the Gymnasium on Mondays and Fridays from 20.30 – 23.20 hrs. Entrance 1/-.
8. Buses to and from Bedford run frequently. The bus stop is on the Main Road opposite the Main Guard Room Gate. The last bus back to Cardington leaves Bedford (Main Bus Station at St. Peter’s), at 22.00 hrs., but is usually very crowded.
The single fare is 3d.
The distance between Bedford and Cardington by road is about three miles.
9. A Poster n your Dining Hall gives details of entertainments, dances, cinema programmes, etc., in Bedford.
10. The Post Offcie is near No. 2 Gate and is open from 08.30-13.00 hrs. and 14.00-18.00 hrs.
11. Telephones. The location of these is shown on the map.
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
No 102 personnel dispersal centre Royal Air Force Cardington arrival folder
Description
An account of the resource
Information for arrivals at RAF Cardington. Includes a map of the station and notes on processes, procedures, meal times, entertainment, transport, telephones, post office location and opening times.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Four page printed document with map
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Map
Text
Text. Service material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MCluettAV120946-150515-30
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
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
Emily Jennings
demobilisation
entertainment
RAF Cardington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1791/32506/LWierT500238v1.1.pdf
a4e87163f2955332acf448cb22d4dbe4
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
Wier, Tadeusz
T Wier
Tadeusz Wierzbowski
T Wierzbowski
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
2017-01-22
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Wier, T
Description
An account of the resource
24 items. The collection concerns Tadeusz Wier (b.1920) and contains his log books, memoirs, photographs and documents. He flew operations as a pilot with 300 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Michael Wier-Wierzbowski and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Requires
A related resource that is required by the described resource to support its function, delivery, or coherence.
Tadeusz Wierzbowski grew up on a farm near Zgierz, Poland. He learned to fly at the training school at Deblin and escaped from the Nazi and Russian invasions in 1939. He travelled through Romania to the Black Sea, and was in France when the Nazis invaded. He eventually arrived in Liverpool on the Andura Star in June 1940.
He flew as an instructor, training others to fly for three years, before he was posted into combat with 300 Squadron. He flew 25 operations as a Lancaster pilot from RAF Faldingworth including bombing Hitler’s Eagle’s nest at Berchtesgaden.
Tadeusz was a test pilot after the war and shortened his name to Wier to make it easier for air traffic control officers. Over his career, he flew over 40 different aircraft types from Polish RWD 8 trainers to Vampire jets.
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
Tadeusz Wier flying log book. One
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One photocopied booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LWierT500238v1
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
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book for T Wier, covering the period from 12 May 1941 to 5 October 1955. Detailing his flying training, Instructor duties, operations flown and post war flying with Number 4 Ferry Pool and Number 48, 9, 27 Maintenance Units. He was stationed at RAF Newton, RAF Montrose, RAF Farnborough, RAF Hucknall, RAF Finningley, RAF Blyton, RAF Hemswell, RAF Cardington, RAF Hawarden, RAF Bassingbourn, RAF Hullavington and RAF Shawbury. Aircraft flown in were Magister, Master, Hurricane, Henley, Tiger Moth, Lysander, Oxford, Tutor, Anson, Wellington, Halifax, Lancaster, Harvard, Vampire, Prentice, Auster, Lincoln, Dominie, Martinet, Hastings, Valetta, York, Meteor, Devon, Tempest, Mosquito, Beaufighter, Chipmunk, Spitfire, Hornet, Shackleton, Dakota, Canberra, Varsity, Venom and Balliol. He flew a total of 25 operations with 300 squadron including Operations Manna, Exodus and Dodge. Targets were Wiesbaden, Cleve, Dresden, Pforzheim, Gelsenkirchen, Nuremberg, Hanau, Bochum, Bremen, Hannover, Paderborn, Kiel, Plauen, Berchtesgaden, Gouda and Rotterdam.<br /><br />This item was sent to the IBCC Digital Archive already in digital form. No better quality copies are available.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
England--Bedfordshire
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Shropshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Berchtesgaden
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Hanau
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Paderborn
Germany--Pforzheim
Germany--Wiesbaden
Netherlands--Gouda
Wales--Flintshire
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945-02-02
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
1945-02-08
1945-02-13
1945-02-14
1945-02-23
1945-02-24
1945-03-13
1945-03-14
1945-03-16
1945-03-17
1945-03-19
1945-03-20
1945-03-22
1945-03-23
1945-03-25
1945-03-27
1945-04-09
1945-04-10
1945-04-25
1945-05-02
1945-05-07
1945-05-25
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
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
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
1662 HCU
18 OTU
300 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
Beaufighter
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
C-47
Dominie
Flying Training School
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 5
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hurricane
Lancaster
Lincoln
Lysander
Magister
Martinet
Meteor
Mosquito
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Blyton
RAF Cardington
RAF Farnborough
RAF Finningley
RAF Hawarden
RAF Hemswell
RAF Hucknall
RAF Hullavington
RAF Newton
RAF Shawbury
Shackleton
Spitfire
Tiger Moth
training
Wellington
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1986/37855/MBurnsideJGB155209-171116-08.1.jpg
18a6a8614c45c5307dee21c0cc594720
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
Burnside, James Gordon Bennett
J G B Burnside
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-11-16
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
Burnside, JGB
Description
An account of the resource
44 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant James Gordon Bennett Burnside (b. 1909, 155209 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents, correspondence and photographs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 619 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Reverend Canon Terence Alan Joyce and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
A.C.H./F.M.R
R.A.F. Form 2150.
ROYAL AIR FORCE VOLUNTEER RESERVE
ENLISTMENT FOR DURATION OF THE PRESENT EMERGENCY
POSTPONEMENT OF CALLING UP FOR SERVICE
[stamped] 1194129 [/stamped]
To
No. . . . Name BURNSIDE, Gordon Bennett
Address "Larchwood" Larch Crescent, Beeston, Notts.
In connection with your enlistment in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve for service during the present emergency, you will be required to report for permanent service in accordance with the instructions contained in a notice to be issued to you by the Officer in Charge Records, Royal Air Force.
In the meantime you will remain on the Reserve and no pay or allowances will be issuable to you for the period during which you are not called up for permanent service. It is important therefore that you should not leave your present civil employment until you are required to report for service. You will be notified at least 14 days before the date on which you will be required to report, but where practicable one month's notice will be given.
The Officer in Charge Records, Royal Air Force, Ruislip, Middlesex, must be informed of any change of address, and any correspondence must quote your R.A.F. No., rank and name.
Station Cardington
Date 24th Sept 1940
Beeston.
[indecipherable stamp]
[italics] For Officer i/c Records,
Royal Air Force. [/italics]
4/40 (51498) (51669) Wt. 11749/333 50M 5/40 Hw. G.371
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
Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve - postponement of calling up for service
Description
An account of the resource
Made out to Gordon Bennet Burnside
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1940-09-24
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940-09-24
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Beeston (Nottinghamshire)
England--Bedfordshire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One page printed document with handwritten entries
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MBurnsideJGB155209-171116-08
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
Sue Smith
RAF Cardington
recruitment
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2563/44370/OParryWE1172401-220531-020001.2.jpg
26fa38ff4305304f3867519283146e9f
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2563/44370/OParryWE1172401-220531-020002.2.jpg
762b78c9fedfc72c9645bbfdac8ff507
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
Parry, William Edward
Parry, W E
Description
An account of the resource
34 items. The collection concerns Pilot Officer William Edward Parry DFC (1912 - 1996, 1177401 Royal Air Force) and contains his decorations, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 9 Squadron.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Frances Lee and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2022-05-31
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Parry, WE
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
Bill Parry's Service Record
Description
An account of the resource
RAF Form 543 with brief details of bill's service record.
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
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Service material
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided printed sheet with handwritten annotation
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
OParryWE1172401-220531-020001, OParryWE1172401-220531-020002
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.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
9 Squadron
ground crew
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
RAF Cardington
RAF Halton
RAF Sturgate