1
25
35
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1447/43097/SCosgroveAE968259v10010-18.1.pdf
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Cosgrove, Teddy
Alfred Edward Cosgrove
A E Cosgrove
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-02
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Cosgrove, AE
Description
An account of the resource
16 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Alfred Edward "Teddy" Cosgrove (1921 - 1941, 968259 Royal Air Force) and contains a biography and a scrapbook. He flew operations as a navigator with 12 Squadron and was killed 11 October 1941. <br /><br />The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Pat Applegarth and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Alfred Edward "Teddy" Cosgrove is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/104960/">IBCC Losses Database.</a>
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Teddy's Career in the RAFVR 9th September 1939 - 11th October 1941
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed account of Teddy's service in the RAFVR.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Leeds
England--Devon
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Vegesack
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Augsburg
Germany--Dessau (Dessau)
Germany--Bremen
France
Germany
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
France--Lorient
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Rhineland
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Stuttgart
England--Lincolnshire
England--Bexhill
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Nine printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SCosgroveAE968259v10010, SCosgroveAE968259v10011, SCosgroveAE968259v10012, SCosgroveAE968259v10013, SCosgroveAE968259v10014, SCosgroveAE968259v10015, SCosgroveAE968259v10016, SCosgroveAE968259v10017, SCosgroveAE968259v10018
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
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
Is Part Of
A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included.
Cosgrove, Teddy. Album
1 Group
11 OTU
12 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aerial photograph
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
Battle
Blenheim
bomb aimer
bombing
Bombing and Gunnery School
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crash
crewing up
Defiant
ditching
flight engineer
Flying Training School
ground personnel
Halifax
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
meteorological officer
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
navigator
observer
Operational Training Unit
pilot
propaganda
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Binbrook
RAF Evanton
RAF Kinloss
RAF Odiham
RAF Padgate
RAF St Athan
RAF Wickenby
recruitment
sport
Stirling
take-off crash
training
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
Wellington
Whitley
wireless operator
-
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Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Royall, George
G Royall
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Royall, G
Description
An account of the resource
46 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer George Royall (1801494 Royal Air Force) his flying log book, photographs, correspondence, course notes, examinations, newspapers and parts of magazines. He served as a bomb aimer on 166 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by George Royall and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-20
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Meteorology for pilots and navigators
Form 2261
Description
An account of the resource
Official (Canadian) booklet on meteorology. Covers and table of contents only.
1st image: Front cover. Annotated by hand: 'Sgt GL Royall' and 'Sgt Hardy JC. R103813'
2nd image: Title page.
3rd image: Table of contents.
4th image: Back cover (blank)
This item is available at the International Bomber Command Centre/University of Lincoln.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Canada department of transport - air services branch - meteorology division
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1941
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
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 Canadian Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Service material
Text. Training material
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Printed booklet
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MRoyallGL1801494-220420-14
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
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
navigator
pilot
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/636/40404/MRoyallGL1801494-220420-13.1.pdf
0c886818d17c22af6d5efdb88783e4c5
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Royall, George
G Royall
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Royall, G
Description
An account of the resource
46 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer George Royall (1801494 Royal Air Force) his flying log book, photographs, correspondence, course notes, examinations, newspapers and parts of magazines. He served as a bomb aimer on 166 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by George Royall and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-20
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
Meteorology. Notes for students
Description
An account of the resource
Second part of a training booklet containing notes for students. The following chapters are included:
XII. RAF Meteorological Service
XIII. Flight weather reports and forecasts
XIV. Routine forecasts and warnings
XV. The basis of forecasting
XVI. Meteorological codes
XVII. Air masses, depressions and fronts
XVIII. Other fronts
XIX. Other types of pressure distribution
XX. Clouds and precipitation
XXI. Visibility
XXII. Ice formation
XXIII.Thunderstorms
XXIV. Flying in clouds
XXV. Wind. Gusts and bumps
XXVI. Meteorology and operational flying
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry
Meteorological Office
Directorate of Training
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-08
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
Text. Training material
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Printed book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MRoyallGL1801494-220420-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/636/40403/MRoyallGL1801494-220420-12.2.pdf
9cd07a3a8a4e45f688186b57a16cb174
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
Royall, George
G Royall
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Royall, G
Description
An account of the resource
46 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer George Royall (1801494 Royal Air Force) his flying log book, photographs, correspondence, course notes, examinations, newspapers and parts of magazines. He served as a bomb aimer on 166 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by George Royall and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-20
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
Meteorology. Notes for students
Description
An account of the resource
First part of a training booklet. The following chapters are included:
I. Introduction: Meteorology and Air crews
II. Atmosphere, pressure and temperature
III. Wind
IV. Cloud and fog
V. Weather
VI. Clouds
VII. Visibility
VIII. Wind
IX. Pressure, temperature and humidity
X. Altimeters
XI. Introduction to the weather map
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry
Directorate of Flying Training
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942
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. Training material
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Printed book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MRoyallGL1801494-220420-12
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2198/40354/MAnkersonR[Ser -DoB]-180129-01.pdf
543adc7e687241fb89b76505a55c8ec6
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association
Description
An account of the resource
97 items. The collection concerns Royal Air Force ex-Prisoner of War Association and contains items including drawings by the artist Ley Kenyon.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Robert Ankerson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-01-29
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
RAF ex POW As Collection
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
One Day in May on a Bomber Station
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed description of an operation to Mannheim on 19 May 1942. He describes the preparation, the operation and their safe return to the UK.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-05-19
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Sri Lanka
Great Britain
England--Sheffield
Australia
Queensland--Brisbane
England--Yorkshire
Chile
England--Tunbridge Wells
England--Ashington (Northumberland)
England--Birmingham
Canada
Germany--Mannheim
France--Paris
France--Vichy
England--Flamborough Head
France--Givet
Belgium--Brussels
England--Lowestoft
England--Norwich
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
France--Saint-Nazaire
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Navy
Royal Australian Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
13 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MAnkersonR[Ser#-DoB]-180129-01
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
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
102 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
Blenheim
bomb aimer
bombing
briefing
flight engineer
fuelling
ground personnel
Halifax
incendiary device
mess
meteorological officer
navigator
Pathfinders
perception of bombing war
pilot
RAF Dalton
RAF Horsham St Faith
RAF Topcliffe
superstition
target indicator
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/635/37391/BLangLWLangLWv1.2.pdf
202fd827ebcafcc85d4103dd4e89dd96
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Robinson, Geoffrey
G Robinson
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Robinson, G
Description
An account of the resource
four items. An oral history interview with Geoffrey Robinson (Royal Air Force) and three memoirs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 12 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-08-03
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.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
LONE BRITISH BOMBER BOMBS BONN
On a cold and raw December 28 1944, the Orderly Officer informed our crew, "your [sic] on tonight, briefing the usual 1600 hours," (4pm). With all crews present in the briefing room, the heavy drapes covering the large wall map were drawn, revealing our 'target'. A red ribbon marked our route, with changes in direction, to confuse the enemy as to our actual target. Reports were given by section heads as to what ground defences we may expect, flak, searchlights, or air defences. Navigation, bombing instructions were given, and last but not least the 'Met. Man. (Meteorologist), who would try to predict the weather to, and over the target. Briefing over, we head to the mess hall, and after, to the crew room, to dress in our bulky flying gear, and hear more stale jokes, from someone trying to release built up tensions. Then its a lorry ride to our Lancaster being readied on the dispersal site. The last drags on a cigarette, a 'pee' on the tail wheel for luck, then up a short ladder to our positions. Every thing now was becoming routine, our pilot going through his check list. Finally "Geoff' our flight engineer is now calling, airspeed 95 . . airspeed 100 . . . 105 . . . . "Skipper, we have a red light" . . . Instant panic . . . breath holding . . . waiting . . . waiting, for the inevidable to happen, 2154 gallons of high octane gas, and a full bomb load, we cannot stop, its go for take off reguardless [sic]. We become airborne, and almost immediatelly [sic] lost power to our starboard motor. Geoff, our flight engineer quickly feathered the propeller, as our pilot gained control of the 'Lanc'. After gaining a safe altitude, the crew had to decide whether to jettison the bomb load in the English channel, or to continue on with the mission, we all agreed if 'Dickie' our pilot could fly on three motors. Bonn, a 'University' city, a five and a half hour round trip, but we had forgotten that we would be flying slower than the main bomber stream, and this would make us late over the target.
'Tommy', our navigator, (from St. Marys) gave 'Dickie' a course to fly, and then started our slow climb towards the target. With three motors we were unable to climb and reach our normal cruising speed. This put us well behind the main bomber stream, and apparently all alone. If there were enemy fighters they probably attacked the main stream, and hopefully would leave us alone.
Arriving at the target area considerably late, we saw no other 'Lancs', but a city burning furiously. There were many searchlights wandering aimlessly over the city searching for us with radar. A heavy concentration of flack also found our altitude. There were no coloured markers to aim for, and bomb on, and it didnt seem to matter where we bombed. we apparently were the only Lancaster over the target, so our bomb aimer called for bomb bay doors open . . . . bombs gone . . . . bomb bay doors closed, get the hell out of here.
We had no sooner turned to our new course, when a radar controlled searchlight locked on to our 'Lanc'. Then others locked on, and soon it seemed as if every searchlight for miles were coned on us. Search lights easing towards us in long lazy arcs. Light so intense I felt I would suffocate. There seemed no escape, we were coned with twenty or more, it was impossible to even hesitate a guess. Being coned meant only one thing, we could expect a barrage of flak any minute. Each light was 2 million candle power, and multiply this by twenty or thirty lights. I was blind in my mid upper turret, as were the rest of the crew. We were totally exposed, totally helpless, we were a very bright and shiny star in the apex of many
[inseerted] Is This accurate? Lew [/inserted]
[page break]
searchlights. Our pilot reacted instinctivly [sic] by shoving the nose down hard, at the same time telling the engineer 'full throttle'. Flak had found our altitude, and was bursting all around our Lanc. The flak seemed accurate enough, but we were not hit. Although we only had three motors, we hurtled toward the ground at a steep angle, and after what had seemed like an eternity, the pilot pulled up, the 'G' forces ramming everyone into our seats, as we roared over the burning city. The dive cost us valuable altitude, but we escaped the searchlights, and flak, and were safe for the moment. As we left the target area, ground defences seemed to throw every thing they had left, up at us. Perhaps our lower altitude, the flak burst well above us. Our return to base was fairly uneventful, our pilot landing the Lanc. with three motors, safely. We were then de briefed, and then to bed for some much needed sleep. The following day one of the London news papers carried a small article headed "Lone British Bomber Bombs Bonn" Few, if any details were printed, due to security, But our crew knew all the details.
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
Lone British Bomber Bombs Bonn
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-12-28
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Bonn
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BLangLWLangLWv1
Description
An account of the resource
Geoffrey Robinson's recollection of an operation to bomb Bonn in December 1944.
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two typewritten sheets
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
briefing
flight engineer
ground personnel
Lancaster
mess
meteorological officer
navigator
pilot
-
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2140/36880/ABerrillR220223.2.mp3
2088ba7a6b2a22a47d6746c6de108790
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Berrill, Roy
R Berrill
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Roy Berrill (b. 1924, 189888 Royal Air Force). He was one of three Meteorological Officers at RAF North Creake.
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Date
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2022-02-23
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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.
Identifier
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Berrill, R
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Transcription
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DE: Just check it’s recording. So, this is an interview with Roy Berrill for the IBCC Digital Archive. I’m Dan Ellin. It is the 21st of February 2022 and we’re in Easingwold in Yorkshire. I’ll put that there.
RB: Well, actually it’s the twenty, yeah the 23rd.
DE: Yes.
RB: Right. Are you alright there?
DE: Yeah. I’m just, I’m just, I want to just check that this is recording.
RB: Yes. Ok.
DE: So, Roy could you first of all tell me a little bit about your early life and I believe you were evacuated.
RB: Yes. I was born in Northampton and I stayed in Northampton until I was, I think it was twelve or thirteen when we moved. Had to move to London for various reasons and at which time I lived in Becontree and went to school in Barking Abbey Grammar School which was, wasn’t a mixed school. It was a school where the boys and girls were separated. Now, is that ok?
DE: Yeah. That’s fine.
RB: Is it working alright?
DE: It’s going fine. Yeah.
RB: Righto. My homelife was rather restrictive. My mother came from a strict Baptist family so I was really, well we were all very restricted as children but I was particularly restricted because I was a relatively weak child. I was always fainting and this sort of thing and I was no good at sports so there we are. But when I moved, when we moved to Becontree in Essex as I say I went to Barking Abbey School, Grammar School there and on the 1st of September 1939 I became an evacuee. I left home with my gas mask and a few changes of clothes and we went to school and then we were told at 10 o’clock in the morning we had to walk to Rainham Underground Station where we travelled right across London to Ealing Broadway where we caught a steam train which went to Bristol. We got to Bristol about the middle of the day. We had no food or nothing to drink and we still stuck out just outside Bristol Station not knowing what was happening. Eventually the train went on to Weston-Super-Mare and for the next three years I was an evacuee in Weston-Super-Mare where I lived in six different places as an evacuee. I took my, the equivalent of O Levels or what was then called School Certificate and I passed every subject including Latin but I failed at one subject and that was woodwork. I then stayed on at school to take my Higher School Certificate but the snag was that during that time the school was bombed and so the part of the school which we were sharing with the local people from Weston-Super-Mare half of the school got burned down. And there was another school then dumped on the same school so there were three schools in the same building and the night when they, the school, that part of the school got burned down I was supposed to be taking my Higher School Cert and we hadn’t got any exam papers. So they had to collect all the exam papers from the other school which was from London and then sit the exam. I seem to have passed that subject [laughs] and then at the suggestion of one of my brothers I applied to go to Queen Mary College, London which is now Queen Mary University I understand. I never set foot, I have still never set foot in Queen Mary College yet [laughs] But the college was actually evacuated to Cambridge where I was allowed two years to do a three year general degree and at the same time I had to do two afternoons a week with the other Cadet Force to train to be an officer. After one year I decided I didn’t like the Army so I transferred to the ATC, Air Training Corps and that’s how I got into the Air Force. While we were at university as I say we had to do these two afternoons a week and we also had to do fire watching and I spent the odd night on the top of King’s College, Cambridge actually looking for fires. It was a platform with no handrail of any kind right on the apex of King’s College Chapel. So that was an experience. However, I seemed to have passed my degree by the skin of my teeth and I had no sooner finished my exams than the Air Force called me up to see what I was going to do. And I said I wanted to be a Met officer because I was very interested in Met work at the time and they said, ‘Oh, that’s just what we want. Some more Met officers.’ So they allowed me to go and train as a Met officer at Kilburn in London. I did my training there and having completed the training and passed I was then sent to Warboys in Cambridgeshire as a forecaster to see how it was done and what happened. So I had a few weeks at Warboys and then I was moved to the next station at Wyton where I dropped a major clanger at the time. The point being I was supposed to be doing the observations for one night while I let the assistant go and have a bit of a snooze and I didn’t know anything about how you worked out visibility at night in the blackout and thick fog so I assumed that it was still foggy. I got a telephone call later on. He said, ‘Why are you the only station in the area that’s got fog? All the other stations around you are as clear as can be.’ Well, I couldn’t talk myself out of that one because I didn’t know how to do visibility at night. So there we are. But eventually I got transferred to North Creake and I’ve written a piece of paper which tells you about my, what happened at North Creake.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Do you wish me to read that out or —
DE: No. That’s, that’s fine if I can take a copy of that that will be good.
RB: Yeah. That’s your copy.
DE: Yeah. So, so how do you tell the visibility at night?
RB: You have to go outside and let your eyes adjust and you have to be sure you know where things are and you look in that direction. And very gradually your eyes do adjust to the dark and you can just make out what is going on. But it’s a very hit and miss sort of process.
DE: So you look for landmarks that you know are a certain distance away.
RB: That’s right. Yes. Yes.
DE: Right.
RB: So I got to North Creake and a very interesting time while I was there. And one of the interesting things as far as I was concerned was I flew one morning on an air test with a, in a Stirling bomber and the pilot took me up just to have a look around while he was doing his air test and we came back down. And that night he went out with his crew and he was killed over North France by friendly fire. The Americans. His name was Tiny Thurlow. He was a Canadian and he was six foot odd and that’s why he was called Tiny. A nice chap. All his crew from his aircraft managed to get out. He told them to get out but before he [emphasis] could get out the plane blew up. So there we are. One or two other little stories which are of interest to me at least was after VE Day there was a tannoy over North Creake that said, ‘Is there anybody here who can speak German?’ And one chap said, ‘Yes. I can speak German.’ ‘Oh. How well can you speak German?’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a First Class Honours degree from Cambridge in German.’ ‘Oh, you’re just the sort of chap that we want. What are you doing here?’ He said, ‘I have to paint the edges of the coals around the station to stop people tripping over it at night.’ I thought that was an excellent example [laughs] of how to use manpower. The other little thing is that is not recorded on that sheet is there’s, in a photograph there is a what looks like a long sort of covered affair and that is where we used to store the gas to blow up balloons. We had balloons which were supposed to ascend at a certain rate and you fuelled it up to a particular size which was measured with a piece of wire and you released it and it’s supposed to go up at a certain rate and you timed it and there was, you know. Thereby you could tell where the base of the cloud was. So that’s my basic experience of, of North Creake and subsequently after VE Day and VJ Day I eventually got a, this is after the war of course I got posted to [pause] Tilbury and they sent me up to Lancashire to get kitted out for the Far East. I went back to Tilbury, caught the ship, the Strathaird which set sail and we were told we were going to India. We got as far as Gibraltar, dropped the anchor and literally dropped the anchor down a pothole. So we lost an anchor and the ship can’t go through Suez Canal with one anchor. It has to have two. So we waited a week in Gibraltar for a second anchor to be brought out. Eventually we went through Suez Canal and while in the Red Sea I had Vaccine Fever which wasn’t very good in that temperature. And we got to Bombay and when we got to Bombay they said to me, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I said, ‘Well, I’ve been sent here.’ ‘Oh, well we’ve got nothing for you to do here. You’d better go to Singapore.’ I said, ‘Well, how do I do that?’ ‘Oh, your ship is being diverted to Singapore.’ ‘Oh, righto.’ But they filled, there were about twelve of us on a ship with only twelve officers on. It was a forty thousand tonne ship and you think what happened to the rest of the ship. ‘Oh, we’re taking people to return home to Singapore.’ So we were filled up with Malays and Indians and goodness knows what. And within a matter of minutes the decks were red where they were spitting all their stuff having chewed betel nuts and what have you and, but as soon as we got out of Bombay it happened to be monsoon season so the ship started to pitch and roll and that sent all these, these people returning to Singapore below. We never saw them again. And I got to Singapore and they said, ‘Who the hell are you? Where have you come from and what are you doing here?’ And I said, I told them and I said I’d been sent here and they said, ‘Oh, well we’d better find something for you to do.’ So they said, ‘Oh, we’ll send you on to Japan.’ ‘Oh, thank you very much. How do I get there?’ ‘Oh, you’ll have to wait for a ship to come in.’ I said, ‘Well, when is that going to be?’ ‘We’ve no idea.’ So they said, ‘’Well, and while you’re here you might as well, we might as well make use of you. You’d better go to Seletar.’ Which is on the north side of Singapore Island and it was basically a Flying Boat base. Well, A, I knew nothing about the weather in Singapore so I didn’t know much about forecasting and I knew nothing about Flying Boats either. Anyway, one day I decided when I was off duty I would go back in to Singapore and down to the docks. Having got to the docks I saw a ship there and a bloke standing on the gang plank swaying, so I said to him, ‘Hello. Are you a British ship?’ He said, ‘Of course we are.’ I said, ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Japan.’ I said, ‘Well, that’s what I need.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘If you want to get on you’d better go and get your stuff pretty quickly. We’re going this evening.’ So I dashed back to Seletar, collected all my gear which was at the laundry so wet or not I packed it all in and dashed back to the ship and got on it. Told nobody.
DE: Oh.
RB: Nobody cared. Nobody seemed to know. I got on this ship and we went, we got, we went to Japan via Hong Kong and we got to Kure and we were then taken by train to our station which was a place called Iwakuni. But you had to go through Hiroshima and I got to Hiroshima one year exactly after the atomic bomb. We then went on to where I was stationed at Iwakuni and I was there for just short of two years during which time we had, we had [pause] we were called the British Commonwealth Occupation err Occupying Forces. And on the station where I was were English, well British really and New Zealanders, Kiwis and flying mostly Dakotas and things of that kind. There was, there were two other British stations. One further down the line, one for Australians and then one on the north side of the island which was for Indian Air Force. While we were there I met Lord Tedder who came and he was going to the trials in Tokyo. Also while I was there there was a Japanese being taken to Tokyo to give his record of what happened and he was to be prosecuted. Well, the forecasting place where I was based was next door to a kitchen which was to provide food for people passing through and this chappie had a few minutes left to himself so he picked up a butcher’s knife and committed Hara-kiri actually in that kitchen. So he never got to Tokyo. Later on because all buildings were wooden we had an arson attack and the whole of the officer’s mess got burned to the ground and we lost two people there. I managed to get out in the smoke and we then had to be rehoused in another building which was really basically for the erks as it were. We hadn’t got any clothing and so we went to the stores and they said, ‘Well, here you are. Here’s some shirts for you and some trousers.’ We put the shirts on and they came down to our waist. They were intended for the WAAFs [laughs] So we eventually got kitted out and as I say we were stuck there for the rest of the time. And eventually one of the chaps who was a forecaster at North Creake. He happened to be at the same place Iwakuni so I knew him. He wasn’t a very nice chap but never mind. He went. He was demobbed, sent home and the other forecaster he was sent home. So there was a period for me when they did get another forecaster out when there were only two of us so it was twenty four hours on and twenty four hours off which was a bit of a trial but never mind. I found all sorts of things to do and I met up with a New Zealander who said, ‘You should come and live in New Zealand.’ I said, ‘I don’t want to come and live in New Zealand at the moment. I want to go home and get married to my [laughs] my fiancé,’ who I’d met in Cambridge. And then on one occasion as I say Lord Tedder came. Lord Tedder went on to Tokyo by train and his aircraft was going back to the UK so I got a hitch in Lord Tedder’s Dakota down to Hong Kong and had two or three days in Hong Kong which was an interesting exercise. But of course, how the hell did I get back? ‘Oh, well there’s a Flying Boat going back up to Iwakuni’ So I jumped aboard that. A huge Sunderland aircraft which I got in. I was the only passenger. So it was a very pleasant ride.
DE: Yeah.
RB: And as I say we, all our stuff came via Sunderlands from the UK eventually. While we were there for the first about six months all our food was tinned and then suddenly one day we got an aircraft that came up from New Zealand bringing fresh celery and we went absolutely berserk eating celery which was a wonderful change. However, as I say eventually of course I was demobbed but before I was demobbed they said, ‘Well, you’ve been in the Air Force a fair while. We think you might have promotion. But before you have promotion what else do you do besides weather forecasting?’ Well, as it happened I was interested in teaching other people who were illiterate and I didn’t know anything about illiteracy at the time so I started to teach them about numeracy. So they accepted that as a good reason to get promotion. So I was actually promoted to flight lieutenant when I came home. When I got on board ship to come back I was made troops catering officer. Of course, I knew such a lot about catering [laughs] Anyway, that was my job while I was on board ship. But the ship on the way back was constantly being diverted to places they hadn’t intended to go. For example, having got to Singapore we were supposed to come on home but we got diverted to Colombo first, then to Aden, then to a place called [Misawa] and some other funny place. Port something or other. Then through the Suez Canal and having got through the Suez Canal it was Christmas so as an officer I had to serve the troops with their chicken for Christmas dinner [laughs] Then we got diverted again to Algiers and eventually after, I think it was well over nine weeks I arrived home. I got, got got to the UK on the 5th of January and got married on the 10th of January.
DE: Oh wow.
RB: And I think that’s more or less my story.
DE: Yeah.
RB: For the time being.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Is that enough?
DE: That’s, that’s a brilliant start. I’d love to go back and ask you a couple more questions if that’s all right.
RB: By all means.
DE: Do you want to have a, have a drink —
RB: Yes.
DE: Of your coffee.
RB: Good idea.
[pause]
RB: You may understand of course that I live on my own. Although I have a number of people who come in and help me considerably.
DE: Yeah.
RB: So anyway. What were your questions?
DE: Well, it’s a little bit more about your, your role as the Met officer and forecasting. So you said here that when you were at North Creake —
RB: Yeah.
DE: You had, there were three other officers there with you and you worked shifts.
RB: Well, well, there were three. Three Met officers.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Including myself. Yes.
DE: And you worked shifts. One ‘til ten and then the next day eight ‘til one.
RB: Yeah.
DE: And then 10pm ‘til 8pm and then the third day you were, you were off.
RB: That’s it.
DE: What, and you’ve also mentioned setting the balloons and trying to check the visibility at night.
RB: Yes.
DE: What, what other, what other jobs did you have to do as a Met officer?
RB: Well, we had an assistant of course and it was their job, a WAAF to record all this information. And that information was sent to the [pause] I’ve forgotten what he was called. Sort of the local Regional Met Office and it was they who were required to produce the forecast for the flight. Wherever the Group was being sent. We were not allowed to alter that in any way even if we disagreed with it and I think I have explained in there on one occasion there was a significant difference where they didn’t realise there was a thunderstorm around which we did know and that stopped the flight for that night. I always went. I did the forecast with all the crew there and the officers who were also telling what the target was and all this sort of thing and I also attended the debriefing afterwards just to find out how accurate the forecast was. So does that answer your —?
DE: Yeah. Yeah. What was the atmosphere like at the briefings when you were telling them the weather?
RB: Well, of course, being 100 Group they didn’t do bombing. They were concerned with dropping radar interference. Most of. Window it was called and they were going for them at that time they would go and stooge around for about eight hours, dropping this Window. And of course, flying at the height at which they were which was anything between ten and twenty thousand feet they were very prone to the weather itself including icing which I’ve mentioned in there. So, whereas modern aircraft of course flying at thirty thousand feet and the other interesting thing to me is because I still follow the weather our forecasting was done at two thousand feet. We drew up a synoptic chart on a regular basis every three hours and every six hours for the country as a whole and, but nowadays of course the forecasting is done at thirty thousand feet with a Jetstream. Well, we knew about the Jetstream but we didn’t know anything about what it did or how it worked and we had no idea what it was all about. And we had a wonderful piece of instrument. It was on a pole and it was like a garden rake but with the prongs sticking upwards and you had to estimate what the height of the cloud was in this Jetstream and then you had to time it between each of the prongs. And you then had to calculate how fast that Jetstream was. But having done that nobody knew what to do with it. It was a ridiculous arrangement because you were looking at cloud at anything from thirty to thirty five thousand feet and this made the accuracy pretty hopeless. So there we are. Does that answer your question?
DE: Yeah. Yeah. Thank you. So did you get, did you get intelligence from, from the aircraft as well? I know they had Meteorological flights and some of the crews reported back wind speeds and directions and things.
RB: Yes. There were, I think it was four places that would send up balloons much bigger than the cloud thing and that had a series of each instruments dangling below the balloon which would record air pressure from which you could calculate the height, temperature, humidity, and the drift would tell you the windspeed. So that was, that was useful and mostly they just eventually the balloon would burst and we would lose that apparatus but occasionally they would be found perhaps in Norway or Sweden. So there we are. That was that. What else? One of them incidentally was fairly close to a docking we sent up from there. The other thing was some places at Docking I think it was they would send up either a Hurricane or a Spitfire suitably adapted with a, with a gadget on it that would tell you the height and the biometric pressure and they too would record humidity, temperature and they could calculate the direction and speed of the wind and what have you. So they just circled a way above the station to a certain height and that was it. And that was very useful because being in Norfolk you had that wretched North Sea stratas or haar or whatever you’d like to call it which was absolutely deadly from the point of view of forecasting. We couldn’t, we didn’t know anything about it to be honest and they still don’t know. They still get them. So anyway, does that answer your question?
DE: Yes. Yeah. That’s wonderful.
RB: Anything else?
DE: I can probably, I can probably look through and find something else. Yeah. So you mentioned the pilot, Tiny. How well did you know him?
RB: Oh, only, only socially in the mess. Not, not very well. I didn’t get close to many of the aircrew to be honest because they came and went. I was more interested with my colleagues in the Met office and in the air traffic control because that was all relevant as far as I was concerned, you know. Giving them QFE and QFC and what have you. And so I didn’t get close to aircraft crew. I did one or two of the ground crew. The maintenance people. I got to know one or two of them but I have no contact with them. Not now.
DE: No. No. Have you been involved in the, in the Memorial at North Creake?
RB: Not yet.
DE: Right.
RB: No. I think that’s one of the things that they want me to do. I have joined. I joined this 100 Group Memorial Group but unfortunately of course that’s all based in Norwich and I can’t get. I have no car now. I’ve only got a little electric buggy. I can’t go more than fifteen miles away from here. Anything else?
DE: Let’s have a look, see. Could you tell me a little bit more about your time when you were evacuated and your time at Cambridge? Where were you staying? Where were you living?
RB: Well, as an evacuee in Weston-Super-Mare as I say I had six places that I lived and the last one I lived in was a hotel which had many of the recruits that were being trained doing square bashing on the front. And the hotel was a crummy place. It really was disastrous. Eventually it had to be closed because the conditions that were there were really beyond anything that anybody ought to live with. I was there. There were two of us that lived in the attic but the rest were all Air Force trainees so, and that was it. The other places that I lived in as an evacuee varied enormously. One was where there were two ladies who used to be in charge of some sort of school or other. Very doctrinaire and didn’t think much of us [laughs] Anyway, but you want Cambridge as well?
DE: Yeah. Yeah. Please.
RB: Well, I lived the whole time in King’s College, Cambridge. For the first year I was in rooms right next door to the Chapel so I could hear the organ playing and that was wonderful. And it was wonderful too when I had to do fire watching because you could hear the organ coming up through the roof. So that was very good but the conditions were not very [pause] There were three of us in two rooms. We had to share the rooms. We had one little gas fire and we were absolutely frozen the whole time. And, and as far as lectures were concerned for mathematics we had mostly lecturers from London University. For physics we had almost entirely people from Cambridge and those lectures were pretty useless in as much they didn’t tell you about what you should be learning. They were just entertainment as much as anything. For example, we were talking about sound and he had a block of concrete on the front desk and he picked up a piece of wood and dropped it on it. He said, ‘There you are. Noise.’ And then he picked up a series of these wooden blocks and he proceeded to play a tune to demonstrate that in fact noise in fact had got a note to it. Well all very interesting but not much help from the point of view of learning the physics of sound. And the other thing we had to do we were all compelled to do early, early computing.
DE: Oh really? Ok.
RB: We were forced to do one session a week to learn about cathode-ray tubes and what have you which nobody explained and I didn’t understand a word of it. But there we are. We had to do it. And then we had tutorials also in physics which again were quite useless. For geography I had tutors from my own college and they were good. Very helpful. We did a lot of interesting work including experimental survey work and that kind of thing. So that was good. Anything else you want?
DE: I suppose I should ask you what the living arrangements were like at North Creake. I mean you’ve spoken a bit about your time in Japan and on board ship. What was it like at North Creake?
RB: Well, I can’t remember the mess very much but the food was good in as much a lot of it was of course related to rationing as what things of that kind. We hadn’t very little butter or things. Stuff of that kind. So when we got on board ship eventually which had got loads of food from other countries one or two people just went stupid and were eating butter and all sorts of things and they made themselves ill. But what was the other thing? Food and —?
DE: Well, you know what, you know —
RB: The conditions we were —
DE: Yeah.
RB: Actually living. Well apart from being the Met office which was below the traffic control in a brick built place so it was relatively warm but the actual living area which was a Nissen hut which was, there was nothing there. You just had your bed and your washing kit and that was it. So it was very very basic. Oh, one thing I did do while I was there I got very friendly with the chap who did, I’ve forgotten what it was called but it was a gadget which you simulated flying.
DE: Mm Mm?
RB: So I’ve forgotten what it was called and I’ve got a —
DE: Link trainer.
RB: That’s it.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Well done. Thank you. And so I did have a go on that once or twice and which was interesting because I’d also while I was at university did have a flight in a Tiger Moth and that was great fun. We looped the loop and that sort of thing so I enjoyed that. Anything else?
DE: Well, did you fancy becoming aircrew?
RB: Sorry?
DE: Did you —
RB: No. I didn’t. They decided actually that physically I wasn’t really quite fit enough for that. Why I don’t know but there we are.
DE: So a couple more questions I jotted down when you were talking earlier.
RB: Yes.
DE: You said you had Vaccine Fever. I mean in today’s climate I should probably ask you what that was.
RB: Well, at the time when I was a kid all my brothers and sister were vaccinated. You know it was a vaccination against flu or whatever. I didn’t have it as a child so they decided I needed to be vaccinated if I was going out into the Far East. So they vaccinated me on board ship and that produced Vaccine Fever. And boy was I hot because the Red Sea was hot enough and I was sweating it out on my own in the, on board ship. So anyway, yes?
DE: And the other thing that I’ve jotted down you said you travelled through Hiroshima.
RB: Yes.
DE: Could you tell me a little bit about what that was like?
RB: Well, when I eventually I was stationed in Iwakuni it wasn’t all that far from Hiroshima and I went there two or three times. We were given tins of cigarettes. Fifty cigarettes in a tin. I didn’t smoke but boy did the Japanese smoke. They loved them and so I could barter without any money. Barter these tins of cigarettes for whatever I wanted. As a result I had enough tins of cigarettes to buy the material for my wife’s wedding dress and that was great because it was Japanese silk which was embroidered. And it was things of that kind but the actual town or the city itself was in a very very poor state. There were trams but they had managed to get to work but they went across bridges and you thought God that bridge is never going to support this tram but it did. It rocked and what have you and we got through. The people themselves were quite good. They weren’t, weren’t objecting to us particularly but of course there were a group of people who had been caught by the radiation and they’d collected together and isolated themselves on a little island in, in the inland sea. Oh, and one other thing too while I was there I think it was three earthquakes. One while I was in my officer’s mess, one while I was up in Osaka and another one which took place on the island to the south of us. And that was an interesting experience too. The one in Osaka —
[voice calling from distance]
DE: There’s someone, I’ll just press the pause because someone has arrived.
[recording paused]
DE: There was a visitor so I’ve started recording again. Yeah. You were talking about Hiroshima.
RB: Yes. As I say there was a group of people who had been caught by this radiation and had isolated themselves and they weren’t pretty to look at either. One day on my off day I was talking to a group and they said, ‘We’re going fishing.’ ‘Oh, I’ll come with you.’ So I went fishing with them and they complained about other fishermen. Fishermen from another island encroaching on their land, on their territory and so we caught them and we took them back and they were, they were sent to jail for for fishing in the wrong area. So that was quite interesting too. Anything else?
DE: Well, you said that there was an arson attack and the quarters were burned down. Who? Who was responsible for that?
RB: We know that it was Japanese but we have no idea actually who it was. There were actually three arson attacks. One where the fuel for the aircraft used to come in enormous metal barrels they stored there. And there was a whole storage there and somebody set light to that and blew the lot for God knows how long. I mean barrels were shooting up in the air. And there was another attempt to burn down the officer’s mess but that was caught in time to stop it. But it was the second attempt that burned the place down.
DE: So this was some resistance to the, to the base.
RB: Oh, there were one or two people who did object to our being there undoubtedly. The other interesting little sideline, if you can forgive me for this but when the arson attack took place there were certain of the WAAFs who suddenly disappeared from the officer’s mess back to their own quarters at night [laughs]
DE: I quite understand. Yeah.
RB: Yes.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Anything else?
DE: I don’t think so. I mean one of my final questions I normally ask is, is what do you think, what’s your opinion on the way the Second World War and the bombing campaigns have been remembered?
RB: Been remembered? [pause] Well, I hesitate to say this. There was a programme on the box the other day, I’ve forgotten what it was called but it followed an American aircraft, it was an American film needless to say who’d gone bombing over Germany and got shot up and all sorts of things and just managed to stagger back. There’s no such film for the British. And I find that you know it was the Americans won the war. It’s that sort of attitude.
DE: Yeah.
RB: And I find that very sad because the number of British people and I include the Australians and the Kiwis and what have you I think that’s a great shame that there’s no appreciation of what went on. I mean we lost a hell of a lot of aircraft. And the design of aircraft too was an interesting issue. I mean the Stirling bomber was a shocker. A terrible thing to land whereas the Lancasters and those they were great.
DE: Is there anything else at all that you can think of that you’d like to, to tell me?
RB: I shall do when you’ve gone.
DE: Of course. Well, I can press pause. If you think of anything else that you’d like to add.
RB: No. I can’t at the moment but little snippets keep coming back but I suppose one thing that did bother me quite a bit at North Creake was the maintenance of the aircraft was always done in the open air and the poor devils who had to service the aircraft must have been frozen stiff at times. How they managed it I do not know.
DE: But you were there ’44 to ’45 and that winter was really really bad. Yeah.
RB: It was a bit grim.
DE: Yeah.
RB: Yeah. Yeah. But there we are.
DE: I suppose as a Met officer you saw that coming and knew quite how bad it was going to be.
RB: We didn’t know how bad it was going to be but there we are. So [pause] No. I really, off hand I can’t remember much more. Oh I remember one occasion as that I was going on leave to see my fiancé and of course at that time there was a railway went right through to Wells.
DE: Yes.
RB: And I got from Wells to the camp of course by van. But I went down to Wells and caught the train to get back to London and I think we got about five miles out of Wells and ran into a snowdrift and the train could not move so we had to get out and walk over the top of the snowdrift to the next station and try and catch a train from there.
DE: Oh wow.
RB: Which we did and the curious thing is we got to Kings Lynn and when we got to Kings Lynn and travelled south there was no snow.
DE: Wow. Ok.
RB: Which relates in a way to something that happened long after the war when I was actually teaching in Guisborough.
DE: Oh right. Ok.
RB: And the staff used to play the Sixth Form at cricket for a day. It snowed in July in the middle of the cricket match.
DE: Wow.
RB: It’s something peculiar to that area. You know, stuck off the North Sea. So there we are.
DE: So you, so you were a teacher after.
RB: I came back home and I didn’t want to stay in the Air Force, in the Met Office because at the time you had to move every three years and I think it was about every ten or fifteen years you had to go overseas and I didn’t want my children if I had any to be constantly changing school. So I decided I’d opt out. I went to London Institute and trained as a teacher. I taught mathematics for nearly twenty years and then I became an inspector of schools for a time and I finished up as the senior advisor for further education, adult education, youth service. You name it. Jack of all trades and master of nothing [laughs].
DE: Yeah. Smashing.
RB: So there we are.
DE: Yeah. That’s marvellous. I’m going to press pause. If you think of anything else you’d like to tell me —
RB: Yes. Righto.
DE: Just give me a nod.
RB: Yes.
DE: And I can start recording again but that’s absolutely fantastic. Thank you.
[recording paused]
DE: So I’ve just started recording again. Yes.
RB: There was one occasion when the group from North Creake was required to fly to North Italy to drop Window to prevent any radar or what have you from the Germans as they were coming back north after the invasion of Italy and Sicily. Well of course that meant flying over the Alps which was a very difficult thing for Stirlings and, but they all got there with one exception and he was a squadron leader. He turned back. He couldn’t face it. I quite understand why because the height they were flying the danger of icing was extremely bad but they made it and they did their job. Ok?
DE: Yeah. Yeah. Smashing. 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 Roy Berrill
Creator
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Dan Ellin
Date
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2022-02-23
Type
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Sound
Format
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00:53:53 Audio Recording
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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ABerrillR220223, PBerrillR2022023
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Norfolk
England--Cambridge
England--London
Singapore
Japan
Japan--Iwakuni-shi
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
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eng
Description
An account of the resource
Roy was born in Northampton and was evacuated from Becontree in London to Weston-super-Mare. He gained his degree from Queen Mary College, London, which was evacuated to Cambridge.
After the Air Training Corps, Roy was called up to be a meteorological officer. Roy trained in Kilburn, and went as a forecaster to RAF Warboys in Cambridge before RAF Wyton and then RAF North Creake.
Roy recounts the death of Canadian “Tiny” Thurlow, brought down by friendly fire in Northern France. There were three meteorological officers at RAF North Creake, working shifts. The information recorded was sent to the regional meteorological office whose forecast could not be amended. He attended the aircrew briefing and de-briefing sessions. The 100 Group dropped Window radar countermeasure. Its aircraft were prone to icing.
Roy contrasts weather forecasting then and now, particularly with reference to the jet stream. He talks about weather balloons and the readings they took. RAF Docking sent up Hurricanes or Spitfires, fitted with new equipment, to take readings.
In 1945 Roy set sail from Tilbury on RMS Strathaird to Bombay, Singapore (RAF Seletar) and then spent nearly two years for the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces at RAF Iwakuni in Japan, passing through Hiroshima. A Japanese man committed Hari-kari and there were three arson attempts by the Japanese.
On his return, Roy was promoted to flight lieutenant. After discharge, Roy taught mathematics, and subsequently became a school inspector and senior further education adviser.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sally Coulter
Julie Williams
Carolyn Emery
100 Group
171 Squadron
199 Squadron
bombing
childhood in wartime
evacuation
ground personnel
meteorological officer
RAF North Creake
RAF Warboys
RAF Wyton
Stirling
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1912/36005/MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370001.1.jpg
c0d2006f067c2ad88882888e37e97a03
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1912/36005/MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370002.1.jpg
701e5a6a04b09c153a26bb3df0044712
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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Hayhurst, Jose Margaret
J M Hayhurst
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-07-25
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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Hayhurst, JM
Description
An account of the resource
108 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Jose Margaret Hayhurst (2073102 Royal Air Force) and contains decorations, uniform, documents and photographs. She served as a radar operator in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[photograph]
BRITISH GUNNER
[page break]
[photograph]
[emblem] ENGLAND – A small village lay tucked away in the fold of a valley just below the high, windswept, bleak plateau where a Lancaster bomber station was situated. Housewives were busy in the kitchen preparing food, and the men had left their ploughing to come in for the noon-day meal. In the lichen-covered Gothic church, the minister's wife was arranging decorations, and placing on the altar freshly cut chrysanthemums that had managed to escape the north winds, and were still blooming in December.
The placidness of the village life was in sharp contrast to the bustling activity at the airfield. It seemed as remote from war as any hamlet could possibly be, although the provident farmers, living so close to an obvious military target, had wisely provided themselves with shelter trenches at the edge of each ploughed field.
Nevertheless, the name of this quiet, lovely village had spread far. By borrowing it, the bomber station had made it one to strike terror into the heart of the Nazi High Command.
At the airfield, V-for-Victor's crew lounged around B Flight office waiting to see if operations were on. They kept looking up into the sky as if trying to guess what the weather was going to be like. Some of the men chuckled. "Papa Harris is so set on writing off the Big City that he hardly even notices the weather," one of them said. "The last time there were kites stooging around all over the place. The met boobed that one."
It was a strange new language. What the airman was saying was that the last time out, the meteorological men had given a wrong steer on the weather, and the planes had been flying all over looking for the field, on the return trip. "Papa Harris" was Air Chief Marshal Harris, chief of Bomber Command.
V-for-Victor's captain came back from operations room with the news that there would be ops. That settled the discussion. You seemed to be aware, without noticing anything in particular, of a kind of tension that gripped the men; like they were pulling in their belts a notch or two to get set for the job ahead.
And with the news, everybody got busy – the aircrews, the ground crews, the mechanics, the Waafs, the cooks. The ships already had a basic bomb and fuel load on board, and the additional loads were sent out in ammunition trailers and fuel trucks. The perimeter track lost its usually deserted appearance and looked like a well-traveled [sic] highway, with trucks and trailers, buses and bicycles hurrying out to the dispersal points. It was just like the preparations at any bomber base before taking off for enemy territory – but going over the big city was something different. These men had been there before. They knew what to expect.
In the equipment room, June, the pint-sized Waaf in battledress, was an incongruous note. Over a counter as high as her chin, she flung parachutes, harnesses and Mae Wests. The crew grabbed them and lugged them out to the ships. You kept thinking they ought to be able to get somebody a little bigger for the job she was handling.
In the briefing room, the met officer gave the weather report and the forecast over enemy territory. There would be considerable cloud over the target. The men grinned. An operations officer gave a talk on the trip. The route was outlined on a large map of Germany on the front wall. It looked ominously long on the large-scale map. He pointed out where the ground defenses [dic] were supposed to be strong, and where fighter opposition might be expected. He gave the time when the various phases should be over the target. He explained where the "spoof" attacks were to be made, and the time. He told the men what kinds of flares and other markers the Pathfinders would drop. There was the usual business of routine instructions, statistics and tactics to be used. The group captain gave a pep-talk on the progress of the Battle of Berlin. And all the while, that tape marking the route stared you in the face, and seemed to grow longer and longer.
Outside, it was hazy and growing more so. But this was nothing new. The men were convinced that the weather was always at its most variable and its dampest and its haziest over their field. What could you expect? Ops would probably be scrubbed after all. Hell of a note!
In the fading light the planes were silhouetted against the sky. They looked, on the ground, slightly hunched and menacing like hawks. Seeing them there, in the half light, you would never guess how easy and graceful they are in flight. Nor would you realize, when you see them soaring off the runway, what an immense load they take up with them. It is only when you see the open bomb bay, on the ground, that you get some idea of a Lancaster's destructive power. The open bomb bay seems like a small hangar. The 4,000 pound block-buster in place looks like a kitten curled up in a large bed. It is a sobering sight.
In the evening some of the men tried to catch a few winks; most of them just sat around talking. The operational meal followed. It was only a snack, but it was the last solid food any one would get until the fresh egg and bacon breakfast which has become a ritual for the proper ending of a successful mission.
A YANK correspondent went along with the RAF Lancasters as they made two of their historic night raids on the "Big City" – and watched them drop their "blockbusters" and incendiaries on the nerve centre of Europe's evil genius. From these two trips he learned what all RAF night bombing crews have learned – that usually you either get back intact or you don't get back at all. This is the story of one of those missions over Berlin.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
British Gunner
Description
An account of the resource
A magazine article written by an American journalist about bombing operations.
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England
Germany--Berlin
Germany
Great Britain
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Format
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One printed photograph and one printed sheet.
Identifier
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MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370001, MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370002
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Sue Smith
aircrew
bombing
briefing
ground crew
ground personnel
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
home front
Lancaster
meteorological officer
operations room
Pathfinders
propaganda
target indicator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1912/35970/MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-11.2.pdf
1c6506547020969c83d9a7232acfd4bb
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
Hayhurst, Jose Margaret
J M Hayhurst
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Hayhurst, JM
Description
An account of the resource
108 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Jose Margaret Hayhurst (2073102 Royal Air Force) and contains decorations, uniform, documents and photographs. She served as a radar operator in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
WAR
[underlined] Frankfurt Revisited [/underlined]
ISSUED FORTNIGHTLY BY THE
ARMY BUREAU OF CURRENT AFFAIRS
ABCA
[boxed] RESTRICTED
The information given in this publication is not to be communicated, either directly or indirectly, to the Press or to any person not authorised to receive it. [/boxed]
No. 62 January 22nd, 1944
[page break]
Lines of Thought
1. The ideal way to cover the subject of bombing is to invite a member of a bomber crew to talk about his job, and use this pamphlet to provide the questions to keep him talking. But failing this, the first half of the story is best reported on, and the second part which deals with the actual flight is best read aloud. Assume that everyone would like to have been on a bombing raid. Here is the detailed story of someone who had the good fortune to do so.
Remember that in spite of all that has been written about Bomber Command, the details of its day to day work are still extremely vague in most people's minds. The result of your talk should be twofold: firstly to give a matter-of-fact account of life in an air crew; secondly to provide a starting point for a discussion on the value of our bombing effort.
2. Perhaps the outstanding military moral is the complete unity of the bomber crew. This unity grows from their technical interdependence and from the nature of their work. A similar spirit is natural to the tank crew, the parachute stick, the mortar team, or in any situation where everyone feels that everyone else knows his job. There could be an interesting and useful discussion on the teamwork situation in your own group. It may not be easy to start because it depends on personal relationships about which people are reluctant to talk. But such a talk, arising in this apparently irrelevant way, can be exceedingly helpful. A useful point on which to launch this discussion is your own experiences of co-operation in previous military or civilian life.
3. During 1943 R.A.F. Bomber Command dropped 136,000 tons of bombs on Germany. Or more than twice the 65,000 tons dropped on this country since the war began. Another 15,000 tons fell on occupied territories and 6,000 tons on Italy; making a total average of 430 tons of bombs on the enemy every night of 1943.
The answering German total was under 7 tons a night, or 2,500 for the year.
By the end of 1943, 20 of Germany's 50 most important cities had been so devasted that they were more of a liability than an asset to the German war machine. Many others, including Berlin, had been severely damaged in varying degree.
ii
[page break]
[symbol][underlined] Frankfurt Revisited [/underlined]
Did I ever tell you about my operation?
By Major ANTHONY COTTERELL,
WAR Staff Writer
THE fact that there is going to be an operation is generally known to the crews about 10 a.m. of the morning of the operation. They don't know where it will be until the briefing later in the day. In the case of the R.A.F. Bomber Station visited, transport left the officers’ mess, a requisitioned hotel, two miles from the aerodrome, at 9 a.m.
The pilots report to their Squadron Leader in his office. Three mornings a week there is P.T. for aircrews at 9.30 a.m. to 9.45 a.m. But the general impression is of them waiting around for the decision which is the focal point of their day.
The point is that though they may not have operated for more than a week, they never know each morning whether or not they will be doing so. Of course, extreme weather conditions are a pretty good guide when they get up in the morning. But the weather overhead may have no particular bearing on the weather over Germany that night.
About 10 o'clock the telephone rings to say whether or not there will be operations.
What is the General Time-table for the Air Crews?
Every morning, whether or not they are operating, each aircraft must be tested. If there is no operation they probably make a practice flight. They may do some practice bombing with small practice bombs. If, on the other hand, they are going to be operating that night they will probably do their night flying test – N.F.T.s as the morning tests are called – on the ground. This takes up most of the morning.
In the afternoon there are probably lectures. There is a school for each operational job in the air crew. For instance, the navigators have lectures, inquests and discussions of their own. So do the wireless
1
[page break]
operators and the gunners, and the bomb aimers. They finish about tea-time, and the rest of the day is their own.
On this particular day the crews had been flying in the morning, and, at the point when I was introduced, the members of the particular crew to which I had been allotted were on their way to spend Sunday afternoon cleaning their Lancaster, T for Tommy.
There were seven in the crew: pilot, flight engineer, navigator, air bomber (or bomb-aimer), wireless operator, mid-upper gunner and rear-gunner. The Lancaster didn't look sensationally large despite its sensationally large bomb load. The pilot, Knights, showed me round it and indicated where I would stand for the operation, while the rest of the crew cleaned it. Apparently a pilot had to pay a half-crown fine if the Squadron Leader found any uncleaned portion of the aircraft.
Are Any Inquests Held?
We weren't there for long, as we had to be back at 4 p.m. for a post-mortem discussions on the last Berlin raid, which had taken place a few days before. It was held in the briefing room, which was about the size of a small church hall, with a table and forms for each crew.
The Group Captain conducted the meeting. Apparently it was the first of the kind held on this station. He explained that after each operation the report and photographs brought back by each crew were individually considered. He hoped that if the post-mortems were held in the presence of all concerned very useful lessons might be learned. It might help to counteract the tendency to think you knew a thing when you weren't really sure.
But criticism was to be constructive, not destructive. "When I ask why were you 20 miles off track, I don't mean why the hell were you 20 miles off track, I just mean why were you 20 miles off track?"
The various specialist officers, Intelligence, Radio, Ordnance, etc., and the two Squadron Leaders and the Wing Commander sat on each side of him. The Group Captain sat alone at a small table raised on a shallow platform. He had a pile of dossiers before him, one relating to each crew. He took these in turn.
Now, Was Priority Really Necessary?
"Tomlin came back with two engines U/S. and a third likely to go. Very good performance. Now, the point is this – he asked for radio priority, and he couldn’t get it because another aircraft already had priority. Now, was it really necessary for the other aircraft to have priority, and why was it necessary?"
The navigator of the crew concerned stood up and said that they had become uncertain of their whereabouts because he, the navigator, had been attending to another member of the crew who was unconscious through oxygen failure. The Group Captain went into the question of why there had been an oxygen failure. He prescribed a revised and
2
[page break]
tightened up arrangement for inspecting each man's oxygen mask before taking off.
One crew had complained that the door of the aircraft had blown open. The room became divided into two schools. Those who maintained the official view that it was mechanically impossible for the door to blow open. And those with experience of doors inclined to blow open.
T for Tommy was the last aircraft to be considered. There was laughter in the post-mortem when the Group Captain read out that Knights had bombed on the reciprocal. That is to say, he had been unsatisfied with his first bombing run and hadn't dropped his bombs, but had turned and made another run. To do this had to fly in the opposite direction to the general traffic path for aircraft over Berlin. It was considered very funny. "I don't know what to say to you," said the Group Captain. "Don't know quite what to say."
"It would have taken too long to circle the town and come in again in the ordinary way, sir," said Knights.
"Yes, couldn't do that over Berlin. Quite hopeless. Yes, I think you were justified. After all, you achieved your primary object. Dropped the bombs on the target. Yes, I think you were justified. Very creditable."
The rest of the day was our own.
Is There Much Excitement Beforehand?
Next morning the pilots were hanging round the Squadron Leader's office in the same way as yesterday.
Nothing definite had come in by 10 o'clock when we went out to the aircraft, though the weather was considered ominously suitable. Accumulators were being changed out in the aircraft, the radio was being tested. A girl's voice said, "I hear you strong and clear. I hear you strong and clear."
Discipline was informal but definite. Or rather, there didn't have to be any. The sense of interdependence between various members of the crew was complete. They all looked to the pilot for guidance. Each one was conscious of his own vital part in the crew. Apart from the pilot, the outstanding character was the tail-gunner who was referred to as "the old man" or "Dad" because of his pessimistic and hypochondriac tendencies. Apparently Dad was inclined to be an alarmist, to see fighters in a clear sky. But this increased the general confidence in him as a tail-gunner. They were convinced that no fighter could possibly catch Dad napping.
"Look at this, that's ominous," said Knights. A 4,000lb bomb was being towed up to the aircraft on a ground level buggy. The engines were given a ground run. There was a sense of pleasurable excitement as they started up one by one. The compartment warmed up very quickly. A new zest was detectable as it became evident that there was going to be an operation tonight. The sense of adventure is infectious. You feel that you are taking life by the throat and shaking it.
3
[page break]
After a cup of tea at the Y.M.C.A. mobile van we drove back to the mess for lunch at noon. My room-mate was changing. He put a small German dictionary in his pocket. "Come in handy in the Stalag," he said.
There was an atmosphere of quietly mounting excitement at lunch. People's minds were obviously slightly ahead of the current meal. Certainly mine was.
Is Briefing Just Like in "Target for Tonight"?
Pilots were to be briefed at 1 p.m. We sat around on wicker chairs and forms in a small room just off the main briefing room. The windows looked out over the airfield, but the aircraft were too dispersed to be visible. This room was the Intelligence Library. It was covered with training pamphlets, intelligence reports, not to mention the ABCA pamphlets. We were still waiting at 1.35 p.m. The pilots were discussing possible destinations.
Eventually the target map was brought in and unveiled. Coloured cords and pins marked the route to and from the target. It was Frankfurt, in South-west Germany. "I hate that name," said Knights. "Biggest concentration of searchlights you ever saw."
Roll call was then taken. The Group Captain came in and sat up on a table.
"Met., will you give your story?" said the Wing Commander. The Meteorological Officer started his technical monologue, illustrated by a large and complicated cloud diagram. "No fronts definitely affecting your route . . . bases should be O.K. to land all night . . ." and so on.
The Intelligence Officer described Frankfurt. Population about 570 thousand, a very important town; a commercial and financial centre; with very vital railway ramifications, also of considerable importance as an industrial centre. The docks had been badly damaged in October of this year.
Are Tactical Details Discussed?
The pilots had each been issued with a map of the target area set in a map-case, on the back of which there was a space marked off under various headings for them to make notes. The Wing Commander said that there would be several hundred aircraft on the raid (he gave the exact figure). The attack would be in waves. He read out which aircraft would be in the various waves.
He went on to give particulars of the petrol load, the bomb load, and the overall or all-up weight of the aircraft. One of these aircraft weighs as much as a small convoy of motor lorries.
"You'll set course over base at 17.50 hours. Must be comfortable at your height – 20,000 feet – shortly before crossing the enemy coast. Remain at maximum height all the way to the target. You can climb up afterwards but not above 23,000, as the wind increases at that point."
There was to be a spoof attack on Mannheim, to divert the enemy
4
[page break]
defences; this would go in earlier. There would be coffee and sandwiches in the crew-room at 3 p.m., transport at 3.35 p.m. We were to be at the aircraft by 4 p.m. First take-off at 5 p.m. Zero hour would be 7.35 p.m. Zero hour for the last wave would be between 14 and 17 minutes later.
We moved into the neighbouring room for the main briefing. Here the crews were sitting, each of them on their separate tables. Ours was in the middle of the room. Knights started telling them what had gone on in the pilots' briefing. When all the pilots had finished telling their crews the Group Captain stood up on the platform at the end of the room and read out one of the Prime Minister's messages of congratulation to Sir Arthur Harris. The Group Captain said he was sure they would all be glad to hear that Sir Arthur had sent a message expressing their appreciation of the Prime Minister's thoughtfulness. "And I'm sure you will join me in congratulating our late Wing Commander – Wing Commander Abercrombie – on his very well deserved bar to the D.F.C. I wired him congratulations from us all."
He went on to say that Frankfurt had often been scheduled as a target, but bad weather had often interfered. Tonight was perfect. "The Met. merchant won't dare to show his face if anything goes wrong.
"Now let's have 14 first-class aiming-point photographs for the Wing Commander's first trip. Have a good trip – 14 aiming-points, remember, and 14 back."
What is it Like, Waiting to Go?
We went to dress ourselves. I put on the whole rigmarole; flying suit, fleece-lined boots, sweater, parachute harness, and Mae West.
We were driven out to the aircraft and stood around warming ourselves at the ground crew's fire which was burning outside their little shack. It was pretty cold. Things were very quiet. No sensation of being surrounded by an air armada waiting to take off. Just a small party in a corner of a big, windy field. It was about twenty to five when Knights said: "Well, better be getting in." The engines were started at 4.50 p.m. The pilot and the engineer started going through their checking and testing rigmarole. I stood just behind them in the gangway which leads past the pilot's chair from the nose where the bomb aimer was reclining to the navigator's position just behind me.
The navigator was a rubicund country boy. He sat at a table which grew out from the wall of the aircraft and worked at his maps. [symbol] I had a very good view out of the right-hand side of the aircraft which consisted mostly of glass. I could see out of the left-hand side, but only a limited range of vision owing to the high back of the pilot's seat and the blackout curtain which partitioned off the navigator's
[symbol] Navigators have a separate and elaborate briefing: "The major responsibility for arriving at the right place at the right time rests with the navigator of each aircraft. He maps out the route, and then, using the wind directions and speeds obtained from 'met,' plots the times over the turning-points en route. In flight as often as possible he checks his course by obtaining a 'fix'; then calculates any change there has been in wind speed and direction and revises his flight plan.”
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[diagram]
Diagram shows a German newspaper impression of an R.A.F. raid on Berlin, reproduced by courtesy of the News Chronicle.
compartment. Outside the ground crew were shivering with their hands in their pockets.
Do You Climb Up Quickly or Gradually?
"Is the door shut, Bill?" asked the pilot over the inter-com. On hearing that it was he began to start the engines, one by one, from right to left, until the four of them were roaring. Almost immediately the cabin began to get noticeably warmer. The aircraft edged out on to the taxi track. Other aircraft were lumbering in the same direction. Presently we wheeled into the runway past the little group of blue figures standing to watch the take-off and wave good-bye.
The sense of adventure was further enhanced by the gathering darkness into which the aircraft ahead was just disappearing, followed at about 30-second intervals by our own. The pilot and the engineer were meanwhile carrying on their technical dialogue. "Under-carriage," said the pilot.
6
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"Undercarriage up," said the engineer.[symbol]
We flew over a river. "Let me know when I'm right over the drome," said the pilot.
"O.K.," said the navigator. "O.K., that'll do."
"O.K., Navigator."
There was a band of olive green, orange and scarlet across the general greyness of the sky: it was like marzipan. Turning round I could look down the length of the aircraft; it looked much bigger in the air than on the ground. There was a slightly sinister red glow from each of the four engines.
The navigator asked the pilot to give him the air speed and height. "170; 11,200," intoned Knights. We started passing large formations of aircraft flying in the opposite direction and distinguishable by their navigation lights. Sometimes they flashed past, seeming to be
[symbol] Every 20 minutes the engineer logs the engine temperatures and oil temperatures. He watches the boost and R.P.M. to prevent using fuel unnecessarily. The more fuel they land with the better everyone is pleased. If, say, an engine catches fire, he must feather it, turn off the petrol, try to extinguish the fire; and, if possible, get the engines going again. If the aircraft has to be ditched he is responsible for launching the dinghy.
7
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dangerously near. All this time we were climbing. At ten to six I noted that the stars were looking down.
"O.K. Turn right now," said the navigator, and we started wheeling round.
What Does the Pilot Watch For?
I noticed that Knights always looked behind before turning. In the Squadron Leader's office there was a list of instructions for pilots headed "Experientia Docet," in which one of the rules was "Always look behind before taking off. Also before doing a turn in the air. The machine you are flying isn't the only one in existence. Neither are you the only fool. Make a habit of this, but not the habit that makes you screw your head round without seeing anything."
There were other rules. "A good pilot when travelling by train or car should subconsciously be seeing the passing country in the light of a forced landing ground." "Always regard the other man as a fool. Then if he turns out to be one, you won't be surprised." "Do everything in the air smoothly – one might almost say with rhythm. Treat the machine as you would a lady." The one which I hoped Pilot Officer Knights had taken most to heart was: "A steady, consistent pilot is of far more use than a brilliant, erratic one."
"Is that the coast?" the rear-gunner's voice suddenly asked, over the inter-com. I looked down and just made out the division between land and water.
"Yep, Norfolk," said Knights.
"There's a convoy off Great Yarmouth," announced the navigator.
At 6.25 someone asked if we could have the heat lowered. I couldn't identify the inter-com. voice, but he said he was getting fairly sweating. The rear-gunner excitedly announced the approach of an aircraft and then said, "O.K., Lancaster."
"Keep a good look round, Dad," said the pilot.
What Does Europe Look Like?
Distant flashes and searchlight cones began to be visible. The aircraft broke into an odd swaying motion. As we drew nearer Europe the whole horizon was punctuated by signs of strife. These activities were forbiddingly widespread.
"Coast coming up," said Knights presently.
"You're heading straight for flak," said the bomb aimer.
"That's right, run right into it," said the engineer sarcastically.
Knights was suddenly concerned that his windscreen was icing up. The engineer bent up forward and rubbed the rag round it.
"Two searchlights on the starboard bow," said the tail-gunner.
"O.K.," said Knights.
The aircraft started weaving slightly. The two searchlights were creeping with sinister purposefulness around the sky; every now and then executing a dart as if to demonstrate their reserves of mobility. They seemed to stroke the sky all round us, playing cat and mouse. It seemed unlastably [?] good luck, that they didn't find us. There would
8
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be no trouble about the morale of searchlight detachments if the men could be taken for a ride in a bomber and experience the attention and respect induced by the weapons they wield.
I looked at my watch, which I could read quite plainly in the reflected light of the searchlights. It was 6.45 p.m. We seemed to be passing through a belt of searchlights, which in the way of searchlights switched on and off without much apparent logic. There seemed to be no telling where they would spring up next, and this was horrifying.
There seemed to be a lot of gunfire, but nothing came near us. Our relative position to most of the clusters of searchlights took a long time to change, which meant, I suppose, that they were much farther away than I imagined. Quite suddenly, after flying in this atmosphere of action and enemy protest for some time, we were in the clear again. We were in fact clear of the coast, or in the fighters' parlour, according to how you felt. Incidentally, there isn't much you can feel.
Do the Crew Talk Much?
"I think everybody's early, Bob. There's no searchlights at the back now," said the tail-gunner after a little while. The tail-gunner seemed to be easily the best-informed commentator on the social scene. He seemed to know the most and talked the most. [symbol] Perhaps his isolation stimulated his appetite for sociability. Presently he said, "There's one going down in flames. Right behind us."
I looked back and couldn't see anything until the engineer pointed it out. I could distinguish a faint shapeless glow of flames.
It served to emphasis that admission to these quarters was not free. The gate was shut behind. The house was haunted. Europe was all around us and we were all alone. Looking down on the ground you could see odd, inexplicable, unaggressive looking lights from time to time. They had no apparent significance, and may even have been blackout infringements of the grosser kind. But they served to emphasise our sense of being cut off. I need hardly say, because it has been said so often already, that this gives one a tremendous sense of comradeship with the other members of the crew. Your companionship with each other knows no inhibitions of temperament or prejudice. Friendship is perfect and complete. The idea of carrying an irritation or a resentment against one of them into the air seems quite out of the question.
"Fighter flares in front," said Knights. "Keep a good look out, Dad."
I began keeping a good look out immediately. I saw a row of orange flares hanging pendant in the sky. They seemed to be quite a distance away, but I distrusted them none the less for that. Having already underestimated the distance of some searchlights, there seems no reason why I shouldn't be overestimating the distance of these flares.
Back in the rear-turret, Dad seemed to be having a whale of a time. He kept asking Knights to switch the aircraft in different directions
[symbol] He said his main job was keeping warm and seeing the fighter first. Fighters usually approach from astern and below, unless they get an aircraft silhoutted against a cloud, when they approach from above.
9
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so that he could get a better view of points where he thought he saw a fighter. (Incidentally, though he had nearly finished his operational tour and been on many of the severest recent raids, he had never yet been opened fire on by a fighter.)
The Ruhr ("Happy Valley") was now pointed out to me. I looked and saw nothing but distant cones of searchlights. "I think that's Cologne," said the engineer, pointing at nothing in particular. It wasn't really a very satisfactory view of the Ruhr. But I felt glad to have seen it. It felt very grand to be able to look out of the window and say to oneself: "Oh, yes, of course, the Ruhr.”
Are There Many Collisions?
"That's Mannheim. Looks as if they're going in early," said Knights.
You could see it quite plainly ahead of us to the right, though it must have been about a hundred miles away. You could see the clusters of searchlights, the flares, the fires and the flashes. Mannheim is about fifty miles from Frankfurt, and it was about this time that we began to come in sight of our target. There were the same flashes and searchlights, but much more clearly defined. It was quite unlike what I expected. Everything was so neatly beautiful.
"Hello, Bob. Junkers 88 coming up, starboard," said Dad in a sudden urgent voice. Knights threw the aircraft over to allow the gunners to get a better view.
"No, O.K., sorry it's a Lanc.," said Dad. I looked up and saw that it was indeed a Lanc. Coming towards us in what seemed like a sideways motion. One second a vague shape, it alarmingly materialised and defined its outline. There just seemed no possibility of avoiding collision. It was all over in a second, but it seemed quite a time. It passed just to the rear and slightly high. I looked up and saw its underbelly skim over us. "Jesus, did you see that," said Knights.
"I thought we'd had it that time," said the engineer. The aircraft was still rocking from the impact with the other aircraft's slipstream.
What Does the Target Look Like?
We were now coming up to Frankfurt proper. You could see what looked like hundreds of thousands of electric light bulbs carpeting the ground. It took me some little time to realise that these were incendiaries. They looked so regular and artificial, so naively pretty, that you couldn't associate them with any work of destruction. There was a large, long area of them shaped like the lobes of a gigantic liver.
The sky was suddenly filled with the regular grey puffs of a flak barrage. These barrages seemed to me extraordinarily consistent in their strength. They don't just throw up a few hundred rounds and stop. They continue with what seems like unlimited regularity.
10
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With the flares dropped by the pathfinders, the flares dropped by the enemy fighters, the waving searchlights, the bead-like pattern of incendiary fires on the ground, and the flashes of gunfire, there is a sense of supreme experience and excitement.
Knights was working to keep us out of the clutches of some peculiarly inquisitive searchlights, and away to the right another aircraft had failed to keep out of the way. You could see it wriggling in the cone of searchlights doing their best to hold it there while the guns concentrated on this one aircraft.
The cruel thing is that one's only sensation is one of relief that the searchlights are temporarily diverted elsewhere. You feel no urge to go to the assistance of the unfortunate aircraft that is cornered. Of course, obviously it would be senseless to do so, but it seems extraordinary that one doesn't feel any urge to do so. I noticed the same indifference to the troubles of others when flying with the Americans. There is complete unity within the individual aircraft, but for some reason that seems to be the limit of one's horizon. Nor is it simply the expression of my own individual idiosyncrasy. It was obviously a general state of mind.
Is There a Strict Time-table?
All this time the pilot and the navigator were keeping up a running dialogue on how the time was going for the approach to the target. Apparently we were a minute or two early, so we had to lose that amount of time. It was pretty impressive, if the word isn't too banal, to hear the young men talking about losing a minute or two while passing through this firework display. I hadn't much idea of what was going on. I didn't know whether we were running up to the target or still cruising round, and I didn't want to disturb the crew in any way. It hardly seemed in my best interest to do so. I was anxious that they should give of their best, and concentrate closely on the work in hand, i.e., my safe return to England. But presently I realised that we were running up.
"Get weaving, Skipper, the night's too long," said someone.
"I can't see that river," said Knights.
"Bomb-doors open," said whoever's business it was to open them.
"How're we doing?" said someone.
"Fine," said someone else.
Do They Just Drop Them Anywhere?
The first time over the target, conditions weren't apparently satisfactory. They couldn't see the pathfinding flares which they were supposed to bomb, so we flew across the town, then circled round and
11
[page break]
approached the target area from almost the diametrically opposite direction to the main stream of bombers. Coming back on to the target, it was like bright daylight.[symbol]
[diagram]
It is very difficult to describe. Nothing that I have ever read on the subject of bombing gave me anything like the impression which I actually had on the spot. I expected something of the atmosphere of a fire-blitz on the ground. I hadn't allowed for the sense of detachment produced by being 20,000 feet high. You knew that down there was a town of half a million people. By staring round the engineer's shoulder I could see the bomb aimer preparing to press the button which would release another 4,000 lbs. on to the town. But it seemed quite unreal.
Can You See the Fires?
The incendiaries were dropped first and then the 4,000 lb. cookie. Just beforehand there was an appreciable tenseness of the crew. The pilot, of course, had to keep the aircraft flying as level as possible for the bombing run. He turned and half rose from his seat as if he was willing the aircraft to a supreme effort. I tried to write down the dialogue between pilot and bomb aimer, but it was too fast for my hobbling shorthand. I wrote it down, but now I can't transcribe it.
I did not feel any appreciable lightness of the aircraft when "bombs away" was announced. All I knew was that the dialogue of "Steady," "Hold her steady," "O.K., Bob," "O.K., Bomb-aimer," and the sing-song intonation of members just before the dropping, subsided.
Knights asked the bomb aimer if he thought they had obtained a satisfactory picture; the bomb aimer thought he had. They were all professionally satisfied with the delivery of the bomb. There was a sense of achievement. The engineer pointed out the burning streets of Frankfurt. I could just make them out from an orange streak in the carpet of fairy-like lights produced by the incendiaries. I tried to think of the spectacle in terms of what was going on twenty thousand feet below, but it was just impossible to worry about. Mostly, I
[symbol] Approaching the target the bomb-aimer report every indication of position to the navigator. "When the navigator judges the aircraft to be over the target area the bomb-aimer guides the aircraft through the flak until he sees his target in the bomb-sight and releases his bombs." He tries to drop the cookie in the middle of the incendiaries. When the bombs drop the navigator logs the time, heading of the aircraft, speed and height. These particulars enable Intelligence to plot where the bomb has fallen. The diagram on this page is reproduced from a rough sketch made by the navigator.
N. & P. T51–1087
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[page break]
suppose, because we had plenty to worry about twenty thousand feet above.
The amount of fun and fury and fighter flares are extraordinary. The sky was simply full of trouble. Yet, oddly enough, it was difficult to think of us in this particular aircraft as actively threatened by sudden death. I don't mean that, speaking for myself. I wasn't afraid. Certainly I was in a state of great alarm. But I didn't really expect that we in this aircraft would buy it.
Were Many Shot Down?
There seemed to be plenty to buy. The tail-gunner reported that he counted 49 fighter flares. Just afterwards he reported a fight going on behind us to starboard. I looked back and saw the flares and stabs of flame. This and the one we saw just after crossing the coast were the only two aircraft we saw going down, though we later learned that 42 aircraft had been lost that night.
"Is there a small defended area on the starboard?" Knights asked the navigator. Two or three of the crew got into an argument as to whether it was Aachen or Brussels. "That's Antwerp a bit further up," said one of them. It was ridiculous to hear the young men talk of the cities of Western Europe in terms of where they were last Friday, no, I'm a liar, that was Tuesday; or knowing their way so matter of factly round the Continent in these bizarre circumstances. They knew them not by their cultural monuments, their political significance or their hotels, but simply by their flak and searchlight barrages. They all looked alike to me, but I was told that after only two or three trips you remember the way awfully well.
There was quite a lot of flak going up over Brussels. We crossed the coast in the neighbourhood of Rotterdam. And just before doing so were nearly caught by searchlights. "Hello, they're having a go," said Knights, as the light seemed to lift the fuselage. The aircraft started weaving as, amid the incongruously factious encouragement of the crew, Knights went about the routine of evasion.
When you consider how large the coast of Europe is it seems extraordinary how difficult it is to cross it without coming up against resistance of one kind or another. "Keep a good luck out, Dad. See we're not being followed," said Knights. "O.K." said Dad.
Do You Get Anything to Eat?
It seemed a long way back over the North Sea. I was getting very tired of standing. The engineer let me sit on his seat for a spell, but then he had to have it back to go on with his business.
Coffee was now served from Thermos flasks. I opened the paper bag of rations with which we had been issued. There was an orange,
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[page break]
a packet of chocolate, some boiled sweets, and two packets of chewing gum. I ate the chocolate, but with difficulty, as it was frozen hard. I then ate the orange, which was also frozen. In fact, the emotional experience of eating that orange was quite lost. It was painfully cold in the mouth.
We were now down to 10,000 or 11,000 feet and had taken off our oxygen masks. It wasn't long, but it seemed long, before we were skirting the English coast. There were searchlights here, too, but what a difference in their attitude. These were kindly lights pointing the way to security, not fingers of fate contriving your doom.
It was now something past 10 p.m., and we were due to land at 11 p.m. That last hour seemed interminable. I found it odd that I hadn't any particular sense of achievement, such as I had anticipated. All I felt was awfully tired.
The landing grounds were illuminated by circles of tiny light. And over each aerodrome there was a guiding cone of searchlights. The odd think was at this height they seemed so very close together. It was as if all the landing grounds were in adjoining fields, instead of being many miles apart. I got to the point where I didn't think we were ever going to land, but eventually we did.
We were driven back to be interrogated, and then home to the mess for bacon and egg.
I got to bed some time after 2 a.m.
This crew had been on operations for some time, and expected to finish their term in a month or so. The operations weren't at all monotonous, said Knights, but they were all of a kind. After the first few trips you learned your way round. Some crews regarded the business as getting progressively easier with each raid, but this crew made a point of regarding each raid as the first. They thought that was the surest way of getting through.
Two Footnotes
1. An R.A.F. officer with whom this pamphlet was discussed, said:-
"It may be a good thing to stress the immense amount of scientific knowledge that crews must have, despite the blasé way in which they refer to 'luck' and one trip being very much like another. It is only their intensive training before ever they reach an operational squadron, the continuation of training and practice when they do get to an operational station, the mastery of their aircraft and weapons, and their experience over enemy territory, that can make them appear to be so blasé."
2. An American Fortress crew with which I flew on daylight operations said that they would be scared stiff to fly at night in the R.A.F. fashion. While the R.A.F. crew said that they would be scared stiff to fly by day. There seems to be a moral lurking somewhere here.
iv
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WAR - Frankfurt Revisited
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A booklet with information about the progress of the war. This edition covers RAF Bomber Command activities.
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Army Bureau of Current Affairs
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1944-01-22
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Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Mannheim
Germany
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
British Army
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eng
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16 printed pages
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MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-11
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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.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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1944-01-22
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Sue Smith
aerial photograph
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
bomb aimer
bombing
briefing
Distinguished Flying Cross
flight engineer
ground personnel
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Ju 88
Lancaster
meteorological officer
navigator
Pathfinders
pilot
prisoner of war
propaganda
searchlight
target indicator
target photograph
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1830/32778/P78Sqn17030031.1.jpg
530b2e98d009377358ba7155c615b727
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1830/32778/P78Sqn1724.1.jpg
cd8901cf994b3ec93f2fc1c95bfd6847
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Title
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78 Squadron Collection
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2017-04-21
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78 Sqn Info
Description
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Eighty-seven items and a sub-collection of seventy-three items.
The collection concerns 78 Squadron and contains documents and photographs.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Tony Hibberd and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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Duty staff at RAF Breighton
Description
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A large group of RAF personnel including members of the Women's Auxiliary Air Force sitting and standing in three rows with a building in the background. Titled 'Duty Staff of: Flying Control, Crash Tender and Ambulance and Met office RAF Breighton'. Names along the bottom 'F/O Bowden, F/Lt Hayden, S/Ldr Clark, F/O Lawrence, F/O McKellar, Breighton 1944/45'. Two versions of the same image, the second submitted with caption 'Breighton Flying Control Staff'.
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Two b/w photographs
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Photograph
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P78Sqn17030031, P78Sqn1724
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
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1944
1945
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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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ground personnel
meteorological officer
RAF Breighton
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1181/30734/BWagnerHWWagnerHWv2.1.pdf
0efbf335be6b151165eb85b92857b0b8
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Title
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Wagner, Henry Wolfe
H W Wagner
Description
An account of the resource
15 items. Two oral history interviews with Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner (1923 - 2020, 1604744 Royal Air Force), his memoirs, documents and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 51 Squadron from RAF Snaith and became a prisoner of war. He was demobbed in 1946 and returned to education where he remained until his retirement.
The collection was catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2016-05-04
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Wagner, HW
Transcribed document
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33
[underlined] BRIEFING FOR ATTACK ON ESSEN, 28/29 NOVEMBER 1944 [/underlined]
Snaith, Yorkshire, base of 51 Squadron, flying Halifax Mk. III.
Crews listed on battle order are sitting in the briefing room waiting for the Station Commander (Wing Commander Holford) and other officers to unveil the target map. Thick cigarette smoke haze. As the officers enter, chatter stops and there is a scuffling of chairs as crews stand to attention.
”Sit down, please. Well, we have our old target again tonight, and its entirely a group effort. (Just 4 Group alone.) Some 340 aircraft are taking part. The target is Essen.”
The Intelligence Officer takes over. “Most of you have been to Essen before, and it doesn't need much introduction from me. I remind you that it has the Krupp's armament works in the northern part of the town and also [inserted] / [/inserted] the [inserted] // [/inserted] railway facilities which are very important now – they are supplying the front-line troops. Your point of aim in the morning is the south-eastern part of the built-up area, which is adjoining the residential part. The Germans will be asleep at that time, so you will be able to wake them up with a good fire. The attack will be carried out in 4 waves of 2 minutes each – make careful note of your time on target. Aircraft of this squadron are in the 4th wave, 0536 to 0538. There are too many decoys around Essen for me to give you a whole list of them, but there is one big one which will be just on your starboard side three miles before you get to your aiming point. Watch out for their imitation Pathfinder marker flares – they are always weaker in colour and don't burn as long as the genuine ones. The Pathfinder marking method is Newhaven (ground markers) with Musical Wanganui (sky marking in case ground is not visible). The attack opens at H minus six minutes. The Musical Mosquitos will drop red ground markers, red and yellow sky markers, and green and yellow sky markers. Aim your bombs at these in the following order of preference :- 1) at the red target indicators if you can see them, 2) at the red markers shooting yellow stars, 3) at the green markers shooting yellow stars. The skymarkers ignite at 17,000 feet. If you attack the skymarkers, you must do so on an exact heading of 084° true. Remember, the red ground markers are the ones to go for if you can see them. There will be no Master Bomber. At the same time you are on Essen, No. 3 Group are sending 150 Lancasters to Neuss, which is south of Dusseldorf. Their route joins yours here”, he says,
[page break]
34
pointing at the map. “With regard to the jettisoning of any bombs – If you get over Germany you must drop your bombs live there, but an aircraft making an early return must jettison them safe at least 80 miles out in the North Sea. All aircraft are carrying propaganda leaflets tonight; you will find 2 packets stacked in the rest position. The mid-upper gunners will put these into the bomb bays through the inspection hatches immediately after take-off. One final warning – you must empty your pockets before you leave the briefing room. Don't take any papers across with you that may be of assistance to the enemy, and remember, should you bale out over the other side, the only thing you are allowed to tell the enemy is your name, your rank and your number.”
The next speaker is the Meteorological Officer. “There is a front tonight lying about 6° East, that is some 50 miles west of the target area, and it is fairly stable. For take-off, it will be clear with only moderate amounts of cloud, and visibility about 3 miles. You'll have the same conditions all the way down England until about Reading, but from there on to the French coast, you'll have small amounts of cumulus, building up over the Channel to 3 to 6 tenths, well broken, with tops about 10,000ft. There may be one or two tops at 12,000ft. From there on until 6° East, the same conditions. The tops will level off at 8,000ft [inserted] / [/inserted], and cloud cover will become more or less continuous from the front to the target area. Freezing level is about 3,000ft, icing index moderate, but you shouldn't be flying in cloud anywhere and the temperature will be about minus 24 degrees at 20,000ft.”
The Station Commander speaks again. “I'll go over the flight plan now. We are taking off on runway 32; you will each do your appointed Radius of Action, and we set course over base at 6,000 feet for Reading at a speed of 175. We hold 6,000ft down to Reading and there we open up and start climbing to cross the English coast at Beachy Head at 10,000 feet, climbing at 160 knots. At the French coast, after crossing the Channel in level flight, we climb again, reaching 12,000ft at 3° East. We do the next leg at 170, and here we start climbing again to be at 19,000 feet by 0450 hrs. We hold 19,000 at 160 knots to the target area. Our bombing height tonight is 19,000 feet, and we are at the lowest height – the others are bombing at 20 and 21 thousand feet. After bombing, increase speed to 170 on the short leg out of the target area and maintain height right through the Ruhr defences until we reach just north of Cologne; here we turn starboard and have a gentle dive, losing 2,000ft, increasing our airspeed to 190 and crossing our own
[page break]
35
lines, where we have a very rapid loss of height down to 8,000ft. We are losing height at 220 knots on that leg. At 8,000ft, we shall be just above the cloud tops and we are holding 8,000 straight and level at 190 to 03°20' East. Here we turn starboard again and head up towards the French coast. There is one point that you want to watch – Dunkirk. Avoid going within 3 or 4 miles of the town. Here we have a gentle climb to cross the French coast again at 12,000ft just in case we are too close to the town. As you know, the Germans are still there. Once we leave the French coast behind, we lose height again at 190 and cross back over the English coast at Orfordness at 8,000ft. We are going to hold 8,000ft. right the way up to the Humber, where we break cloud and head for base.
You will probably have 10/10 cloud over the target. You may be lucky and get a break so that you can see the target indicators, but anyway, there is one thing about that – you won't be troubled by the searchlights.
I have some times here. I'll see the pilots and engineers at 0030. The buses for your aircraft will leave at 0045. The first aircraft will take off at 0205. Set course from base at 0310, the raid opens at 0530 and you should be back for breakfast at 0820.
You will see that your chief bother will be night fighters, as it is expected to be a full moon and it will be very very bright over there – I think visibility will be probably something like a mile. The Signals Officer will tell you about 100 Group's (Radio Counter Measures) work tonight and their efforts to jam the enemy's radar. After leaving a point here, near Cologne, we do have this rapid loss of height of 8 - 9,000ft and that is primarily to try and fox the fighters. The rest of the way back, I should think, will be fairly quiet. Just one or two more points: we have radar silence to 05°30' East, and there are to be no navigation lights on after we leave the English coast.”
The bombing leader is next to speak. “All aircraft tonight have the same load – one 2,000 lb. high capacity bomb and twelve SBC's (small bomb containers) each containing 90 4lb. incendiaries. All aircraft are carrying photo flares and cameras. Master bomber switch will be put on for take-off and switched off once you set course and do not put it on again until you reach 06°30' East, then it has to be entered in the navigator's log. [inserted] /// [/inserted] Put your camera heater switch on before you take off and leave it on right through the target and switch it off after you have cleared the camera. Select your bombs once you have left the English coast and switch on your bomb sight a good 20 minutes before you reach your
[page break]
36
target so you will be quite prepared for your run up.
If you have to bomb on Wanganui flares, apart from the heading 084° True, you have to have zero wind set at true height on the bomb sight. There is a delay of 10 seconds between the release of the 2000 lb. bomb and the SBC's, and this must be counted very carefully. After bombing, put the jettison bars across. After you have passed through the target area, press the bomb release once, clear the camera and put the camera heater off. I possible, do your visual check on the bomb bays over Germany because then if you have any hang up you can release it live on Germany; otherwise do it over the Channel on your way back, and remember that it has to be entered in the engineer's log this time. I'll see the bomb-aimers 15 minutes before transport time for a final check.
The Signals Officer takes over. “As you've already been told, there's both WT and radar silence up to 04°30'. Keep your H2S switched off up to that point and then use it throughout the trip. The mid-upper gunner should switch the modular off when you get into the aircraft and, navigators, switch your H2S on normally when you reach 04°30' and tell your mid-upper to switch the modular on for you to save you going back and forward. There's HF, (high frequency), AI (air interception) and VHF and Wurzburg plotting by the Germans, all of which are being jammed, and there's a special Windowing force out covering you. We're carrying our own Window as well; start that off at 05°30' to the target and back to 04°00'. You are carrying two types, the broad and the ordinary. The rates are – the broad type two minutes throughout the area, and the ordinary two minutes within 20 miles radius of the target. Your RT call sign is Beatem. Check watches with your navigator as you get into the aircraft. Check with the navigator what H-hour is. Z should be used; switch it on when taking off and switch it off at the English coast coming in. The usual rules for IFF apply (Identification – Friend or Foe).”
Final encouragement from the C.O. “It's a good target tonight. It's the largest armaments works in the world, so let's have a really steady bombing run and put an end to it. The job is also to complete the destruction of an already heavily-devastated town. There isn't much of Essen left, so it needs all the more accurate bombing. Best of Luck.”
[page break]
37
Debriefing report from W/O Bates' crew. “Arrived at target 2 minutes late. Attacked at 0539 from 19,000 feet heading 084°. Bombed on green/yellow Wanganui flares through 10/10 cloud. No ground markers visible, but glow of incendiary bombs through cloud indicated a good fire well concentrated. Flak on the heavy side in the target area; some fighters seen but no attacks made. Good navigational coverage by GEE. Weather turned out much as forecast, with cloud commencing inside the continental coast, increasing to mainly 10/10 at target, tops 8 - 10,000 feet. Visibility good above cloud.”
Result of raid compiled for squadron record. “Skymarkers were not plentiful. The green/yellow appeared to be 1/2 mile south of the red/yellow. The glow of red target indicators, or fires, could be seen below cloud together with a white glow of incendiaries. The raid appeared to be fairly concentrated but it is impossible to state whether on the target or not. Some fighters seen. Moderate heavy flak, rather on the low side. No searchlights.”
Report from group. “On the night of 28/29 November, 316 bombers were despatched; 308 attacked, dropping 1,199 tons of bombs comprising 1,024 tons of high explosive and 175 tons of incendiaries. Only 2 aircraft were lost, a very unusual and welcome occurrence; much of the credit for this can be given to 100 Group aircraft which swamped the Ruhr defences, so much so that the fighters were not able to take instructions from the ground. The photo-reconnaissance report said that the attack again spread destruction over the whole area of the city and works and it particularly noted new points of damage throughout the Krupp's armament works. Some of the points were clearly from new hits, others appeared to be the result of collapse or clearance of structures damaged in previous attacks. The identified buildings to which new or further damage was seen included power-houses, foundries, rolling-mills, furnace-shops, engineering shops and others concerned with armament and heavy steel production.”
After the Essen raid, aircrew of 51 Squadron had little sleep – those on battle-orders were out again the following night on another Ruhr target – Duisberg.
[page break]
38 [inserted] Equipment operated by 100 Group (Radio Counter Measures) (also German Knickebein.) Various other items of equipment carried by Main Force aircraft. [/inserted]
[underlined] Mandrel [/underlined]: a radio device which jammed the German early-warning radar. Aircraft flew a “race-course” pattern, jamming continuously. The Germans knew the main force was approaching behind the mandrel screen, but did not know exactly where it would emerge or on what course. GEE did not function when Mandrel transmitters were operating. Transmitters operated on fixed frequencies, except for Mandrel III which was designed for spot-jamming, and incorporated a receiver to allow the operator to identify an incoming signal and tune his transmitter accordingly.
[symbol] [underlined] Shiver: [/underlined]: a modified IFF set with an additional special setting: it produced a jamming signal aimed at German Wurzburgs and fire-control radar.
[symbol] [underlined] Monica [/underlined]: tail-warning radar, with indicator at W/operator's station.
[underlined] Knickebein [/underlined]: German blind-bombing system. One beam was aimed at the target and another crossed it at right angles indicating the bomb release point. It occurred to the Counter Measures Group that if they could locate the beams, they could equally well fly down them and attack the transmitting stations. This was done in Nov. 1940, but such attacks were hotly contested by the Germans.
[underlined] Oboe [/underlined] A similar system, radar not radio, operated by Mosquitoes for target-marking, and of very great accuracy.
[symbol] [underlined] Airborne Grocer [/underlined]: device for barrage-jamming of Wurzburgs. [inserted] Extremely vulnerable to being homed onto. [/inserted]
[underlined] Bagful [/underlined]: a device for making a permanent record on paper-tape, detailing wavelength, time and duration of incoming signals.
[underlined] Blonde [/underlined]: an automatic camera which provided a continuous record of signals within a specified band, as received by a Cathode Ray Tube.
[symbol] [underlined] Coalscuttle [/underlined]: modification to aircraft's existing H2S navigational radar to give a visual bearing once every 30 secs. on a signal under investigation.
[symbol] [underlined] Airborne Cigar [/underlined] (ABC): communications jammer on VHF, used to jam reception of a running commentary on position, course and altitude of Allied bomber formations.
[symbol] [underlined] Piperack [/underlined]: a jammer aimed at enemy Airborne Interception (A.I.) radars.
[symbol] [underlined] Carpet: [/underlined] a device aimed at enemy Ground Controlled Interception (C.G.I.) radars.
[symbol] [underlined] Boozer [/underlined]: tail-warning radar, with indicator within pilot's field of view.
[underlined] Z [/underlined]: infra-red identification equipment.
[symbol] [underlined] Jostle [/underlined]: VHF communications jammer.
[symbol] [underlined] Fishpond [/underlined]: tail-warning radar making use of H2S scanner.
[underlined] Village Inn [/underlined]: gun-laying radar for tail-turret.
[underlined] Flower [/underlined]: an intruder sortie, usually by Mosquitoes, against German night-fighter airfields during bomber operations.
[underlined] Mahmoud [/underlined]: a sortie flown by a single aircraft against German night-fighter assembly points in the hope of catching the interceptors before they were vectored onto the bombers.
[symbol] [underlined] Serrate [/underlined]: a homer aimed at German AI (Airborne Interception) radar (Lichtenstein).
[symbol] [underlined] Perfectos [/underlined]: a homer designed to trigger off and then take a bearing on German AI radar.
[page break]
105
[symbol] [underlined] Moonshine [/underlined]: a jammer designed to produce spuriously large returns on German Freya early-warning radar, by picking up its signals and re-transmitting a boosted signal.
[underlined] Rebecca [/underlined]: the airborne interrogator end of a two-part system using a ground-beacon called Eureka. Designed as a homing system for the identification of ground forces during supply drops.
[symbol] [underlined] Tinsel [/underlined]: a microphone fitted in the port inner engine nacelle; it transmitted engine noise via the wireless-operator's TR 1154 on the frequency of the German night-fighter control net, jamming radio instructions to the fighters.
[underlined] Corona [/underlined] Broadcast from England, using native German speakers, giving in plain language false instructions about the bomber-stream and the target. They were thus competing with the genuine fighter-controllers in Germany, so that crews did not know who to believe. Furthermore, the two sets of controllers started slanging each other, and confusion reigned. Then the Germans started using female controllers, but this had been foreseen, and German-speaking women were standing by in England, and took over immediately.
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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An account of the briefing for an operation to Essen
Description
An account of the resource
An extremely detailed account of the No 51 Squadron briefing for the operation to Essen on 28/29 November 1944 by Henry. It includes all the specialist officers as well as the Station Commander's brief. It also includes Henry's crew, Station and Group action reports. There is also a comprehensive list and description of the Electronic Counter Measure techniques used by No 100 Group.
Creator
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Henry Wagner
Date
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1944-11-28
1944-11-29
Format
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Seven handwritten pages
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BWagnerHWWagnerHWv2
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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England--Yorkshire
Germany--Essen
Great Britain
Germany
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
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1944-11-28
1944-11-29
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Roger Dunsford
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
100 Group
3 Group
4 Group
51 Squadron
aerial photograph
aircrew
briefing
debriefing
Gee
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
incendiary device
Lancaster
meteorological officer
Oboe
Pathfinders
propaganda
RAF Snaith
reconnaissance photograph
target indicator
target photograph
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1519/30375/BGambleATGambleATv1.2.pdf
2657924e2f12afbc9e2eaea6afe49c54
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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620 Squadron
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-23
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
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
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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!.
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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…………………
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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
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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] .
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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!.
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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
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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
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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!
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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
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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.
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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
-19-
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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
[page break]
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]
[line of stars]
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.
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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
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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
7
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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
8
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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
[page break]
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
[page break]
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
16
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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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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.
[line of stars]
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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
205
[page break]
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
206
[page break]
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
208
[page break]
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.
208
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Water under the bridge
Description
An account of the resource
Part 1. "By the Seat of his Pants". Covers from Alan Gamble's years as a schoolboy in Worthing in the late 1930's, up to joining the RAF in 1943, where he trained as a wireless operator in Blackpool. He joined 620 Squadron, which was equipped mainly with Stirlings and based initially at Leicester East, then Chedburgh, before it moved to Fairford in 1944. He flew 29 bombing and mine laying sorties over Germany and elsewhere. At Fairford '620' also supported SOE and participated in the Horsa glider operation at Arnhem.
Part 2, "No Problem Sport".Covers Alan Gamble's short flying history over France in 1945 before being shot down, and his experiences as a POW in southern Germany and subsequent liberation. The manuscript of Part 2 appears to be complete except for one or more pages missing about two thirds of the way through. This is at the beginning or the end of a fragment bound by metal clips, and could easily have become detached as the outside pages of some fragments' in Part 3 were also lost. It is therefore possible that only one page is missing.
Part 3. "Nil Desperandum".Covers Alan Gamble's post war experiences up to about 1963. This has not been read.
The manuscript of Part 3 is missing pages 24-86, 120 and 170, the latter two being the outside pages of bound fragments. (Page numbering here has assisted in reconstruction).
Additional information about this item was kindly provided by the donor.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
A T Gamble
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Multipage printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BGambleATGambleATv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--Suffolk
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
England--Wiltshire
England--Norfolk
Wales--Gwynedd
Wales--Porthmadog
England--Cumbria
England--Barrow-in-Furness
England--Oxfordshire
Germany
Germany--Krefeld
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--North Friesland Region
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Hamburg
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Turin
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
France
France--Modane
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Jordan
Jordan--Amman
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-06-13
1943-06-17
1943-06-22
1943-07-03
1943-07-24
1943-08-10
1943-08-12
1943-08-17
1943-08-27
1943-08-31
1943-10-03
1943-11-03
1945-01
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
214 Squadron
3 Group
620 Squadron
622 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
C-47
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Defiant
Do 217
Dominie
Dulag Luft
evading
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
gremlin
ground personnel
Halifax
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
meteorological officer
military discipline
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
petrol bowser
prisoner of war
Proctor
promotion
RAF Barrow in Furness
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Marham
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Turweston
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
service vehicle
Stirling
strafing
tractor
training
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1368/23067/PThomasAF20050007.2.jpg
45fd32514849146b58e3ac7588b01cf3
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Thomas, Arthur Froude. Album 4
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
2020-02-11
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Thomas, AF
Description
An account of the resource
42 items. An album containing photographs of 149 Squadron aircraft and personnel as well as pictures taken in 1946 of some of the bomb damage to German cities.
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
Officer's Mess Party, Methwold
Description
An account of the resource
Photos 1 and 2 are groups of airmen and WAAFs drinking, captioned '149 Squadron RAF Methwold. Officer's Mess Party. Centre. The Station Meteorological Officer F/O Misty Case under the weather'.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945-10
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two b/w photographs on an album page
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PThomasAF20050007
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
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.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Norfolk
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-10
149 Squadron
aircrew
ground personnel
mess
meteorological officer
RAF Methwold
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
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459cceb5d1161e10ffa3d84d96327b26
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
Edwards, Frederick
F Edwards
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection concerns Frederick Edwards (b. 1923) and contains his log book, maps, navigation charts, service documents, and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron. There is also an oral history interview with his son, Martin Edwards.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Martin Edwards 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
2018-03-14
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
Edwards, F
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
Meteorological Office Weather Report
Description
An account of the resource
A weather report issued by the Meteorological Office (undated).
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Meteorological Office
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. Service material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-17
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
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.
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
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b5d884f3c05500cec4522787e8fa63d3
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/810/22716/MEdwardsF1805103-180314-110002.2.jpg
9ed0c093d27d0fa471989978bcd53d5f
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
Edwards, Frederick
F Edwards
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection concerns Frederick Edwards (b. 1923) and contains his log book, maps, navigation charts, service documents, and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron. There is also an oral history interview with his son, Martin Edwards.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Martin Edwards 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
2018-03-14
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
Edwards, F
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
Use of UCO (plain)
Description
An account of the resource
An instruction sheet for pilots to assist in reporting the weather.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided printed sheet
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
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-110001,
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-110002
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
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.
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
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c850a70082fae6f368c3cde197cd9fc4
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3b95d02a9eba1c894789e37056ddd71c
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
Edwards, Frederick
F Edwards
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection concerns Frederick Edwards (b. 1923) and contains his log book, maps, navigation charts, service documents, and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron. There is also an oral history interview with his son, Martin Edwards.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Martin Edwards 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
2018-03-14
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
Edwards, F
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
Aircraft Weather Report
Form 2306
Description
An account of the resource
Completed for a flight between Calato and Almaza in Egypt.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry Meteorological Office
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided printed sheet 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
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-090001,
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-090002
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.
Egypt
Egypt--Cairo
Greece
Greece--Rhodes
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.
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
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bb60f3f660f373852c143cfecfa249c7
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3101ce30b4f818f453f9f594714c27c6
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
Edwards, Frederick
F Edwards
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection concerns Frederick Edwards (b. 1923) and contains his log book, maps, navigation charts, service documents, and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron. There is also an oral history interview with his son, Martin Edwards.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Martin Edwards 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
2018-03-14
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
Edwards, F
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
Weather Observations by Aircraft Crew
Description
An account of the resource
Observed weather during a cross country flight (training?).
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-10-19
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One double sided printed sheet 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
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-080001,
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-080002
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 Canadian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
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
Canada. Royal Canadian Air Force
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-10-19
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/810/22706/MEdwardsF1805103-180314-070001.1.jpg
2a78259997f03170dbed6bb60b29f684
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Title
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Edwards, Frederick
F Edwards
Description
An account of the resource
26 items. The collection concerns Frederick Edwards (b. 1923) and contains his log book, maps, navigation charts, service documents, and photographs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 Squadron. There is also an oral history interview with his son, Martin Edwards.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Martin Edwards and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2018-03-14
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Edwards, F
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Title
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Ferimet Plain forms
Description
An account of the resource
Forms produced by the British and Canadian Meteorological Offices for reporting inflight weather.
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British Meteorological Offices and Canadian Meteorological Division
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Two printed sheets with handwritten annotations
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eng
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Text. Service material
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MEdwardsF1805103-180314-070001,
MEdwardsF1805103-180314-070002
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Royal 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.
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/22370/MCurnockRM1815605-171114-086.2.pdf
1fc42e94839a126a7c74f4f078e91570
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The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
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Curnock, Richard
Richard Murdock Curnock
R M Curnock
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Curnock, RM
Date
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2016-04-18
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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
92 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock (1924, 1915605 Royal Air Force), his log book, letters, photographs and prisoner of war magazines. He flew operations with 425 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Richard Curnock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
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FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY Form No. 2259
DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORT – AIR SERVICES BRANCH
METEOROLOGICAL DIVISION
METEOROLOGY
AND
OPERATIONAL FLYING
(Reprinted from M.C. 448 (A.P. 1931))
Operational flying over north-west Europe has shown that a number of points discussed in the various courses of instruction in meteorology cannot be too heavily stressed; they have accordingly been reprinted in this pamphlet, with a series of hints on flying in bad weather conditions.
CANADA
1942
[page break]
[underlined] METEOROLOGY AND OPERATIONAL FLYING [/underlined]
1. [underlined] Operational importance of meteorology. [/underlined] in planning operations, weather conditions are often an over-riding factor, dictating what can or cannot be undertaken with a reasonable chance of success. For example, in planning bombing raids the following are some points that have to be considered; notice how often the word ‘weather’ occurs.
(a) will it be possible to identify the target? Moon phase, cloud height and amount, visibility, and weather conditions all affect the answer.
(b) Can the aircraft get through without serious risk of being lost or forced down through bad weather en route?
(c) Bearing in mind weather conditions, what will be the best heights and tracks for the flight?
(d) Will weather conditions be safe for take-off from operational aerodrome?
(e) Will weather conditions at base be suitable for landing on return? If not, are there alternative aerodromes in the country where weather will be suitable?
(f) What bomb and fuel loads shall be taken, in view of wind strengths and fuel safety margin for possible diversions because of bad weather? As a case in point, in an hour’s flying a Wellington uses fuel equivalent to three 250 Ib. bombs.
(g) Given specified amounts and heights of cloud, should attacks be high level, low level, or dive?
(h) When day bombing, and to an increasing degree by night, what suitable cloud cover is there to reduce chances of interception by enemy fighters?
2. [underlined] Importance of meteorological knowledge to air crews. [/underlined] Unless they become squadron commanders or air staff officers, individual crew members will not have to make decisions involving the above points. But they must have enough knowledge to be able to see the reasons underlying their commanding officer’s decisions, and to ask him intelligent questions based on a study made with the meteorological officer of the probable weather conditions.
In their initial enthusiasm for action, many are inclined to look on weather study as a boring waste of time; if you are one of these, talk to an air-line pilot with 10,000 hours flying, or to a senior air staff officer of a flying command, or to a seasoned operational pilot; their views will quickly disillusion you.
The weather can be either friend or foe, and intelligent pilots and navigators use it to the best advantage as an ally. It is a noteworthy fact that the more experienced they are, the keener they become to study meteorology.
Once in flight, the aircraft captain bears the responsibility of conducting his operation and looking to his aircraft and crew safety; and the actual weather he meets [underlined] which is not always what he expects [/underlined] constantly compels him to make decisions. The more he knows about meteorology, the sounder his decisions are likely to be.
Many of our best operational crews attribute a great part of their success to the fact that they have studied weather seriously. Some success is due to piloting and navigating skill, some to sheer guts and perseverance, some to good luck; but a large part is due to knowing the weather. Many a crew will fly straight through any flak barrage, shoot down an enemy, dive low over a target, and be nearly shot down themselves without turning a hair; but on running into bad weather they get the biggest fright of all. A sound study of meteorology does much to rob bad weather of its risks and frights; it can then be recognised for what it is, its extent estimated, and a plan evolved to get out of it again.
[page break]
3. [underlined] Examples calling for decision. [/underlined] Consider yourself an aircraft captain under the following conditions. You must provide good and instant answers.
(a) You are returning to base to find your aerodrome in fog. What is the best thing to do f your W/T has failed?
(b) You deal with a target and set course for home on forecasted winds. Later you find yourself a hundred miles off track. How could this have been guarded against?
(c) On reaching your aerodrome you find a summer storm is just sweeping over it, with heavy black cloud, heavy rain, violently bumpy flying conditions, and high gusty wind. Will you land quickly or wait?
(d) You are flying through clouds and the navigator reports a rapidly falling temperature. What does this suggest?
(e) In cloud, ice forms on the windscreen, or heavy ice forms on the wings, or boost begins to fall, or airscrew vibration develops with lumps of ice flying back from the blades. What should the pilot do in each case?
The operational pilot or navigator who cannot answer these questions is not fully efficient, operationally or otherwise: and he had best set himself the task of going through his meteorological text again, a chapter per day.
4. [underlined] The meteorological officer. [/underlined] Make a friend of him. Before any flight, obtain as clear an idea as possible of the winds and weather likely, and the weather changes that may take place during flight. Getting a typewritten forecast or ringing up on the telephone is good, but not good enough. Visit the meteorological office, look at a succession of weather maps if necessary, and talk to the meteorological officer. And to get the best out of these discussions, learn the forecaster’s methods and language.
5. [underlined] The weather map. [/underlined] The weather map is the foundation of forecasting. It is simply a map showing wind and weather conditions over an area of country with which one is concerned. For operations based on Great Britain the area is that which is broadly covered by operational activities – western Europe and the eastern Atlantic; at the same time the forecaster considers conditions further afield, as they may affect the operational area later on.
Maps are drawn every three hours; eight times in every 24 hours. The chart for 8 o’clock, say, is drawn up and ready for your inspection in the meteorological office between 9 and 10 o’clock . thus at all times of the day and night there is a map to show you what the weather was only an hour or two earlier. Conditions are always changing, slowly or rapidly. Thus during a flight base-Berlin-base a belt of rain may move from Devon across to Norfolk. So before starting think of the changes likely to take place during flight. Before take-off study the weather map carefully, particularly the isobars. Most important points to remember are:-
(a) A region of low pressure means bad weather about; a region of high pressure means good flying weather except for the risk of fog or very low stratus clouds.
(b) Fronts – warm, cold or occluded – may mean bad flying weather. Always discuss them in detail with the meteorological officer.
6. [underlined] Pressure. [/underlined] Remember the big changes that can be caused in altimeter readings by pressure alteration, not only at different places, but at a single place over a period of hours.
Be prepared for misleading altimeter readings by studying the weather map isobars before leaving on a long flight; before descent in thick cloud obtain a QFE, by W/T, from the ground.
[page break]
When navigating, it is best to have altimeters set to read height above mean sea level, so that their readings can be compared with heights shown on the map. Be most careful to multiply by three map readings in metres to give approximately heights in feet.
A useful rule:-
When flying from high to low pressure you may be lower than you think; when flying from low to high, you may be higher than you think.
7. [underlined] Wind. [/underlined] A man may get a 100 per cent. in all his examinations and be the world’s best theoretical engineer, but he will still fil to find his target or base aerodrome if he does not work on the correct winds.
The meteorological officer supplies estimated winds for different heights and different parts of the track on both outward and homeward journeys; but these are only a general indication of what to expect, and under no circumstances should a navigator calculate on meteorological winds in the air unless he checks them as often as possible and finds them correct.
Therefore before flight study the pressure distribution with the meteorological officer and get a clear idea of what winds and wind changes to expect .
In flight, check wind constantly and modify calculations as necessary.
8. [underlined] Isobar winds. [/underlined] Winds at about 2,000 – 3,000 ft. flow along the weather map isobars, with the lower pressure on the left hand side in the northern hemisphere.
When isobars are close together, wind is strong. When isobars are far apart, winds are light.
Sharp bends in isobars mean sudden changes in wind direction.
A glance at a series of weather maps shows that it is one chance in a thousand that winds will be the same all along a track from England to Berlin. Indeed, any meteorological officer can probably produce past weather maps showing a change to the opposite direction and decrease or increase by 40 m.p.h. over such a track. Yet it is not unknown for the navigators to sit on one wind for 400 miles expecting it to bring them over the target.
Secondly, the winds are always changing over any one place; thus an aircraft might well leave base with a SW. surface wind of 5-10 m.p.h. and return 6 hours later to find it blowing at 40 m.p.h. from NE.
9. [underlined] High level winds. [/underlined] Wind not only changes with time and place, but with height as well. The majority of errors in navigation over a long period of bombing operations have been traced to a lack of understanding or disregard of these elementary facts.
In this connexion, it is interesting to note that wind velocity at 33,000 ft. has been observed to change from 20 m.p.h. to 110 m.p.h. in the course of a day. Readings taken over a year show that at 33,000 ft. the average wind speed is 65 m.p.h. ; while on some 40 days in the year speeds of over 100 m.p.h. were recorded.
Such facts are obviously of the greatest importance to navigators; and fighter pilots should never forget that a blue sky and calm conditions on the ground do not preclude the possibility of a 100 m.p.h. wind at 30.000 ft.
Meteorological officers always give a good general indication of what to expect; but in long distance flying everything depends on the navigational use of winds found in flight.
10. [underlined] Wind change results. [/underlined] A large number of practical rules could be given, but they are only confusing unless one makes a hobby of the subject.
The two following should be kept in mind, however:-
(i) When navigation is difficult through thick clouds or bad weather, the winds are more likely to vary rapidly than in good weather. This is unfortunate;
[page break]
but the moral is that in bad weather every possible chance should be taken to fix position.
(ii) If you are in or have flown through an extensive period of bad weather and notice a considerable fall or rise in temperature, you will almost invariably drift to port off track if you work on the wind previously determined.
11. [underlined] Visibility [/underlined]. Near industrial areas visibility is almost invariably reduced by smoke; in quiet weather perhaps to a few hundred yards. If therefore you fly for some time in generally good visibility and then run into very bad visibility near an industrial area, there is no reason to panic or turn back. Hold a steady course in the almost certain knowledge that visibility will improve again when the area has been passed.
Smoke only affects the actual area and the leeward side. So an accurate pinpoint for bombing operations is much better obtained if one approaches the area from upwind.
Light effect from moon and sun are of major importance. Therefore remember the following rules:-
(a) Visibility looking towards the moon (up moon) is very much better than with the moon behind (down moon). This is mainly because the reflection of moonlight shows up railways, rivers, canals and water; and buildings and roads to a lesser extent. Experienced crews will always bomb ‘up moon’ if possible.
(b) Sun effect is quite different, because of the glare; anyone who has driven a car up moon and sun will appreciate the difference. Flying up sun in poor visibility is very trying, and in the air one may be able to see practically nothing ahead and yet be able to see 1/2 to 1 mile by looking back, down sun. Many accidents have occurred through landing up sun in bad visibility. When one has to land up sun in haze, wind is usually light; then, having particular regard to other aircraft, it is easy and advisable to land a few points out of wind to avoid the full glare and visibility reductions.
12. [underlined] Fog. [/underlined] Fog presents the greatest problem when an aircraft returns to its base to find the aerodrome fog-bound. Usually advice can be obtained from the ground by W/T; but occasions may arise when, through wireless failure or radio traffic congestion, such advice cannot be obtained. Then the aircraft captain has to act on his own judgement. His decisions depend on petrol endurance, and on the information about the likely character and extent of fog that he got from the meteorological officer before leaving.
Radiation fog is particularly trying because above it winds are light, sky clear, and visibility excellent. It may be patchy and thin at some times, widespread and up to 1,000 ft. thick at others. If the fog is patchy, try other aerodromes; if thin, try higher aerodromes; otherwise consider heading for a part of the country for which the meteorological officer has foretold better conditions. As a rough, but by no means invariable, rule, aerodromes to the west ( where the wind is usually off the sea) are likely to be clearer. A long diversion is almost much better than circling in a small locality, hoping for a clearance. Radiation fog often thickens shortly after sunrise, and then rarely clears until several hours have elapsed.
Sea fog is often thin, and rarely more than 1,500 ft. thick. It can often be seen drifting inland across the coast as a continuous sheet. By flying downwind, inland, the odds are that one will run out of it. It may extend far inland, but never right across England. Sometimes there is a 200-500 ft. clear air gap under the sea fog (or stratus) that does not exist with radiation fog.
Hill fog occurs at high aerodromes as low cloud on high ground, and aerodromes at lower levels may well be clear.
Weigh the odds very carefully before going down through fog to ‘look sea’. Are you sure of the height of the ground below you? Are you sure that the altimeters are reading correctly, allowing for any air pressure changes since they were last set? Remember that many good crews have flown int the ground through ‘feeling for it’ on the glide in fog, often because they had insufficient petrol to go elsewhere. Had these men baled out at a safe height , only the aircraft would have been lost.
13. [underlined] Layer clouds [/underlined]. Cirrus clouds (over 20,000 ft.) are thin and interfere only with really high level operations and with sextant sights. They are worth watching as they give warning of the possible formation of condensation trails ( see ‘Cloud Atlas for Aviators’ page 21) and of the approach of bad weather.
In them frost may gradually accumulate on the aircraft, particularly on the wind screen. They are a second warning that bad weather is ahead, particularly if they thicken and lower rapidly. Watch them carefully on long distance flights, for they will show how the weather forecast is working out.
Determine early whether it will be batter to climb above them while they are reasonably high and not too thick rather than to fly on or into a bad weather system where cloud flying may be far more difficult.
Low layer clouds, the stratus and stratocumulus groups, range from 0 to 7,000 ft. seen from below when it is 10/10 without precipitation it is very unlikely that it will be more than 5,000 ft. thick, although there may be other layers above. If the sun or moon can be seen through them it obviously means that the layer is thin and ice formation will then be confined to a little frost.
Seen from above, a smooth top means smooth flying, and a bulging top means moderately rough flying.
If the upper level is above 4,000 ft., there will almost always be a clear air gap underneath above sea level. so descent is usually safe if one is certain of position over the sea or low flying ground. Glide through such clouds down sun or up moon.
Remember, however, that when the temperature lies between 0 and-7°. severe icing may be likely.
If the upper cloud level is 3,000 ft. or below, the bottom level is more likely to be on or very near the ground.
14. [underlined] Heap clouds. [/underlined] The isolated cumulus clouds, not of great vertical thickness, met in fine weather are not very troublesome. They are rather bumpy; ice formation is usually of little consequence because it takes little time to fly through them. Visibility in these clouds is very bad.
Never trust such clouds for cover, for even when they are closely packed and almost continuous they have a habit of fading out just when cover is most needed.
Towering cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds give local showers and bright intervals when they are isolated. They are worth avoiding, as they are dense and bumpy, give noticeable ice formation, and are quite unsuitable for formation flying. They are easy to see and avoid by day and on moonlight nights.
At other times these clouds may cover large areas, and be continuous from low levels up to 25,000 ft.
They are characteristic of hot sultry afternoons, but they may occur at night and over land and sea.
They are violently bumpy, compass-course flying in them is almost impossible, and ice formation may be severe.
Lightning is always present, the compass may be permanently affected, and any parts of the aircraft, particularly the radio equipment, may be damaged unless properly earthed. These clouds give the worst flying conditions that can be experienced.
[page break]
Thunderstorm clouds in the vicinity may be recognised at night by:-
(1) Humming and interference in the intercom.
(2) Considerable W/T interference.
(3) Sudden heavy downpours of rain and hail.
Thunderstorm clouds are thick and black at the base, with the falling rain. The tops, which may lie between 15,000 and 25,000 ft. are brilliantly white in sunlight and moonlight and can be recognised without doubt even fifty miles away.
15. [underlined] Thunderstorms and flying. [/underlined] Try to avoid flying through thunderstorms by altering course and keeping a good air plot. The storms often go up to great heights and it may not be possible to fly over them. The base is low, with heavy rain, lightning and bumps below; so it is inadvisable to fly underneath if one can go round.
It is often possible to pick one’s way between the tops of thunderstorm clouds quite successfully, flying all the time in clear air.
If one flies into a thunderstorm, at night for example –
(1) Earth the W/T at once; the intercom may still be used without danger;
(2) Get out quickly by turning on to the reverse course and consider a sound course of action.
16. [underlined] Electric phenomena. [/underlined] Night-flying crew often report striking electrical phenomena, not only in thundery weather. The airscrews may be surrounded by brilliant bluish-white halos, the wing tips may bee illuminated, and sparks jump across gaps between metal fittings, such as parallel gun barrels. Whenever these are experienced, wind in the serial and earth the radio.
These phenomena occur in day time also, but cannot be seen so easily. A good indication that they are likely to develop is a deep humming in the intercom which increase in volume.
These phenomena are alarming when first experienced at night, but are not in the least dangerous if the precautions outlined are taken.
17. [underlined] Fronts. [/underlined] When two different air currents meet the warm current is forced up, and, given sufficient humidity, the lowering of the temperature causes clouds to form and precipitation to follow. Almost every weather map shows one or more fronts, marked as a red line (warm front), a blue line (cold front), or a purple line (occlusion).
Fronts differ very much in character. Thus the typical cold front may be a belt 100 miles wide, with broken cloud, whose base is at 1,000 ft., and in which flying conditions are rough; the severe cold front may take the form of a line-squall, with extreme bumpiness, hail and lightning; while a typical warm front may be a 300 mile belt with unbroken cloud layers lying between 30,000 ft. and ground level, and yet with fairly smooth flying conditions throughout.
It is impossible to look at frontal clouds from the air and decide how deep is the belt of which they form a part. Therefor before flight always discuss the probable structure with the meteorological officer, and decide beforehand on the best method of negotiating it.
18. [underlined] Fronts and flying. [/underlined] (i) Flying under frontal clouds. This should be done only if one has a very reliable forecast indicating that such flying is safe.
It is always dangerous to fly through patches of low cloud near the ground.
Always be prepared to turn back to clear weather or to climb should the base fall too low.
Never deliberately fly under ‘wet’ frontal clouds near freezing level.
(ii) Flying over frontal clouds. If the aircraft performance permits this is the safer and more satisfactory procedure because an accurate course can be steered in good visibility. Remember, however, that the clouds often go up to 30,000 ft.
[page break]
(iii) Flying through frontal clouds. This will frequently be necessary as a normal operational procedure. The widespread impression that a front is a serious or dangerous obstacle to flying dates from the time when cloud flying was hazardous through lack of proper instruments and de-icing equipment. With well-equipped modern aircraft and competent crews that keep their heads, flying through fronts is little more than a nuisance, provided severe bumps and severe icing are not met; and even then, by action based on knowledge, the front may be safely negotiated.
19. [underlined] navigating in frontal regions. [/underlined] Under such conditions pin-pointing and astro-navigation are generally impossible, and may continue so for some two to three hundred miles. The only remaining methods are;-
(1) Radio methods, which can only be used when electrical interference is small. Do nor risk your radio set to get a fix or loop bearing under thunderstorm conditions.
920 D/R. – This is the only constant method of keeping a check on position. The pilot must concentrate on flying an accurate course and keeping height and airspeed constant while the navigator keeps his D/R plot.
Frontal wind changes are obviously very important and their probability should therefore be discussed carefully before flight.
Remember that many bad errors in navigation have been traced to neglecting these wind changes, particularly on return from operations when navigators have been fatigued and less careful with their D/R.
If the navigator has no reliable winds, it is a good practical precaution to alter course to 10° starboard on entering a frontal belt.
20. [underlined] Ice formation on aircraft. [/underlined] Long experience has shown that in the majority of cases when ice forms on aircraft there is no cause for alarm; it is harmless. The past to winters of operational flying have proved that while slight ice in the form of a thin coating of frost is quite common, serious icing is exceptional. Nevertheless there are cases on record of dangerous ice formation, and what steps should be taken to counter this.
The types of cloud and the temperature in which ice forms on aircraft, the affects of icing on unprotected aircraft, the mechanical measures taken to counteract icing, and the measures which the pilot may take to avoid serious icing are all discussed in detail in meteorology texts. This information cannot be condensed without omitting essentials, so no attempt will be made to offer a precis.
It is unlikely that crews will be deliberately sent on any flight, operational or otherwise which necessarily entails flying through service icing conditions – dense ‘wet’ clouds or precipitation with the temperature within the danger range.
At times, however, they will certainly have to fly in clouds. When this happens, remember that serious icing is comparatively rare. Experienced pilots who know their meteorology will not worry, and there are some who deliberately fly through clouds to add to their experience on an aircraft type, and to pass it on to others, because they know exactly what to do when ice forms.
21. [underlined] Condensation trails. [/underlined] Under certain conditions aircraft flying in clear air leave cloud trails in their wake. Such trails are of tactical importance for they betray the position and track of aircraft. Full information on how they form and how to prevent their formation is given in ‘Cloud Atlas for Aviators’, page 21.
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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Meteorology and Operational Flying
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed account of weather and its effects on flying.
Creator
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Department of Transport - Air Services Branch
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942
Format
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Eight typed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Training material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MCurnockRM1815605-171114-086
Coverage
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Royal Canadian Air Force
Publisher
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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
Jan Herkes
David Bloomfield
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1272/17692/MBrookerWH[Ser -DoB]-180402-04.Pdf
3b9047193742b850ace9da368c0472b6
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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Brooker, William Harry
W H Brooker
Miller James
J Miller
Description
An account of the resource
11 items. The collection concerns brothers in law James Miller (b. 1919) and
William Harry Brooker (b.1920). It contains propaganda leaflets, two photographs, a NSDAP Car flag, documents and a memoir.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Ann Brookfield and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-04-02
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. 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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Brooker, WH-Miller, J
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] PRODECURES AND LIFE OF AN AIR GUNNER WITH A LANCASTER SQUADRON [/underlined]
Our Crew arrived at RAAF Lancaster 463 Squadron from Swinderly Heavy Conversion Unit, on 27th December 1943, at Waddington, 3 miles south of the City of Lincoln in Lincolnshire. Waddington became an airfield before the First World War. In our time it had been updated with three concrete runways and sealed taxiing tracks and aircraft dispersal points. No 463 was a new squadron made up from RAAF 467 Squadron that had been at Bottesford, Leicestershire. This was done to create a base with RAF 50 Squadron at a satellite air field at Skellingthorpe, commanded by RAAF Wing Commander Arthur W Doubleday, from Grong Grong NSW.
Our crew was made up as follows:
Pilot Joe Freeman Orange NSW
Navigator Lance Wilson Geelong Vic
Wireless Operator John Bulmer Harden NSW
Bomb Aimer George Flanagan St Arnaud Vic
Rear Gunner James Frith Lismore NSW
Mid Upper Gunner Flying Officer William Brooker Lameroo SA
Flight Engineer Dave Callum RAF Newcastle UK
They were all sergeants doing their first tour. William Brookers was a Flying Officer on his second tour of 20 operations, the rest of them had to complete 30 operations. Flight Engineers were drawn from engine fitters who re-mustered to crew. Our Commanding Officer was Wing-Commander Rollo Kingsford-Smith, a nephew of Sir Charles.
The Station Commander and Base Commander was Group Captain Bonham-Carter RAF (later on an Air Commodore).
The decision as to when we operated and the targets were selected by the Commander-in-Chief, assisted by his staff at High Wycombe, the headquarters of RAF Bomber Command, Air Chief Marshall Sir Arthur T Harris.
The list of targets was composed by the War Cabinet. These would be German factories that produced U Boats, aircraft, guns, cannons, tanks, ships etc. for the German warfare. Other targets were oil, rail and road. There may be special targets such as find and sink the Bismarck, Tirpitz and other battleships.
The cities producing this were attacked (eg: Krupp in the Ruhr Valley). The main targets in Germany was attacked by up to 900 Lancaster bombers.
Mines were laid in U Boat harbour such as Lorient and Saint Nazaare. This was done at a height of 700 feet. The mines were lowered on parachutes to break the fall and exploded as a metal ship or U Boat passed over them.
All operations were made at night. No lights on except essential illumination.
The marking on 463 Squadron were JO and on 467 was PO.
The first letters of the alphabet became ‘A’ Flight while the rest became ‘B’ flight.
Our aircraft was JOT.
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All aircraft would be kept in the open at dispersal around the airfield. The ground staff worked there and had small shelter huts for the gear etc.
If a pilot wanted to air-test his aircraft he would do it early, so that any faults could be rectified.
Perhaps the fitter would go up too. The fuel tanker may be waiting to top up. Some of the fuel tankers were driven by the WAAF.
A general briefing may be at 13.30pm and would be attended by all crews flying, heads of Crew members, Commanding Officers, Meteorologist Officer (quite often a civilian), Intelligence Officer to advice of the enemy defences, guns and fighter aircraft.
Aircrew on operations were sent on leave for a week, every 6 weeks, and this continued after a tour of operations. Ground staff was only granted leave every twelve weeks.
Lancaster bombers had a fuel load of 2154 Imperial Gallons of 100% Octane petrol. They had 3 tanks in each wing. Fuel consumption was up to 1/2 gallon a minute.
The ground staff for a Lancaster would consist of:
2 Engine fitters, 2 Airframe fitters (for moving parts, wheels etc. Armourers for hydraulics and ammunition. Then in a group, Bomb Loaders, Navigation aids GEE H2S, Instrument Makers, Parachute packers and folders. Transport around airfield was by truck and bus also push bike.
If there had no been night flying, the previous night all our crews assembled at the flight office at Squadron Headquarters. The Pilots would go to their Flight Commanders, the Navigators would go to their Flight Navigators, they would be given something to do or be lectured. Similarly the wireless operators and bombardiers went to their leader’s office.
The message may be received, say, 9am or later, as to whether we would be operating. This Would come from the Commanders of Group Headquarters using dedicated phones. Afterwards Security would disconnect the public phones, as they would monitor all outgoing phone calls made from High Wycombe Bomber Command.
The Flight Sergeant in charge of services would be asked if aircraft would be available (i.e. serviceable).
By this time the target may not be divulged but the petrol load and bomb load would be. If the fuel load was 2154 gallons of 100 octane, it meant a long flight (eg: Berlin). The aircraft would stand at 3/4 full.
The fitters E (engine) would be run the engines and test. Fitters A (airframe) would be check all moving parts etc. The armourer would check ammunition etc, and as they were sorted and loaded on the trolley and aircraft.
By then it would be lunch time and Pilots and Navigators would assemble and be told the target. By now the Adjutant clerk to the Wing Commander would have the Battle Order printed and posted on the notice board.
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After lunch final arrangements would be made, aircrew meals at the Sergeants Mess times would be set.
Bomber Command specify the bomb load eg: size of the bombs and mixture including incendiaries. These were packed in canisters and held in by a bar of iron, that were released, allowing 4 1/2 pound bombs go, but the canisters came back.
Depending on the distance to be travelled for the night, it dictated the petrol load. A full load was 2154 gallons about 7 tons of 100 octane petrol.
If the aircraft sustained engine failure before the target, the operation, if over Germany, the bombs would be dropped if a target could be found and the operation would be aborted. A
Lancaster could fly unloaded on two engines but would gradually lose height.
There was specially constructed airstrip near the coast of East Anglia, to allow damaged aircraft to get down. It was of tarmac about 3 miles long a quarter mile wide. On hearing a radio call of “Mayday” or “SOS” a row of searchlights on each side would light up to cone or tunnel for the aircraft to pass under.
Our aircraft number was ME615. The letter may have significance to the factory where it was built.
The first aircraft to come to 463 Squadron came from the Jaguar Factory at Coventry.
Jaguar had their own airfield.
27/12/43, we were sent on a cross country training flight for 4 hours 10 minutes.
All new pilots had to do a “second dicky” to learn how an experienced crew went about their duties during an operation and listen to commentary. It was a quick course for a pilot to see how an operation progressed.
2/1/44 we were sent on our first operation to Berlin. However we had to abort over Holland due to glazed icing on the wings at 12,000 feet. This meant we could not climb to the desired height of 20,000 feet. This difficulty meant that we used fuel at a greater rate and may not get back from Berlin. I, as the experienced crew person, suggested we drop the bomb load, unarmed (safe) and return to base after 3 hours 55 minutes.
7/1/44 we were sent on a “bullseye”, consisting of a day flight to a target in the Irish Sea. It is a small rocky outcrop. This took 8 hours 15 minutes.
13/1/44 we did a test flight with the Flight Commander, Squadron Leader W Brill for 40 minutes.
On these flights the Navigator and Bombardier did not take part.
14/1/44 we went to Brunswick our first successful operation, for 5 hours 37 minutes.
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17/1/44 we did some day ground firing over The Wash for 53 minutes.
21/1/44 we went on operation to Magdeburg for 6 hours.
27/1/44 at 17.47pm we took longer on operation to Berlin for 8 hours and 55 minutes.
Joe Freeman had been commissioned as a Pilot Officer.
28/1/44 at 00.16am we took our own aircraft, T for TARE, on operation to Berlin. On approaching the target a German night fighter came close and the rear gunner shot it down. It was a Focke Wolfe 190.
30/1/44 we went to Berlin, taking off 17.19 hours and lasted 6.33 hours.
15/2/44 to Berlin, taking off 17.30 hours and arrived back at base after 6.58 hours, in our own aircraft JOT number ME615.
19/2/44 To Leipzig taking off at 23.54 hours. Landed after 7.01 hours being 6.05 hours on 20/2/44.
20/2/44 to Stuttgart, taking off 23.57 hours landed after 7.21 hours airborne 7.18 hours.
24/2/44 took off for Schweinfurt, but port inner engine was failing, returned on 3 engines after dropping bomb load. Airborne for 5 hours.
25/2/44 taking off in JOK ME614 for Augsburg, airborne from 21.30 hours for 7.25 hours.
1/3/44 in our aircraft, JOT ME 615, taking off at 23.29 hours for Stuttgart for 8.15 hours.
Then Flying Officer Brooker went on a Gunnery Leaders Course at Catfoss.
8/5/44 in JOT 615, rejoined my crew whom had a stand in during my absence. Taking off at 22.15 hours for Brest Airfield, airborne for 5.04 hours.
10/5/44 taking off at 22.16 hours for Lille Railways yards etc. For 2.39 hours. The bomb load would have been heavier and fuel load reduced. No block busters.
11/5/44 take off at 22.23 for Bourg Leopold for 3.37 hours.
Crew then went on 6 days leave.
18/5/44 taking off at 22.40 hours to St Martin’s for a trip of 3.24 hours.
31/5/44 taking off at 00.23 hours to Saumur marshalling yards. Airborne for 5.10 hours. On 1/6/44, however, we received an order to return with another bomb load.
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3/6/44 taking off at 12.55 hours for Cherbourg wireless installations for 3.34 hours duration.
6/6/44 D Day. Taking off in JO’L M130, for Pierre Du Mont, airborne for 4.29 hours. A gun emplacement near the coast.
8/6/44 to Rennes railway yards, airborne for 6.34 hours. Had to land away at Acklington and
10/6/44 returned back to Waddington base.
10/6/44 took off at 21.58 hours to attack Orleans railway yards. These were to retard Germany taking up positions in Normandy, also to prevent attack where French citizens would be in fairly large numbers.
Night operational flying time was 289.20 hours.
The Australian members of the crew were decorated:
PILOT: G FREEMAN D.F.C.
BOMB AIRMAN: G FLANAGAN D.F.C.
AIR GUNNER: W BROOKER D.F.C. and M.I.D.
NAVIGATOR: L WILSON M.I.D.
WIRELESS OPERATOR: J BULMER M.I.D.
AIR GUNNER: J FIRTH M.I.D.
Written by W. K. Brooker, Flight Lieutenant, De Mob
Typed by Rhonda Copper
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Dublin Core
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Title
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Procedures and Life of an Air Gunner with a Lancaster Squadron
Prodecures [sic] and Life of an Air Gunner with a Lancaster Squadron
Description
An account of the resource
William Brooker's service. His crew was transferred from Swinderby Heavy Conversion Unit to 463 Squadron at RAF Waddington.
He names the crew and describes their roles, including the ground crews, details the activities before an operation, and lists his operations he was involved in.
This item was provided, in digital form, by a third-party organisation which used technical specifications and operational protocols that may differ from those used by the IBCC Digital Archive.
Creator
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WH Brooker
Format
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Five typed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
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MBrookerWH[Ser#-DoB]-180402-04
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Australia
New South Wales--Orange
Victoria--Geelong
New South Wales--Harden
Victoria
New South Wales--Lismore
South Australia--Adelaide
Great Britain
England--Newcastle upon Tyne
England--High Wycombe
France--Lorient
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Schweinfurt
Germany--Augsburg
France--Brest
Belgium--Leopoldsburg
France--Saumur
France--Cherbourg
France--Rennes
France--Orléans
Germany--Braunschweig
Victoria
France
New South Wales
South Australia
Germany
Belgium
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Buckinghamshire
France--Saint-Nazaire
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Temporal Coverage
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1944
Contributor
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Georgie Donaldson
463 Squadron
467 Squadron
50 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
Distinguished Flying Cross
fitter airframe
fitter engine
flight engineer
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
ground crew
ground personnel
H2S
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
Lancaster
meteorological officer
mine laying
navigator
pilot
RAF Bottesford
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Swinderby
RAF Waddington
training
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1236/17602/PThompsonKG15010052.2.jpg
40a711c9ed8457e13346c84035fbe815
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1236/17602/PThompsonKG15010053.2.jpg
8def7867e7ac85d4241e0ef25db99ab2
Dublin Core
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Title
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Thompson, Keith G
K G Thompson
Description
An account of the resource
95 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Keith Thompson DFC (1238603 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents, photographs and training material as well as his navigation logs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 and 199 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Mark S Thompson and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-09-07
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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.
Identifier
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Thompson, KG
Access Rights
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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
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Weather forecast Stettin operation 5 - 6 Jan 1944
Description
An account of the resource
Typewritten F2330 for operation, captioned (handwritten) 'Weather route to Stettin 5 - 6th Jan '44'. in remarks on form 'Stettin - airborne 23.50 hrs Duration 9 hrs 20 mins'.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1944-01-05
1944-01-06
Format
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One printed sheet
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Service material
Identifier
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PThompsonKG15010052, PThompsonKG15010053
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Poland
Poland--Szczecin
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-01-05
1944-01-06
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1263/17136/AWilmetS190504.2.mp3
78852fd08bde8706c1253068111d0a6b
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
Wilmet, Sheila
S Wilmet
Description
An account of the resource
One item. An oral history interview with Corporal Sheila Wilmet (b. 1924, 2090150 Royal Air Force). She served as a meteorologist at RAF Bottesford, RAF Coningsby, RAF Cottesmore, RAF Langar and RAF Spilsby.
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
2019-05-04
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Wilmet, S
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
JM: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Julian Maslin. The interviewee is Mrs Sheila Wilmet. The interview is taking place at the home of Mrs Wilmet’s daughter Mrs Alison Belcher [buzz] on Saturday May the 4th 2019. Sheila, if I may, can I ask you to start us off by telling us a little bit about your family background?
SW: Well, I was born and brought up in Liverpool. On the outskirts. It was a really a little village which was later incorporated in to the city boundary. My mother and father had both been born in Ireland but at that time of course it was part of the British Isles and was governed from England. They had come over after the end of the First World War when my father as a returning soldier was not particularly welcome. He had served in the RAMC and found no difficulty in getting a job in a military hospital which was later taken over by the Ministry of Pensions. So I had a very conventional 1930s upbringing. Went to the primary school. Went to church on Sunday. Played out in the fields and woods which were around the house. Went to secondary school. Failed the eleven plus but they had a system in Liverpool where those who had just missed were accommodated in Central Schools. And when I was fifteen war was declared. It wasn’t a surprise I don’t think, to anybody but my father had been predicting it for years. And I took an exam for a private college and I went for the year there and passed my school certificate. That was 1940 and I remember somebody saying as we went in to the exam, ‘What does it matter what we get because the Germans will be here?’ But the Germans weren’t, fortunately and I got a job as a probationer teacher in a nursery school. This was the first nursery school as opposed to a nursery. It was an experiment and very interesting. And then in May of that year, 1941. It gets a bit hazy. We had a week of bombing and the devastation and the fires and I mean Liverpool was very, very badly bombed because of course they were after the docks and the river gave the game away. And then the bombing went on intermittently. We spent the night in an Andersons shelter at the bottom of the garden. And eventually we had the Christmas week where the bombing started as soon as it got dark and finished just as daylight was coming, and it was very hard to make one’s way home because there were unexploded bombs here and unexploded bombs there. But we just took it as part of life and carried on as best we could. When it came to the spring of 1942 it was my time to decide would I go to college, be coming up to eighteen and the war was going very badly and I think I thought they needed help [laughs] My father was very much against me just going down and joining up. He insisted that I would only join when there was something definite, and there was an ad in the Liverpool Post and Echo which said, “Red sky at night sailor’s delight. But this isn’t good enough for the Air Force.” So they were looking for women with some science in their background to train as meteorologists, and I thought that’s just the job for me. And down I went and signed up and about six weeks later I found myself on a train going to Gloucester for initial training etcetera.
JM: Thank you. Thank you. When you went and you asked to sign up did you actually specify that you wanted to be in the Meteorology department?
SW: Oh, I did. I did. I told them that’s why I had come. And of course we were all volunteers then so there was this feeling that if things went awry you could just say, ‘Well thank you but I’m going home.’
JM: Yes. Yes. Right. So, tell us a little more will you please about your service in Gloucester where you were training?
SW: In Gloucester we were billeted in an enormous hut. There were about thirty women and the beds were arranged. Some had their heads in the middle of the hut and some had their beds so it was alternate. Of course we’d never seen any of the others in our lives before and the only thing was we were all anxious. Anxious to do the right thing. Anxious about what might happen to us. Anxious about everything. And we got kitted out, and the worst thing I found was the great coat. Now this was March and it was very cold and because it rubbed the back of the neck. Otherwise, I managed quite well with everything else. And then we went out and we did square bashing on the square and after we’d done that for a week or so we were supposed to be in command, and we had to take it in turns to give the orders for right turn etcetera as we went. It was very difficult to choose the right moment and I remember the warrant officer shouting out, ‘Say something, if it’s only goodbye.’ So we had two weeks there. And then we went up to Morecambe and were billeted in boarding houses. And there we went to lectures about gas, and health and safety etcetera and who, whom to salute and when and how. And we also had all sorts of injections. I hadn’t been inoculated, no vaccinated against smallpox as a baby so I had to have that as well, which was fairly unpleasant. But I suppose we were there for perhaps three weeks and then we were divided up depending on what we were aiming to do, and I found myself in London billeted on Buckingham Palace Road in beautiful apartments and travelling to Lincoln’s Inn Fields each morning for lectures on the science of meteorology and, which was fairly difficult because my science was not really up to standard. Now. I wasn’t the only one. They were really looking for people with degrees, but of course they were very thin on the ground. We had a test every Friday, and if you couldn’t pass this you would be re-mustered. But however, we did pass and then with another girl we were sent up to a big house. Not a mansion but a big house in New York which is on the outskirts, a crossroads really on the outskirts of Coningsby Airfield.
JM: Yes.
SW: And we would travel up to the, in to the [pause] oh what do I want? Into the airfield on sort of lorry transport. Anyway, this wasn’t feasible if we were doing shifts, so we were put in then in barrack blocks on the airfield and introduced. There were just the two of us, introduced to the Met office and a very, very kind, very clever, very kind man who took us under his wing and helped us through the first few weeks until we got confidence enough. And because he was a civilian it was a little more informal than it would have been had he been in uniform. And one of our fairly regular visitors was Group Captain Gibson, and he would come in and ask the officer to explain the charts and what they meant, and what it would mean and how weather would travel etcetera etcetera. He was the only one that did that. The, the others would take whatever they were told at the briefing but he liked to know the ins and outs of it. The down side of this visit was that he would quite often say as he looked down at his big black Labrador, ‘Oh,’ he’d say, ‘N***** would like some cocoa.’ I thought, oh dear. So away I’d have to go to the, I wouldn’t call it a kitchen. There was a kettle [laughs] and I would do my best to make the cocoa. Make sure it wasn’t too hot, come out and present it to N***** while others were talking weather wise. And then he would say, ‘Thank you. Come on N*****. You’ve had your treat.’
JM: Could I just interrupt you for a moment?
SW: Yes.
JM: We are talking about Guy Gibson here, aren’t we?
SW: Oh, we are.
JM: Yes.
SW: Talking about Guy Gibson. Yes.
JM: I think I’m right in saying at that point he was the commanding officer of number 106 Squadron. Does that ring a bell with you?
SW: Yes. Yes.
JM: Were you aware that at that stage he was leading 106 to become one of the most successful squadrons in Bomber Command at that stage?
SW: No. We [pause] we felt he was special and Mr Finch, the mess officer would say, ‘He’s a little man but very big ideas.’ And that’s how I remember him.
JM: Yes. Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: Yes, because of course history shows us that he had some, some people were rather negative about him, weren’t they? They said he wasn’t always a pleasant officer to work for.
SW: No.
JM: Did you find anything of that?
SW: No. No. No. And I think partly because Mr Finch was so, so pleasant and kind, and yes and he would, when he was explaining things to the wingco, he would do it in a very [pause] well, sort of sympathetic way, ‘I know why you’re asking the questions and this is the answer and this is why.’
JM: Yes. Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: And these questions would be needed so that Gibson and the others could plan the night’s bombing raid for instance.
SW: Yes. They prob, yes the details of it [pause] a lot of the other officers would and later on would, would take what they were told but he was very keen to know why.
JM: Right.
SW: Why was the cloud going to be such and such or why was visibility or —
JM: Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: I think that is a very interesting observation you make because in some sources Gibson is not always described as being very interested in science and bits and pieces. Others say that he was and you confirm that.
SW: Yes. Yes, yes. He was very keen to know everything that would have any impact.
JM: Yes.
SW: On his operation.
JM: Thank you. That’s what I hoped you would say.
SW: Yes.
JM: That fits in perfectly with the image of Guy Gibson as he was leading 106 Squadron.
SW: Yes.
JM: Before he was posted to the Dambusters, which is another story.
SW: Yes. Yes.
JM: That’s fascinating. Did, could you just tell us a little bit more about your actual duties? Were you a corporal at this stage?
SW: Yes. Well, there was what was called Stevenson Screens.
JM: I know it.
SW: Well away from buildings and it was our duty to go out every hour on the hour and read what instruments were in it, pressure mostly, and there was a sun recorder but, and then we would do observations by observing cloud type and amount, wind strength and direction err paper [laughs] [sound of newspaper sheets turning] Oh, precipitation. Yes. Temperature. We had a anemometer for wind, we had a nephoscope for clouds.
JM: Right.
SW: Speed I suppose. Yes. If we couldn’t estimate the height of the clouds just by eye we would have to send up a balloon. We had a little cubby hole beside the office and we would go and that’s where the cylinders of hydrogen were kept and we would fill a balloon red, white or blue according to the cloud not according to our fancy [laughs] And we would follow it with the theodolite for, again speed and, but mostly for cloud height. We would also estimate visibility. And then would come in and on a big like an architect’s big desk we would have a map of the British Isles on which were little circles for every Met station and they were numbered interestingly starting in Ireland and, and then on the teleprinter, a sheet would come through with the reports from all the other Met stations in quite a simple code and we would transfer the figures to symbols surrounding these little circles. We used a red and a blue pen fixed together. You just twiddled it to get which one you needed. Mostly blue but red was too much in the pressure. If it was falling you’d put it in in red and together with the other, if they were worse than the last report. And we would fill those in for all the hundred and forty eight or so stations on the map. Now, we did that every hour and every third hour, three, six, nine we did it on a bigger scale. And the Met officer then would interpret all those figures and draw his lines, and from that do his estimation of what conditions would be like 10 o’clock at night or whatever and then of course for the morning and would dew fall? Would fog form? And so on. And while he was doing that of course we’d be working away and keeping up our observations and sending through our little line of figures. It was quite intense while we were there. We were working away and another WAAF came and we just did eight hour shifts then really and kept going.
JM: I, I can imagine that you must have been curious having taken all these observations to find out more about meteorology yourself. Did you find yourself getting involved with the recognition of fronts and associated weather?
SW: Yes. Yes. Yes. Once you spend four hours, four years doing that you can’t get away from it. You can look out of the window now and I’ve brought my children up knowing this is a clearing shower and [laughs] ‘Don’t worry. Yes, it is heavy but it’s a clearing shower.’
JM: And I would also, for the record could you, I know what a Stevenson Screen is, could you describe a Stevenson Screen for people?
SW: A Stevenson Screen was a louvered rectangular box fitted on legs, about four feet high. It was louvered so that the wind could get in but not, but modified and yes the same with, as another said it was well away from buildings.
JM: Yes.
SW: Which you would notice if you were going out at two and three and four in the morning on a winter’s night. We just did it. It was part of, yes part of the job.
JM: Yes. Yes.
SW: So yes.
JM: Thank you. We’re still with you at Coningsby. Were you aware of the losses that the squadrons were taking? Were you involved in any way with that aspect of their work?
SW: No. We were for a while. The navigators used to come in after they’d been to the briefing and we would give them a card with the predictions for cloud, wind etcetera, visibility and ask them if they’d be kind enough on the way home to write in what was actually there. Now, we said it very apologetically because we knew that it was asking a bit much. If they were coming home they wouldn’t be safe until they crossed the coast and the last thing on their minds would be filling in a card. So we, we almost never got one back. And I think it was just something extra for them to think about. And that idea was dropped fairly quickly.
JM: Yes.
SW: So we didn’t actually see the aircrew at that stage, and of course being in the watchtower we were isolated from what was going on in the rest of the airfield.
JM: Yes. Yes.
SW: I mean we just had the hierarchy.
JM: Yes.
SW: Above us and [pause] yes.
JM: Yes. Yes. Thank you. So there came a point when you were posted to Langar.
SW: Yes.
JM: Could you tell us a little about that experience? Was it very similar to Coningsby or did it have its own distinguishing experiences for you?
SW: It was different. I suppose it was a newer airfield. We travelled in, in RAF wagons, and I remember seeing the sign for Langar at the side of the road. It was a lovely rural spot and the first glimpse I suppose I got of it was of a field of [pause] not buttercups [pause] not primulas. Oh.
AB: Cowslips.
SW: Hmmn?
AB: Cowslips.
SW: Cowslips. A field of cowslips. Absolutely golden in the sunshine. I thought oh this is going to be a lovely place. And then we were allocated a bed in the Nissen hut, which was very hot in the hot weather. Difficult if you’ve been on night duty and very cold in the cold weather. There were louvers on the rounded ends but the snow would come in and you’d wake up with it on the bed. That would give a warning what we were in for. We were quite a way from the airfield though. We all had bikes. Yes. I saw the Met office. It was in the watchtower but it was a different, a different set up. The airfield was much more linear [pause] And I suppose my main memory there was that there were three of us. We were covering the twenty four hours. Twenty four hours, and one of the girls got ill and for a while myself and my partner we did twenty four hours on and twenty four hours off. Somebody said, ‘What do you do in your spare time?’ [laughs] Very little. And we went there, I suppose it was May and, and then in the August I think it was there was this rumour that somebody from the BBC was coming. And well, coming but talk to us or what? Anyway, then it was he’s going on a flight and where’s he got? I think it might be a long one. Oh, poor man. Does he know what he’s letting himself in for because the losses? Anyway, if he was determined to do it, so he did come in to the office, spoke to the [pause] and didn’t speak to us. Well, there would only be one on at a time anyway. But we certainly worried about him.
JM: And this was Wynford Vaughan-Thomas?
SW: Yes, it was. Yes.
JM: Were you aware that he was a famous broadcaster even then?
SW: Yes. Yes. We’d heard him. But we did have radios. We had a radio in the office and we had a radio in the Nissen hut, and, and yes we kept well abroad of what was happening and we would also be very thankful for the music that came on. American Forces Network started at 5 o’clock. They were an hour in front of the Home Service or the Forces Network. So yes, we did know his name and his reputation and we were all very proud that it was too us he would come but we were very worried about him and of course his recording man.
JM: So he had somebody with him. A sound recordist, did he?
SW: Yes. He had a recording man. Yes.
JM: Yeah. Did you see the equipment they were going to record on to?
SW: No. No.
JM: Right.
SW: No. That would be like the aircraft.
JM: Yes. I see, yes.
SW: It would be away from us. In that sense we were kind of isolated.
JM: Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: Yes. I wonder if you remember anything about him as a man in terms of his build or his voice? He had a very characteristic voice as I recall.
SW: A very distinctive voice.
JM: Very.
SW: Yes. Well, I would say he wasn’t past remarkable. I mean, he wasn’t exceptionally tall or anything like that. He was very pleasant and I think, yes, I can’t remember how he was outfitted but obviously for the trip he was well outfitted. Yes. And then we worried about him. We took it in turns to worry because of course if you’d been on all day or you were going on you would go and we would go to bed and you would definitely go to sleep. But the first question you know, any news? And if you were actually in the office you’d be listening. Listening. If they were due back at 4 o’clock and then it gets to ten past and where are they? And so it would go on and then, how many? It wasn’t an exact science because sometimes one of the planes, the flight would be aborted off the, off the runway. They wouldn’t have, they didn’t actually go so it was no good counting. Occasionally somebody would be fairly shot up and they would land, you know perhaps in Norfolk or something like that. So it was no good writing people off straightaway. You had to wait and find out. But yes we did know Wynford Vaughan-Thomas had got back. Yes.
JM: Do you remember whether he was showing signs of nerves before his, his trip? Do you think he knew what he was letting himself in for?
SW: Well, if he was he didn’t show it. I would say he was a professional man and people like that do what they have to do no matter what they feel inside.
JM: Yes. I think that’s a very good answer but as you pointed out there was, there were in fact two of them and we forget the nerves and the human characteristics of his, his technician don’t we?
SW: Yes. Yes. Yes.
JM: He must have been just as tense.
SW: I think it’s very true when something starts that’s what you’re concentrating on and he wanted to get there, and he wanted to get back and he wanted it to be right and I think that’s what took his attention.
JM: Yes. Yes. Did you ever get to hear the broadcast that they made?
SW: Yes. Yes. Oh, we did. Yes. Which I believe there is a production with visual and so forth?
JM: I imagine so. Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: Yes. And whilst we’re talking about news that came through to you you’ve mentioned that you met Wing Commander Gibson. Were you aware of the Dambusters raid? You would have been at Langar then. Not at Coningsby.
SW: Yes. But they —
JM: Were you aware of it?
SW: They were only, yes but of course we knew the area.
JM: Yes.
SW: And, oh yes, I mean it was when I say common knowledge it was knowledge between people who were affected and of course we felt with our observations we were showing what, what the weather was. Our Met officer was having his input into the Lincolnshire, you know. We weren’t directly involved but we were involved on the periphery I suppose.
JM: Yes. Yes.
SW: It was all, and you know how it comes through the air sometimes.
JM: Yes. Yes. There must have been a sense of pride of being a part of that team though.
SW: Oh yes. Yes. Yes.
JM: Brilliant.
SW: Oh yes. And we would have known some of the other parties that went.
JM: Yes. Some of the boys that didn’t come back.
SW: Yes.
JM: Yes.
SW: Yes. We did.
JM: So you were, you were at Langar and then you were posted to Spilsby. Is that correct?
SW: Yes. Yes.
JM: Tell us a little bit about that will you, please.
SW: Yes. We’d rumbled off to Spilsby and it was a very deserted sort of establishment. The Americans had been there and they had left us without light bulbs. They seem to have, wherever they were going they seemed to think it would be short of everything. It was very, very basic when we got there. The only thing was they had left a couple of tubs of peanut butter and peanut butter sandwiches were the order of the day for a while. But I mean we got it up and running obviously and planes came in, and that was a very busy time. We had Windows by then.
JM: Windows.
SW: Windows were aluminium strips.
JM: Yes. Window. Yes.
SW: That were thrown out. Yes. To deflect the [pause] Yes. And of course things like radar were all getting much more sophisticated. It was, you can describe it like a step up instrument wise. And we tried out FIDO.
JM: Yes.
SW: The fog dispersal unit. Not always successfully because in, although it would be foggy it would be windy as well and it was distracting. I think it was the worst place for fog and poor visibility and the decision had to be made in conjunction with other obviously as to whether the planes could return. It wasn’t difficult to get them off but it was very difficult sometimes to get them to return. Nobody wanted them diverted. They didn’t want to be diverted. The minimum height for the cloud if I remember rightly was three hundred feet and it was very difficult in the dark to estimate it. And I don’t know about the others, but I know I’d send up a prayer, please don’t let me make a mistake. And they didn’t often have to be diverted but sometimes it was very dicey and cloud was the worst. If the cloud was nearly on the deck it was very difficult. I mean they didn’t have the instruments that they have today of course or anything like that and if a decision was made that they had to be diverted you felt as though you should run away somewhere and hide until they, in case you’d be blamed [laughs] But, yes there were. There were some, yes difficult decisions shall we say.
JM: Where the weather was marginal.
SW: Pardon?
JM: Where the visibility or the weather was in some way marginal.
SW: Yes. Yes.
JM: Yes. Yeah. Now, I understand that you are aware of the fact that there was quite a nasty accident at Spilsby.
SW: There was. Yes.
JM: Can you tell us a little about that please?
SW: I don’t really know much about it. All this talk of bombs in the bomb dump. Now, as we looked out from the watchtower, the perimeter tracks would go around and the dispersals were right, left and as far as you could see was where the bomb dump was. And I remember the talk about bombs in the bomb dump but to be perfectly honest I can’t remember in detail like as to how much damage was done or anything like that. Which seems strange but —
JM: But they were —
SW: But we just got on our bikes and cycled to work, and —
JM: But there was an explosion.
SW: Oh, there was an explosion.
JM: Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: And people were killed or injured as a result of that.
SW: Well, yes. People out on the, yes the dispersal units. Yes.
JM: Yes.
SW: Where they would be loading. I mean, I remember them with these bombs on the trolleys going to and fro.
JM: Yes.
SW: Especially when they had an enormous one. And the thing to do for the ground crew was to write on it. You know, like people write on a cast on a broken leg or something like that. They would send messages on the side of this bomb. I never did. No. I didn’t think that was [laughs] but I do remember all the traffic with the, with the bombs. Yes.
JM: Yes.
SW: And there was always this talk about, ‘He’s reckless,’ You know, ‘The driver’s reckless. Hold on to your hat.’ The one thing there were any explosions in that. I remember a plane crashing with, on the, on take-off.
JM: With bombs on board.
SW: With bombs on board. Fortunately, no big ones on that. Yes, and I remember going to the funeral. Now, why? I can’t imagine. But we were supposed to so some representative had to go. Yes. I don’t know.
JM: And that was in Spilsby locally was it?
SW: That was at Coningsby.
JM: Oh. Coningsby.
[pause]
SW: I don’t know whether they had, you know the fire bombs.
JM: The incendiaries.
SW: Incendiaries. Yes. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to do, it didn’t do any damage in the village. Yes.
JM: So, was, was Spilsby your last posting during the war?
SW: No. From Spilsby we were sent to Bottesford.
JM: Yes.
SW: In Nottingham.
JM: Yes.
SW: Shire. And another busy station. The most remarkable thing there was the fact that we were there for the 8th of May, for the wonderful, wonderful news that the war was over. And, and we had, I think like we knew that the day before, on May the 8th was to be the day. VE Day. And anybody who wasn’t actually needed at work went on the church parade. We had it out in a hangar and we were celebrating yes, but we also knew there were so many that weren’t there to celebrate. It was a very sobering service. And then the NCOs, because I was a corporal there was no establishment for a sergeant and of course I never rose up the ranks we were invited to the sergeant’s mess for a celebratory drink. So away we went and tried to give the impression we were quite sophisticated which of course we weren’t and the gin that we were offered nearly knocked us off our feet. But, however, we thanked them and yes, all very nice and then we cycled off to the WAAF site, and made our way to Nottingham and I remember dancing in the street in the main area in front of the official buildings there and thinking how wonderful it was. And wonderful it was. Yes.
JM: Wonderful. I know that some personnel were given the opportunity to fly over Germany.
SW: They were. Yes.
JM: In things called Cooks Tours. Was that something that ever came your way?
SW: I didn’t fly over Germany but I did fly and I can remember going out to the, to the aircraft and saying something about a parachute. He said, ‘Oh, you won’t have a parachute. We’re not going that high. We’re not going high enough.’ I think we had to sign and say if things went amiss nobody would claim. But the inside of the Lancasters [pause] how they survived, those aircrew I’ll never know. It was cold. It was draughty. It was cramped. It was horrible. I never went as far as the poor old tail gunner, but even to get in to the cockpit you had to climb over obstructions and noise was incredible. The whole thing rattled and shook. And that was still while you were still on the ground. And taking off, I mean you wondered was this it? Was this the end of the world? Then it was interesting when we were in the air but it was still so, so uncomfortable and so, such hardship. I don’t know how long we were up. Less than an hour probably but to think of flying all the way to Berlin, to Italy. They went to North Africa. They needed, they needed awards for going never mind anything else. For surviving in that aircraft. Yes. It was, oh quite an experience. It really was. Yes.
JM: And when peace returned were you anxious to get demobbed and return to civilian life or were you tempted to stay with the RAF?
SW: No. There was no, there was no establishment. There was no we would have to re-muster into something else.
JM: Right.
SW: Yes. I think they had far too many personnel, women personnel. They were really looking to get rid of you in turn. Now, from, from Bottesford we went to Cottesmore.
JM: Yes.
SW: And there things were gradually sort of running down. But that was when we were flying to Holland and they were bringing people back from faraway places and things like that. And we went on a course about flying over the hump between Burma and India because of course the war in the east was still going on and, but then of course we weren’t needed but it was interesting. Yes. So, it was July 1946 when my turn came around to be demobbed and we went to a centre in Birmingham and handed in, you kept your best uniform. You could keep your underwear, which was not what most ladies were wearing and we had, well to start with we had these equestrian type knickers. The dark ones were called blackouts and the grey blue ones were called twilights. I have to say they were very good at keeping you warm if you were out on the airfield in the middle of the night but glamorous they weren’t. They did modernise them later. And the men got a suit, but the ladies got some money. And before we left we had these interviews as to what we were going to do, and, and they were quite clever because of course they were looking for certain groups of people. I knew which occupations were in need and so they were quite good at like saying, ‘Oh, you’ve done very well at these tests so you could, have you thought of being —’ this that or whatever was needed. And one of the things was teachers. Now, of course, I’d been a probationer teacher, a grade which never existed after the war so obviously teachers were needed so that’s where they encouraged you. They felt that your qualifications were such that you would be admirable for this. And jobs for, for women were very scarce on the ground in those days. You were a teacher, a nurse, a secretary, or in a shop or [pause] yes. Anyway, I went for the teaching and they had this scheme, emergency teacher training and instead of the two years because that’s what it was at that time it was thirteen months. But we got very short holidays. A week here and two weeks there and eventually passed out. And then we had to do two years’ probation at, well whatever they called the first. Yes. Instead of the year. So yes. So that’s what I became.
JM: Very good. Did, did, may I ask you did you make any friendships amongst your WAAF colleagues which endured after the, after your service?
SW: Yes. But not many because of course we were constantly split up. We didn’t, we started off, like two came up from London but it wasn’t very long before Barbara was posted somewhere else and you couldn’t keep track. There were no phones and things like that. But I did keep in touch with one girl. I went to her wedding, and but she lived in London which was a long way from Liverpool so we only saw each other occasionally. We wrote, and I went to stay with her for the Coronation and that sort of thing but of course over time.
JM: Yes.
SW: She had four children and, yes.
JM: Yes.
SW: Yes.
JM: I think the last thing I would like to ask you is when you reflect back on your, on your RAF service would you say that it changed you as a woman? Did it give you anything that would otherwise not have been open to you?
SW: Well, it gave me a lot more self-confidence, because I would not [pause] I would say I was very good. I was good at school. Not clever but good. I did what was expected of me. I was probably horribly boring, and yes it gave me self-confidence. I had to make decisions. It gave me an interest in other parts of the country, and with a broader outlook I would say. Not that I was confined at home because mum and dad were very good, but it was just different. And I suppose it did affect my teaching. Definitely. Yes.
JM: And you’ve been a lifelong supporter of Bomber Command.
SW: Oh, I have. Yes. Yes. Contributed money. Not much but some. But I’ve always stood up for them and been disgusted at it all being swept under the carpet and made to look nice. It wasn’t. It was the war. I mean I’d been in Liverpool. I knew what bombing was. Yes. But what else were we going to do? The war was, I mean I’m sure outside people I mean outside the country thought that we were finished. There was no way we were going to come back from this. Fortunately, we felt otherwise.
JM: Thank you so much. That’s an excellent note on which to finish. Thank you for a remarkable interview. Thank you very much indeed.
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 Sheila Wilmet
Creator
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Julian Maslin
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2019-05-04
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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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AWilmetS190504
Format
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00:59:53 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Sheila Wilmet grew up in Liverpool and was fifteen when war was declared. She describes the devastation of bombing in 1941, spending nights in an Anderson shelter, and navigating unexploded bombs during her commute. She volunteered after viewing a meteorologist advertisement, and upon receiving initial training in Gloucester and Morecombe, she completed an education in meteorology at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. Firstly, Wilmet was stationed at RAF Coningsby where she met Guy Gibson. She also describes her duties which consisted of regularly observing, interpreting, and collating weather data using specialist equipment including a Stevenson screen, nephoscope, hydrogen balloons, theodolite and, anemometer. Secondly, Wilmet was posted to RAF Langar. She describes the Nissen hut living conditions, and the visit of BBC broadcaster, Wynford Vaughan-Thomas. Wilmet was then posted to RAF Spilsby. She talks about American peanut butter, making difficult decisions during bad weather, and the bomb dump explosion. She also recollects the developments in equipment including radar, Windows, and FIDO. Next, Wilmet was posted to RAF Bottesford. She describes both her somber emotions and the celebratory events of VE Day. Finally, she was posted to RAF Cottesmore and demobilised in July 1946 when she retrained as a teacher. Wilmet talks about her lifelong support of Bomber Command and distaste at the way they were remembered.
Contributor
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Tilly Foster
Julie Williams
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1945-05-08
1946
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Merseyside
England--Liverpool
England--London
England--Leicestershire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Rutland
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Lancashire
Language
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eng
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
bomb dump
bombing
FIDO
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
ground personnel
home front
meteorological officer
military living conditions
Nissen hut
perception of bombing war
radar
RAF Bottesford
RAF Coningsby
RAF Cottesmore
RAF Langar
RAF Spilsby
shelter
Window
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1246/16757/MNealeETH1395951-150731-090.2.jpg
4302367de0ffbe9057b4b109826be604
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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Neale, Ted
E T H Neale
Description
An account of the resource
123 items. The collection concerns Edward Thomas Henry Neale (b. 1922, 1395951 Royal Air Force) who served as a navigator with 37 Squadron in North Africa, the Middle East and Italy. The collection contains his training notebooks from South Africa as well as propaganda leaflets dropped by the allies in the Mediterranean theatre.
The collection also contains a photograph album, navigation logs and target photographs.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Alison Neale and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-07-31
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. 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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Neale, ETH
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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Meteorological Report
Description
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A meteorological report for a route from Tunis to Maison B.
Format
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One typewritten sheet with handwritten annotations
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Service material
Identifier
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MNealeETH1395951-150731-090
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Tunisia
Tunisia--Tunis
North Africa
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.
aircrew
ground personnel
meteorological officer
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/888/11127/AHughesWH151021.1.mp3
33613f53da69484a983e122f2ed1e463
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
Hughes, Harry
William Henry Hughes
W H Hughes
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Flight Lieutenant Harry Hughes DFC DFM (- 2023, 159079 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a navigator with 102 Squadron and then with a Mosquito Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-21
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Hughes, WH
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
HH: It’s all in the book, I think, mainly, isn’t it?
AS: Most of it is, but we need to get it on tape. I think. This is an interview with Harry Hughes, flight lieutenant Harry Hughes DFC DFM, a navigator in wartime Bomber Command on 102 Squadron and then later on Mosquitos. My name is Adam Sutch and the interview is being conducted at Harry’s home in St Ives. Harry, thank you ever so much for agreeing to this interview. Perhaps we can start by going over a little your early days. I believe, you were born in Dorset.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Okay. Did you have brothers and sisters?
HH: A sister, yeah. But I went to school in Sherborne, the Grammar School in Sherborne not the big school, not the public school. And, it was a good school but there we are, I think it was a good school anyway but they’ve, in their wisdom they’ve closed it down now and they amalgamated with the Lord Digby school, ‘cause the Lord Digby school is gonna cost too much to repair or something and I think some builder wanted to get hold of their building anyway and make flats out of it. You know, usual thing.
AS: Yeah. How did you get on at school? What were your subjects? What did you do well at in school?
HH: Mainly in maths. I got a distinction in Maths and a distinction in Physics and Chemistry. Otherwise I got all passes except English language in which I got, I didn’t fail, I got a pass, just got a pass so I didn’t get my ‘tric. Did so⸻
AS: Sorry.
HH: Anyway that’s beside the point. Anyway I left there in 1940 and my very first job was a night watchman for some lady at Lewisham Manor near Sherborne, who lost all her staff and she wanted somebody to be in the house at night and to patrol the grounds. While I went round the grounds once, no, never again, it was too bloody scary [laughs].
AS: Things that go bump in the night.
HH: Yeah, there was hooting and things [laughs]. Anyway that’s beside the point.
AS: But this was 1940. Was this, was the Battle of Britain going on over your head or had that finished?
HH: Yes, yeah.
AS: What, was that what pushed you towards the air force or?
HH: No. Well, I think. Well, what pushed me towards the air force was the fact that I went, my father wanted me to join the navy and I, I went down to Portsmouth to sit an exam to be a writer or a supply probationer [unclear] his own clerk, and I didn’t fancy that, but anyway they gave you twelve blocks of pounds, shillings and pence to add up that way and then you had to add up that way and then you had to add them all up across and then the figure you got down here and the figure you got down here should have been the same. Mine was nowhere near. Anyway.
AS: But your maths were good so, you threw it really, didn’t you?
HH: Pardon?
AS: Did you deliberately mess up, because your maths were good.
HH: Yeah. Yes, I know, but not the accountancy type [laughs]. Anyway, we then, coming back on the train, I was pretty certain I’d failed, so, coming back on the train, I had to change at Salisbury and I had about an hour to waste, wait at Salisbury so I went in the town and I saw an RAF recruiting office. So I went in there and saw a sergeant there and I signed on for aircrew.
AS: Just like that?
HH: Yeah. And they took me on as a pilot or navigator and then I had to go to Oxford for attestation and I went there and with all the gunners from South Wales and what have you became gunners rather, from the mines, you know, and so that’s how I came to be in the air force.
AS: Okay. Did you go through the aircrew recruiting centres in London at Lord’s and?
HH: Yes, I was the first one there.
AS: Really?
HH: Very first one to go there, I think. In July ‘41, I suppose, yeah.
AS: That’s pretty early. What, what happened then? They’ve taken you into the air force at that stage, I suppose, you didn’t know what you were going to do.
HH: Well, we went to ITW and⸻
AS: Where was that?
HH: Down Torquay, which is very nice and, I’ve got my bloody reading glasses on, no wonder I can’t see, and then I was sent down to America to train.
AS: Okay.
HH: In the United States Air Force.
AS: Straight from Initial Training Wing.
HH: Yes. Straight from ITW. We didn’t get a chance. Later on they used to, they did a little course on Tiger Moths up on somewhere in the world, somewhere up that way.
AS: So, you hadn’t actually flown in an aircraft when you went to.
HH: No.
AS: How did you, obviously they wouldn’t fly you over, but how did you get across the Atlantic, in a convoy or?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Okay. What was that called?
HH: I went out on a ship called the Highland Princess, which I ended up selling. I sold the Highland Princess, the Highland Brigade and the Highland Monarch.
AS: Presumably not during the war when you got there.
HH: No. Four of them, I sold them in about ’51, or ’52, something like that
AS: Okay. So, you’re going across the Atlantic in convoy. Was the ship crowded? What was the conditions like?
HH: Well, we were in hammocks, you know, on meat hooks in the, you hung your hammock on meat hooks in the lower hold, you know?
AS: Gosh.
HH: And we are right up on the stern of the ship because every time the, I think she was twin screwer if I remember rightly, because every time the ship rolled the prop shoot [mimics a sound] [laughs].
AS: Is that the prop coming out of the water?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Gosh! Gosh, and so, there must have been hundreds of men on the ship with you.
HH: Yeah.
AS: All [unclear]
HH: The one thing you found out, you had to hang on to your four and a half hat because one went missing, what did he do? Go and pinch another one. So, it went all round the ship [laughs]. [unclear]
AS: Like measles, isn’t it? Yes, yeah, absolutely.
HH: Yeah, I remember that so, I hid mine, anyway.
AS: So, you went across in uniform with
HH: Yeah.
AS: Hundreds of other people.
HH: No, when we got to, we were being issued with, at Wilmslow I think it was in Cheshire, we’d been issued with a grey flannel suit to wear in America, ‘cause we all had to go down grey worsted suits, you know.
AS: Ah, ‘cause America wasn’t in the war then.
HH: ‘Cause they weren’t in the war then, yeah.
AS: Right.
HH: So, and so we went down to Maxwell Field in Alabama first of all for acclimatization.
AS: Wait, where did the ship come in?
HH: Halifax.
AS: Oh, so you landed in Canada.
HH: Went to Canada first, yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: And then, I think, yes I think we were there, we were trained down to Toronto, I think, and then we went from Toronto down to Alabama, to Maxwell Field, to Montgomery, Alabama.
AS: Okay. Was the whole journey really well organised⸻
HH: Oh yeah.
AS: Or was is the usual service mess up?
HH: No.
AS: No. It was good?
HH: It was good, yeah, everything seemed to go to plan I think, pretty well.
AS: How were you received at Montgomery, at Maxwell Air Force base?
HH: Oh, pretty well. In fact, the very first Sunday we were there, first weekend we were there, the American officer came round and, when we were having lunch, and he said, there’s a fair in town at the moment and they’ve heard that you boys are here, so we’d like you, they’d like you to come along and be their guest. So we thought we were going there but no, it was a scam, we were all scammed out of our money. Yeah, so we woke up in the morning, everybody had lost all their money, it was a real American type scam you know and I saw a coach loading up with American service people all in uniform. So I said, ‘Where is this coach going?’ ‘Oh’, he said, one of them said, ‘We are going to a little village called Prattville just outside of Montgomery and we’re going to church and if we’re lucky we will get invited out for lunch afterwards.’ So, I said, ‘Can we come along?’ Then the three of us got on board anyway. And we went in and sang all the hymns [laughs] and, real gospel stuff too it was, yeah.
AS: Deep South, isn’t it?
HH: You know, happy happy-clappy type of fellows, kind of stuff, you know, and anyway afterwards all the American were all invited out to lunch and we were there, standing there, wondering what the hell to do, because it was a long walk back to Maxwell from Prattville ‘bout twelve miles I should think and then suddenly this lovely blonde comes up, she says, ‘You all from Maxwell?’ I said, ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact, we are.’ ‘Oh’, she says, ‘Matter of fact what sort of language is that?’ she says. ‘Well’, I says, ‘Well, you probably wouldn’t understand but we are English’ [laughs]. ‘Oh’, she says, ‘English, you are English?’ And she rushed around and she got all the Americans to cancel so that we were all invited to and she was a daughter of a, she collared me anyway and the other two were taken off somewhere else, I don’t know where. And then, we had lunch and her father was the local judge and he said afterwards, after we had lunch, he said, ‘I guess you would like to take my daughter out for a drive, would you? We gotta a nice Buick in the back. Buick with a steering column for your change’ and I didn’t even have a licence [unclear] never mind [laughs]. Never mind, and I got in anyway and I drove her out, bit of snogging and came back. And that was that and I never saw her again, she, I heard later she married an American navy pilot, who got killed in the Pacific. Yeah. So I could have followed it up if I wanted to but I didn’t but by that time I was back in Canada anyway.
AS: So when did the serious business of learning to fly start and how did that go?
HH: Pardon?
AS: When did the serious business of learning to fly start and how did that go?
HH: Well, when I go to, we went down to, we were posted from Maxwell Field down to Albany in Georgia to an aerodrome called Darr Aero Tech, that was the owner of the aerodrome, I think, Darr Aero Tech. And it’s still there, I was there not long ago. And so, I suddenly had to do a flight commander’s check and he decided, he decided to wash me out so I went back up to Canada and trained as a navigator.
AS: On the flying piece, how much flying did you do? Do you think it was fair that you got washed out?
HH: No.
AS: How did that come about?
HH: Well, they wanted, they, the Air Ministry wanted as many people washed out as possible who could train as navigators, bomb aimers and gunners and what have you. They weren’t too short of gunners but they.
AS: I believe you had an instructor with a German sounding name.
HH: Oh yeah. Schmidt.
AS: Schmidt.
HH: Yeah, that was a joke really. That was in the book, wasn’t it? Yeah.
AS: So maybe he sabotaged your flying career, your piloting career. So, I presume that a lot of people were washed out at this stage.
HH: They were, but [unclear] was never washed out.
AS: Wow.
HH: Over eighty percent. I know it was a whole lot of us came back. And on Pearl Harbour, the day of Pearl Harbour we were giving an exhibition rugby match in the town. And suddenly over the tannoy came an announcement that Pearl Harbour had been attacked by the Japanese and so everybody went home, they all packed up and went home. So we went home as well. And that night, I had a place I used to get under the wire and go into town at night, you know [laughs] and when I came back to get under the wire there was a man there with a gun [laughs]. And he was trying to shoot me because he thought I was a Japanese. He said, look mate, I don’t like your look, you look like a bloody Japanese [laughs].
AS: Did you go out of through the gate after that?
HH: No. Well, I didn’t bother after that.
AS: So.
HH: I went back, well, the following day we were on the train to go back up to Canada.
AS: Is that quick?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Flight commander’s test and then pack your kit and off you go.
HH: About for, about a week later I suppose I was back, I was on the train going back up to Canada. And it’s quite an experience travelling by train out in America, isn’t it? In those days with the dining cars and everything, and the bars and but we had to change, we were on what was called the Chattanooga Choo Choo, but going the wrong way [laughs]. We were going there, were going north but the Chattanooga Choo Choo goes, comes south, doesn’t it? But we were on that line anyway. And I remember we stopped off in Boston and we had a bit of a wait there so we decided to go into town, we never did see Boston because we got on the way into town, we got attacked by these Irish Americans.
AS: For being British?
HH: We had taken them into the war.
AS: Okay.
HH: It’s our fault but [laughs]. And they were at war now. And they’d be getting called up and be killed. And then anyway we got away with that alright.
AS: You were physically attacked?
HH: Yeah, yeah. They had knives and God knows what. They weren’t very nice people. Anyway, I say Irish American but I imagine they were Irish Americans, being in Boston, wouldn’t you?
AS: Big population there, isn’t it?
HH: So, then I went to Trenton where I was interviewed by a group captain and he was Raymond Mass‘s brother.
AS: God lord, Raymond Mass of the Agfa?
HH: Yeah. It was his brother. He looked just like him too. Yeah. And.
AS: Was that a sympathetic interview?
HH: Yes, yeah.
AS: You wanted to be a pilot and then suddenly that stopped. Was the system generally sympathetic to you?
HH: Oh yes. So they were quite keen to take me on as a navigator. And so then I went from there to Quebec City, L’Ancienne-Lorette. And from there up to Rivers in Manitoba. Which was a dry town, that was, Prohibition there.
AS: Oh dear. Good lord.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Were you in uniform by this time? RAF uniform?
HH: Yeah. Wearing a Canadian uniform in fact [laughs]. They issued us with a Canadian uniform, which were quite smart actually. And they were very similar to ours but the cloth is a little kinder, shall we say?
AS: So, you’re in Prohibition and you went out, presumably looking for a drink, do you?
HH: Well, we knew that Mont-Joli was dry but there was a little, there was a port just down the river called Rimouski, which was a timber port mainly. I remember when I took my Institute of Chartered Shipbrokers exams, one of the questions was, could you explain what were the, how many and what sort of cargo was exported from Rimouski, well everybody else thought it was in Russia, didn’t’ they? [laughs]
AS: But you had a clear mental picture.
HH: Yeah, I’ve seen it. Anyway, we were trying to, we were drinking some, we went to a bar and we were drinking this clear liquid, we had asked for whiskey but they served us up with this clear whiskey, clear liquid and when we were coming back in a taxi we were, we’d had about two each of these, we were all very sick we had to stop the taxi we were really sick and we saw afterwards that [unclear] don’t drink anything that is given to you because there is a stuff called alcool which is made from wood alcohol and it’s can make you blind.
AS: It’s like drinking anti-freeze, isn’t it?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Gosh, lucky escape!
HH: And so that was that. So then from Mont-Joli we went to the staff end course at Rivers in Manitoba which was astronavigation, advanced navigations course it was.
AS: What was the basic navigation course? What was your basic navigation training like? Was it mostly classroom or?
HH: A lot of in the air.
AS: What were you flying in?
HH: Ansons. Yeah. Mark 1 Ansons you had to wind up the undercarriage, you remember?
AS: Yeah. Did you take to it easily, to the navigation, because of your maths proficiency or?
HH: Oh yes, yeah.
AS: And you found it easy to be an accurate navigator?
HH: Yes, I mean, you’re training all the time of course and right the way through when I came home from Rivers, came home over on the Union-Castle ship, called the Cape Town Castle, which I didn’t sell. And, what’s the time?
AS: Now.
HH: [alarm clock rings] The taxi, yeah.
AS: Okay. We’ll pause at there, shall we? [recording paused]
HH: Yeah. Astronavigation course A and it was mainly a flying by using star shots yeah. But when I got on the squadron, I mean you had to carry about three sets of books, you know, and a naval almanac as well. Had to work out your star shots. But when I got to the squadron they had a marvellous bit of equipment, a little projector over the navigator’s tail [unclear], which about that high off the table and you had to measure it up with a special stick to make certain it was in focus and on this astrograph there was three stars you could use and, two stars rather, two stars plus Polaris you use to get a three star fix, and you worked out a datum point for the time before you, before you got airborne and drew it on your chart and then you lay your chart down on the table and lined it up with the astrograph and then this projected the position lines of these stars onto your chart. So all, so, the bomb aimer, all the bomb aimer had to do was to take the star charts, he was, my bomb aimer was a trained navigator anyway and I think he’s still alive, I’m not sure, and.
AS: So it was very much team work.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Between you and the bomb aimer but actually on astros. So, you, we jumped straight on to being on the squadron. Did you know, as soon as you started navigator training, that you would be going to Bomber Command?
HH: Well, it’s pretty obvious I would be. Yeah.
AS; Okay. And, so, you finished your training in Canada, came back to the UK by ship, and what happened next before you got on to the squadron?
HH: I went to [unclear], is it Cumberland?
AS: I think Scotland.
HH: Up near Carlisle, north of Carlisle then, between Carlisle and Keswick I suppose. And a little aerodrome there and we learned to fly in wartime conditions, you know, where the balloon barrages were et cetera. Where to avoid them.
AS: And is this when you stepped up from Ansons to bombers?
HH: No, no, this is still on Ansons. And then from there we went down to Hampstead Norris still on Ansons and then we went to Harwell, Hampstead Norris was a satellite of Harwell at the time and then we crewed up with our pilot and wireless operator, I think we already had a wireless operator and we crewed up with bomb aimer and engineer, no, no, we didn’t have an engineer at that time, this is on Wellingtons and.
AS: What were they like the training Wellingtons, were they in good nick, were they ropey old kites or?
HH: No, no, pretty ropey, they were draughty as hell, oh God they were draughty. The wind used to whistle through that fabric, you know. [unclear] construction, wasn’t it?
AS: What was, was there a step up in gear going on to heavier airplanes and operational tactics?
HH: Oh yeah, yeah.
AS: You are moving much more quickly in your calculations and navigation than perhaps when you were training?
HH: We did quite a lot of cross countries and Bullseyes we did in OTU.
AS: What’s Bullseye?
HH: Bullseyes we did down, we’d go down to, say the Channel Islands and experience a little bit of flak there and then we’d come back up again and fly across to Portsmouth or somewhere and fly across the coast there or else we’d fly, out to the North Sea towards Denmark and come back into Hull.
AS: So this was almost a simulated bombing mission, was that?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Training, for training. Okay.
HH: They were called Bullseyes anyway in cooperation with the army, I suppose, with the the ack-ack.
AS: So, when you’re at OTU, you’re on Wellingtons.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: Then we went up to a place called Riccall in Yorkshire, near Selby, and we had to, we trained, we converted onto Halifaxes.
AS: What, can you remember what year, what month this would be when you?
HH: Well, that would be about Christmas of, just around Christmas in ’42, I suppose.
AS: Wow, so what type of Halifax would this be? The Merlin one or the?
HH: The Merlin one, yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: Yes, so the Hali, Hali 1, what’s his name? Not Gibson, what the hell was his name?
AS: Cheshire?
HH: No. Gus Walker.
AS: Gus, oh yeah, yeah.
HH: He was a lovely man, Gus was, and he’d taken out, all the mid upper turret and the front nose cone as well, there is a very big heavy turret in the front nose and like the Lanc was, you know. And then, it’s pretty useless that front turret was but anyway. Then, eventually we got the Hali II.1 A which had a four gun [unclear] turret on the top, yes, same as on the Hali 3.
AS: So your mid upper then got his job back.
HH: Yeah.
AS: So, Gus Walker he took these turrets out to save weight, to carry more bombs?
HH: To save weight, yeah. Just to save weight, to make it improve performance a bit. And get a better height. I better ring up my taxi.
AS: So, by taking the turrets off, Gus Water was giving his aircrews more of a chance really, wasn’t he?
HH: Yeah, but then later on they improved the, we still had the Merlin 22s, same as the Lanc had, you know. Merlin 22s, but the Mark II.1 A was a much better aircraft, you could get up to, you know, eighteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two thousand.
AS: Loaded?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Which is, you were at the same height as the Lancs. And the Lancs had the habit of dropping their bombs on you. Which happened on our very first trip. We went to, we were waiting to have a nice easy trip but no, we got Essen. And then, when we were over the, when we were over the target on our bombing run but a whole lot of bombs dropped on us, a whole lot of incendiaries dropped on us and the engineer and myself had to go back and kick them out the door [laughs] and which is good practice actually, because it happened to us again over Wuppertal.
AS: Really?
HH: But that time there was a, I think it was a two thousand pounder or a thousand pounder, I don’t know, and it came and took our port rudder right off, and the port tail and the port tail blade yeah.
AS: And what sort of problems did that give the pilot?
HH: Mh?
AS: What sort of problems did that give the pilot?
HH: Well, we found, she was, it was still flying alright but I found that we were crabbing a bit. And I remember seeing a light below and I said, take a drift on that, would you? And anyway we found that we were crabbing quite about ten degrees to port, I think, yeah.
AS: So you do all your sums again and take that out by adjusting the.
HH: No, I just took ten degrees off every course [laughs]. Yeah.
AS: That must have been quite a hairy landing I would think.
HH: No, [unclear], yeah. I can’t remember it being anything but normal.
AS: Wow.
HH: And when we got back, the little corporal in charge of our ground crew, he came out, what the bloody hell have you done to my aircraft! [laughs] as if it was our fault, you know.
AS: Did you fly your own regular aircraft that you got attached to?
HH: Yes, yeah. D, we always flew in D, until one time we let, we were on leave and I think it was an Australian pilot took it and he was very conscious of saving fuel. So he throttled right back coming back and the result was that the, when we went to run the engine up the following day, the engine started to shake, port engine started to shake and suddenly the prop came off and went right through where I’d be normally sitting and sliced my table in half, but I was in the rest position now for take-off you know.
AS: Wow. So that was one of your nine lives gone?
HH: Yeah. I tell that story I say, as you can see I’m still here [laughs]. I wasn’t sitting there at the time.
AS: So, did they repair the aeroplane or was that the demise of D-Dog?
HH: But that was it finished, D-Dog was finished then and we got the Mark 2.1 A then.
AS: Still as D-Dog or was there a superstition about that?
HH: No. We were still with D, yeah. But, Jackie Miles, he was our mid upper gunner, he was really pleased to get that. We got four guns, he was really happy [laughs]. But it was much safer to have somebody in a blister looking down underneath.
AS: Is that what he used to do before he got the target?
HH: Yeah. Yes, and he used to put it in his log book, duty, rear gunner’s me [laughs].
AS: Yeah. On, when you were on ops, had the idea of the bomber stream come in by then?
HH: Oh yes. Yes, we were on the very first time they dropped, the Pathfinders used Oboe on the Essen raids. I think it was first used on the 5th of March, wasn’t it?
AS: I don’t know, 1943. This was.
HH: Yeah, ’43, ’43 by this time, yeah.
AS: So, it was quite early on in the idea of the Pathfinders.
HH: Yeah.
AS: So, you went on ops just as the stream and the concentration were starting to take place. I know you were deep in the bowels of the aeroplane at your navigation table. Did you, did the crew see other aircraft around them, feel the other aircraft around them?
HH: No, you are in the slipstream the whole time. Especially when you got near the target, when you’re on your final run, you sort of you feel the slipstream and you have got to remember that five percent of our losses were due to collisions, it has been estimated.
AS: That’s a high percentage.
HH: I think we were told that at the time to be extra vigiliant, you know.
AS: Against the dangers of collision. What about enemy aircraft on your first tour? Did you have any encounters with the German night fighters?
HH: Oh yeah. [unclear], he shot down two, he shot down a Ju 88 and an Me 110 I think it was, yeah.
AS: And this, this was your rear gunner.
HH: And he had a problem as well. A lot of Battle of Britain pilots would have given their eye tooth for a score like that. Probably would have gotten a DSO and a DFC.
AS: [laughs] there are a lot of unsung deeds in Bomber Command.
HH: Anyway then we finished up in October ’43 and I got sent up to 6 Group, it was a Canadian crew.
AS: With the Canadians. How did you?
HH: And they wanted everybody to be Canadians, you know. They didn’t want an English instructor so I got, I quickly got posted down to 3 Group. And
AS: Somewhere along the way you, you picked up the DFM. Was that during your first tour?
HH: Yes, was the first tour.
AS: And what was the story behind your DFM?
HH: I don’t know really. It’s not in the book even, not even in the, my citation is not there, there’s a book of DFMs in the RAF, book of DFCs and DFMs. And I think there was an Australian, called Cameron, he found this book of DFMs but I don’t know, I think Gus Walker probably. You see, I’d broken my left foot, I’d broken a bone in my left foot and what with having leave, we were due for leave I went on leave on with my foot in plaster, came back and had the plaster taken off and then I fell off my bicycle [laughs]. Didn’t help. So, the doc said, ‘Right, I’m going to keep you in hospital until your foot’s cured. I don’t want any arguments.’ And the following day Sam came in, he said, we are on tonight, [unclear] and they want me to take a spare navigator and I said, ‘No way, Sam, let’s go and see the doc.’ The doc was in a good mood ‘cause he was going on leave. So, have you read all this before?
AS: No.
HH: So, [pause] he said, ‘Alright you, you can go this time, but’, he says, ‘Provided you come back into hospital as soon as you get back. If you get back’, he said, ‘If you get back.’ So, he then went on leave. Anyway, I duly arrived at main briefing, done my navigation briefing, I think we came at main briefing and Gus Walker was on the door. And Gus said, ‘Where are you going?’ I said, ‘I’m on crutches you see. I’m going on ops.’ And he said, ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t where my crew is going, I don’t want them to go without me.’ ‘Well, oh alright then.’ So I went in and we went to Berlin that night. And when I got back, Gus was still on the station. ‘Cause he was in charge of three squadrons, wasn’t he? Up there. And he said, ‘Right, young Hughes,’ he says, ‘I’ve been hearing all about you, he says, ‘It’s alright, I’ll take you back to the hospital myself.’ And then I got in his car and he tore me off a bit of a mild strip for being irresponsible and some of that and then as I got out, he said, ‘Bloody good show anyway, Hughes.’ And I think it was he who recommended me for a DFM, I don’t know, probably.
AS: Excellent. It’s a wonderful, wonderful story. What happened, you said, you tried the book in the RAF club to find your citation. Have you explored anywhere else, to try and find the DFM citation?
HH: I did write to some time ago, I don’t know, I think they did, you get from RAF records I think.
AS: Okay.
HH: Because I wrote to them the other day and asked them if, ‘cause I had a letter from them to say that I could retain the rank, substantive rank of flight lieutenant when I finished in the reserve and use the courtesy rank of squadron leader. But I’ve never used it. So I thought it would be a nice thing to have on my tombstone, so I wrote and asked them if that still pertained, shall we say.
AS: And you are still waiting for a reply.
HH: Well, they wrote back to me and said that I’d have to give them some more proof of who I was, you know, passports, et cetera so I sent them up a copy of my, one of my utility bills and my council tax demand.
AS: Well, hopefully that’s good enough.
HH: It only went off last week, so we will have to wait and see.
AS: You mentioned briefings. I know the targets were different and the weather was different, but could you give me some idea of an average preparation for a mission from waking up in the morning to taking off. Is that possible, that sort of things that?
HH: Yeah, because you went down to the, you went down to the flights and you stood in the apron outside the squadron offices and at ten to ten on the dot, if you were on that night, the phone would ring. You knew you were on that night then and then, but if you waited and waited until ten past ten the phone would ring again to say the squadron’s stood down by which time we had all disappeared ‘cause we’d all. Didn’t want to go to on a bloody route march or something [unclear].
AS: So it was all incredibly secret but the routine gave it away.
HH: Yeah [laughs].
AS: So if the phone call came at ten to ten, you knew you were on ops that night, what would happen then?
HH: Well I did, we’d go down to our aircraft and check all the equipment in it and then if necessary you take it up on an air test and then you were back on the ground again by, about eleven, eleven thirty, and then you’d either come back and go to lunch and or else you’d and then after you’d had lunch you’d go on for navigation briefing at about two o’clock.
AS: So the navigator was the first person in the crew to know where you were going, what timing was.
HH: Yes, we knew where we were going, yeah.
AS: Was that a very full briefing, with weather? Is this when you drew up your courses, you got your turning points and what not?
HH: Sorry?
AS: Was this a very full briefing?
HH: Oh yeah, well, the navigation briefing, yes, you got your various tracks you had to go on to and hopefully they’re taking you around the defended areas you know.
AS: The flak and the searchlights, yeah. Was there a lot of work involved for you to prepare your charts?
HH: Yes, it took quite a time. You were mainly with your bomb aimer to help you, you know. Harry Hoover, my bomb aimer was a trained navigator, he trained in South Africa I think.
AS: So, you two were the only ones that knew at the navigation briefing the target. Was it difficult to keep it secret from your skipper and your crew?
HH: Oh no, you didn’t have to keep it secret but you just told the rest of the crew where we’re going so all this business about being a gasp when they, when the curtains were pulled across from the map.
AS: Probably you already knew.
HH: We all knew where we were going by that time, at least my crew did.
AS: So, you’ve done your navigation briefing and what happened then? Just sit around waiting for the main crew briefing or did you have duties to do?
HH: No, we just, by the time you finished doing the nav, it’s about time for the main briefing and then having done the main briefing you then went for an ops breakfast. The ops breakfast, which was bacon and eggs, baked beans, all the things you shouldn’t eat.
AS: Baked beans?
HH: Yeah.
AS: And you’re flying at twenty thousand feet.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Oh, that could have been interesting. What was the atmosphere like? Was there a lot of tension? Was there a lot of horseplay? Was there a lot of fear? What was the atmosphere like?
HH: I don’t know, I can’t remember now, there was a feeling of are we gonna make it or not, you know.
AS: Was that a personal thing or something that you talked about with the crew?
HH: I would never, never, never, never, my mid upper gunner, he, one day, we were in our room, I shared a room with him and he packed up all his biscuits on his bed and folded up all the blankets and sheets. What are you doing that for? And he said, ‘I don’t think we are gonna come back. So I’m putting the things in order now.’ And he got all his paperwork out and everything, letters and everything to his wife and things.
AS: What did that do to your morale?
HH: Well, I wasn’t, I wasn’t very happy about it but it was a scrub that night anyway. Then he said, afterwards he said, ‘God, good job we didn’t go to [unclear] because we weren’t going to come back.’ He knew.
AS: But after that on future trips he was fine.
HH: Well, I said, ‘Don’t you ever do that again, Jackie, I said, ‘You never do a thing like that again.’
AS: Tempting fate. What about off duty, what sort of things did you, you guys get up to that you can talk about?
HH: Sorry?
AS: Off duty, did you get much time off to yourself? Or to yourselves as a crew?
HH: Yeah. We, I used to go out with, mainly with another crew ‘cause all our crew, our skipper was commissioned, so we were all and the rest of them, Jackie Miles he lived in Leeds so when he had an evening off, he went back to Leeds and the rear gunner was the same, he was somewhere just outside Leeds. Sam was from Leeds as well, the pilot, so it was only the engineer and myself.
AS: So you latched onto another crew for the,
HH: Yeah.
AS: The social element.
HH: Yes, [unclear] crew, yeah. I was pretty friendly with his navigator but he got killed.
AS: And did the rest of the crew come back?
HH: Yeah.
AS: And brought him back?
HH: They brought him back, yeah.
AS: Your, we were talking about your navigation training and astro, during your time, your first tour on ops, did you start to get Gee in the aeroplane or any other navigational aids that you used?
HH: We had Gee.
AS: You had Gee.
HH: Right from the start, yeah. We had the Mark 1 Gee which was, used to have to tune it, the narrow knobs on the side and you had to tune it to get a signal and it’s like tuning one of those. Televisions, you know.
AS: Keep wandering off. Did you, was it as a big revolution in navigation as people say?
HH: The Gee was, yeah.
AS: The Gee was, it really did make a difference.
HH: Yeah, well, it did make a difference because, but you didn’t get it beyond the Dutch coast, it wouldn’t work beyond the Dutch coast but you had we, well, you had LORAN later, in Mosquitos we had Gee and LORAN. In fact, it really annoys me now to hear the met men talking about the jet stream because we found the very first jet stream. I found a wind of a hundred and ninety five knots at thirty thousand feet.
AS: Tailwind.
HH: Hundred and ninety five knots and when we got back, I told the met man, I said, ‘I got a wind of a hundred and ninety five knots and you were forecasting forty five to fifty knots.’ He said, ‘I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it!’ So he went to Group headquarters and the Group headquarters said we don’t believe it. They went to Command headquarters and the met people up there said they didn’t believe it either. But then everybody else came back with these winds and they suddenly realised what was called jet streams but now they talk about jet streams all the time. And what they mean is where the warm front, the warm tropical front meets the polar maritime front and all the way along that you get depressions form and then, and with it you get this so-called jet stream would form as well. Ah, so which comes first? The frontal systems or the jet stream?
AS: Must be the fronts, must be the fronts. So, when you are doing your tour, you’d had the nasty experience of being bombed twice by your own people, probably 5 Group above you.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Was that the limit of the difficulties you had? Was the aeroplane mechanically reliable or did you suffer?
HH: Oh, we, came back on three engines more times than we came back on four.
AS: Really?
HH: Yeah. I think we came back on three engines eleven times out of our tour.
AS: And what did your ground crew chief say to that?
HH: Well, it wasn’t their fault, necessarily, well, he didn’t think it was anyway.
AS: It’s just overstraining them, is it, full fuel, full bombload climb to heights. Coming back from the raids, what was your pilot like? Was he one of those that, wanted to pour on the coal and get home early or did he stick to heights and courses as briefed or?
HH: Well, he couldn’t do much else with a Halifax. But when I was on Mosquitos, with our New Zealand pilot, we were always first back [laughs]. Yeah.
AS: Becomes a matter of pride. On your first tour still perhaps we can talk a bit more about that. As you got towards the end, did the, you knew presumably you were going to stop on, what, thirty trips?
HH: Well, I did twenty six in fact.
AS: Okay.
HH: Which we were screened two trips early. I would have done twenty eight for my first tour, ‘cause the pilot had already done two second Dickey trips to start with. [door bell rings] That’s my taxi now.
AS: Okay.
HH: So I’ll just pause this. [recording paused] We were just talking about your tour length. The question I was going to ask is did you feel a real rising tension as you got towards the end of your tour?
HH: But we didn’t know we were towards the end, we thought we had another two trips to do.
AS: Okay.
HH: But, I remember Sam coming in and he says, ‘I have some good news for you, we’re screens and you’re off on leave from tomorrow. You are all going on leave tomorrow.’
AS: What did that feel like?
HH: Mh?
AS: What did that feel like?
HH: Ah, it was good feeling but I forget what happened now. When I was on Mosquitos I think when I was doing my last trip on Mosquitos ‘cause you had to do fifty on Mosquitos you see for a tour.
AS: So, you finished on 102 Squadron and were there many crews that went all the way through like yours did?
HH: No, not a great deal, I wish I had the [unclear] I’ve got it somewhere, might be in that case there, book of all the losses, you know. 102 Squadron losses.
AS: Oh, perhaps we can look at that tomorrow or now if you like.
HH: Well I, it might be in that case, I’m not sure.
AS: Let’s pause this and we’ll go and have a look. [recording paused]
AS: Harry, good morning, it’s day two of our interview sessions. It’s very good of you to agree to this interview. Can we start by going back to your first tour of operations during the Battle of the Ruhr on Halifaxes. Were you conscious at the time that this was a major battle or was it just one job after another?
HH: We were trying to hit Germany where it hurt, ‘cause we didn’t only go to the Ruhr and we went to places like Pilsen, and then we did Nuremberg and Munich and.
AS: Were you briefed on specific targets in these cities and told what you were going after?
HH: Oh, we knew that Essen was the Krupp works, yeah, and we were given a good, pretty good briefing by the intelligence officer what we were gonna hit because one time we went, we were going to. There was almost a mutiny one day because they were sending to some place I forget, Gelsenkirchen or somewhere, I forget where it was now, and [pause]
AS: What happened then? What was the mutiny all about?
HH: Well, the intelligence officer said that he didn’t know why we were going there, there was nothing there, there was just a spa town that we were going to hit but what we didn’t know, of course, it was a leave centre for the Gestapo and the place was full of the Gestapo officers and but you know initially we said, no, why are we going there, you know? And there was almost not exactly a mutiny but it was a fear of you know, why are we bombing this place, we probably would just hit a lot of women and children.
AS: So, this was 1943. So even at that stage.
HH: This is ’45. ‘43 rather.
AS: So, even at that stage there were some concerns amongst the crews about what you were doing and where you were going.
HH: Yeah, we didn’t, the Hamburg raids for example. That’s the first time there was a real firestorm and we went on three or four of those raids, I forget now, it’s in the book, Hamburg in July ’43. That book is falling to bits, isn’t it?
AS: Well, it happens to all of us, doesn’t it? As we get older. Here we go, 24th of July ’43 and the 27th of July ‘43. Ops Hamburg, yeah. And then the 2nd of August.
HH: Yeah, the 2nd of August when we, we’d already realised that the firestorms, you know, in then, we were dropping our incendiaries first and setting fire to places and then dropping four thousand pounders, two and four thousand pounders on top of the fires which, that’s why it’s called the firestorm, the blast from the comparatively thin-cased two thousand pounders and what have you, would suck in the air and the oxygen, you know, and cause these firestorms.
AS: So, the thin-cased bombs would blow the roofs off and then the incendiaries would go inside and.
HH: Well, you know, in that, wish I could find that, you could sit and watch that, the CD I’ve got somewhere in there of.
AS: Is it of a Hamburg raid?
HH: Pardon?
AS: Is it of a Hamburg raid?
HH: Yes, the first or second of the Hamburg raids which caused the firestorm. And I remember watching this from over the bomb aimer’s shoulder and watching these fires spreading and I remember saying, I felt very sorry for the people down there.
AS: At that time.
HH: At that time, yeah. In fact I said a little prayer for them.
AS: Is this something you discussed with the crew or any of your friends?
HH: Not really, no. I just said a prayer to myself, yeah.
AS: And was that really specific to Hamburg or to?
HH: Just to Hamburg, yeah. ‘Cause that was where the firestorms first started. Well, it was worst then Dresden actually.
AS: I believe so in the numbers lost. So, your first tour was absolutely in the thick of what we call the Battle of the Ruhr and extremely, extremely difficult and dangerous missions.
HH: The people who came after me, they’d done Hamburg and the Battle of the Ruhr, and then they had to follow on doing the Battle of Berlin. You can find my very last trip was to Berlin I think, no, it was Hanover. It was one of my last trips was to Berlin, that’s when I went on crutches, yeah.
AS: Home on three engines, that one?
HH: Was that Berlin?
AS: Yes, 23rd of August. And then you did a Munich and a Hanover. What was Berlin like? Was it special, was it the
HH: Pardon?
AS: Was Berlin perhaps the best defended target? What was Berlin like?
HH: It was the length of the trip really. You know, on heavies, on Lancs and heavies it took us eight and a half hours there and back. What’s it say there? [paper rustling]
AS: Seven hours fifteen, that’s still an incredible time. People talk about eight hour days, and that was a full day’s work at night.
HH: Was a full day’s work was being shot at too.
AS: And, I mean, was Berlin the best defended target, do you think or was that the Ruhr, perhaps?
HH: No, I think, I don’t think it was as bad as the Ruhr but it was, there was plenty of activity there but mainly a lot of fighter activity there over the target, over Berlin.
AS: And you, you could see the enemy?
HH: Oh yeah. They were coned and searchlights one time I was on Mosquitos, there was two Mosquitos, an Fw 190, and an Me 109, all on the same cone.
AS: Wow!
HH: And there is a painting of that somewhere. I described it, you know. And there is a painting somewhere that is called Berlin Express. And [unclear] have got the original.
AS: Okay, I’ll look for that.
HH: [unclear] then.
AS: Okay. Some trips to France as well. Le Creusot. You weren’t after a saucepan factory there were you, what was, can you remember what that trip was about?
HH: Oh yes, that was, they were manufacturing parts for tanks and things, I think.
AS: Gosh, here, after Le Creusot, Muhlheim, home on two engines.
HH: Yeah [laughs]
AS: What’s the story behind that? Did they just pack up or was it flak or?
HH: Yeah, they just packed up on us yeah, these Merlins were you know they were way overstressed on the Halifax and we came back on two on that occasion, yeah.
AS: After a lot of, after the Hamburgs that we talked about and Berlin, Munich. Now, can you remember that trip? September ’43 to Munich.
HH: Yeah.
AS: First off, first back, in your log book, eight hours, fifty five minutes. Did the stream hold together, the bomber stream hold together over these long distances?
HH: Yeah, you we were all given certain times, you know, you had to be at certain times on all the way along the track, at the various turning points, you know. And I think it did help, you know, no doubt about it and then with the advent of Window of course, it just threw their ground tracking, we had a little device, did I tell you, a little device called Boozer in Mosquitos.
AS: No, you didn’t, no.
HH: We had a little device which, when they were tracking you from the ground, a little yellow light used to glow. But when they were tracking from the air, a red light used to glow. And one night, we were coming back, and somewhere around about the Hamburg, sorry the Bremen Hanover gap, and this red light came on very bright and we knew the red light meant we were being tracked from the air you see. And then suddenly over the top of us, about the height of this building, just came two, I think they were Me 263s,
AS: The jets?
HH: The jets, yeah. Right over the top of us. And they didn’t see us. I got a photograph of a Mosquito somewhere I don’t know what she’s done with it now. I meant to ask her that when she was in last night.
AS: No worries, maybe today. So, this, the 262s had the speed, they were the only ones with the speed to catch you, really.
HH: Yes. They were doing about a hundred knots faster than us. Fifty to a hundred knots faster than us. And they just sailed over the top of us and disappeared in the distance. There were four jets, two of them.
AS: So they had radar airborne in the jets.
HH: Yes.
AS: That is a pretty dangerous development, isn’t it? That was another one of your nine lives gone, really, wasn’t it?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Your slices of luck. Back to your first tour, you, when did you come off ops?
HH: I went to a conversion unit, at a place called Wombleton.
AS: Okay, was that Stirlings?
HH: No, it was Halifaxes actually but.
AS: Okay.
HH: Canadian group, they are mainly on Halifaxes.
AS: In 6 Group, how did you get on with the Canadians?
HH: Not very well.
AS: Really?
HH: No. They are very, they didn’t want to know us, you know, they just wanted to get rid of us as quickly as they could.
AS: I’ve heard this that they were running,
HH: They wanted to run their own show.
AS: [unclear] as part of the Canadian.
HH: I remember getting one crew and I said, I wanted to send them back for further training because the navigator was absolutely hopeless. He really was, he couldn’t, it was like putting, I don’t know, he was thick as two planks, he couldn’t. So, I said if you’re sending this crew with this navigator they don’t stand a chance of getting through, not a chance at all. They’ll be shot down on, within their first five operations, they’ll be shot down.
AS: And do you know whether that came to pass?
HH: No. They didn’t like this, you know, the fact that I’d criticised one of their Canadian crews and I was posted down to 3 Group and, which suited me, and the crew got to squadron, got to a squadron and they did one trip and got hopelessly lost and I heard it afterwards that the CO of the, I think it was Lane, what was his name? Lane. He said, what the hell are you doing sending us crews that are, they should have been send back for further training. And I had recommended that.
AS: Had you been commissioned by this point?
HH: Yes, yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: I was commissioned at the end of my first tour, I think.
AS: What sort of process what that? How did that take place?
HH: Pardon?
AS: How did, what sort of process what that? How did that take place?
HH: I just had an interview, I don’t know, who I had an interview with now, I can’t remember. And I mean after the interview I was then a pilot officer but I was a flight sergeant before and my pay was sixteen shillings a day as a flight sergeant but as a pilot officer I was only going to get fourteen and four pence a day. So they said, oh, we can’t have that so they gave me a six pence rise, six pence a day rise so I was getting fourteen and six a day as a pilot officer. And then eventually when I was a flight lieutenant after a couple of years, I was out in India by that time, and I got, well I was on Indian rates of pay anyway so, it didn’t factor.
AS: Back to the instructing. You finished an operational tour, had some leave and presumably your crew dispersed.
HH: Yeah. Pilot went to Rufforth converting many French Canadians and to go to Elvington, French, I mean French crews rather, French crews to go to Elvington, to 77 Squadron.
AS: Did you keep in touch with any of your crew members after?
HH: I came up to York a couple of times and met Sam, Jackie Miles I used to see and my gunner and Harry [unclear] the, the last time I’ve heard from him, he was up at near Shrewsbury.
AS: You all went to instructors jobs, do you?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Did they teach how to be an instructor or did they just send you off?
HH: No, I just went in and just talked to them and told them where they were going wrong, you know, and how to waste time and things like that.
AS: In the air this is.
HH: Yeah.
AS: So, did you do any formal classroom training of these chaps or was it just, what, supervising in the air and on the ground?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Supervising?
HH: Yeah, just going through their logs and charts individually with them and showing them where they’d gone wrong.
AS: And I believe the same sort of thing used to happen on ops, that when you came back your nav leader would go through your charts, is that right?
HH: Yeah. Yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: They’d assess your, that’s the assessment on each one there.
AS: That we saw before.
HH: The little design on his wall, Charlie had, he had sort of a little square beside each one of you and you had two dots for very good, one dot for reasonably good, no dots at all for
AS: Average.
HH: Just average. Yeah.
AS: That’s his way of keeping track. So, on 3 Group, is this when you went to Stirlings? When you were training?
HH: Pardon?
AS: When you left the Canadians and went to 3 Group, that was, what was that, Stirlings, was that the Conversion Unit there?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: Yeah, it’s down at Chedburgh.
AS: Okay.
HH: And, yeah, Chedburgh, near Bury St Edmunds. There was a beer drought down at that time and we used to cycle miles to find a pub with beer [laughs]. Then we’d keep very quiet about it [laughs].
AS: It’s not too bad.
HH: Me and a Canadian called Connors and we wanted to, we’d heard about that 8 Group wanted Mosquito pilots and navigators, so, we both applied to go, we both applied to go back on ops together. So, our first application, we were turned down because, being in 3 Group on Stirlings, you know, they were rather short of crews, and so we were turned down anyway. So we waited a couple of weeks and we applied again and we got turned down again. So that night, I got a tin of black paint from the stores and I wrote a message, a letter on the ceiling of the mess to the group captain, quite a polite letter, would you kindly pull your finger out and get us posted back on ops. We’re fed up with this instructing so could we please get back in so and so and signed it Connor and Hughes. The following day we were up in front of the old man and he said, ‘Right, you’re both going back, no way you’re going on the same crew or on the same squadron. In fact, you go back first, Hughes. Connor will follow you in about two- or three-weeks’ time.’ And this is what happened.
AS: It’s amazing. So you weren’t actually instructing for very long, were you?
HH: No, from October until July, so I suppose six months.
AS: Okay.
HH: And you’re supposed to have six months, at least six months rest, you know? From operations. Between tours.
AS: Okay. And then, in July having arranged your own posting really, you arrive at 1655 MCU. What’s MCU?
HH: Mosquito conversion unit.
AS: Okay.
HH: At Warboys, yeah, and Weston [?].
AS: I imagine this must have been a completely different sort of navigating. Was it?
HH: Oh, just very quick, but you, you wouldn’t think it now but I was very, very neat and tidy in what I did. I knew exactly, I used to keep my pencils in my flying boots, my dividers as well, [unclear] my Douglas protractor I kept in my hat with my dividers, which was behind me and my Dalton and, and then we used to take as your [unclear] fix, as soon as you got airborne, you got to operational high I’d take fix, fix, fix, every three minutes, then work out a tracking ground speed wind velocity and then another three minutes later another fix, a nine minute tracking ground velocity plus the sixth, the latest sixth one and another one, further on, six, and I can tell you exactly which way the wind was going, how far out the met was on their winds.
AS: And these fixes would be visual fixes or Gee fixes or both?
HH: Gee fixes.
AS: Gee fixes.
HH: So I’d take fix, fix, fix, you worked really hard to get the timing, you know, of the.
AS: Whereabouts was the Gee screen in the aeroplane? You were sitting on the right in the [unclear]
HH: I was sitting on the right and the Gee was behind me and LORAN as well.
AS: Okay. So.
HH: Gee and LORAN which was behind me.
AS: So, could you operate the equipment with your harnesses done up?
HH: Oh yeah.
AS: ‘Cause you just turned your head and⸻
HH: I just turned my head. It was just like there, behind me, there, but I could turn easier then and it was there, you know, just behind about there, about that angle to me.
AS: And it is just, as you say, second nature, three minutes, three minutes.
HH: It didn’t take long to take the fix but it took a long time but we, we had charts with the letters, lines of the Gee chart superimposed on top of it. So, this really worked very well.
AS: So, what came up on the Gee screen? What allowed you to compare the screen to the map?
HH: Pardon?
AS: What was the presentation on the Gee screen? What actually came up? Was it numbers or?
HH: Yeah. Well, you just, you could, you worked out, you knew what, you strobed the whichever signal you wanted to take, you know, and then you, you strobed the two of them and then fix and then you just read it off.
AS: I guess it’s, so you gotta an alphanumerical printout did you virtually.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Wow. So that could be done quickly.
HH: It’s quite, it’s very quick to work it all out, yeah, to work it out to get, to actually calculate the winds on your Dalton.
AS: How did you operate at night, because I imagine you had no lights in the cockpit?
HH: Well, we had enough.
AS: Okay.
HH: We had a red light and then, what’s his name? Anderson, our group navigation officer, he found that red, you couldn’t see the red markings on your chart. So, that was all orange and green.
AS: Which was easier to see.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Okay. So, when you’d done your Mosquito conversion unit or at the Mosquito conversion unit, you must have crewed up with a pilot, how did that go?
HH: Well, I had already wanted to fly with this Australian so, when this New Zealander came along, I thought, he’ll do, I crewed up with him.
AS: As simple as that. And did you do, did the aeroplane Mosquito take some getting used to it, so different from a heavy bomber, with different performance and.
HH: Oh yeah.
AS: What was she like to fly in?
HH: It was nice and reasonably fast. And I don’t think you really noticed it until you were doing some low flying.
AS: Shall we take a pause there? Okay. [recording paused]
HH: The Mosquito was, it was terribly difficult for a navigator to get out of.
AS: Why was that?
HH: Well, you had to, first of all you had to get hold of your chute and you kept that on, then you had to jettison two hatches to get out,
AS: Underneath.
HH: Underneath, yeah. Slightly forward towards the nose, yeah. And but by which time your pilot probably gone out of the top and you were spiralling down and the chance of you getting out was pretty slim.
AS: This hatch underneath must have been very close to the starboard propeller.
HH: Yes, we, yeah. Yes, it was quite close, yeah.
AS: Did you practice this on the ground a lot?
HH: No. I don’t think they thought you were, it was worth the risk. But the, a friend of mine used to fly with a man called Gill and he went down, got killed, Ronnie Knaith went down with his aircraft, and Gill got out and came home and he went to see Ronnie’s parents and they just slammed the door in his face, they wouldn’t talk to him. ‘Cause they had thought that he’d should have stayed onto the controls until Ronnie got out. Which is really what one was supposed to do.
AS: I hadn’t realised that the drill for the pilot was to go out of the top.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Because there’s a tailfin behind.
HH: Yeah, you jettison, you jettison the hood I think, the whole hood went. And theoretically the navigator could’ve gone out after him, I suppose, but.
AS: I think overall the losses were less on the Mosquito.
HH: Oh yeah.
AS: I think you were safer flying in a Mozzie than in a Halifax.
HH: Yes, I mean, there’s somewhere I got the losses in Hamish’s book, in Hamish Mahaddie’s book, all the losses in 8 Group and you will see that 692 do feature quite regularly, you know.
AS: Yeah, so you were posted to 692 Squadron after the conversion unit. You’d had, I suppose, eight months away from ops by then, ten months, had things changed a lot in that time?
HH: I don’t think they’d changed all that much for the heavies, no. And we operated separately and we used to do Window opening for the heavies, we used to do, we used to fly out with the heavies and used to meet up with them at Reading, they’d all congregated there, what’s that? There is something squeaking, did you hear?
AS: I don’t know, let’s pause the tape.[recording paused] Well, Harry, we discovered what the squeak was, it was the smoke alarm. We were talking about Window opening and you meeting the heavies over Reading.
HH: Yeah. We used to fly down with the and meet up with the heavies and then we’d weave in and out of them, stream, you know, and you could see the strength of the stream then because, you know, there was just a whole block of them all over the horizon.
AS: And these are daylights.
HH: Yeah, in daylight, yeah, it would be. And then somebody in one of the heavies would be signalling to us, you lucky bastards or words to that effect. So I was sent back, been there, done that [laughs].
AS: Fair do’s. Because you could fly a lot faster and a lot higher than they could.
HH: Well, we used to be, weave in and out of them, you see. And then, then when you got to the coast, you climbed very rapidly above and you got to your operational height. If we were going to say, if we were Window opening say for Stuttgart, we’d probably do a, you go to Cologne first and drop a few bundles of Window there making them, making them think that was the target, you see. And then we’d go along to wherever, Stuttgart, and where the main force were going, and we’d, we’d do Window opening for the first wave of Pathfinders going in.
AS: Okay. This was the, was this the main role of 692 Squadron?
HH: Pardon?
AS: Was this the main role of 692 Squadron?
HH: Yeah, well, we were the light night striking force, yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: But our main role was to bomb Berlin every night.
AS: Oh, you were involved in this Berlin shuttle?
HH: Yes. So, we used to drop our cookie, we used to drop Window for the heavies and then we’d go along to Berlin and drop our four thousand pounders, keep them awake.
AS: Ah, so, did you have those special Mosquitos then?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Those with the pregnant bomb bay?
HH: That one there, isn’t it?
AS: Yes. Yeah.
HH: Yeah.
AS: So, who got to drop the bomb? Was it you or the driver?
HH: Me.
AS: You.
HH: Yeah. Unless we were doing low level. And even then it was me up on the front, up in the nose.
AS: How did you, how did you drop Window from a tiny little aeroplane like Mosquito?
HH: We had a chute, little wooden chute which used to go through the two doors and we just dropped bundles of Window through that. Remember to grab the string as it went down, otherwise you’d just drop bundles [laughs].
AS: You don’t want them falling on someone’s head and hurting them, do you?
HH: No [laughs]. So, it’s a nice day now, isn’t it?
AS: It’s wonderful out there. It’s great. So, sometimes you were operating with the main bomber stream and sometimes as 8 Group by yourself or squadron by yourself?
HH: Individually, yeah.
AS: Individually too?
HH: We used to fly, we used to sing, I made up, there was a song going round at that time sung by Hildegard, I walk alone, to tell you the truth I’ll be lonely, I don’t mind being lonely, when my heart tells me you are lonely too. So, I made up the words for our squadron, we fly alone, when all the heavies are grounded and dining, 692 will be climbing, we still press on, it’s every night, though they never will give us a French route, for the honour of 8 Group, we’ll still press on.
AS: That’s fantastic.
HH: It’s always a [unclear] no matter how far, one bomb is slung beneath, it’s twelve degrees east, one engine at least [laughs]. It’s a pretty horrible little song.
AS: it’s brilliant. It sums up what you felt.
HH: Not as good as some of the songs, you see, erks used to make up in India and down in Burma, you know. One they used to sing, rotting in the jungle, on a [unclear] marshy shores, dysentery, malaria and bags of jungle sores, living around in a bloody great heap, our beds are damp, we cannot sleep, we’re going round the corner, we’re going round the bend, two trips to Meiktila, maybe three or four, AOL’s a keen type, he thinks we’re doing more. When we get back as you can guess, we’ll put this effing kite US [laughs] and we’re going round the, and there’s about two more verses to that, I can’t remember, that’s when the mail arrives, and there’s two for you and f.a. for me you know [laughs].
AS: I think we will have to try and get you a recording contract. This could be an excellent CD on the wireless.
HH: I don’t think they’d allow it to be broadcast.
AS: Probably not, probably not. But see, you, it sounds as you had very high morale on the squadron.
HH: Oh yeah. But, yes, this was when I was on ferrying.
AS: And on 692, as you say, opening with Window and then lots and lots of trips to
HH: Berlin.
AS: To Berlin. Did you ever get involved in a double trip, I believe some people, some crews did two trips to Berlin in one night.
HH: Yeah, we did, on one occasion we did. I think we did Duisburg in the morning and Berlin that night. Came back, and refuelled and bombed up again and we were away again.
AS: There must have been, I would expect, a cumulative tiredness at that level of operations. I’ve seen your ops on your second tour are very close together.
HH: Yeah.
AS: First of October, third, fourth, fifth, two on the fifth, very, very very close together and then Berlin followed the next night by Cologne. Did you, were you conscious of getting tired?
HH: Well, no, because when you’re off, you went into town and into Cambridge and I met up with my girlfriend and she was lovely, my girlfriend, I must have a picture of her, I did have a picture. She was beautiful, she was lovely red hair and creamy skin, you know, and green eyes, oh, she was beautiful. I used to walk down the street with her and everybody would stop and stare, at her, not at me [laughs].
AS: I was going to ask that. And you met her when you joined the squadron?
HH: When I joined 692, yeah. Yeah, we were walking, you remember, do you remember the Red Lion in Cambridge?
AS: I don’t know Cambridge well. I know where the airfield is.
HH: There used to be a passage where you could go through, you’d start off in the Baron of Beef, down by the river there and, and then you go from there to the Bun Shop and to get to the Bun Shop you have to walk through the Red Lion right, right the way through there, the foyer, there is a bar, two bars there and when I walked through there one night, there was Red sitting there with two of her friends and as I walked through, I said, ‘Cor’ to who I was with and I caught red hair and no drawers, and I said, ‘I’m in’ [laughs]. And she followed me through to the Bun Shop and that’s how I met up with her [laughs].
AS: Excellent. Probably best not pursue that story too much further, I think. So, you’ve got here on a trip to Berlin, landed Woodbridge. Now⸻
HH: Yeah.
AS: I know that Woodbridge is one of the emergency landing grounds.
HH: Yeah, well we, very often we had to land, when we took S-Sugar, which is a bloody awful aircraft with a terrible fuel consumption, if we took that to Berlin, we would end up, always end up landing short of fuel at Woodbridge. In fact, one night, when Harris was on this station, we were the only squadron operating that night, so he came to our briefing. [phone ringing]
AS: I’ll pause there. So, after the phone call, we were talking about S-Sugar and its ability to drink fuel.
HH: Yeah, on this night Harris was at the and [unclear] Northrop, our CO was reading out the battle order, you know, and he said, came to, flying officer Mormo, S-Sugar, ‘S-Sugar?’ said Roy, ‘What’s wrong with our Robert?’ ‘Well, that’s got a mark drop on the starboard engine, you’re going to have to take the spare.’ ‘But S f for Sugar, sir, that bloody kite flies like a brick shithouse!’ [laughs] and old Harris was standing there, and he was trying his best not to laugh, you know, his moustache had a twitch and [laughs] you could he’s gonna laugh every minute, you know. But he didn’t, he held it in [laughs]
AS: What was Woodbridge like? Is an emergency landing ground very different from a normal airfield?
HH: Oh yeah, you, huts with the roof off, you know, half off and snow would come in, on a snowy night, yeah.
AS: Not finished?
HH: No, they had just blown off. That’s a nuisance that thing, isn’t it?
AS: Your smoke alarm, yeah. As we got to this time or you got to this time in the war, this was late 1944.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Had the scene changed in terms of aids to navigation, things like Sandra lights and Darky and ground organisation, was there a lot to help you?
HH: [unclear] Much on the ground I think, mainly H2S, Oboe, things like that, you know. And G8, wasn’t it? G8.
AS: G-H, yeah. I didn’t, I don’t know how that worked, I never had that but we were quite content with LORAN. In fact, I got a wind over, going down to, I forget where I was going, Berlin I suppose, but yeah, we were going over to Berlin I think and I got a wind just north of the Ruhr, a hundred and ninety five knots.
AS: Wow!
HH: And what we’d done, we hit a jet stream, you see, and but when I came back, I said to the met man, I got a wind of a hundred, impossible, impossible, impossible, and it went to Group and Group said impossible as well, went to Command and Command said impossible well then when everybody started to get them, they suddenly realised there was something in this jet stream. Now they talk about nothing else but the bloody jet stream and it annoys me that because they ignored their existence during the war, the met people did and we kept telling them, look there is something up there and it didn’t last very long, you see, you were in it and then you were out of it, you know. So you couldn’t use it as a general wind to carry on to Berlin, shall we say for example, and nor could you use it when you were coming back. You might hit it again but it’d be in a different place slightly and.
AS: It must have meant that you had to be on your toes with your fixes all the time.
HH: Yeah. Anyway we,
AS: In your logbook, it suddenly goes from duty as nav to duty nav b. What was the significance of?
HH: Well, I stood in as bomb aimer as well.
AS: Ah, okay, that’s what it was. Tremendous number of operations over the winter of ’44-’45.
HH: Yeah.
AS: So I presume you must have flown in most weather with the nav aids that you had.
HH: Oh yeah, I remember one night, I don’t know if I should say this because it’s a bit derogatory to somebody who’s now dead, and that’s to Don Bennett. He was in the control tower on this particular night and we were getting hoarfrost all along the wings of our, as we taxied out we were getting hoarfrost develop all along the wings, so Roy got onto control and he says, ‘Could we have the de-icing bowsers out, please?’ And Bennett said, ‘Never mind about the de-icing bowser, just get off the deck.’ Well, we didn’t go, we said, ‘No, no. It’s too dangerous.’ Anyway, another aircraft came after us and they ploughed into the end of the runway and they were both killed of course when their bomb blew up. And Bennett never said a word to us afterwards, he was, we came back for briefing that night and he’d left the station. We came back and got the de-icing bowser and got cleared of the hoarfrost. He literally left, you see. And then we went to Berlin that night, I think.
AS: I should think, with fuel and a four thousand pounder you must have needed all the runway to get off.
HH: Yeah, well, there is another tale attached to that, the, you see, we started off with four thousand pounders, I think we were the first squadron to have four thousand pounders, and then they put fifty gallon drop tanks on each wing which were increased eventually to seventy five and then a hundred and then, and then we ran out of four thousand pounders and we had to borrow four thousand pounders from the Americans, which were four and a half thousand pounds. So another five hundred pounds to get off the deck. But the old Mozzie just used to take it all in its stride. No bother.
AS: You had no concerns.
HH: No, and I remember one day when I’d finished tour. I was sitting in the crew room minding my own business and the CO, a Canadian called Bob Grant came in and he said, ‘You doing anything Hughes?’ I said, no. He said, ‘Grab yourself a ‘chute would you and I’ll see you out at the aircraft.’ I said, ‘What do you⸻’ ‘Just bring a local Gee chart and local maps, would you?’ So when I got out to the bay, they were loading a four thousand pounder and I said, ‘Well, what fuel have we got?’ ‘You’ve a got full load of fuel and two hundred gallon drop tanks.’ And there’s a wind blowing right the way down the 330 runway which was fourteen hundred feet or something compared with two thousand feet on the main runway. I said, ‘What are we gonna do then?’ He said, ‘We’re gonna see if we can get off with this wind, the scale blowing, see if we can get off on this, on the fifteen hundred runway.’ So, we got to the end of the runway, and he waited until there was a gust of wind blowing, until the airspeed indicator was indicating about fifty or sixty knots. And we went. And I dropped the cookie on the live bomb target in the Wash and then we came back. And he got a report and said it wasn’t possible. I said, ‘Well, thanks for telling me.’ [laughs] it wasn’t possible. And he said, ‘No, no, no,’ he said, ‘I don’t think the crew, you could expect the whole crew to wait’, the whole squadron rather to wait until there was a lull, that’s turned till there was a gust of wind which would get them off the deck.
AS: It’s a good example of leading from the front though, isn’t it?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Doing the test himself.
HH: It was old Bob Grant, he’s dead now, he married a Yorkshire, he was CO of 105 Squadron, amongst other things and he was, when he got back to Canada, of course he was made up to brigadier, I think. He was a group captain here, so he was a brigadier. That was equivalent to air commodore, wasn’t it?
AS: I think so, yeah, yeah.
HH: I don’t know.
AS: And, ah, there it is Group Captain Grant, 19th of March 1945, bombload take off fourteen hundred yards. That was pretty much the end of your operational flying, I think, wasn’t it?
HH: Yeah.
AS: On the Mosquito. Last trip, February, February ’45.
HH: Hanover, wasn’t it? Or Hamburg, Hanover.
AS: Frankfurt, I think, Frankfurt in your log. And did you know that that would be your last trip or you’re just told you’re screened?
HH: Yeah. You knew you had to do fifty on Mosquitos. So.
AS: And what did happened after that? Did you go back instructing or?
HH: No, no, we were sent on leave and when we came back, we’d been posted, several crews had been posted down to Pershore to ferry Canadian built Mosquitos across the Atlantic. And I crewed up with a different, Lloyd had gone back to New Zealand and he used to fly with Air New Zealand after the war. And thanks to me, because someone had put a bottle through his hand and all the tendons had gone. And so he couldn’t, when we were taking off at Whiten once doing a cross country, we got airborne and suddenly the throttle went back and he grabbed hold of them and held it with his hand and because you had to keep the throttle up so loose ‘cause of this weakness in his left hand. So I said, ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Roy, from now on I’ll tighten the throttle knot for you when you’re ready. As soon as you want, you just say, throttle knob and I will reach through and grab the throttle knob and turn it and tighten it for you.’ And we did that every trip. And but I, ‘cause I had to reach over, I couldn’t strap in, so I did all my trips without strapping in [laughs]. I never strapped in again, not with Roy flying. So he’d of never, I mean, he was flying with Air New Zealand afterwards he’d never have passed their medical if he’d of disclosed it, you know.
AS: But eventually, not in a Mosquito, but he’d be flying with throttles on the other hand, wouldn’t he? So the problem,
HH: Yeah.
AS: The problem would go away. So you’d had some leave, you were posted to fly to Pershore to fly Mosquitos.
H: Yeah. And we were sent on indefinite leave, Pershore sent us on indefinite leave. And I thought, oh God, I’ll be grounded for sure. So, I got on a train and went up to Air Ministry and saw a wing commander there and I said, look, there is a war going in in the Far East [unclear] aircraft ferried out there, coming back for maintenance and what have you. And he said, what a good idea, you know, come back in the morning, will you? And I got the whole lot posted out to the Far East. Fifteen or eighteen, I think I told you this before, didn’t I?
AS: I think so but we didn’t get in on the tape, I don’t think, no.
HH: No.
AS: I bet you were popular.
HH: Fifteen, oh God, when I got down to Lyneham they were moaning, ‘I’m just due for demob for God’s sake, why the heck do I have to, due for demob any day now.’
AS: I bet you kept quiet.
HH: And here I am, so I kept very quiet. And so, I mean I wasn’t due for demob for some time.
AS: So here we are, Lyneham in July ’45. A huge trip as a passenger on a deck. Thirty two hours flying.
HH: Yeah, back to Karachi, yeah.
AS: So by going, going East, you, did you, before you went, did you see, did you go on any of these trips over, over Germany to see all the destruction?
HH: No, no.
AS: Okay.
HH: I missed all that.
AS: You’d said earlier that you said a prayer for the people of Hamburg. What, at the end of the war, did you reflect at all on the, or during that, on the bombing? And what were your feelings about being involved in it in the war?
HH: Well, I’ve spoken to our vicar about it, you know, and said, do you think Saint Peter’s gonna let me through the gates? Or not. So she sat and he said a prayer for me. Lady vicar of course. Anyway, but I was invited out to Hanover as a guest of the mayor and the local newspaper to commemorate the 60th anniversary of when we bombed them.
AS: And you went?
HH: So I went over, yeah, well, I was asked to volunteer and I remember, at the Bomber Command meeting they said, did anybody go to Hanover, I said, well, I did. When I got home, I found out I’d been to Hanover about eleven times and [laughs] so I was well qualified.
AS: And are you pleased you went, did it turn out well?
HH: Yes, they were very, very, very nice, I like German people.
AS: So do I.
HH: I got two of them coming over now. Here any day now. I think. They stay up at [unclear] castle, ‘cause he’s paraplegic, he can’t get down my steps.
AS: Yeah.
HH: He’s, he had polio when he was a youngster. But they come over by air this time so he couldn’t bring his invalid scooter with him so I don’t know whether he’s gonna hire one when they’re here or not, I don’t know what they’re gonna do to get around.
AS: That should be possible, I think.
HH: Yeah.
AS: And these are friends you made when you went to Hanover?
HH: Yeah. Well, they were both reporters with the Hamburger Allgemeine. And anyway I was, the last day I was there in Hanover I was there for about three or four days, I had to attend a meeting of all the survivors from the raids and all the students from university there and the colleges and what have you and a little girl gets up and question time you see and she gets up and says, can I please explain what was the duty of the navigator? Well if you ask me a stupid question like that, I’m gonna give you a stupid answer, for sure. So I said, ‘Well, the reason why we carried a navigator, because we had to have someone on board who could read and write’ [laughs] and their mouths fell open, he went like this, everybody, so I said to my interpreter, I said, ‘Tell them, it was a joke, will you?’ ‘Ah, a joke, yeah, we got no sense of humour, we Germans, we’ve got no sense of humour at all.’ [unclear] So then, later on somebody, one of the survivors said, ‘Why did you bomb the city?’ So I said, ‘To be perfectly honest, we couldn’t hit anything smaller but just remember this,’ I said, ‘Right in the centre, almost within half a mile from the centre of Hanover there was the biggest rubber factory in Germany, so it made Hanover a very legitimate target.’ ‘Yes’, this man says, ‘But you didn’t hit it, did you? ‘Cause it’s still there!’ [laughs]. I said, ‘Well, and you tried to tell me that the Germans got no sense of humour?’ [laughs] And then I was on their side from then on.
AS: I’ve lived there for eleven years. I’m with you. I’ve lived there for eleven years.
HH: Have you?
AS: Yeah. They’re great people, great people. I think.
HH: In which part were you?
AS: I was in Munich for five years.
HH: Yeah.
AS: And then in Bonn and Cologne, in the Rhineland for about six altogether. Some of the places you visited by air, in fact. That’s the feelings of the Germans. How, there’s been a lot of controversy about how Bomber Command were treated after the war. Have you got any views on that?
HH: Well, I think, first of all, we should never, never have bombed Dresden, I think that was the biggest mistake we made. And Portal should have stood up and said, no! But he didn’t have the guts to do it, he didn’t have the guts to stand up to Churchill and it was Churchill who, on his way to Yalta, he stopped off at Malta, And they’d agreed to bomb five cities within reach of the Russian lines, you know, and I think Dresden was one and what’s that? And Leipzig and one other I think. Anyway he sent back this signal to Portal saying, from Malta saying, where is my spectacular, get on with it. So, Portal looked at the charts and he consulted the Met people and the only target available that night was Dresden. I didn’t go to Dresden, I went to Magdeburg, Magdeburg that night, you can see it on there, in that book there.
AS: You believe it was, that Dresden was the turning point and that?
HH: Mh?
AS: You believe that Dresden was some sort of turning point?
HH: Yeah.
AS: How Bomber Command were treated?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Did you, do you feel now that it’s changed with the memorials and the clasp?
HH: Yeah, I think so. I think, there was a time just after the war, when the people who were against us were the people who were in the Air Force or in one of the forces and they felt that we were, they didn’t want us to have any publicity, you know.
AS: After the war.
HH: Yeah. And then, and then since then, they’ve suddenly realised that you know, we had the highest losses of any unit in the, our forces, fifty five thousand killed, which is quite a lot, wasn’t it?
AS: Yeah. Fifty five thousand, five hundred and seventy three.
HH: Yeah.
AS: And you’ve seen a, well, or you see a change in attitudes now.
HH: Yes, I think, younger people are much more inclined to want to hear about it and talk about it and understand why we did it and there is no good saying, well, we were under orders to do it, because that’s what the Germans excuses were, you know, for their treatment of the in the concentration camps. We were under orders.
AS: And you did it because it was right?
HH: Well, we did it because we thought we were, ‘cause we were shortening the war and therefore less people would be killed.
AS: Is it, I agree, you say, that now people want to hear about it, is it good for you and other veterans to be able to talk about it after all this time?
HH: It’s getting more and more difficult, there’s so many books have been written on there, now.
AS: And you are actually in one of the books.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Steve Darlow’s book. How did all that come about? Did you get involved with him?
HH: I don’t know. He wanted, I think I was recommended by probably Bomber Command, you know, Dougie Radcliffe.
AS: Oh, the Bomber Command Association.
HH: Yeah.
AS: Have you always played a big part in that?
HH: No, no, I was mainly in the Pathfinders Association.
AS: Oh, okay.
HH: We were separate from, we were separate from the Bomber Command Association, but I’d already joined the Bomber Command Association when we disbanded. I’d already been a member for several years.
AS: And do you belong to your squadron or 102 Squadron association as well?
HH: Yeah. Yes, it’s, I’ve written a letter to, when I went to the VJ-Day celebrations⸻
AS: Yes.
HH: We had to fill out a form travelling expenses and I got three hundred pounds from the Lottery Fund.
AS: Excellent.
HH: And my son Jeremy, who’d driven me up there and then he got three hundred pounds as well. And I don’t, I hope he hasn’t. So I wrote a letter to the Big Lottery and said, thanking them for their, I said, so, twice a year I’ve got to go to, up to Pocklington in Yorkshire, which is rather expensive for me now ‘cause you got to go up Virgin cross country you know, right the way up to York and it’s a long journey that. It’s an interesting journey but there’s no, there was a little old lady pushing the tray along, pushing the trolley along, you know, that’s all that you get to eat with some coffee and a fruitcake or something.
AS: It’s not the same as a full dining car.
HH: I like the dining cars on, I’m going up on the 22nd of October I think, coming back on the 23rd, I always travel back down on the dining car which, on a train with a dining car which leaves at seven o’clock in the evening.
AS: Do you still have wartime comrades that you’ll meet in Pocklington?
HH: Oh yes, yeah. Most of them are dead now but.
AS: So, a lot of reminiscing and’
HH: Yeah. There’s a friend of mine, who was a previous chairman, Tom Wingate, who, he wrote a book called Halifax Down, ‘cause he was shot down on his second tour, and I used to have a copy but I can’t find it now. I don’t know what I have done with it, I lose things all the time now.
AS: I have a copy at home, I can send you one.
HH: Pardon?
AS: I have a copy, I can send you one.
HH: You got a copy of that?
AS: Yeah, I have.
HH: Halifax Down, yes, it’s not a bad book, actually. Except that he joined the squadron the same time as I did, his crew did. And he’s quoted in his book, as if he was there three or four months before me. He’s quoted various trips and he’s got these out of those old war diaries, wish I could find that. I wonder where I put it?
AS: Well, you’ll have to take your logbook the next time you meet him.
HH: Oh no, he’s dead now.
AS: Okay.
HH: That’s why I’ve taken over as chairman.
AS: After you came off ops, you did this trip out to the Far East, did you then get involved in ferrying aeroplanes?
HH: In what?
AS: Did you then get involved in ferrying aeroplanes?
HH: Oh yes, yeah.
AS: Okay.
HH: It’s quite a lot really. My very first trip was down to Akyab, on the Arakan coast. I think I told you, didn’t I?
AS: Yes, but not into the tape. So, what happened on that trip?
HH: I don’t think that particular trip’s in there, actually, I looked for it the other day and I can’t find it. I must have left it out for some reason.
AS: This was the trip with the Japanese.
HH: Yes, all the way around us were Zeros, you know. We could hear them yacketing away and then this Indian crew comes on with their Hurricanes and the Japanese just disappeared.
AS: What was the radio conversation about with these Indian squadrons, red flight?
HH: Pardon?
AS: What was the radio conversation story about the?
HH: Oh, well, the Indian crews? ‘Yes, red leader to yellow leader, how do you read me, over? Yellow leader to green, you are not red, you are green, you know? Red leader to yellow leader, I am not green, I am red. And this Aussie voice comes up by the blue, you are black, you bastard’ [laughs].
AS: So, it’s still a combat area that you’re flying replacement aircraft I suppose in to the squadrons?
HH: Yeah.
AS: Did you get involved in flying damaged aircraft for repair?
HH: Oh, I used to fly back from say Kamila or with two Pratt & Whitney’s engines in the back and a load of ENSA girls as well amongst them [laughs], sitting where they could and trying not to get greasy, ‘cause these, and yeah.
AS: Yeah. Shall we, pause there I think?
HH: Yeah.
AS: And wind it up. Thank you that, It’s been absolutely wonderful to hear.
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Interview with Harry Hughes
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Adam Sutch
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2015-10-21
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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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AHughesWH151021
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02:28:15 audio recording
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eng
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Harry Hughes volunteered for the Royal Air Force in 1940 and trained in America, where he was washed out as a pilot and then retrained as a navigator in Canada, flying Ansons and Wellingtons. In 1942 he converted to Halifaxes and flew operations with 102 Squadron over Germany, being awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal for flying an operation to Berlin whilst on crutches. He recounts the routines of preparing to go on operations and his use of navigation aids including Gee, LORAN and later, Boozer in Mosquitos. He was bombstruck twice during operations. He completed 26 operations including the bombing of Hamburg which he describes as a firestorm and recalls saying a private prayer for the people of Hamburg below. After his tour finished, he then instructed before applying to go back on operations with 8 Group, flying Mosquitos with 692 Squadron and dropping Window for Pathfinder forces in 1944/45. In 2004 he visited Hanover and discussed the raids with survivors of the war. He was a member of a number of post war service associations and kept in contact with his crewmates.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Schulze
Carolyn Emery
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
Germany
Great Britain
Southeast Asia
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
United States
Alabama--Montgomery
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1943
1944
1945
102 Squadron
3 Group
6 Group
692 Squadron
8 Group
aircrew
Anson
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bomb struck
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
briefing
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
faith
Fw 190
Gee
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 1
Halifax Mk 2
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
incendiary device
Ju 88
Me 109
Me 110
Me 262
medical officer
meteorological officer
military service conditions
Mosquito
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
perception of bombing war
Portal, Charles (1893-1971)
promotion
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Harwell
RAF Riccall
RAF Wombleton
Stirling
training
Wellington
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/735/10735/ACayhillE180208.2.mp3
fae5c508c5967105b298ae8a271038de
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
Cayhill, Edward
E Cayhill
Edward Cahill
E Cahill
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Edward Cayhill (1921 -2021, 157619 Royal Air Force) He worked as a civilian Meteorological officer at RAF Scampton before joining the RAF and flying as an observer on Meteorological flights with 519 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-02-08
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Cayhill, E
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
JM: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Julian Maslin. The interviewee is Mr Edward Cayhill. The interview is taking place at Mr Cayhill’s home in North Wales on the 8th of February 2018.
EC: Correct.
JM: Mr Cayhill, Edward, please would you tell us a little bit about your family background first of all?
EC: I was born in Scotland in, near Motherwell. Motherwell, on the 11th of August 1921. A big family. A family of eight of us and I was the eldest son. Therefore, in Scotland the idea was that the eldest son would be encouraged financially and otherwise to further his education and so I was, my father said, ‘We’re going to try and get you in to university.’ So I worked hard at my studies and [pause] in 1938 my father died in Scotland. A big family. 1938. So my, and I applied for a place at Glasgow University and I was accepted for a place. However, it all came to fruition that there was no way in my family set up that I could continue with university. The war was imminent. We had advisors, advisories, advisors coming around the schools suggesting jobs for future careers and so on and I went up to the Civil Service place in Edinburgh and had a, take up there and I was accepted as a technical assistant grade three in the Meteorological Office. Now, as the days went by things were heating up. The war was about to start. I [pause] stop here. Can it be stopped?
JM: Yeah.
[recording paused]
EC: I was sent to the Royal Air Force Abbotsinch as an observer.
JM: Yeah.
EC: A weather observer, and worked there for a couple of years. And this is, I’ve got, I was very keen on getting airborne so I was flying with any chance I could get. And that went on for a couple of years. For instance I went up to Scone Airport, Perth as an observer teaching newly entrants and aircrew lectures. And then I spent about probably three years doing various jobs around Scotland and then from that stage on I [pause] my next move was to Aldergrove in Northern Ireland, and in Northern Ireland I trained [pause] Oh, I’m sorry about this.
[recording paused]
EC: 1674 Heavy Conversion Unit, Aldergrove in July [unclear]. Now, that was when I’d left the Meteorological Office in Scampton where I was. Posted there. I was still a civilian and my job was to brief the crews who at that stage, 1674, at that stage Guy Gibson who was the CO of the Dambusting squadron they had been recently, on my arrival they had just recently done the bouncing bomb. So I was a civilian still then and, but the Squadron, 617 Squadron continued similar training. That is about the bouncing bomb, and that meant low level. When I say low level I mean low level. So, I would come in each day and brief the crews. And now, the bouncing bomb having done, Guy Gibson was still there and the squadron which included Flight Lieutenant Allsebrook continued doing similar training when the training area was [pause] we would take off from Scampton and we would fly low level. When I say low level, low level up across Yorkshire into Scotland and then on the road to the Isles. That’s by Tummel and Loch Rannoch, out there and I had cadged a trip and my position was the one that the pilot was Allsebrook, Flight Lieutenant Allsebrook, but he said, ‘Well, my mid-upper gunner won’t be coming so you can have the mid-upper seat.’ So I, low level all the way up there and it was really low level and we came through the valleys with the idea of a drop then. However, down at very low level over Scotland there was a God almighty bang and wind came through the aircraft all over the place and silence for a while and full bore climbing and we were on our way back home. And then eventually, this is your, ‘This is your captain speaking. I want you to [pause] what happened back there, we hit a rabbit. We hit a rabbit. And what did we hit? I want all the crew to answer this,’ [laughs] So everyone sitting up there, ‘You hit a rabbit.’ ‘That’s right.’ So, on the way back, now the idea of this rabbit business was, what he had said, we were not on intercom with them, he had said to the bomb aimer who was down there and was covered in blood and feathers and a bird strike, it was a bird strike and so the skipper said to the bomb aimer, ‘Take up all those big feathers and get rid of them. And all that gory mushy messy stuff put in our sandwich bag.’ In those days it was brown paper bags. ‘Put them in there and who knows. That could well be a rabbit.’ And so anyway [laughs] now every squadron I believe, bomber squadron had a line. They called them line books, and the line book was tall stories usually, and this story went into the, I’m sure this is still in the book [laughs] And so I cadged as many trips as I could while I was there. And then I was transferred on to other things and I went on to the flying side of it.
JM: That’s lovely. Could I just ask you a little bit to go back a little bit in that sense? You were saying that you were doing the meteorological briefing for the crews.
EC: Correct.
JM: Where did you get the information, the technical information from? Was it from the station or did it go through a network?
EC: A network. It all came in on the printer. Various sources.
JM: Right.
EC: We had, well information was short but we got a lot of stuff on the teleprinter.
JM: And did you have to make your own synoptic charts up, or did you simply have the job of relaying what somebody else had done somewhere else?
EC: No. We would automatically draw the charts up.
JM: You would.
EC: Yes. That was something I was also trained in.
JM: Yes. Yes. Yes. So you were strong in maths and science at university level to do that work.
EC: Not, not really. No. Most of the basic stuff came through on the printer.
JM: Right.
EC: You plotted the charts.
JM: Right. Right.
EC: You analysed the charts, you know and —
JM: Yes. I mean the information that you were being given. The pressure, winds, whatever. Where was that coming from because you need information from all over the place but you didn’t have it from Europe? You only had it from the Atlantic.
EC: Well, from Bracknell.
JM: From Bracknell.
EC: From Bracknell. It was Meteorological Office Headquarters.
JM: At Bracknell. Still is. Or was.
EC: What information they had.
JM: Yeah.
EC: And who, the out stations had received it.
JM: Yeah.
EC: Used it to their best advantage.
JM: Yes. Yes. That’s very interesting. So you do, you do your, you make up the weather forecast based on the information that you were given.
EC: Correct.
JM: And then you go in to the briefing room to brief the crews before the sortie.
EC: That’s right.
JM: Did you, were you there for the whole of the briefing or simply for your bit of it?
EC: Oh no, we stayed on there and the others did their bit. Bomb aimer and —
JM: Yes. Yeah.
EC: The CO and all the rest of it.
JM: What was the atmosphere like if they were going out on a bombing sortie? Do you remember the atmosphere in the, in the briefing room?
EC: They were very [pause] they didn’t make any, there was no fuss. It was a job to be done. That was my understanding of it. We all did our bit. The wireless operator. The bomb aimer would say his bit. Each expert as it were to be known would say his bit and then the CO would then say, ‘Well, ok boys. That’s it now. Off we go.’ Da, da, da, da, you know.
JM: Yeah. Yeah. Yes. And when they came back after the sortie it was quite likely that the weather forecast over the target wasn’t very accurate.
EC: Well, quite right.
JM: How did you react to that?
EC: Well, it was you debriefed and you’d, there was a lot of jocularity, you know, ‘I’m back Jocky,’ [laughs] you know, but we took that as part, part of the job.
JM: Right. Right. So we have you there at Scampton in the summer of 1943 after the dams raid. Gibson —
EC: Immediately after. Yes.
JM: Yeah. Gibson was still around. Did you speak to him? Did you meet him at all?
EC: Yes, well I briefed him.
JM: You did.
EC: He’d be at the briefing. He was always at the briefing.
JM: Right. Yes.
EC: He’d kind of retire, you know but he was there.
JM: Yes. Did you form any impressions of, of Wing Commander Gibson? He has had so much publicity, I wondered if having met him if you had a view of him.
EC: He was a cool, cool, cool, cool customer.
JM: Was he?
EC: He didn’t seem to get excited about anything. ‘Oh yes. Is that so?’ You know.
JM: Just like that, yes.
EC: Yeah.
JM: Yes. Yes. When he, when he left the squadron he was replaced by Squadron Leader George Holden who had come down from 4 Group. I wonder if you remember Holden at all?
EC: No. That doesn’t ring a bell.
JM: No. No. Are there any of the other 617 crews that you do remember as characters, or did you have much to do with them?
EC: Not really. Well, I was a civilian, you know. I lived out and travelled in.
JM: Right.
EC: To do my briefings.
JM: Yes.
EC: Plot my charts and do my job and envying them. I wanted to be a flyer. Be a flyer, as well.
JM: You did.
EC: Yes.
JM: Yes. Yes.
EC: So —
JM: But so there’s none of them that stand out.
EC: There’s no. I —
JM: As people you particularly knew, knew well.
EC: No. My memory doesn’t recall.
JM: No. Do you remember if they actually talked about the dams raid in the summer after the raid had taken place? Did they talk about it at all? What they had done. The crews.
EC: Well, each one had a debrief. You were debriefed. They were debriefed.
JM: Yes. I meant more informally. Did they chat about it? Was it something that they knew what they’d done informally? You can’t remember.
EC: I can’t remember. No. Sorry.
JM: No. That’s ok. No. Ok. Were you there in September of 1943? Had you, were you still on the station then?
[pause]
EC: I’ve got my flight with Allsebrook was in May ’43. I’ve got that. And then I’ve got the 18th [pause] Well, I don’t know where, the 18th ’43 [unclear] Flight Lieutenant Sanders and then September ’43 the Ventura, [unclear]
[pause]
EC: So, all I’ve got here is that on the 5th 1943.
JM: 5th of —
EC: 5th of, that was when the [pause] sorry, sorry May ’43. Fifth. It was the fifth month.
JM: Yes.
EC: I don’t know about the date. That was the Lancaster with Allsebrook.
JM: Yes.
EC: Ok.
JM: Yes.
EC: And that was described here as low level training. Scampton, Fort William, Stranraer, back. That’s the one I‘ve just talked to you about.
JM: Yes. Yes. Yes.
EC: Now, in August I would be, would not have been in that area.
JM: Right.
EC: Would not have. In August. September [pause] I was posted up to Northern Ireland.
JM: Right.
EC: And then in, here’s something specific. Posted to Number 2 Observer’s AFU Millom. Ah. This was for the training to become an air met observer.
JM: Yeah. Millom is —
EC: That’s a jump.
JM: Millom is in Cumbria, isn’t it?
EC: Yes. In Cumbria.
JM: Yes.
EC: And it was on that one that we did the nav course. Air gunning — there was a gunnery range over on the Isle of Man. And we did a navigation course which we did in the, flying on Ansons.
JM: Yes. Can I just —
EC: And just come back.
JM: Can I just take you back a little while there. I’m interested to find out what it was that persuaded you to join the RAF. You were already making a major contribution to the war effort as a, as a meteorological officer. Why did you join up?
EC: Because I wanted to go on flying. I particularly, I was surrounded by these in uniform and flying. I wanted to fly. And the only way I was going to get into flying, they’d started the Meteorological Reconnaissance Flights and the training was, the initial one was Millom. We went up to Millom and, well I would go, that’s when I went back, went into uniform at that change. But the base was Millom and we were trained in navigation, air gunnery, quite a few of the essential things.
JM: Yes.
EC: Training then from Millom.
JM: Yes.
EC: I don’t know if that’s any help to you.
JM: It is. Do you remember very much about the training that you were given in terms of navigation and observations? Do you remember that at all?
EC: Yes. We had lectures on the navigation.
JM: Yes.
EC: And we had when we were airborne in the Anson we were given tasks like fly from here to [pause] it was almost invariably you would fly over ‘til you saw the, the tower at Liverpool and you would then go up to Scotland. Down to Stranraer.
JM: Yeah.
EC: In to the Stranraer area.
JM: Yes. Yes.
EC: And there would be a qualified navigator with you, you know to [unclear]
JM: Yes.
EC: And so on. But it’s becoming vague now. It’s very complicated. Not vague but complicated.
JM: So how long was the training that you went through at that stage?
EC: [pause] the whole thing probably lasted about six weeks.
JM: Really? Yes.
EC: That was to four to six weeks.
JM: Yes.
EC: I would think.
JM: Yes.
EC: It was a kind of crash course.
JM: Right.
EC: A crash course.
JM: And where were you sent after that, please?
EC: There is something here [pause] I’ve got my glasses [pause] Posted to Number 2 Observers AFU, Millom in June 1944. That’s, that’s a fact. Training flights were in Ansons for air experience and map reading. Second navigator to first navigator and the area’s bounded by Bardsey Island, Inishtrahull, Isla, Millom and down to Birmingham. And then I was posted to 1674 Heavy Conversion Unit, Aldergrove. Ok.
JM: Northern Ireland.
EC: In July 1944.
JM: Right.
EC: So, I was then in to flying.
JM: So you —
EC: I told you I was probably not much help.
JM: It’s wonderful. It’s very valuable. So you were at the Heavy Conversion Unit.
EC: Yes.
JM: And were you training to fly Halifaxes or Lancasters?
EC: We were then in Halifaxes.
JM: Halifaxes. Right.
EC: Not Lancasters.
JM: No. No. So where did you, where were you posted after you’d finished at the Heavy Conversion Unit?
EC: I think I was posted to 1674 Heavy Conversion Unit, Aldergrove in 1944. Training. These were the training flights. Halifax air observer flights in the base area. Stornoway. Rockall. Climbs to eighteen thousand feet. And then I was, in September ‘44 I was posted to 519 Squadron at Skitten. So I’d done all my training.
JM: Yes.
EC: And then they had opened up these weather flights.
JM: Right.
EC: Weather reconnaissance.
JM: Right.
EC: And I got on to the weather reconnaissance. And that was, that’s my life since that date. September ’44. I’ve been mostly on weather reconnaissance. I’ve got, this is all small stuff which is you don’t mind me just opening that.
JM: No. Please.
EC: There’s my log book which I kept up to date just to [pause] back to [pause] The research flight, Farnborough, that’s it. [unclear] What we did at the Met Research Flight, Farnborough, I flew, we flew Halifaxes and Mosquitoes.
JM: Right.
EC: On a bit of research.
JM: Yes.
EC: Flying as high as we could go.
JM: So the high altitude meteorological research.
EC: Yes.
JM: Yes.
EC: Met research. It was called Met Research Flight, Farnborough.
JM: Right.
EC: So I was on that. What we had was, we had Halifaxes and Mosquitoes. Two pilots, one engineer. The pilots took alternate Mosquito. I was, every Mosquito flight I would be on that and we would fly as high as we could until we stalled. You know, you’d think [unclear] so and like and there were two pilots [Thomason] Thorne. Thorne. [Thomason]. These are all the 1st 2nd 5th 9th 12th 15th 20th at Farnborough. So on and so on and then it was all authenticated by the, signed by the officer commanding M RAF. So this was all authenticated and then still at Farnborough in January 1950.
JM: So you were staying, stayed on in the RAF after the war was over.
EC: No. I was flying as a civilian then.
JM: You were back as a civilian.
EC: Back as a civilian.
JM: Yes. Yes.
EC: And I used to, like with [Thomason] and Thorne I used to fly with them on the Met research flights in uniform. But then I was demobbed.
JM: Yes. I see. Tell me about flying in the Mosquito.
EC: Beautiful. Beautiful. My position, it was naturally a two seater. Pilot on the left, met observer on the right with my judgement on all the weather and then when we came down from, we’d go as high as possible. You can see by the heights. I always put the heights in. The Halifaxes went up to ten thousand feet. The Mosquito to forty thousand feet. A fifteen thousand foot descent. There’s mostly, like in February 1950 I had, on the 2nd I was airborne on a Mosquito. On the 7th I was airborne in a Mosquito. On the 8th, on the 13th on the 14th 15th 16th 21st 21st 22nd. Climbed to, well climbed to forty thousand feet or as high as you could go. Thirty eight thousand five hundred. And then when we came down to fifteen thousand feet my job was then finished and the pilot, I knew him, we were great pals, pilots. He said, ‘Do you know, I’ve always thought this, the Mosquito could do a loop.’ So at fifteen thousand I had finished with the meteorological stuff so I just strapped myself down and said, ‘Ok.’ So he said, he put the nose down, [unclear] feet and he flew it back and came from out there and stalled out.
JM: Oh, it stalled at the top did it? Yes.
EC: But oh, but that I told you I was not —
JM: No. It’s wonderful. It’s absolutely wonderful. I’m interested, when you were making the observations on these weather research flights were you making them with symbols in a notebook of [pause] What was it that you were actually recording?
EC: We had the, a special form actually.
JM: Right.
EC: A meteorological form.
JM: Right.
EC: For each position.
JM: Yes.
EC: I don’t think I’ve got one. But anyway yeah there were special forms.
JM: And were you, were you looking at instruments that were giving you recordings of outside air temperature or whatever it happened to be?
EC: Both. Instruments and weather and visual.
JM: Right. Instruments and visual observations.
EC: And visual.
JM: Were being made by you.
EC: Stratocumulus, cirrus.
JM: Yes. Yes.
EC: Above us or below us.
JM: Yes. Yes. Operating at that height, forty thousand feet. That was quite exceptional in those days.
EC: Oh, yes. Well, the highest —
JM: Did you have any special kit or special training for operating at that altitude?
EC: No.
JM: No.
EC: No. No special training.
JM: No special —
EC: No special pressure suits.
JM: Nothing like that at all.
EC: No. No.
JM: So just normal RAF flying equipment.
EC: That’s right. Come out in the morning, go to the parachute section, draw your parachute out, and the truck would be there to take you out. Then you would go to the met office and have a briefing and then off you go.
JM: Off you go. Was it cold at that height?
EC: Well, you had heating in there.
JM: You had eating in the aircraft.
EC: Oh yeah. Yeah.
JM: Good.
EC: Oh, very cold. Very cold.
JM: Yes.
EC: Just trying to get something that might help you [pause] No. I’d just be repeating myself. So, what I did, I was in the met office. A civilian until the Scampton episode. And from then on I was going in to uniform.
JM: Yes.
EC: And they had started these meteorological reconnaissance flights.
JM: Yes.
EC: And I got in to them.
JM: Right. So you operated in Halifaxes and Mosquitoes in a meteorological —
EC: In a meteorological. What happened there was, when did the Mosquitoes come in? [pause] Well, of course the war ended. Where does that put us?
JM: ‘45.
EC: ’45, the war ended. So, what did I do then? Oh, the war ended and I thought, ah this is going to confuse still further but this is my memory. Ok. The war ended and I thought, oh no. I want to emigrate to America. Get away from all this. Get over to America. So I thought where’s the money? You’ve got no money. So I attended a Civil Service Commission and anyway, I got in to the Met Office as a technical assistant grade 2, I think it was. Whatever it was. And they said, ‘Now, what we want you to do now is they’re [pause] they’re going to, we have discovered we have a jet stream in the northern latitudes but there has been some suspicion on some very high flying aircraft that there’s one in the Middle East somewhere.’ That was it. ‘So what we’re doing we’re sending you out there,’ And there was, the war ended boom boom and there were pilots by the hundred. No jobs. Aircraft by the hundred. No purpose. So they said. ‘What we’ll do is we’ll send you out to Habbaniya in Iraq and we’ll send [pause] — the RAF have promised a squadron of —’ [pause] that was it, ‘Of Mosquitoes for this investigation.’
JM: Right.
EC: For the Middle East.
JM: Right.
EC: Jet. And you’ll be the kind of organiser and so on.
JM: Yes.
EC: So I said, ‘Ok, that’s fine.’ Maybe I’ll save some money while I’m out there. So, I went out there and, you know I was told to report to a Squadron Leader Shellard who was the officer in charge of RAF Habbaniya which is on the Euphrates about fifty miles from Bagdad. And so I got off the aircraft, went into the flight lieutenant. He said, ‘Oh, you’re, you’re Cayhill, are you?’ He said, ‘Well, I’ll tell you what,’ he said, ‘I’ve got good news for you and bad news for you.’ He said, ‘First of all your flight won’t, you’re flying won’t come to anything because the Mosquitoes that came out, there was no hangar space for them so they were moored on the airfield on the bund. Open air.’ June July temperatures. The aircraft wood warped.
JM: Warped. Yes.
EC: And they were declared unfit for flying.
JM: Oh.
EC: So, I was [pause] but so Shellard said, ‘Well, look we’ve got problems here. We’ve got a war going on in the Far East and the French are getting kicked right, left and centre and they are flying the evacuees, injured back home and they’re coming up through one of my wee stations down in Shaibah.’ The north end of the Persian Gulf, and so, ‘There’s no forecaster down there. There’s just the assistant and passing stuff. It would be better if we had a forecaster down there so you’re going down to — ’ That’s when I, that’s before I went out on this job I had sent all my gear including my logbook out to, and it was as the ship came around to come up to Basra it ran aground in the Persian Gulf.
JM: And that’s when —
EC: Five hundred, so the papers said, five hundred armed natives rushed on board and pilfered all they could except things like bulldozers and things like that.
JM: Right. Yes.
EC: And so I went down to Shaibah and then I had to spend my time there. And anyway, sorry we’re diversing and we don’t —
JM: We are but that’s fine. Again, if I may I’d like to take you a little bit back because you were telling us about operating the Halifax on the weather reconnaissance flight.
EC: Oh course.
JM: Could you tell us a little bit more about how that would, how often you’d go up? Where you’d go to? How did that actually work please?
EC: We had fixed routes which you would select on, the meteorologist would select on the day and then the routine would be, you’d got the full crew, the met observer, depending what kind of aircraft. I started off on Hudsons. Twin engine. Now, the twin engine we don’t, that was from Wick. When I was at Wick. But before that it was the Halifaxes. Now, in the Halifaxes there were fixed routes which were there in black and white.
JM: Yes.
EC: So you would fly out and do low level for part of the way. Every fifty nautical miles you would make a weather report. You would climb, clamber through bomb bays and whatever up to the wireless operator and he would send that message back to base.
JM: Right.
EC: And then after so many miles out you would do a climb to five hundred millibars. That’s about eighteen thousand feet. Now, we were very primitive in those days. The idea was you would climb to maybe, it was in millibars but call it two thousand feet and you would then circle there to allow the temperatures to regularise. Steady up. And then you would take the temperatures, the dry bulb, and wet bulb, and put that in. Always in code for that part of the war you know and so on. So you had to then encrypt it and then you climb another roughly eighteen hundred feet, level off, allow the temperatures to level off, take the readings, code them up, go up to the wireless operator to send them out, and then up to five hundred odd. Now you do two climbs to five hundred millibars, eighteen thousand feet and then you’re coming back home doing a kind of triangular somewhat penetration. A long way out. A long way back.
JM: That’s very interesting and there’s a couple of things that you’ve said that I want to clarify for the, for the recording. You were climbing to heights in millibars where there would be a certain known pressure.
EC: That’s right.
JM: So you weren’t climbing in feet. You were climbing to a pressure level.
EC: You had the altimeter beside you as well.
JM: Yes. Yes. That’s good. The second thing is that the information was sent back as you were recording it via the wireless operator in code so that if the Germans were listening they wouldn’t be given —
EC: That’s right.
JM: A free weather forecast.
EC: That’s right there was a decode book. You know it was book. Decode book.
JM: Yes.
EC: Number so and so, page so and so line so and so.
JM: Yes. Yes. Yes. Were your, were your crews, the pilots and the other members of the crew were they perhaps men who had done a tour of duty on bombing operations or had then been specially selected for that sort of work?
EC: They weren’t specially selected. No.
JM: No.
EC: No. They all had so many flying hours in, on different jobs.
JM: Yes. Yes. So they might have been men resting between tours of duty.
EC: Could be. Yes.
JM: For them that would have been a fairly easy task I imagine.
EC: No problems for them. Yeah.
JM: No. Was there any risk of you being intercepted by long range enemy fighters?
EC: There was always that risk on, on all these flights were given names. Code names. The one I started talking about, the one over the Atlantic that was Business.
JM: Right.
EC: The one over the North Sea starting was Rhombus. The one that went straight north out into the Arctic —
JM: Yeah.
EC: Was Recipe. The one down from Cornwall was Epicure. Epicure. They all had. The one, the one from Gibraltar. I didn’t do the Gibraltar one. The one at Gibraltar was, what was the one down there? Just missing for the moment.
JM: Yeah. That’s fascinating. So we had these separate routes identified by code names.
EC: That’s right.
JM: Taking weather aircraft north, south, east and west and you could, you could be ordered to fly on any of those depending on your duties.
EC: That was done at briefing.
JM: That was done at briefing.
EC: Yeah. The weather forecast. They’d see the weather forecast. They’d see that was a pretty blank area now. We need some information. Do that route.
JM: Yes. Yes.
EC: On the, on the Recipe which was taking off from Wick originally and then we moved to a wee place further north, would you believe it? To Skitten. Took us far north because at that time you had the Germans at the Dutch coast err the —
JM: Norwegian.
EC: The Norwegian coast, and they would come out and of course you had the convoys coming from Liverpool. The sea convoys from Liverpool going all the way around there to Murmansk to feed the Russians.
JM: Yes.
EC: And they were open targets. The Jerries used to come out there and —
JM: Yes. Yes, yes. You mentioned the Jetstream earlier on. I think I’m right in saying that’s a narrow band of high velocity air.
EC: That’s correct.
JM: When did you first get to hear about the presence of the Jetstream?
EC: Well, it was, you mean the second one? The one down in —
JM: No. The concept of the Jetstream. The fact that it existed over, over north west Europe.
EC: I wouldn’t like to say then, I did give you a date I think. I would suggest that like airlines flying to America and so on the, it was very rarely. They wouldn’t, at one time they wouldn’t allow a two engine aircraft to fly direct to America like I did, a long time at London airport briefing crews there, and they, and they’d come in and what are the winds? Ah. Then we’ll do the polar route depending on the winds and whatever winds we had then they’d probably, I don’t know. I don’t know exactly when they said jet, that’s a Jetstream.
JM: Yeah. The reason I ask, Edward is that I had it in my mind that it was the United States Army Air Force with their very high flying B17s and B24s leaving the contrails. I had it in my mind that it was they who first of all identified the Jetstream, and I wondered if that was you believed to be the case.
EC: I would believe that is the case.
JM: Yes.
EC: I’m not sure but I would believe. They always had the higher flying aircraft over their own country.
JM: Yes.
EC: And certainly the Jetstreams over there.
JM: Yes. It must have been fascinating to be a part of the science of meteorology at a time when with computers, balloons, rockets so much more information was coming through and you saw this. Perhaps after the war was over.
EC: Oh yes. Did. Did. We, clearly the details which are probably not too relevant, but my position I would say with flying with what we were flying but we had to be started using B17s eventually.
JM: You did. B17s as well.
EC: Oh aye. Towards the end of the war.
JM: Yes.
EC: We had Hudsons which [laughs]
JM: Yes.
EC: Twin engine things got no distance at all and then we got B, the B17.
JM: Yeah.
EC: That was fabulous. Up to thirty thousand feet. But what would I say was special about it? Well, they changed our job totally from being just getting north of the Orkney Islands or the Shetlands with a Hudson to a much longer range. We used to go way, way up there. But I remember my, as a Met observer my position would be in the nose of the Fortress. I would do my weather and then I had to take, and then I put it in to code and then crawl, push on a trap door to get up there, through there, through the wireless cabin and give him my message and he would then transmit. It was all in code, you know. And then, however in the meantime there was aircraft [laughs] Jerries were coming out across our path looking for ships to torpedo.
JM: Right. Yes.
EC: And the [pause] it’s like suddenly there would be an aircraft showing up and he’d say, ‘Ok. What’s the colour of the day?’ Now, the colour of the day might be two, two red cartridges and a green or something, or whatever and that was, so that was then my job. So everything black as pitch, you know most of the time in the winter time, ‘What’s the colour of the day?’ Get your torch out. We could have been shot down before you could work out the colour of the day. I’m rambling on. The old memory’s beginning to —
JM: Well, we’re having a lovely conversation. I hope I’m not tiring you too much.
EC: No. But —
JM: It’s fascinating.
EC: But I’m sorry not to be so specific.
JM: No. No. So, after you’d served as a civilian in the, in the Middle East.
EC: Yes.
JM: What did you do with the rest of your working life? Did you stay in meteorology?
EC: Yes, I, when I came back from those two years in the, and I told you I was going to go.
JM: Yes.
EC: I had been writing to the American Consulate and you needed in those days a sponsor to get, to emigrate to America. And so I, one of my friend’s uncle was a solicitor over in Detroit. Lafayette Buildings. Memories, it’s weird isn’t it? Lafayette Buildings, Detroit. And I thought, ok so I saved up a fair bit of money. I had been corresponding with the Americans and the last one read my letter. I got a letter from them, from their Consulate in Baghdad. So when I got home to Scotland there was no letter. I thought, you know what? So I thought, well I said, I know I’ll emigrate to Canada and then go across from Canada. So I booked a flight over on TC or something, and landed at Montreal and then came down to Winnipeg was it? No. It wasn’t. Anyway, at the junction where you go across they said, ‘Sorry, you can’t come through. You’ve got to have a working permit that you’re working in Canada.’ ‘I’ve got to have a job in Canada?’ ‘Yes.’ So I took a job emptying a grain ship, you know. And then out of a job. The second job was more popular on an assembly line in the car industry making body parts and so on. So once I had that I went across and I thought ok here I am in Detroit. I’m in Detroit but I’ve got to go back there and I went to the Lafayette Buildings where he was and I said, ‘I’d like to speak to [pause] anyway there it goes again. ‘Oh, he died three weeks ago.’
JM: Oh dear. Oh dear.
EC: He died three weeks ago.’ So I thought that’s it. So I thought, ok. I’ll go back in to the Met Office in the UK and just to make the best of it. See what they can offer me. So I booked from New York. Sailed from New York. It was mostly boats in those days. So I got on a bus around there and somewhere enroute the bus driver, we stopped for refreshments, he said, ‘Mr Cayhill?’ I said, ‘That’s me.’ He said, ‘Oh, there’s a message here from the place you booked your ticket.’ So it was to say that there’s a strike in New York and the ship has been diverted to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Oh no. So I pretended I couldn’t hear and hung up. So I went on to New York and stormed on to it [laughs] I stormed into their offices. ‘Don’t panic. Don’t panic. We’re laying on a special train from New York for us and you’ll go all the way around up to Nova Scotia here.’ So [unclear]
JM: Marvellous. Marvellous. I’d like —
EC: You’ve got nothing out of me.
JM: I’ve got a lot of out of you, but I would like to take you back if I, if I may to the, that time, the summer of 1943 when you were a civilian working at RAF Scampton with the 617 Squadron. In the period of time after the dams raid.
EC: Yes.
JM: What, what do you remember about Scampton in those days? Do you remember the base? Do you remember where you had your office?
EC: Yes. I do. Yes. A very small office there. Briefings, we always went to the briefing centre for all the briefing.
JM: Yes.
EC: Operations. I presume it was operations for, the next briefing is from so and so and so and so to so and so. So you prepared all the documentation you could.
JM: Yes.
EC: And you went over and you gave your spiel.
JM: And some of the briefings that you gave to 617 Squadron were part of the operations that they took part in in the summer of 1943.
EC: Yes.
JM: Do you remember any of those operations at all?
EC: No. The only ones were associated once the low level training part subsided and that was with Allsebrook.
JM: Yes.
EC: That was the last time that I flew with them.
JM: Yes.
EC: Or probably the last time I briefed any of them.
JM: Was it? Yes.
EC: Yeah.
JM: Right. Because I was keen to find out something about the atmosphere on RAF Scampton in those weeks after the dams raid. They had trained so hard. They had achieved so much. To find out what it was like to be there in the aftermath of that. That’s —
EC: That’s right. In actual fact Gibson himself, I think it was a fact was shot down by one of the RAF, a Lancaster.
JM: That’s, that’s one of the stories. It is. Yes.
EC: Oh, it’s a story.
JM: Yes. Yes. I tend to not to agree with that but it is one of the stories that we have heard. But that was two years later wasn’t it?
EC: Yeah.
JM: That was, one year later 1944.
EC: You don’t believe that.
JM: I tend to go with the view that it was an accident as a result of his relative unfamiliarity with the Mosquito.
EC: That’s right.
JM: And the fact that they didn’t transfer the fuel as they should have done.
EC: And they ran out fuel.
JM: And they ran out of fuel. I have been to —
EC: I accept that.
JM: I’ve been to the crash site in, in Holland and his grave, and Squadron Leader Warwick was the navigator who was killed with him. I’ve been to that. I have looked into it but it’s quite right that recently a rear gunner came out and he said that he had shot it down. A two engine aircraft.
EC: Yeah.
JM: Not knowing what it was.
EC: Yeah.
JM: So, we’ll never know. We’ll never know. But that was 1944. In the summer of 1943, you know you were there and 617 Squadron was operating against targets in Italy and elsewhere. I wondered if you’d remember that but perhaps you’d moved on at that stage.
EC: No. I can’t. No.
JM: No.
EC: Sorry.
JM: No, that’s ok. That’s fine. I have to ask. Shall we have a rest there for the moment?
EC: Ok.
JM: Yeah.
[recording paused]
EC: Have you had, the squadron was based in Darwin with daily flights. They made long period daily flights until the bomb itself went off.
JM: What year was that roughly?
EC: The year was exactly [pause] Darwin. Darwin. This was the period [pause]
JM: So, for the, for the record Edward is telling us about the time when he was operating in Australia, in the Pacific Ocean in support of nuclear weapons testing on the Caicos Islands and you were doing weather reconnaissance to ensure that the winds did not bring radiation on to the mainland of Australia.
EC: I think [pause] Yeah. That was 18th of February 1956. Shackleton, 818. Wing commander flying. That was our crewmen. I was air met observer. Ballykelly via Bordeaux. The Carcassonne Gap to Idris. This was on, out —
JM: Right.
EC: And then again Idris to Habbaniya and then [pause] No. I’ll start again and then Habbaniya. Shaibah. Sharjah. Do you know all these?
JM: Yes. I do. Yes.
EC: Sharjah, and then Mauripur. And then on to Mauripur. Mauripur to Negombo. Negombo via Subang to Changi, Singapore island. And then Changi to Darwin. Darwin, Pearce Field, Perth down to Perth, this is setting it all up.
JM: Yeah.
EC: Pearce back to Darwin and then I set up tracks which we were flying so we were flying but the —
JM: So this was 19 —
EC: Conditions were, those ones there were twelve and a half hours.
JM: This was 1956. You just gave us that date. 1956.
EC: 1956, yeah.
JM: And this was in support of the nuclear testing.
EC: That’s right.
JM: That was taking place at that time.
EC: That’s right. That was the atomic bomb.
JM: Yeah.
EC: Test that.
JM: Yeah.
EC: Still at Darwin and that was [pause] so the summary of flying hours as an air met observer on 269 Squadron for the period 5th of Jan ‘56 to the 16th of May, da di di da, on Shackletons. The two hundred and eighty five hours and then there was still a Shack and then because I was the top man, you know [unclear] with the wing commander we went down to different, to Alice Springs and Alice Springs back to Darwin, you know. And then we did our trips in the [pause] we were flying regularly 5th 8th the 11th, 14th of June, 17th of June, Shackleton to [pages turning] still in Australia. Darwin. Then transit Darwin to Essendon. Laverton, Richmond, Sydney, Richmond, Darwin, Darwin, then go Darwin to Changi. Changi to Negombo which was Ceylon. Negombo, Sharjah. Sharjah. Habbaniya. Habbaniya. Idris. And Idris back to Ballykelly. That was all in, the last of those flights was the 10th of July 1956. And then we have a transit to the Christmas Island for the whole set up. That was in, the 19th of January 1957. Flight Lieutenant Kerr. Air obs, acting air observer, St Eval to Lurgans. That’s going out the long way around. Lurgans to Kenley Field. Kenley Field to Charleston. That’s South Carolina. Charleston to Moisant. Moisant to Biggs Airfield in El Paso. Biggs to Travis Air Force base up in California and then a big long one across the Pacific to Travis which is California to Hickam Air Force base Honolulu. And then Hickam down to Christmas Island and so on and so on.
JM: And of course Christmas island was the H-bomb tests, wasn’t it?
EC: That’s right.
JM: I have a —
EC: Well, I’ve done, I’ve seen and experienced three personally and I’m very closely associated for the rest of them. I set up the Met set up for that. On the day of the decision — have you been to Christmas island?
JM: No. I haven’t.
EC: It’s a very large coral island, about the middle of the Pacific full of little waterways and so on and there was an airfield. They made, the army made an airfield. Rolled coral in the north end of it there and then the ships would, could come into the fjord, the waterways. And on the day of the, if I say the first bomb they would say, they would wake us all up about three o’clock in the morning, those who weren’t flying. I would have all the time twelve hour meteorological flights going on. I had a team of six. One flight sergeant and five sergeants and myself who used to fly twelve hour flights. Reconnaissance all around. Anyway, my job was, I would go aboard as the weatherman to the target and then the [pause] I would report when I’m on the target back to headquarters, it’s satisfactory or its not satisfactory for a drop and then in my aircraft which would stay on site the weatherman, we had all the cameramen. Ok. With their cameras. And then the target was four hundred miles south of Christmas Island. A little island called [pause] anyway a tiny little island which was mostly unoccupied and we’d use that to bomb. A Valiant would come on top at forty five plus thousand feet. He would come across and if it was decided it was on, drop from that height. And then the Navy had a ship over to the east of the target and they were monitoring everything, the bomb all the way down and they would call, ‘Forty five seconds. Forty seconds. Close eyes everybody.’ [laughs] And then, my position in the nose there would be a bright flash. You’ve got no goggles on, gloves on, curtains pulled past the, around all that, would, would be again a funny light through all the sounds, and then, ‘Ok. Eyes open everybody. Forty five seconds,’ and then would be the countdown. And then the first thing would be apart from the light, was an attack. The aircraft really shook [pause] and then it stopped, and then there was another smaller one. And in the meantime then the cameras were turning and photographing it all.
JM: And that shock was the shockwave hitting the aircraft.
EC: That was the first one which was direct to the aircraft was the shockwave from up there, and the second one was a reflection off the sea.
JM: Right.
EC: And that was a minor one. Now, the British are fantastic, I think. Now, the, from then on I’d say it was all being controlled by the Navy over there who were at sea. The aircraft, Canberra aircraft were sent off and they timed it beautifully, and they were timed to go through at different levels into the stack, you know and they were called Sniffer, their call sign. Sniffer One. Sniffer Two. Sniffer Three. Go through the cloud at different levels taking samples. Back to Christmas island. There was an RAF York on the ground there and all those samples were on there. The route, the usual route was up to Honolulu, or to San Francisco and they were in Aldermaston the following morning at 9 o’clock. Incredible.
JM: Were you ever concerned after that about the health issues of operating there? A number of servicemen —
EC: Oh, I was told about it. They said, you know. I had no [pause] we became so good at dropping this bomb.
JM: Yeah.
EC: All our accommodation on Christmas Island was tented.
JM: Yeah.
EC: There was only one kind of wooden hut and that was the CO, but because we knew exactly what was happening we used our own island, the southern tip of our island as a delayed drop from our own island and we were all at the top end of our island, you know. And really fantastic.
JM: And how long were you there for in total?
EC: Oh, exactly I’ll tell you [laughs] [pages turning] [pause] Christmas Island. Transit Christmas Island, down this area.
[pause]
EC: I was there all of the 19th [pause] These are the days I flew — 19, 20, 21st reconnaissance flights [pause – pages turning] I did, I finished with it [pause] for the period of 10th of January ‘57 to the 28th February ‘57 I did a hundred and twelve hours ten, ten minutes of flying time. And then it went on and on and on [pause — pages turning] The last entry in my book [pause — pages turning] I went back to training. Air met observer from then. So you can then, my grand total of flying was two thousand six hundred and four hours. Mostly meteorologically associated.
JM: Yeah. That’s a wonderful record.
EC: But again, I haven’t —
JM: Yeah. Just to complete the story when you came back I gather you spent your career as a meteorologist with, with airports. Is that correct? Were you doing weather forecasting? Did you say earlier you were doing weather forecasting?
EC: Yeah.
JM: For airlines. It doesn’t matter, Edward. It doesn’t matter.
EC: No.
JM: We can leave it there. Edward, thank you so much for allowing me to go back with you into your story and you are a unique individual and your stories are very valuable. Thank you very much.
EC: I know I haven’t answered you, what you, specific points you wanted me to raise with you.
JM: Well, you have answered as best as you can and that’s all I can ask for.
EC: Ok.
JM: On behalf of the IBCC thank you very much indeed.
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 Edward Cayhill
Creator
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Julian Maslin
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2018-02-08
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
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ACayhillE180208
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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01:03:35 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Australia
Christmas Island
Great Britain
Iraq
England--Cumbria
England--Lincolnshire
England--Hampshire
Northern Territory--Darwin
Scotland--Stranraer
Northern Territory
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
1944-06
1944-09
1950
1956-02-18
1956-07-10
1957-01-19
Description
An account of the resource
Edward Cayhill was the eldest of eight children and with his father’s encouragement was hoping to go to university. His father died in 1938 which meant that the university dream was cancelled and Edward went to work as a Civil Servant in the Meteorological Office. He began his work as a Met observer with the RAF at RAF Abbotsinch before being posted to 617 Squadron at RAF Scampton. Edward desperately wanted to join the RAF as aircrew which he finally did. He joined the RAF and was attached to the Meteorological Reconnaissance Flights at RAF Farnborough where he flew on Halifaxes and Mosquitoes. When he was demobbed he continued to fly with the Met Research Flight as a civilian. He eventually joined 269 Squadron and took part in the Met research flights in relation to the nuclear testing in the Pacific.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
1674 HCU
617 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
briefing
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
ground personnel
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
meteorological officer
Mosquito
observer
RAF Farnborough
RAF Millom
RAF Scampton
training