1
25
119
-
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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
Weston, Fred
F Weston
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-13
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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Weston, F
Description
An account of the resource
20 items. The collection concerns Fred Weston DFC (1916 - 2012, 126909 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 101 and 620 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Catherine Millington and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
"Fred" by Sylvia White (his cousin)
Description
An account of the resource
Fred's life story from early days sneaking downstairs to drink the dregs at his parent's public house, playing rugby and studying hard, becoming an accountant, learning to be an accurate rifle shooter then joining the RAF as a an air gunner. He survived a tour of 30 operations. After the war he studied for a B.Sc in Forestry and worked for the Forestry Commission.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Sylvia White
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Runcorn
England--Widnes
Wales--Penrhos
England--Cambridge
Germany--Hamburg
Netherlands--Arnhem
Wales--Bangor
England--Winchester
England--Helmsley
England--Hambleton (North Yorkshire)
England--Pickering
Germany
Netherlands
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Cheshire
England--Hampshire
England--Yorkshire
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Personal research
Format
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Four printed sheets and one handwritten note
Identifier
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MWestonF126909-161113-060001, MWestonF126909-161113-060002, MWestonF126909-161113-060003, MWestonF126909-161113-060004,
MWestonF126909-161113-060005
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.
101 Squadron
620 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
animal
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
Blenheim
Bombing and Gunnery School
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
entertainment
faith
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
Gneisenau
killed in action
mid-air collision
military ethos
RAF Penrhos
Scharnhorst
Stirling
training
Wellington
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/689/17878/BBarkerRBarkerRv1.1.pdf
bcfb50858f43146a1da0eb77080cdb6e
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
Barker, Reg
R Barker
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. The notes for a talk given by Reg Barker to the Haywards Heath Historical Society on 24 June 2014 and an account of his Lancaster being shot down during an operation to Kiel on 20 August 1944. Reg Barker flew as pilot on Halifax with 76 Squadron and Lancaster with 635 Squadon.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Reg Barker and catalogued by Nigel Huckins
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-23
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
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Barker, R
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[Photographs]
Flt Lt Reg Barker
RAF Bomber Command
A Miraculous Escape From Certain Death in World War II
by Reg Barker
Former Flight Lieutenant 635 Squadron RAF Pathfinder Force
Can I take you back to the summer of 1944 when, after nearly five years, the tide of war was at last turning in our favour? The Allied invasion of Normandy on June 6th had been successful; our armies were fighting their way across France, and Paris had just been liberated after more than four years under German occupation.
My part in this offensive was as an RAF pilot ages 22; the captain of a skilled and dedicated crew of seven. We were a tightly knit team. As their skipper, I remember how privileged I felt to enjoy the loyalty and comradeship of such an exceptional crew. We were all proud to flying Lancaster bombers with Bomber Command’s Pathfinder Force, as members of 635 Squadron.
On August 26th 1944, we were briefed to fly that night from our airfield at Downham Market in Norfolk, to attack Germany’s naval and submarine base at Kiel. Heavily defended with searchlights and anti-aircraft guns Kiel was an important target, because enemy submarines were a serious threat to the ships upon which our armies on the continent depended to maintain their essential supplies.
We were directed to fly in the first wave of twelve Pathfinder aircraft, two minutes ahead of the Master Bomber, who would monitor the progress of the attack and direct the main force of bombers by wireless.
We arrived at Kiel exactly on time, thanks to the superb skill and dedication of our Canadian navigator, Hannes. He calculated a fresh ‘fix’ of our position every six minutes throughout our flight, a remarkable feat of concentration. This enabled him to give me an adjusted course or speed whenever necessary, to ensure that we were always right on time and on track.
We had a good run into the target, with our painstaking bomb aimer, Brian, carefully directing me as he peered through his bomb-sight, “Left…left…right…steady,” to
[page break]
ensure that he would drop our bombs exactly where they were intended. After he called, “Bombs gone!” I held a straight course in order to obtain a photograph of our aiming point. Brian reported that he was pleased with the accuracy of our bombing.
Now we were on our way homewards, thankfully leaving behind the searchlights and flak which had seemed to fill the sky over the target. I was flying the aircraft in a ‘banking search’, weaving so as to help the crew to keep an extra sharp lookout for enemy fighters who might be waiting to intercept us.
Suddenly there was an explosion, a vivid flash and the aircraft was thrown on its back. I managed to regain level flight, assured the crew that I had control and checked with each of them that they were alright. However, we could see flames coming from the starboard wing. Hoping that an increased rush of air might extinguish them, I opened up the engines to full power, but as we increased speed I felt the control column go slack in my hands and I realised that the cables to the tail plane must have been severed. I could no longer control the aircraft, so I immediately ordered the crew to bail out.
At almost the same moment, the nose of our Lancaster plunged violently downwards and the aircraft went into a steep, spiralling dive. Our four Rolls Royce Merlin engines were now driving us at terrifying speed, vertically downwards towards the earth.
The cause of our predicament, as I learned later from our rear gunner, was that the aircraft had broken in two. The tail plane, with the rear turret, had split away from the fuselage. As the rest of us flew on, Dizzy was left behind without the engine or pilot! He recalled afterwards that finding himself alone in the sky, with the tail place swishing gently from side to side like a leaf falling, he felt sure that he could descend all the way to earth that way. Fortunately, he decided to climb out of his turret and to use his parachute. He landed safely.
Without a tail plane, it was no wonder the aircraft had nose-dived so suddenly and so violently. From our flying height of 17,000 feet, we had plunged in seconds to 13,000 feet. As I was lifted out of my seat by the powerful force of ‘g’, caused by the spinning of the aircraft, I could see the altimeter needle racing round the dial, as it clocked 1,000 feet a second in our headlong descent to earth.
Trapped in our tightly spinning aircraft, pinned hard up against the Perspex cockpit roof, and unable to move so much as a finger, I knew it would only be seconds before we reached the ground. This would be the end. There was no time for my life to flash before me, but a fleeting glimpse of the fires raging below prompted a split-second prayer to the Almighty!
As I lost consciousness, I was aware only of the most deafening sound. The blasting and buffeting of the wind through the fuselage, the screaming of the propellers and the roaring and vibrating of the four powerful engines combined into an overwhelming, thunderous, unbearable crescendo of noise. Then – total silence, total peace, total bliss! Instead of a fiery hell, I had arrived in that Heavenly abode which I hoped was destiny!
However, gradually, the silence was broken by a persistent swishing sound. Then suddenly my sight returned and I realised that I was in the sky, and nearby I could see my blazing aircraft coming down beside me. The ‘swishing’ must have been the wind whistling through my clothing as I hurtled towards the ground. I had no sense of falling, but instinctively I grabbed and tugged my ripcord.
[page break]
As my parachute opened, I could see trees below me, brightly floodlit from above by my blazing aircraft. Instantly, I dropped in the treetops and my aircraft crashed a short distance away. Anxious to get to the ground as quickly as possible before I was discovered, I released my parachute harness and climbed down through the branches, landing safely on a cushion of leaves. Overhead, I could hear the main force of the bombers, making their way home to England and, wistfully, I thought of the traditional aircrew breakfast of eggs and bacon, to which they were returning.
My immediate concern was to get away from the crashed aircraft, which was blazing furiously close by, with ammunition exploding in the intense heat of the fire. I could see the stars overhead, recognised the North Star, and set off hopefully towards Denmark, a few miles to the north. Denmark had been occupied by Germans, and I hoped I might meet up with some friendly inhabitants there.
I soon came to the edge of the wood in which I had landed, and I crept along a ditch which ran in the direction I wanted to travel. To my dismay, I heard voices coming from ahead. I might have heard them sooner, had I removed my flying helmet, but I had kept it on because my head was pouring blood (from a superficial shrapnel wound, as it turned out). I hid in the hedge, but it was too late, for the approaching villagers must have seen me silhouetted against the fire.
An excited crowd quickly surrounded me, each and every one of them grabbing my tunic or trousers, holding me as tightly as possible. No doubt this was so that each of them could claim to have captured the English ‘terror flieger’. They were all very old or very young. Although a teenage boy held a revolver to my head with his hand shaking furiously, not one of them harmed me in any way.
Perhaps because of my amazement that I was still alive, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. This contrasted with the understandable agitation of these villagers, who must have been terrified out of their lives as my Lancaster came screaming down out of the sky.
Soon, two uniformed men arrived and I was handed over, to begin a new chapter in my life as a prisoner of war. To my great surprise and joy, in the hours which followed, I met up with our rear gunner Dizzy, (whose brief solo trip flying the tail plane I described earlier), and also with three other members of my crew who had also survived – our navigator Hannes; our wireless operator Dick, and our flight engineer Harry. Each of them described an identical experience to my own: being trapped in the aircraft, blacking out, and then miraculously regaining consciousness in the sky, just in time to release their parachutes and drop into the tree tops.
Unfortunately Hannes had suffered a broken leg and was on his way to a German hospital. He was liberated the following April by General Patton’s army. Harry, Dick, Dizzy and I all ended up in the same POW camp – Stalagluft 1 at Barth on the Baltic coast, and we were liberated by the Russian Army in May 1945.
My greatest sorrow has been the loss of two members of my crew: Brian, our bomb aimer and Taffy, our mid-upper gunner, both of whom are buried in Kiel War Cemetery. Brian had left the aircraft through the forward escape hatch, but just after he jumped, the aircraft made its violet nose-dive. I believe he must have been struck by part of the aircraft and had been knocked unconscious, for he was found in a field with his parachute unopened. Taff died in the aircraft. Once it started its uncontrolled spinning dive, it would have been impossible for him to extricate himself
[page break]
from his cramped turret. Like myself, he would have been trapped by the irresistible force of ‘g’. After blacking out, he could have known nothing more.
Of the 16 Lancasters dispatched by my Squadron on that fateful night, 3 were shot down, together with their 21 highly trained and experienced aircrew. 12 were killed and 9 of us became POWs. The German authorities later acknowledge the attack on Kiel to have been ‘a very serious raid’ with extensive damage.
How did the enemy manage to shoot us down without our having any warning? This was a mystery until years later, when we learned about ‘Schrage Musik’, (Jazz Music) whereby German fighters were able to home in our H2S radar transmitter, which was housed in a blister underneath our fuselage. We also learned that they had been equipped with upward-firing guns. Unknown to us, these advantages enabled them to position themselves directly below us, where they were completely hidden from our view and where their guns could inflict the greatest damage.
The remaining mystery is how the four of us who were trapped under the cockpit roof could have had such a miraculous escape from certain death, only seconds before our blazing Lancaster exploded on the ground. Perhaps the ‘g’ force created by the tightly spinning aircraft acted upon the combined weight of our four unconscious bodies to cause the roof to break apart and to hurl us in the night sky, where we quickly regained consciousness in the cold night air, just in time to be saved by our parachutes.
After the war, the Irwin Parachute Company presented me with the golden caterpillar brooch. This is a constant reminder that I owe my life to the caterpillars which had spun the silk thread that was used to manufacture my parachute. Over 70 years later, I wear my caterpillar with gratitude and humility.
Reg Barker
Former Flight Lieutenant
635 Squadron
RAF Pathfinder Force
[page break]
[Photographs]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
A miraculous escape from certain death in world war 2
Description
An account of the resource
An account of operation as Pathfinder against German naval and submarine base at Kiel when his aircraft was shot down by 'Schrage Musik' equipped night-fighter which cause the aircraft to break in two. Describes crew actions during bomb run and subsequent explosion in aircraft, fight to maintain control, difficulty in bailing out, parachute decent, capture and fate of crew (two killed). States sent to Stalag Luft 1 with three others from crew. Notes other losses on that operation and analysis of how they were shot down. Award of Irvin caterpillar badge. Includes at top left b/w wartime photograph of Reg Barker wearing tunic with pilots brevet and peaked cap, top right current colour photograph of Reg Barker. Bottom left colour photograph of Reg Barker wearing baseball cap and blazer with medals and bottom right colour photograph of Reg Barker signing a colour print of Lancaster.
Creator
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R Barker
Format
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Five page printed document with one b/w and three colour photographs
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BBarkerRBarkerRv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Norfolk
Germany
Germany--Kiel
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Barth
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-08-20
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
Georgie Donaldson
635 Squadron
Caterpillar Club
faith
final resting place
grief
H2S
Lancaster
Master Bomber
military ethos
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
RAF Downham Market
shot down
Stalag Luft 1
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/630/30870/BPotterPLPotterPLv40003.1.jpg
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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
Potter, Peter
P Potter
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Potter, P
Description
An account of the resource
39 items. Collection concerns Peter Potter, (1925 - 2019, 1876961 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a rear gunner with 626 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, his logbook, memoirs and photographs
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Potter and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-14
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] Account of operations[/underlined]
Getting caught in searchlights was always bad. If this happened the usual evasive action was taken, plus Johnny Payne and I would throw out 'window'!
We had no idea if it helped but we evaded almost immediately every time.
Luck or not it seemed to work.
Air pressure at height reduces the higher you go and can cause some unusual
effects. Nitrogen bubbles in the blood can cause a sensation similar to
intoxication. Also releasing the ground pressure in a flask, particularly hot
beverages, causing the contents to expand and boil.
For example one thing I remember was a chap who had never flown at height
trying to eat a sandwich, breaking a tooth, and then to make matters worse
opening a flask at height and the contents (tea) boiling out scalding his hands
aud then freezing his gloves and hands solid. Frostbite caused him to drop
out sick for a time.
On night Ops we flew on the outside of the stream until 30 or 40 miles from
the target when we moved to the right track for bombing, trying to find a spot
with nobody above us. There is nothing more unsettling than being on the
point of dropping the bombs and seeing an aircraft immediately above you
with its bomb doors open with bombs still to be dropped. This happened
three times early in our tour. To see bombs falling in front and behind your
wing and tail tends to make you more cautious and think of a solution. We
flew on the edge and higher than the main stream which allowed us to dive
into the stream if attacked, which in fact got rid of the attacker every time.
On a cross country a Flying Fortress came close to us and indicated a race.
Tom opened up and we moved steadily ahead of him; After about 5 minutes
Tom throttled back. It came alongside again and to our surprise the pilot gave
us the ‘V’ sign and waved, then moved away. Two days later a jeep called at
the guardroom and left a 40 oz bottle of Bourbon 'for the guys who were flying
the Lancaster UMF with the naked babe on' three days before. How they
found out our station I have no idea. We never found where they were based.
Tom and I collected the bottle and gave each bod in the guardhouse a tot
before leaving. For several days we had personnel who didn't normally travel
around the station coming to look at the 'Babe' and the c.o. commented it was
probably in need of modification but as nobody had complained about it there
was no hurry. Later when there was a stand down, our crew and the ground
crew got together to finish the bottle off with a toast to all USA Forces,
especially USAAF.
On one other occasion, on our way home over the Kattegat, a twin engine
aircraft flew alongside us for 20 minutes, quite close, possibly a Mosquito but
no recognition was possible due to bad visibility. No attempt was made by it
that could have been considered hostile and we thought it was one of ours or
Swedish. One thing we did not do was fire, except in defence, which would
give away our position. I am convinced that some chaps fired at imaginary
aircraft and made themselves targets.
[page break]
Of all my ops the ones I remember more than the others were: Kiel Canal, Aire (abortive) when we hit downdraft of a cu-nim cloud and the plane was almost torn to pieces and Frankfurt and Saarbrucken when we landed with fun load of 62,000lbs with 3 engines. e also had a second dickie on board) (Aire Abortive is reported separately).
When we flew it was necessary to keep a sharp eye out for enemy aircraft, mostly at take-off and landing. Many of our aircraft were shot down for not being alert at an times. There was never a time you could relax, even in
England. We were an concerned about the possibility of becoming Prisoners
of War and found out as much as possible from evaders and escapees who
came to give us such information as they had, e.g. no labels or names.
numbers on clothing. I had a Swiss knife with a German inscription on it and
some German matches and watch I believe had been taken from a Prisoner of
War or perhaps a dead German. I also had a French pipe and pouch of French
tobacco which I did not use as I could not replace it and which by the time I
finished flying was nearly all dust.
Flying an aircraft which is open to the elements requires plenty of clothing. In
most bombers the wind could get into the fuselage from several points. To try
to keep warm was impossible and so we wore many layers of clothing, Le. one
pair of silk socks, 2 pairs of wool, 1 pair sea boot socks thigh length, silk Long
Johns and vest, silk balaclava and a wool one, 1 wool and 1 cotton vest, 1 RAF
shirt, wool Long Johns, I roll neck sweater, 1 8ft long silk scarf, 1 tunic,
trousers, flying inner suit, electric heating suit, Irving trousers and jacket or
Kapok electric buoyancy suit, silk gloves, wool mittens, electric inner gloves,
leather gauntlets, leather lined flying helmet, fur lined flying boots, Mae West
Parachute Harness. In our pockets we had a torch, all the personal items
mentioned, the escape kit which would have maps of the area, several
currencies, concentrated Horlicks tablets, water purifying tablets etc. in our
clothing were hidden knives, films, maps, compasses etc. There was also a
Thermos, sweets, concentrated caffeine tablets (Wakey, Wakey) which caused
eyes to become dry and sore on a long Op. We also had a parachute to carry.
Despite all the clothing and heating by the time we reached our operating
height the cold would be creeping in and within half-an-hour we would be
freezing. When the temperature was below minus 30 degrees or more the
pain began to penetrate every part of the body. It was not uncommon to suffer
frostbite even with the heating still on. In F2 we also had hot air pipes from
the engine exhausts which were pushed into the flies to give extra
warmth to the legs, but still could not dispel the cold.
Before an Op. every piece of equipment was checked. Nothing was left to
chance. We and our ground crew would be crawling all over the plane making
sure nothing was missed. The ground crew of F2 were, 1 believe, the best on
the station (Wickenby). Proof I believe is the fact that F2 was one of only 2
Lancaster's on the Squadron to survive the war.
To increase our chances, we spent time in the sections to keep up-to-date and
also in the Intelligence section, often helping there.
Briefing was conducted before each Op when we were given all information
known at the time about the target and defences and weather en route. Very
often both would be wrong but we expected that and took things as they came.
Winds, cloud cover etc were never left to chance.
[page break]
Interrogation on our return was more intense and I am afraid here we were less co-operative. After long hours frozen to the marrow all we wanted to do was get into bed to warm up after a hot meal (egg, chips and beans) and so we had nothing of note to report wherever possible, even if we had had a brush with a fighter. Any report unusual would mean an interminable questioning of every member of the crew when we were dead beat and just wanted to rest and relax. Only if something was completely new would we bother.
I flew with 3 other crews on Ops, one officially and the other 2 unofficially, due to chaps being unable to get back to the station, as previously mentioned. The official Op was with F/O Oram who was on his last Op and had lost both gunners when he had to ditch. The first was to Kiel and the others to the Ruhr.
Our ground crew were a grand bunch of chaps. The electrician, George Gant, lived not far from my parents. On every Op he would bring a 3/4 inch steel plate, heavily padded, for me to sit on 'for special protection'. Whenever there was a stand down we would take the ones 'with nothing to do to a show, cinema, dance or just a drink. There would sometimes be a dance on the station and so we would lend or procure SNCO or Officer's uniform for them if the dance was at one of those messes. Nobody, to my knowledge, ever complained as most crews did this. We always made sure to get all drinks when on the station and gave each one a pound to spend as he wished when off the station. Also, when any of them went on leave they were given a pound a day if single and if married double this with an extra pound for each child.
Each of us shared the cost but the Canucks insisted on paying twice the
amount of us natives. The Canadians also bought two rounds to our one, etc. Three of Us gave local farmers a hand when we could and in return we were given any farm produce they had. Over our time at Wickenby we were given chickens, ducks, beef, pork, eggs, milk, cheese, butter, bread, dripping, etc., and twice when we couldn't leave the station for a while a delivery was brought in by the local policeman.
Taking off from the station on a summer or autumn evening, turning towards the continent, meant I was often presented with some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen and climbing often prolonged them. We flew into darkness with bright skies behind, night below and daylight above and the only real danger from the dark areas, which meant there was no time to linger on the exquisite sight behind us.
On each Op I took note of the route and times etc. of different dog legs so that I would be able to estimate a course to be taken if the Navigator and navigational equipment were damaged. My hope was that I could give the Skipper a course to the centre of the British landmass from wherever we might be at that time and that one of us would be able to check drift, wind speed and direction and knowing aircraft speed, roughly work out ETA over Britain. All details had to be kept in my head. We put it into practice only once as an experiment and arrived over Cromer instead of Lincs. From Kiel. I did navigate sometimes when on cross-countries and was OK but had all the aids which I could not rely on in an emergency.
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Account of operations
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Mention action on getting caught in searchlights, effects of altitude on aircrew, avoiding bombs from above, encounters with B-17 while on operations and getting a bottle of Bourbon from the American crew later. Mentions encounter with probable Mosquito, operation to Kiel Canal, friendly aircraft being attacked on return to base, conditions while flying, clothing, operating procedures, briefing and post flight debrief. Describes ground crew and work they did. Concludes with comments on summer operations and that he took notes on each operation of routes and times. Pages numbered. 29, 30, 31 and 2,3 and 4.
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eng
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BPotterPLPotterPLv4
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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Germany
Germany--Kiel Canal
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Saarbrücken
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
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P Potter
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David Bloomfield
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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
aircrew
B-17
bombing
briefing
debriefing
ground crew
Lancaster
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
Mosquito
nose art
RAF Wickenby
searchlight
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/630/30871/BPotterPLPotterPLv30001.1.jpg
803b7bc1508d33a36cefbd94cc134c1e
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Potter, Peter
P Potter
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Potter, P
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39 items. Collection concerns Peter Potter, (1925 - 2019, 1876961 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a rear gunner with 626 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, his logbook, memoirs and photographs
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Potter and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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2015-09-14
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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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AIRCREW
Air crew were treated differently from probably any other branch of the services
during the war. Training was extremely demanding but once qualified it was up to
the individual to discipline oneself and to keep up-to-date. Only when new
equipment became available was more training compulsory. However, if refusing
to fly then that airman would be humiliated. To be put on a charge meant you
would not be able to fly. On Bombers that would have meant one less crew.
Therefore, no-one was charged, if at all possible. Crews were so closely reliant on
one another that they would often not accept a stranger.
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Air crew
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States aircrew were different and explains why he though this. Mentions training, attitude to discipline and that they were reliant on each other. Numbered '9-2'.
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One page printed document
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eng
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BPotterPLPotterPLv30001
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Creator
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P Potter
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
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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
aircrew
military discipline
military ethos
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1526/29793/BMilesRJMilesRJv1.1.pdf
9c4ecee51db3f431f91201332344b0c2
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Title
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Miles, Reg
Reginald J Miles
R J Miles
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-07-26
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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Miles, RJ
Description
An account of the resource
102 items. The collection concerns Reg Miles (1923 - 2022) and contains his audio memoir, log book, photographs and documents. He flew 36 operations with 432 and 420 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by R Miles and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S. of T.T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U.s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242 – 245 – 511
Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 1
Ex Apprentice No 1 S. of T.T., R.A.F.
The summer job had ended and there was a few months to go before I would leave for Halton, must get a job Mum said, so I got a job as a paper boy with Smith’s Book Shop in Westgate, delivering the morning papers to all the grand houses in the area and woe betide you if you got the houses wrong, no scandal sheets there all Times, Telegraph, Financial Review, and sometimes the Daily Express but certainly no Mirror. A friend worked for the same place and we both rode the Smith’s bikes, very distinctive they were, painted dark red with a large panel under the cross bar with the company logo on it and either side of the back wheel large canvas bags to hold the newspapers. Riding towards home together one day we came across a coal ship hight and dry on the Nayland rocks, which jutted out into the Margate harbour entrance, the skipper had missed the turn and when the tide went out there he was stuck, the crew were busy shovelling the coal over the side onto the rocks so that the ship could get off on the next tide. Too much of a temptation for two young boys, onto the rocks we went with the bikes and filled up the bags at the back with coal and home to the thanks of a family with a little more fuel for the winter. How the mighty are fallen, as we turned up for work the next morning at the crack of dawn, we were greeted by the manager with the words ‘you two are sacked here are your wages now clear’, when we asked why we were shown the front page of just about every newspaper with pictures of us and Smith’s bikes filling the bags with coal, and head office in London were not at all pleased, silly buggers very cheap advertising for them, so ended my last job before entering The Royal Air Force.
On January 24th 1939 I arrived at Wendover Railway Station in Buckingham Shire on a special train from Paddington with about one thousand other new boys, we were all shapes and sizes, colours, and aged between fifteen and eighteen. Halton at that time was the Apprentice Training Establishment for The Royal Air Force in the various aviation trades which included Engine Fitter, Airframe Fitter and other trades that were just starting to be developed. Prior to this most work on aeroplanes was done by the same people., but aircraft were becoming more complicated
[page break]
and needed specialists for just about every part, guns, radio, electric’s and so on. RAF Halton still is a training station for the engine, airframe, and all other bits and pieces of the aircraft. (I was recently told that a cook school was now in operation!!). The bits all have different names now. When I joined in January 1939 there were four wings each one had about 1000 boys in it under training, the course was three years, two entries each year , entry by competitive written examination of many subjects including, Math, English, and a number of science subjects which at my age when I took the exam at 14 made me struggle a bit but I got in! Massive workshops, an airfield and each wing was self-contained with proper three storey brick buildings housing the sleeping accommodation, each wing also had its own parade ground, gymnasium, cookhouse, band and all other facilities, different coloured hat bands were worn by each wing.
Apprentices were known as Brats and when you had passed out from Halton after a three year course you were an Ex Brat and a very close bondship with others who had been through Halton existed. Now March 15 1998!! I seem to have been very busy with all sorts of projects and still have some in the pipe line either incomplete or not even started yet but will endeavour to type a little more to keep this going. The first thing that happened to all us new boys was a medical to see if we were fit enough for service in the R.A.F. The first complete check up for most of us,the M.O. told me I had flat feet, said I did a lot of cross country running perhaps that was the cause!! Strange to say it was recently found that people with high arches were not able to stand the stress of marching and battle fatigue, flat was better. Next was fitting for a uniform, no I did not take size nine boots that Mum had said I would grow into but eight and a half and that still left room for thick socks.
Once all into our uniforms we paraded in sections for the swearing in for which we received an extra shilling (the Kings shilling) Most of us suffered with those boots made from leather so they said, more like sheets of armour plate, toes and ankle bones were rubbed sore after the first few hours, the corporal in charge of our section told us to fill the boots with water, pee was best, and stand them by our beds over night, empty them out and put them on straight away they would never hurt again, he was right but most mothers would have had a fit to see their little darlings squelching about in wet feet all day. I was allocated to four wing and told I would be trained as a Fitter 2E which meant I would become an aero engine fitter, others became Fitters 2A airframe, and others would become instrument, radio, and armament specialists. There were also boys who had joined the Royal Navy and would be trained in the same trades for the Fleet Air Arm, they were known as artificers, tiffys to the rest of us. Our uniform was the same as the regular service with proper trousers instead of a kind of jodhpurs with puttees that were wound around the lower leg, these were still worn by “Boy Entrants”
[page break]
who were trained in similar trades elsewhere but would end up as mechanics after a much shorter course, I think they were boys who were keen to get into the R.A.F but had not been able to pass the entry examination for apprentices. To distinguish four wing from the other three we had a bright orange-yellow hat band not too sure what the other were, seem to remember red and also black and red squares, we also had on our arm a brass badge that was a wheel with crossed propeller blades inside, and wore small rank badges the same as the adult services if promoted. All of the boys in the new entry were taken in group to the airfield and given a short flight in De Haviland Tiger Moth, gave us some idea how big Halton was and in most cases the first taste of airsickness, never had any trouble with this problem when I was flying as crew, but even a short flight at times as a passenger made me hang on to my seat and swallow heavily!! I joined the cross country team of four wing, and completed in many events during my period at Halton, won medals for this event and passed them on to Gillian for safe keeping. I was promoted to leading apprentice and made responsible for one of the rooms which held about thirty boys, one of them called Shaw I will never forget, a good looking boy but had a way of life completely strange to me and I suspect to most of the boys of my age.
This first came to light one night when he returned from a weekend pass with a full suit case full of cigarettes, where they came from we didn’t ask but we all got some free samples my share being double. He then told me he had a flat in London and a girl friend he kept there and paid for, how this was possible on three shillings a week I just could not understand, but it all came out later on. Because I was responsible for seeing that everyone in my room was present at “lights out” each night and weekend passes were only allowed very rare, Jonny Shaw asked me to sign him in nearly every weekend so he could go to London, didn’t worry me to do this, hadn’t asked to be a leading apprentice, was just given the job and I was never short of a packet of “fags”. One night late Johny turned up with another suit case, after climbing through a hole in the fence near our room, instead of cigarettes it contained woman’s clothing that he had picked up on the train from London, because it was there! Told him in no uncertain manner that if he didn’t do something about returning it to the owner it was the last time I covered for him. He packed up the case and took it out of the room and I expected he would leave it close to the guard room so that it would be found early in the morning and sent on it’s way to a very worried female. That was not Johny’s way, when I took a detail of boys out at the crack of dawn to make sure there was no rubbish about the place, every post, lamp standard, sign board and railing was draped with all of the contents of the case, we found the case and quickly packed the items back in and I took it to the guard room and stated that it has been found some way away from our room, it was opened by the police and an address found inside and was I presumed sent on to it’s owner, but I was very mad a Johny Shaw and never covered for him again,
[page break]
didn’t stop him from going out when he wanted to. Some months later he was found to have been forging instructors signatures on chits to book out micrometer and vernier gauges from the stores and was no doubt selling these in London and perhaps committing other crimes we knew nothing of, he was discharged from the R.A.F and as the second world war started soon after probably had a prosperous war and even ended up rich and famous, may be knighted for his efforts, while the rest of us fought and died! I have recently been contacted as a result of this webpage by Peter Long, another one of our fellows who knew Johny. He did become very rich eventually, Rolls Royce, Two ‘Planes of his own etc.!
R.A.F Halton was at one time a county residence owned by the Rothchild family whether they gave it to the R.A.F I don’t know but the “house” was used for the officer’s mess and the stables were allocated to the apprentices for a “hobby shop”. The stables were a magnificent set of buildings with curved brick walls and big enough to house a dozen families in great comfort. Many of the boys at Halton came from very wealthy families, some sons of aircraft manufacturers because it was recognised that an apprenticeship at Halton was the finest training anywhere in the world in Aircraft engineering. One father had given his son a new Ford car, he was probably in his last year of the three year course, we all helped him to take it completely to pieces and each part was reassembled with great care so that every part was a perfect fit, ran like a sewing machine the quietest Ford I have ever known.
There were even sons of Indian Princes, in fact it seemed as if every nation was represented there, many of the boys when they had finished their apprenticeship were “bought out” by their parents and returned to their own country or in some cases the firm that their parents owned in Britain, can’t remember the cost but did hear at the time it would have bought a row of houses in any town in England! The railway station we all arrived at was Wendover and the nearest large one was Alyesbury, (famous for ducks!) county seat for Buckinghamshire. Halton was set just below a ridge of hills and covered many square miles of country, the workshops were massive, covering all trades that operated in the Royal Air Force, an airfield with a grass runway complete with hangers and numerous aircraft that were used for hands on work and proper lecture halls where we were brought up to date on current affairs, and scientific laboratories with the latest equipment used in the testing of materials. The idea was to give not only complete technical training but a good all round knowledge much like a private college, apart from training in military matters and of course plenty of sporting activities. We were paid 5 shillings a week, four of which was saved for us, to be given when we went on leave, breakages which were deducted for individual items broken or worn out before a replacement was normally issued, boys can be hard on clothes! We were issued with a complete kit of
[page break]
clothes which included just about every thing required, but out of our weekly shilling we had to purchase things like metal and boot polish, once a week we had kit and barrack inspections when everything has to be spit and polish and all kit in good order, when the war started in September 1939 things change very rapidly, our three year course was cut down to just over two by stopping all holidays and we worked from dawn to dusk on our training, the subjects did not get shortened just longer days and no holidays or week ends, and we had to do anti invasion patrols and ride around the hills on our bicycles in the evenings to check for land mines that may have been dropped to blow the place up. At this time my father and mother had rented a house at High Wycombe which was not too far away from Halton, Dad was in charge of all military and naval buildings and repairs caused by shelling and bombing in Dover, so Mum lived at High Wycombe and Dad came up when he could, he had an old car and special petrol rations because of his work. I managed to get a weekend pass and went to get my bicycle from where it had been requisitioned for us in land mine patrols, the sergeant in charge said I couldn’t have mine but let me have grotty old service bike, think he was using it himself as it was new and my pride and joy, set out to visit Mum and Dad and coming round a corner met a flock of sheep all over the road, no where to go so crashed into the bank and bent the frame so that I could only steer one way, took me ages to get to High Wycombe and could not get anyone to mend it so Dad put it on the roof of his car and took me back to camp, left Halton soon after and took my bike with me.
The entry ages for Halton were 15 to 18, and we signed on for 12 years of service from the age of 18. As I was almost the minimum age, I was 15 in November 1938 and joined in January 1939, I would have been 18 when I finished the apprenticeship, but due to the war and cutting out holidays etc, I was only 17, I therefore was still classed as a boy when I left Halton and was not informed what rank I had passed my final examinations, so when I arrived at my first operational posting was paid the princely sum of ten shillings a week (about one dollar a week), yet was the only qualified member of the gang and had to tell men much older than myself sometimes the right way to do things.
– Reg Miles
Those items listed below can be found on the web at
http://members.aol.com/famjustin/Milesbio.html
[page break]
[underlined] Biography of Phyllis Miles (formerly Phyllis Dike), [/underlined] LACW, WAAF
[underlined] Collected Poetry of Reg Miles, [/underlined] Flight Engineer, No1SoTT Halton/ MUs/ Snowy Owls, 420 Sqdn RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 511 Transport Command, RAF
[underlined] Miss Phyllis Miles nee Dike, [/underlined] Photo, LACW, WAAF
[underlined] Group Photo, [/underlined] 432 Squadron RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Yorkshire
[underlined] 420 Squadron Badge, [/underlined] Photo, 6 Group Bomber Command, Tholthorpe Yorkshire, RCAF
[underlined] Barrington-Kennett Trophy Winners, [/underlined] 1939/40, Photo, Reg Miles, RAF Halton, RAF
[underlined] FIDO, [/underlined] Anecdote, Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, RAF
[underlined] Flight Engineer Reg Miles, [/underlined] Photo of Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, 432 Sqdn RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, RAF
[underlined] Flight Log 1664 HCU page one, page two, 432 Squadron page 1, 2, 3, 4, 420 Squadron page 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 1332 H.C.U. Page 1, Certificates of Competency, 242 Squadron, Page 1, Page 2, Page 3, 246 Squadron, Page 1, Page 2, 511 Squadron, Page 1, Page 2, Page 3, Page 4, Page 5, Page 6, Page 7, Page 8, Reg Miles, [/underlined] Flight Engineer, No1SoTT Halton/ MUs/ Snowy Owls, 420 Sqdn RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 511 Transport Command, RAF
[underlined] Halifax, E Easy and Crew, [/underlined] Photo of Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, 420 Sqdn RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, RAF
[underlined] Mail Plane, [/underlined] RAF Joke, Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, RAF
[underlined] Missing in Action Telegram, [/underlined] Reg Miles, 432 Squadron RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Yorkshire
[underlined] PLUTO, [/underlined] Anecdote, Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, RAF
[underlined] Queen Mary, [/underlined] Photo, Reg Miles, 67 M.U.s, RAF
[underlined] Salvaging a Bristol Beaufort, [/underlined] Photo, Reg Miles, 67 M.U.s, RAF
[page break]
[underlined] Tholthorpe Control Tower, [/underlined] from Jim Tease, Pilot, Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, 420 Sqdn RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, RAF
[underlined] Wedding Photo, [/underlined] Photo of Reg Miles, Flight Engineer, No1SoTT Halton/ MUs/ Bomber Command/ 511 Transport Command, RAF
[page break]
Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S.of T.T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U,s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242 – 246 – 511 Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 2
Ex Apprentice, 34 – 67 M.U.s, R.A.F.
I was posted to 34 Maintenance Unit Shrewsbury in Shropshire 5-10-1940, this unit was housed in sheds on the out-skirts of Shrewsbury and was responsible for the repair on site of crashed aircraft and the recovery of crashed aircraft that could not be flown away, this included both British, German, Italian, and later on American. The Flight Sergeant in charge of the crew of about six airmen was about sixty, was an optician in civvy street, had been a driver in the 1914-18 war so had no knowledge of aircraft, the rest of the gang were ex-garage workers only about one had any experience with spanners so it was finding out the hard way how ‘planes came to bites! We also had a driver for our Chevy truck and could call on “Queen Mary” low loaders and Coles cranes to lift things, but many times we were unable to get cranes or trucks to the site and it was sheer legs and muscle that were used.
[missing photograph]
[page break]
[italics] Photo of a crane of the type we used to salvage aircraft during my time with 34 & 67 MUs in 40-41. On show as an Amazon Crane but the same as a Coles one, so have altered it’s title. It is on show at the Yorkshire Air Museum based at Elvington airfield a WW2 bomber station flying the dear old Halifax of 77 Squadron RAF and two Free French squadrons 346 Guyenne and 347 Tunisie [/italics]
The only time I tried to drive a Coles Crane I made a complete mess of it and sheared the drive shaft!! The two Polish operators were not well pleased, but as the could not speak English and I not able to understand a single word of their long and arm waving complaint, it was left to our Flight Sergeant to ball me out, and as he was a geriatric (well must have been all of 50) little notice was taken of it all. The Poles got underneath and removed the bit, replaced it and were operational in a few hours, I was not allowed anywhere near it after!!
The lowloader, Queen Mary, was a specially made semi trailer body, very low platform with wheels exterior, from memory would think the platform about 12 inches from ground, also very long able to take most aircraft fuselages and wings. Extending side rails were fitted that could be locked up so that wings could be stood on their leading edges, one on either side (on sand bags to prevent damage) and strapped to these side rails, the rails were also covered in felt to prevent damage, and strapped to these side rails, the rails were also covered in felt to prevent damage, this left the centre of the trailer free to fit the fuselage on trestles, with propellor removed but engine still in place, some aircraft with long bodies could extend over the tail board if put on trestles to clear, open body to the trailer so that there was no height restriction, only the height of bridges and power cables, standard 1939-40 prime mover, 6 cylinder Perkins or Ford, nothing like the monsters on todays roads. It was called “Queen Mary” because they were so long that the only thing to compare them with was the ship of the same name.
[missing photograph]
photo from David Searle-Baker Queen Mary
[page break]
Recovering Hawker Tempest Mk. V Wreck
My first job with them was at an aerodrome called Shawbury that was used to train pilots and Navigators, a Spitfire pilot had been shot in a fight with a German fighter and had lost a lot of blood before crash landing beside the main runway and the aircraft had tipped onto it’s back as he had not been able to lower the underbridge. The first job was to make the guns safe and remove any bombs before starting to dismantle the ‘plane, the next job was always to remove instruments that were either secret or likely to be stolen, this in a Spitfire was the gunsight, compass and a clock it fitted, as the new boy I got the job of crawling into the upside down cockpit to remove these items while the rest of the gang removed the wing fairings and bolts to waggle the wings off. I had to get on hands a [sic] knees to get the items off as they were almost on the ground, felt something wet on my head and back as I worked, found when I crawled out that a large pad of congealed blood had come adrift from the floor and I was a right mess, no water anywhere near as we were miles from any building, the crew washed me off with the 100 octane petrol we drained from the ‘plane, but as we sat and ate our lunch of sandwiches couldn’t help keep looking at the blood still under my finger nails. As we sat and ate we saw a training Miles Master coming in to land with the cockpit hood open and the horn blaring loudly to warn the pilot that his under carriage was not down, we all stood up and waved like mad, the pilot, probably doing his first solo landing, waved back with a big smile on his face and crashed, we now had another ‘plane to remove!
I don’t know how the trainee pilot got on, we helped him out and he had no damage but whether he was “scrubbed” or not have no idea (scrubbed thrown off the pilot’s course through some error).
The Spitfire being monococ [sic] construction in aluminium alloys was a very easy aircraft to dismantle and transport, the main wing spar consisted of a series of square tubes fitted inside each other, gradually tapering towards the wing tip, the mating tubes for these being very close to the fuselage, with the propeller removed the body fitted easily into a low loader and the wings were slid in either side being supported on sand bags to prevent damage and strapped to the extendable rails fitted to the sides of the low loader, the guns, ammunition, and propeller being stowed in any suitable position. The Miles Master being of wooden construction was an entirely different proposition, the wing roots were attached about one and a half metres either side of the fuselage making this “centre section” which was not removable about three and a half to four and a half metres wide, when placed on the sides of the low loader these projected out each side a considerable amount and because they were very low often jammed on road side obstructions, this was particularly a problem on the windy narrow country roads with many “hump
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Back” bridges, we were caught only one when the centre section rode up onto the walls of a hump back bridge and very nearly caused the injury to one of the crew riding in the back of the low loader, three or four sleepers lashed to the side rails lifted this aircraft high enough to clear any road side obstacles. We never had enough red flags to fix to the overhangs so it was almost a game to ride in the back of the low loader and lean over as we motored along and steal the flags placed in empty paint cans by the road gangs, as we used the same route frequently from training airfields to our depot I guess the road workers got fed up with us and one day as one of the gang grabbed a flag found himself flying through the air to land in the road, the rotters had concreted all the flags in and they were very heavy, no damage done just a few bruises and wounded pride. Coming back from the same airfield one day we were held up by a new gang with a Miles Master stuck on the hump back bridge walls, to add to their problems their Coles crane was in front of the low loader so couldn’t get to the plane to lift it up, we managed to get our crane in place and help them out, they hadn’t read standing orders! Called to the same airfield with instruction to remove some twenty Avro Ansons from a hanger we through they were being transferred to another airfield, when we got there found the whole lot burnt out in the hanger, looked like an elephant’s grave yard with just the steel tubing frames and melting engines and propellers lined up in two long rows. When we asked what had happened were told that during the night an airman on guard duty saw a low flying airplane crossing the field and identified it as a German one so fired his rifle at it, the plane dropped it’s bomb which landed on the concrete outside the hanger, bounced over the bomb proof doors, bounced on the hanger floor and just missed going clean out the other end but hit a girder and went off. The airman had been put on a charge for firing at an unidentified aircraft!
I was going on my first leave after being posted to an RAF squadron as an aero engine fitter, and at only 17 in 1940 felt a big wheel, My folks lived in Dover and my brother of 9 years would need something from my war, grabbed a handful of .303” ammunition from a crashed training Hurricane, pulled out the bullets and emptied out the charge, would put the cases in a fire when I got home to get rid of the caps and put the bullets back, would impress my small brother. Put the cases in a fire out in the yard and got a most awful telling off from Mum, they were having more than their share of bangs. Next day was about to leave the house to look up at the “dogfights” going on above, Mother said you’ll get killed by falling shrapnel stay indoors, but out I went, and in I went after a few seconds as redhot bits of metal fell around me, I might be in the RAF but my folks and young brother were seeing more of the war than I was, my few bullets were nothing compared to his collection of shrapnel, from both our guns and those firing 12inch shells from France, he has seen more action that I had!!
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We had arrived at a very posh looking house set up on a rise with a well maintained garden with small bushes lining the curving path to the front door and a perfect green lawn. I suppose we did look a sorry bunch with our usual costume of rolled down gum boots, white socks turned over the top and greasy overalls that were well over due for a wash, no hats and most with a few days of beard, long uncombed hair in fact even the ‘chiefy’ could have passed for the robber leader, we had been out on the road for about a week and were tired and hungry when we got yet another job before returning to base for a rest. Chiefy went up to the front door and was answered by a smart looking man who took the Flight Sergeant round the back of the house through a very ornate garden arch way, he soon came back and called us to follow him. The sight that met the eyes was one to make us all laugh, a learner pilot has got into trouble and seeing what looked like a nice open field came into land, too late he found it was a chicken farm with lots of tall wire fences to separate the various chickens, his ‘plane had become wrapped up like a parcel as he ploughed through the lot, but to make matters even worse as his ‘plane neared the back of the house his engine fell off and landed into a rather nice goldfish pond, this cracked the concrete and all the water ran out stranding the fish. The owner was not a very happy man and refused most emphatically to allow us to clear a wide path way back through the mess so we could get a crane in to lift the whole lot out by a back way, no it all had to go round the side of the house and no damage must be done. What a hope he had the radial engine was levered out of the pond and rolled with great difficulty through the side gate, a few bits came off both as we struggled to hold the engine upright but when we got to the front of the house it just seemed to get a life of it’s own and rolled across the lawn leaving giant size foot prints and demolished hedges and flower beds on it’s way. The rest of the aircraft was sawn into bits and man handled the same way, miserable sod never even gave us a cup of tea when we had finished, just growled he would report us for damage we had caused, we all hoped his chickens never laid another egg.
As to the Learner who crashed, he was long gone before we got there. This was not always the case as we did come across the odd bits and bobs and even complete bodies at times, not all RAF either.
For about three months we worked all over the north part of England and Wales, even had to close The Mersey Tunnel one time to tow an American light bomber through from Speke don’t know why or where we took it. We were then transferred to 67M.U. bases in Taunton the county seat of Somerset. The depot was in a large garage on the main road south of the city, has it’s own sports field out the back which we used for general storage during transit, all the low loaders, lorries, and cranes were parked in various streets which had to have guards circulating during the night, our five rounds of ammunition and World War 1 rifle must not be lost or even used,
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it was all we had, another job for the technical people, office and stores people never got this job, perhaps because they made out the lists, one time when we were back at base had to spend the day shovelling coal at the railway station to fuel the fires for the office staff, couldn’t let them get dirty, wonder if Churchill knew that his trained people were waiting on the lazy sods in the office.
This was early in 1941 with the threat of invasion by the German army still a possibility, the sports field was surrounded with a high spiked railing fence. The fence was six feet high made of steel spikes about 3 quarters of an inch in diameter, spaced about six inches apart fitted through holes at top and bottom of steel plates which were made of 2 inch by 1/4 inch steel. I’m sure you must have some around houses or playing fields where you live. The spikes were held in swaged nibs pressed into the spikes when the sections of fence were made this held the spikes in place. We were given the job of filing off the nibs that held alternate spikes in place. We had to file these nibs off alternate spikes so the fence did not collapse, but the “doctored” spikes could be removed. Each one of these then had a number pained on it, all airmen were allocated a spike and on the call to arms would rush to get out their spike, if they could, and fend off the invading hordes of Germans with their Tiger tanks, machines guns and other lethal weapons, no doubt we should have had a major victory as the German troops fell about laughing!!
The C.O. held a dummy run which became a real pantomime as men fought for a spike having forgotten their number and short people couldn’t reach high enough to pull them out of the top rail. Nobody got stabbed but it was a close run thing. We all treated the whole thing as a joke, it is easy when you have your back firmly against the wall to consider defeat impossible, and so many of the daft ideas did work, FIDO, PLUTO, to name just two. This one was one of those that just was stupid!!
The same wally of a C.O. who gave us the spikes decided to make me up to a Corporal, told him he couldn’t because I still didn’t know what rank I had passed out from Halton, and in any case being technical trade had to pass a trade board before I could be promoted. Threatened to put me on a charge if I didn’t put up my stripes straight away to be officially second in charge of the gang, just ignored him and was called up before him a couple of days later to be told he couldn’t promote me for the reasons I had given him, but told me I had passed out from Halton as a Fitter 2 Engine with the rank of Aircraftman First class and my pay would start right away because of the work I was doing, so I did get some thing out of it all. Following on this I was given the job as Station Armourer, responsible for sorting and packing for dispatch all bombs, cannons, machines guns and ammunition brought in from crashes. I was given the relevant Air Ministry orders to tell
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me what to do because lets face it I was not even 18 and trained as an engine fitter, but perhaps the only real airman on the place, I was given the away team half of the sports changing room, the Station Warrant Officer had the other half, a retread from 14-18 war and responsible for station discipline.
One of the jobs I had to do was strip all guns of any bullets “up the spout” as many had major damage and bent barrels, this was never easy, the breach blocks had to be taken out and packed in separate boxes, with a bullet jammed in, the only way to release the blocks was to fire the gun which sent the bullet up the bent barrel and this released the breach blocks, S.W.O. came in one day when I had a pile of Browning Machine guns on the bench all with bent barrels and was firing them one at a time to get the breach blocks out, nearly wet himself, and then a few days later I was burning all the Very pistol cartridges. These were all different colours and were used to signal and identify aircraft. Usually they just burnt with lots of bright colours but this lot started flying all over the place just as he marched out of his office with his cane under his arm, moved pretty quick for an oldy and got back inside his office, seemed to think I did it on purpose!!
Does seem a bit mad perhaps now to do what I did as an “armourer”. But times were a bit desperate you know and everything was in very short supply so if it could be repaired and returned into service we might just survive.
The first 20m/m cannon I dismantled was a problem, had never seen one before had no books on it and had to get the breach block out, barrel was straight and nothing up it, the cannon was about two and a half metres long and the only nut I could see was on the “blunt” end, a large hexagonal nut with a locking tab on it, so behind it must be the return spring and hopefully the breach block, with the “blunt” end sticking out the open door I got to work and the nut kept turning and seemed to have lots of thread, with a bang the last turn flew off and what seemed like yards of spring flew out of the door, and guess who was just leaving the office? The other problems with the 20m/m cannon was the round cartridge drum that fitted on the breach, these always arrived to me battered and bent and the only way to get the shells out was to cut a slot in the case and prise or shake the shells out, I was sitting on the bench with an ammunition box on the floor shaking a drum to get the shells out when the door burst open and a strange sergeant charged in, “Call yourself an armourer” he shouted, “Stop that before you kill us both”. When I told him who and what I was he said that he had never seen a cannon gun in fact he didn’t know much at all as he had spent the last few years at a place called Shaibah in the Gulf and had only worked on Vickers water cooled guns while there, but he did know the coding for the shells I was dropping into a box and some were of a very delicate contact type to explode on contact with the thin aluminium skin of a ‘plane! I filled him in
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with all I knew and what had to be done with each type of weapon and worked with him for a week or so until I managed to get back with my old gang.
Shortly after we were sent on detachment to an airfield in Cornwall called St. Eval, at which were based Bristol Beaufort Torpedo Bombers, they were sent out after German ships and dock installations and had received very heavy casualties.
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Men of 67 MU at Bristol Beaufort Recovery Reg 2nd from left back row
We were housed in one of the Nissen huts and started work right away as there was a Spitfire sitting on top of a dry stone wall at the edge of the airfield, the pilots had overshot, bounced and come to a halt perfectly balanced on the wall, pained on the side was the pilots name and the legend “Sempre in Excreta” (Latin is not my strong point!) Always in the shit! At the end of the runway was a stone quarry and a Beaufort had crashed into it on take off loaded with torpedoes, these had detonated so there was little to move mainly the two large radial engines, one was in the middle of the quarry and our crane soon lifted that into a lorry, the other was partly buried under stone and against the quarry wall so we had to move it out with brute force to get it into a position that the crane could reach, It was hard hot work and we were having trouble keeping our footing because of all the oil that had spilt out when it had hit the wall, except it wasn’t oil but half a man buried under the engine, not a pretty sight but a nurse who just happened to be looking on helped us to put the remains in sacks so that they could be buried properly with the rest of the poor devil. We very rarely had a problem with bodies or parts there of, because the bodies were taken away before we arrived on the scene.
We did have one occasion when we were sent onto the moors to remove a Hawker Hurricane, but it was the wring number and found the pilot still in it, we reported this and found our one a mile or so away. The Hawker Hurricane was a very different type of construction from the Spitfire,
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basically a steel tubular frame around which were fitted wooden formers and these were joined together by wooden strips along the length of the fuselage, the wings were very similar and all surfaces were covered with doped fabric, this was very time consuming to make and repair, much like a model aeroplane in appearance. A fitter from Hawker’s had almost finished this repair to a Hurricane when German bombers gave us a visit to pay back for what the Beauforts were doing in France, a bomb dropped outside the bomb proof door, blew them in and flattened the poor Hurricane! We got bombed out that night so drove a few miles away to a friendly looking field and slept all in a row under a tarp for a few nights until we were given an empty holiday beach house at Trearnon Bay which became our base for a few weeks, when we were not out on a job. Visited St. Eval in the 1980s and they were only just starting to remove the remains of that hanger blown up in early 1941.
During the next few weeks we were constantly on the move all over Cornwall, from Penzance across to Predanack, which is on the other leg at the base of Cornwall. Working on a Whirlwind, twin engined fighter-bomber which had nose dived straight into the ground, on a desolate part of the moors, all that showed was the edges of sheets of aluminium in the ground and lying a few feet away, a hand complete with a ring on, we could not salvage the plane and pilot’s body without large earth moving gear and instructions were received to pull out what we could and fill the hole in, as we worked we heard the sound of aircraft high up and turned to watch a flight of the same ‘planes go by, as we watched one pealed off and dived into the ground a few miles away, heard later that the tail planes of this aircraft were a bit suspect. We always had billets in the nearest place to where we worked, sometimes this was an Army Camp or a pub and in this case we were living in a cafe at Predanack, after a wash we all trooped into the dining room for our first meal and on came a Cornish pastie, about a foot long and looked delicious but didn’t think it was a lot for six or seven hungry blokes to share, but then in came the rest and we had one each!
Once we had to go to a Fleet Air Arm station to dismantle an aircraft, it was in a hanger and we were dressed in our usual scruffy outfits, all these Naval types marching about at the double, and the public address system nearly drove us mad, never seemed to stop with lots of whistles and incomprehensible bellowing, asked one of the sailors what it all meant his answer left us just as ignorant as before. We were in one of the huts and left our truck at the hanger to walk to the mess hall to get some lunch, as we strolled by a hut the window flew open and a loud voice wanted to know what we were doing walking on the Quarter deck and tried to make us run across, not in gum boots we couldn’t and didn’t try. That night being near a town, after 50 years have no idea which one, we all thought a night on the town would be a good change, so managed to tidy ours [sic] selves up and found
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out when the bus left and got to the guard room at the main gate just as a sailor closed and locked it, outside was the queue for the bus which had yet to arrive. “Open” we all said, can’t was the reply because the liberty boat has gone, what a load of rubbish, if you were on a ship you could understand it, if the Navy still do things that way it’s about time they changed from the days of Rum, bum and Nelson!! Soon got away from that stupid place probably didn’t know there was a war on we certainly did and spent all our days clearing away the rubbish caused by it. Often we had to remove crashed German aircraft that had been shot down, most were just a heap of burnt wreckage with often the remains of the crew inside, not recognisable as such just bits of bone that had not been found for burial, at other times we would have a complete ‘plane with little or no damage, there we took to pieces if not able to fly out from where they were, went to a special place to be put together perhaps with parts from other ‘planes to make them airworthy, and test flown to find out more about that type. Once we were called to an aerodrome near the coast where, I think it was a J.U.88 had landed the pilot thinking he was over the channel in France, the duty officer seeing the plane land had driven out in a jeep and crashed into the tail to stop it taking off again, we had to get the bits from a depot that was full of the German ‘planes and replace the damaged parts. Some of the early R.A.F. bombers such as the twin engined Handley Page Hampden were fitted with special balloon cable cutters to the leading edge of the main wings, these in theory would be tripped as the cable slid into it’s jaws and an explosive charge would fire a razor sharp chisel cutting the cable allowing the plane to get free, after a number of M.U. airmen had lost fingers while man handling wings during salvage instructions were issue that these had to be tripped before any work was done on the aircraft, I tripped the only one I worked on and it chopped the end from my screwdriver! An American Flying Fortress had crashed somewhere in Devonshire, can’t remember where, and what it was doing in England I don’t know, though the Yanks came in much later, anyhow we were told to get it and it must be sent up to Liverpool. The biggest thing we had tackled, got the fuselage, wings and engines away alright but the centre section was very wide and when stood on it’s leading edge was exceptionally high.
The local police were always asked for advice on getting past low bridges and electricity wires, spent more than a week travelling a few miles only to find yet another low bridge in our way, chiefy was fed up and so were we camping along the road where ever we go stuck, most aircraft that we worked on had a fire axe stowed on board so we had a good selection of sharp ones we used for all sorts of jobs, we cut foot and hand holes in the centre section and cut off with the axes quite a few feet from the trailing edge which was now the top and were able to get back to the depot next day, thing was only worth scrap anyway. After about 5 months of this work which in most cases was just garbage collection, not what I had been trained
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at great expense to do, I saw a notice on orders calling for volunteers to go over seas. I put in my application and was accepted, given seven days posting leave and reported to the assembly camp called I think Paddington, hundreds or more like thousands of airmen of all trades were gathered there and we were all issued with both tropical and cold weather equipment, had two large kit bags of the stuff to lug about plus personal kit in a small bag. After about ten days of this which included a medical we were all paraded on the very large parade ground to get our instructions to more to lorries and get abroad a ship, suddenly a voice bellowed out “575931 Miles R.J. fall out and report to the parade adjutant” was that me? “yes” said a bloke next to me who had become a friend. So out I marched dragging bags in front of all these assembled airman, saluted after dropping the bags and reported my name and number, still not 18 I was told I was too young to go where these men were going and told to hand in my kit and report back to my unit, this lot went to Russia I found out later and many did not return, some drowned when their ship was sunk and others just died from the cold!
– Reg Miles
The URL of this page is
http://www.geocities.com/milbios/Milesbio2.html
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Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S.of T.T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U.s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242 – 246 – 511 Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 3
27 Air School, Bloemspruit South Africa,
B Squadron, Service Unit, R.A.F.
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I didn’t spend long back at Taunton before the call came again to report for over seas posting, I’d had the special leave so on the train to Blackpool this time.
The Leaving of Liverpool “ring any bells” a film about children forcefully taken from England during and shortly after the war, the parents and children never told if the others were alive and the children taken to Church run HOMES in Australia and treated as slave labour, in fact in many cases the children built the homes (as in collective enclaves) As I said a very different life style, we were all led to believe that they (as in any one in authority even self proclaimed) knew best and slavishly carried out their instructions to the letter. Children were abused, physically, mentally and sexually, both boys and girls, how did it happen, only because authority was not questioned until recently and only now is the truth coming out of those children’s tragic lives.
Bearing all that in mind you may not be surprised to read that I like my peers did as I was told without question.
The journey out to South Africa started from the joys of Blackpool, a holiday resort in the north of England, no work, billeted in houses normally
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used to accommodate the vast numbers of “visitors” from the industrial towns of the north during their summer holidays. The local “landladies” welcomed us with open arms, we were a source of income to them, not that they opened too wide the food cupboards, but many daughters opened their hearts and arms to us, we were all young healthy and free. Had my first go on ice skates at the local rink and after a few falls soon mastered it and really enjoyed it. Soon became time to board ship S.S. Mooltan 20,000 tons of sheer misery at Liverpool and head out into the Atlantic that was waiting for us with all the dirty weather it could find. April 1941, could well have been April fools days for all I know.
By buses we arrived at grey Liverpool to stand for hours on a grey dockside in front of a grey wall that stretched to the sky and disappeared into the grey distance, only relieved by a black hole in it’s side through which countless airmen staggered carrying all their worldly goods contained in two kitbags and a small case. One of the kitbags contained our normal selection of issue clothing, the other, two complete outfits one of tropical shorts shirts etc, the other cold weather clothes suitable for Russia!! We had no idea where we were headed and it was hoped neither did the enemy! The kitbag not required was taken off us well into the voyage, the Russian one I am now very happy to say!!
The Mooltan 20,000 tons of aging ship, massive to us but now would only be classed as a small ship 100,000 tons seems to be the average, 250,000 tons on the large size!!
Our turn came at last and through the hole we trooped to find ourselves in a black cavern, directed through doors that were about a foot off the floor so that dragging kitbags jammed and brought forth words of complain not heard very frequently in church. Now completely lost and descending even deeper into the bowels of this black tank we were at last told that is where you stay until told to move and that heap there contain hammocks and those hooks there are where you swing them and those tables and benches are where you eat and some can sleep on them and the heads are there and don’t move!!
So we sat and surrounded with our bags wondered what we had done to deserve this, after all we had volunteered for overseas posting, but this?
A few thought to see what was through the next doorway but only more of the same lots of airmen sat sitting waiting to be told what to do. Ah a sergeant has arrived, ‘you and you come with me’, not me but a couple near who left their kit and followed as detailed, who return some time later with urns of tea, a scramble to find our own kitbag and delve into it’s contents to find our ‘mugs airmen’ hopefully still in one piece.
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These two had been delegated as our mess orderlies and would fetch our food at the times arranged, well at least we should be fed and the tea was hot strong and sweet, by this time it was getting late in the day not that we had any idea whether the sun was shining or it was raining, the urns were returned and the message came back to sling your hammocks and get in.
I was just about 18 from memory and certainly the youngest in our “room”, places on the benches and tables had already been taken by those in the know. The Mooltan was a slow old converted cargo ship. As such the accommodations were happenstance and crowded. The only hammock hook left was over the stairwell and passage way. This is where I had to sling my hammock, which was over the stair case leading to the lower toilets. I slung my hammock and endeavoured to climb in and found myself on the floor the opposite side, I had tied it too tight and had no head room so that as I climbed in I pushed myself out again, instructions from those near who were well bedded down soon got things “ship shape” and I crawled in to assume the shape of a banana, not at all comfortable and desperately aware that a trip to the heads should have been made before becoming cocooned like this.
Sleep came but was soon interrupted by the rustling noise as hammocks swayed and rubbed together, we were on the move but this soon stopped and dawn found us moored in mid river, we had been allowed on deck soon after stowing our hammocks and being fed, strict instructions being issued that not too many on one side as the ship could capsize!! A sea of men everywhere, no small piece of deck was vacant, and only the grey Mersey, grey sky, and crowds of grey clad men were in view.
There we stayed all day and other ships moored near, we were fed during the day and tried to wash with the salt water soap we were issue with, it didn’t foam and currently did not remove dirt, in fact it left a grey sort of coating on the hands which was difficult to remove, seems that life from now on going to contain logs of grey!!
And so to “bed” or do you say and so to hammock? only to be woken up feeling very sick and scrambled out of the hammock to find most others were doing the same and a rush to get on deck for some fresh air which may stop that horrible feeling. It was dawn a very grey dawn, and directly behind us was a very large grey ship, completely without modesty showing us her (it’s?) grey bottom as it lunged up and down, we likewise were playing silly buggers and this motion was no doubt the cause of our distress, in the distance could be seen other ships, some had things like broom sticks pointing about them and we presumed that they were to protect us, I like many other now wished that we could be torpedoed and sunk, they only relief in sight for that awful sinking feeling!
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That night, all the hammocks swung together as the ship rocked in the heavy seas and the rush by some people during the night to get to the “bogs” before they spewed up often ended just below me, perhaps it is no wonder that I spent as much time as I was allowed on deck away from the stench, but always got herded down when it got dark, the Atlantic was not a very pleasant place to be at that time apart from the gale that seemed to rage more each day, we were only too aware that U Boats would enjoy sinking a troop ship and the chances of being saved in that stormy water was about nil! It was cold and smelly in my hammock as we sailed out into the Atlantic Ocean.
The days passed and gradually we were able to take a small sip of tea a tiny crumb of bread without heaving it up straight away, as we and the other ships headed into the grey Atlantic, the clever ones amongst us saying that we were headed for America, others convinced we were going into the Med, and an even more knowledgeable bunch with a compass sure we were going south. The sea was empty but for our escort. Our convoy, being one with important cargo, a troop ship, was doubtless given a course away from the shorter more populated routes. We saw no planes escorting us or other ships other than our own convoy and escort. Some bits and bobs were sighted in the sea, just a few empty crates probably slung over board by any ship friend or foe going that way. Nothing else.
Funny things that stick in the memory after all these years, apart from the agony of sea-sickness which passed after about a week, was and still is the smell and taste of the bread loaves we were all given each day as part of our food ration. I had now recovered from sea sickness and was able to eat my share of the food on offer, what we were serves up I have no recollection apart from the small loaf of bread we were issued with each morning which had to do us for the rest of the day. Eat it when you like but you wont get any more until the next morning. It was the most enjoyable bread I have ever tasted, of course I had teeth then and was very hungry, as all young people are, but after so many years I can almost taste it in my memory!!
The grey has passed and the grey ships with guns, one of which was a battleship, left us as we entered Freetown, not the town you understand but the estuary leading to it. We called into Freetown after three weeks of utter misery. Freetown is on the west African coast, so it did look as if we might end up somewhere hot but where no one knew. Apart from one poor sod, one of our airmen though not from our mess, who had not stopped bringing up just bile for the last three weeks, no one from the troops got on shore. The lad who was taken ashore with seasickness that had lasted since leaving UK, was in a very bad way with dehydration.
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We moored away from the town itself and have no memory of other ships near us but guess they were there. We did not get ashore, not that it looked very inviting, mud huts and mud was all we could see moored out in the channel. After one day on a ship that actually stayed in one place horizontally we set sail again for parts unknown.
I developed a raging tooth ache and reported sick, the ships doctor showed me his equipment for treating tooth aches, it consisted of an armchair and a few rusty looking plier type instruments, said he hadn’t pulled out any teeth and which one hurt, showed him and tapped on the wrong one and told me to come back in the morning if it is still bothered me, funny thing the pain went away and only returned very many years later when all that was left was a hollow shell which crumbled to pieces when the dentist gripped it!!
Sailing away from Freetown the weather became much sunnier and it was now quite evident that south was the way we were going, the sea became less grey, but cannot remember the other ships, perhaps they no longer were showing their bottoms, flying fishes flew from our path dolphins rode our wash, and life became just about perfect, apart from the fact that the 10 shillings (about a dollar) I had boarded with was long gone (no pay until we arrived where ever we were going). I smoked a pipe but would smoke cigarettes as well and the only ones on offer free from my “room” mates were Springbok, a very strong South African fag oval in section and only given to me because those that had bought them felt sick after a few puffs. It is one of the other things that I remember after all these years, the horrible smell of the Springbok cigarettes, which was all I had to smoke the six weeks we were aboard. Perhaps in retrospect a good time to give up smoking you might say, but in those days they were issued free to some units and certainly the Salvo’s and other friends of the forces gave them out to all service men. The opiate of the masses it would appear!!
We got into smoother waters and the sun shone and most of the Navy escort left us, and there really is a sort of magic about the sea when you are far from land, suppose most of us got a good rest and were well fed for six weeks and enjoyed the days relaxing in the sun, watching the flying fish, dolphins and strange patches of seaweed, and of course we all had to be “welcomed” by King Neptune.
One thing about a troop ship there is no such thing as privacy, we slept close to one another, ate our food touching elbows, and washed and showered in sea water which does not get any dirty off only ingrains it further in the skin, even using the special soap that was provided. Toilets had to be increased and the solution on this ship was to construct on the top deck a trough about 30ft or 9 meters long and fix along this some 20 or so squares
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of wood with holes in, water was pumped in from the sea one end and ran over board out of the other, a very friendly loo indeed, the rocking of the ship was a worry some times when your next door neighbour’s evacuation born on a tidal wave came visiting!! To enliven an activity that was already fraught with some peril, people with a distorted sense of humour nailed a stub of candle to a piece of wood, lit the candle and then set it on its journey down stream to warm the posteriors and other appendages of the poor captive sufferers!!
We travelled south but then to confuse all and sundry we started to go north and with our very limited knowledge of where things were on the earth’s surface we were again lost, after six weeks of a war time sea cruise we entered the Port of Durban and once more were on dry land which to our consternation would not keep still and behaved much like the Mooltan had in Liverpool.
Perhaps it is not to be unexpected that most if not all were glad to get off the Mooltan after six weeks when she docked in Durban on the east coast of South Africa. The group I was with were taken from the ship to the rail and we began the last part of our journey to our final destination which was Bloemspruit R.A.F Pilot training station near Bloemfontein in the Orange Free State, where we were to keep the 104 Miles Master aircraft flying day and night. A much better job that I had been doing since leaving Halton.
The railway journey from Durban to Bloemfontein lasted one whole day but can’t say I remember anything at all about it, on arrival at 27 Air School about ten miles outside the city which is the capital of the Orange Free State we were shown to our barracks, decent brick buildings, single storey, with stable type spilt doors and the usual basic beds and lockers, but heaven after the ship. Food was so strange at first, lots of fruit most of which we had never seen or heard of and many different dishes made from maize, one like porridge called “mealie meal” served at breakfast I thought wasn’t too bad but soon learnt that the natives ate it so South African whites wouldn’t beneath their dignity. We had a lot to learn about the South African white way of life, to see the native workers on the flight line covered in oil and grease as they did the dirty jobs and then watch them fishing in the bins where we emptied the left overs from our plates, made us recent arrivals very angry, but we were told not to interfere, we were guests in the country and our ways were not the right way to treat these “savages”. If we offered them the “butts” left from our cigarettes they had to hold out both hands in case they had a knife in the other and would stab us, it did seem and still does to me that the white population went in fear of their lives and in many cases rightly so because they did treat the natives in a terrible way and at last the right thing has been done but the Dutch Boer has a lot to answer for. These Boers had an organisation based in the Orange Free State (think they
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now call it The Free State) that went about blowing up power lines and post offices and was very pro German know the name but my spelling of it will be far from correct (Osiver Brantvag) told you it was all wrong!! I made a number of friends while stationed at Bloemfontein, the Florie family for one, they picked me up at the bus stop when I had missed it one night and gave me a lift back to camp, he was an accountant and she was after a bit of ‘rough’ not 18 and dim as a Toch H lamp didn’t recognise the invitations handed out every time I stayed over night, frilly things always had been left on my bed by mistake, “I’ll just put them away, do you like them?” was only one of the things and her husband I’m sure thought I was giving her one, would have done if I hadn’t been so thick!! One night at their house they were having the usual meeting of the tennis club, very few blokes but lots of pretty young girls, suggested that they might like me to do some toast on the open fire for all of them, funny thing it wasn’t some thing they had ever done, so there I sat toasting slice after slice and spreading each with lots of butter, calls for more coming all the time, the family cat came to see what I was doing and I just spoke to it calling it “Pussy”, a deathly hush descended over the room and then a few stifled giggles and one of the chaps wanted to tell me some thing outside, pussy was the local name for that part of a girls body that men seem to want to get into so no more calling cats pussy.
Another person I got to know was Nabiha Masoud (think that’s how to spell it) she and her large family were all from Lebanon and would you believe classed as coloured, which is only one degree above black and not to be mixed with, the Florie family would have nothing to do with her even though she had her own ladies hairdressing business and good at it, tried to get me not to see her or her family, but apart from “Dad” the rest of her folks were very nice to me and always had a place at their table for me, Dad thought things were serious so didn’t want her getting involved with a Pom, we were in fact just good friends and perhaps I saw her just to say “up you” to the white population. There is a town called Margate down the coast from Durban and I did write to the Mayor who invited me to visit the town and be their guest, but never took up the offer. Dac Dacre was an ex Halton “Brat” like I was and we got on very well together, we arranged to take a leave together and as we could get a free railway pass decided to go to a place called Muizenburg this is a seaside holiday town on the shores of False Bay, we had booked into a YMCA hostel and spent our leave there but the train journey lasted all of two days and did get a bit boring after a while, miles and miles of very little followed but some more, had a look at Cape Town and little did we realise that not too many months would pass before we again found ourselves in the area, in fact in a transit camp between Muizenburg and Cape Town waiting to board ship back to England and flying over Germany as crews of bombers. My mother’s father had a brother who had moved to South Africa many years before and I managed to find them in a small town called Krugersdorp near Johannesburg, they invited
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me to stay with them on one of my leaves so I took the offer up and spent two weeks with them. Very interesting for me as my uncle had a building firm and I went about to see how things were done, one of the sons was an inspector of mines and arranged for me to go down a gold mine and also see all the processes of getting gold from the ore.
There are two reefs bearing gold in that area, called north and south, can’t remember which is which but one is very wide and is made up of very white quartz pebbles around which can be seen the glitter of gold flecks, the other reef is quite narrow and in places only inches wide but is very dark even black in colour and the gold can be seen quite easily as small nuggets. Both of these reefs go down into the ground at an angle so that new shafts are sunk to reach the reefs as they get deeper in the earth and further away from the original shaft, each new shaft being much deeper before it reaches the gold bearing ore. The very large heaps of brilliant white dust from the treatment plants can be seen for miles around Joh/burg and when the wind blows cause painful eyes and noses.
The mine I went down was very deep indeed and the lift travelled at such speed that one felt slightly air-borne as it descended the earth. The area at the bottom was huge and the passage ways leading off very large and well lit, as we moved away towards the mine face things got steadily hotter until we reached a place where a native was working a jack-hammer in a steeply sloping crack removing the small but very rich ore piece by piece, all jack-hammers also have a water pipe connected to prevent that miners curse of silicosis, so we had a very wet large black man working hard in a very narrow and hot space, he still was able to give me a big white toothy grin, but what he said I do not know, the noise of the hammer was terrible! After an hour or so of this we returned to the surface, glad of the fresh air and my shirt at least a chance to dry off from the high humidity underground. The first part we visited was the Stamp house, the noise here was unbelievable, row upon row of steel hammers pounding the ore as it slid beneath them washed down by streams of water, sheets of corduroy were used to catch any free gold after the stamps, these sheets were taken out periodically and burn to get the gold, the slurry then passed over copper sheets with mercury on them which also collected gold, not sure how or in which order this happened, it is a long time ago!! The slurry then entered very large tanks open at the top in which cyanide was dissolved in water (cyanide is a very deadly poison) the gold was dissolved by this mixture, this fluid was then pumped to a centrifuge where any remaining rock particles were extracted, the fluid which now looked like clean drinking water, but was far from it, was pumped again and ended up in mile long sheds which were full of troughs that contained hundreds of separate boxes filled with zinc shavings, as the liquid passed through the zinc the gold stuck to the zinc, and the next process melted the zinc shavings in a furnace which was then poured into an
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inverted cone shaped mold [sic], on cooling the cone was turned upside down, banged and out fell a very large cone of zinc with a small gold top, these gold knobs were cut off by hacksaw and tossed in one corner, when enough had been made, were themselves melted and poured into newspaper lined ingot moulds, lots of these bars of gold were stacked against the wall and I was invited to help myself if I could carry one away, tried but it flattened me to the floor and had to be lifted off me by the ever grinning black workers. The zinc was re-rolled into sheets and in one corner was being turned again into shavings on a very old lathe by the still grinning workers.
So far it would seem that all I did was visit and enjoy but this was a pilot training ‘drome, flying went on 24 hours a day and our days were spent servicing the 104 Miles Master ‘planes on the daily inspections. The Masters was made of wood and plywood, much like the Mosquito of later and much greater frame. The Miles Master was an advanced training aircraft that trained pilots in fast single engine ‘plane management before they became operational on Hurricanes or Spitfires. Mark 1 Masters were fitted with Rolls Royce Kestrel engines (fore runner of the Merlin) some of these were even equipped as fighters with four Browning guns during the panic of 1940, Mark 2 Masters had Pratt and Whitney Junior Twin Wasps.
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Servicing Miles Master Trainers at 27 Air School
With the many hours they were flown each day, some very hard landings and the general wear and tear of pupil pilot use they were becoming very hard to keep airworthy, even had one do a forced landing at a place called
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Dewetsdorp which ended up on it’s back. As I had spent some time in England salvaging Miles Masters I was in the gang that went to collect it, still have some photos of the job.
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Miles Master Recovery
The salvage crew was led by Sergeant “Jock” Brown and was made up of members of the flight servicing crews at 27 A/S. A Queen Mary low loader was not available nor was a crane which made the task more difficult, sheer legs being used to lift, turn and load the ‘plane. As far as I know the pilot did not die but would have needed to “duck” a lot from the amount of cockpit damage. As bad as the airplane was, great care was taken to salvage the ‘plane without further doing further damage. This took a great deal of work, including some careful maneuvering [sic] over a narrow bridge on the way back.
104 American Harvards were flown in and my mate Dac and myself were given the job of checking these and making them airworthy for use, they had been shipped to Durban as deck cargo, and although sealed before loading, some had had their canopies opened by the ship’s crew, salt water had entered and causes much damage, not only to things that could be seen but many radios had been ruined and props had been turned so that ports had opened, we found many that had damaged pistons on the con rods due to salt water no wonder the delivery pilots had complained that some were gutless and rattled a lot. I joined the Camp Concert Party and band, played the fool on the camp and Bloemfontein stage and played the trumpet very badly at camp dances, practised like mad but still caused the lead trumpeter to shake his head in disgust.
Notices were on the boards for aircrew volunteers, Dac and I were a bit fed up with our treatment regarding promotion, we did the work and other got the credit, funny it’s still the same fifty years later!! We put our names in and after various interviews were sent to Cape Town to await shipment back to England.
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– Reg Miles
The URL Of This Webpage is
http://www.geocities.com/Pentagon/Bunker/7797/Milesbio3.html
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Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S. of T. T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U.s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242 – 246 – 511
Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 4
Lympe, Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire
Unescorted fast ship Mauritania II brought us home in just two weeks. This was more like a holiday cruise, she was a large new fast ship, not over crowded, weather sunny, no real worries about the enemy, just too ignorant to have a care. And good food, all very pleasant!!
We came into port during the night, I suggest for security reasons. We would be confined below decks after dark so that no lights would be shone and any portholes on our decks would be welded shut. As we had no idea where we were it was only at dawn that we found ourselves suddenly in harbour.
We returned to a cold and rationed England, which was a bit of a shock after the land of plenty that was South Africa. I got to spend some time at home. Home was River outside Dover where Dad was responsible for building work for all the various Navy, Army and Airforce units stationed in and around the port of Dover.
After a couple of weeks I was posted to Lympne RAF Base near Folkstone in Kent, not too far away from home. I could cycle home on the odd day off. I was at a servicing echelon on Typhoons there from August 1943, making myself useful until the Flight Engineer course came through.
I arrived at this very basic airfield, grass runway, no hanger that I can recall, road to the village went through the place and we were living in requisioned [sic] houses on the floor, the Guardhouse miles away so we never booked out or in, just went! There I was fit, brown, and fairly knowledgeable, and there they were the service crews, lilly white, half starved, most hadn’t a clue about the RAF. The CO wanted me to stay, rather than take the flight engineer course. He did everything to make me, even tried to bribe me with promotion and an instructors course, turned him down flat, not the best way to make friends!!
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A few days later I watched as the flight sergeant in charge of the service crew was trying to unlock a propellor, up on the steps with a very, very large lead hammer and a long spanner thumping away to release the lock, told him it was the wrong rotation, what would I know?, the engine shaft sheered [sic] off and prop and F/S landed on the ground, another job now to remove the whole Napier Sabre and fit a new one, suppose the F/S got promoted and probably blamed me!!
The Typhoons were very heavy fast fighters. They were fitted with Napier Sabre H section sleeve valved 24 cylinder engines, had 20m/m cannon and rocket rails, and were hell to fly and worse to service. The engines were proto-types and only could do 20 hours or so between engine changes, never saw even one do that much while I was there, the single prop was the biggest in service and only cleared the ground when in flying position by 4 inches, many were bent on take off, and many came back from ops with bullet holes in as the ‘plane went faster than the bullets in a dive and caught up with it’s own fire!!
When I was working on Typhoons heard many yarns, but all “driversairframe” are a bit like fisher men I think. While the story teller was giving the the [sic] usual flyers tale, with lots of arm waving indicating who did what, even the other pilots had a “I don’t believe him” smiles on their faces.
The Typh’s were used as tank and train busters and also for downing V-1 Bombs and did a mighty job. Despite their success, some of the Typhoon pilots were very keen to improve the speed of the Typhoon so they could catch the enemy, be it pilotless V-1 Bombs, or piloted fighters. They were always wanting a few more miles an hour of them and “if only the bloody thing went faster I would have shot down” probably the whole German Airforce!! Adjustments to the engines were very difficult because they were so complicated and really just prototypes still. So they spent many hours with car polish rubbing and polishing every bit to reduce drag. They got us to help also, big things Typh’s and we got very tired of it. Guess they were like me, young and keen and a bit stupid as well, you’d have to be to risk life and limb for peanuts!!
Of course battle was not the only thing the pilots were keen on. The Typhoons were flown from a small grass runway. A sergeant’s mess party was being held one evening when I was on duty crew, we had to see the “dusk” patrol in and prepare them the “dawn” patrol, check everything and rearm and refuel and make sure every thing was as it should be. The small ‘drome was crowded visitors ‘planes from surrounding units and many were parked at the ends of the runway, fog was closing in and the last few of the dusk patrol had been told to divert to Manston, which was a very large aerodrome fitted with FIDO, by air it was seconds away by road it was
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too far to get a lift and still get to the party. All their mates would be there plus many of the local girls and if you didn’t turn up some one else would try their luck with your girl!! All managed to get back in, just one left to land, and here he comes he’s too low can’t see the row of ‘planes at the end of the runaway.
Yes he has but too late the massive undergear crashes through about six aircraft of all types and sizes and comes to earth with one wing low, the prop touches, that one won’t be on dawn patrol, as it taxi to our flight position where we are standing with torches to direct the pilot and hook the ‘plane to our tractor and tow it into position for the morning, the pilot climbs out, says “shit” and heads off for a shower and no doubt a bullet from the CO and even grounding if senior officers have had their ‘plane destroyed. We check the undergear to make sure it wont collapse as we tow it and generally check the damage, this takes a while and as we are doing this we hear the bell of the “blood wagon” in the distance, but too late for any injuries we say so I lay on the ground with one leg in the air and groan as the medical orderly rushes over, but it’s not the usual medical orderly it’s the senior medical officer, who wants to make a name for himself as all the top brass are on the base for the party. Well we didn’t part as friends I must say, but he really enjoyed chewing me out so perhaps that made his day!!
Arriving back at camp after a day with my parents, we slept in empty houses really outside the camp boundaries so no booking in or out, supposed to but why go a long way to the guard room if nobody cared, any how it was early in the morning, near midnight, not late at night as it should have been as I cycled to my billet, as I got off my bike the sergeant of my ground crew called for me to get moving and handed me a bucket of white paint. Our flight line was very close to our billet, and I was told to start painting wide white stripes under the wings of the Typhoons, other bods had black paint. So I crawled under them with buckets of white paint late at night in my best uniform. No idea where the Typhoons were off to, but we were told it was for identification purposes for an operation, but which one? It might have been coastal or near to it, and in support of either Commando’s or Navy, both tended to fire at all aircraft without any idea who flew what!! But why do it in the middle of the night with far from clever painters with large distemper brushes and I’m sure it was water based paint? On 15 November 1943, 2nd Tactical Air Force is formed, perhaps the Squadron I was on was made part of this force and some “stay in bed get the boys out” prat thought it would be nice if the new force were correctly dressed for Dawn Patrol. Whatever the reason for the early morning paint job, my best uniform was never quite the same, every one else had on their overalls!
As it turns out this was the first time that this type of identification was used on allied aircraft, and I Did It!!! These black and white stripes were
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called invasion stripes by others much later. They were widely in use for the Normandy invasion. They were painted to clearly show our ground forces that they were friendly aircraft so we would not lose aircraft to our own flak. Only the Tactiful [sic] Air Force had the invasion stripes. Well before the invasion some aircraft were painted with the stripes to be used as Targets for spotters and Anti aircraft units and also for ground troops to get familiar with our own planes, as marked. Apparently this Typhoon squadron was one of those painted early to get our troops used to the stripes.
I was stationed at Lympne until the end of 1943 when my posting came through to report at St Athan in South Wales to start my Flight Engineers training. Because of my training at Halton and my service work on aircraft my training would be specific to the type of bomber I would be doing my operations on, that was the plan anyhow.
It might be best to spend a moment reviewing the various RAF bombers. First there were the Medium Bombers. The Hampden, outdated before the war started so not used much – bit of a death trap so not to be included.
Bristol Blenheim private design as all decent ones are, Beaufort a torpedo version did lots of damage and raids on shipping in French ports, made the Germans angry. Beaufighter very fast version called “Whispering Death” also used as a night fighter with radar, all types with twin radial aircooled engines also by Bristol.
De Haviland Mosquito, best all round fighter, bomber etc of the war, just look up it’s stats and learn! 4000 lb bomb load, faster than any thing until the jets arrived, 42600 ft ceiling, used by the Master Bombers, fitted with 4 cannon and even with a single 57 m/m cannon. Don’t know what a Master bomber is? They first used Lancasters, would circle the target at a low height during all of the raid, and direct the “Pathfinders” where to drop more target markers, all this done at night of course and we would be called up as “main force” and directed which colour markers to use as an aiming point, and woe betide you if you came in from the wrong direction or dropped anywhere but the correct place. we were usually at 18000 to 20000 ft and could see the Master Bomber back lit by the bursting bombs almost as ground level, a number of back ups would be at our height and when, not if the master bomber was either hit by flak, or by a fighter or as was most likely had a load of bombs dropped on him, saw a Lancaster one time when we had to land away from base that had had a load of incendiaries land on it, not a pretty sight!! Master bomber two would have his own call sign and often with an accent to prevent the Gardens from giving us the wrong information, cunning devils!!
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Heavy bomber Wellington made by Vickers designed by Barnes Wallis (swing wing F1111, Dam busters bomb, and even the Avro York made from parts of the Lancaster) Twin engine geodetical construction, (all little bits joined together to make a net like effect, very strong) covered with fabric, front and rear turrets, two .303 Brownings in each 4,500 lb bomb load 300mph main stay of bombing until the large 4 engined bombers came along, still going strong at the end of the war, called The Wimpey by every one. very many versions from sea search with a lifeboat slung under, to mobile radar and radio station and I remember seeing one flying very low along the coast line with a large ring the size of it’s wing span detecting and blowing up magnetic sea mines.
Short Stirling the first 4 engine one, slow. low and designed by the Air Ministry with short wings so that it would go into the standard hanger, typical stupid desk riders. My log book contains some hours spent as F/E on one, a pretty useless bomber and not to be in the same class as the Halifax and Lancaster.
The Manchester was first operational about the same time as the Halifax but as we all know was plague by engine problems and was a “dead duck” until fitted with four Merlins, the Halifax was also supposed to get RR Vultures but because a shortage was expected was designed for four RR.
Handley Page Halifax 4 engined similar to the Lancaster never gets a mention much like the Hurricane is over shadowed by the Spitfire, but many thousands of them were flying and bombing Germany, while the Manchester was falling out of the sky with failing engines. Rolls Royce produced a 24 cylinder engine really based on two Merlins joined at the sump one upside down, it was only when the Manchester was modified to take four standard Merlins that it became the great aircraft it eventually did become. Both The Halifax and Lancaster had versions with Merlins and Hercules engines, the Halifax with Hercules was much better than the version with Merlins and the Lancaster was the reverse better with Merlins, More versions of the Lancaster were developed during the war and it’s construction was easier than the Halifax, but the Halifax was much tougher and took more punishment before crashing, I trained on and flew them all as an F/E, just wanted to get down in one piece so all were good for me!! 6,176 Halifax were built, their first operational flight took place March 1941.
Both Lancaster and Halifax had 4 .303 Brownings in the rear power turret, mid upper had 2 but had a full 360 rotation and up and down. Some later versions of the Lancaster had twin .5 Brownings in the rear turret, both Halifax and Lancaster had versions with mid under turrets with twin Brownings.
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The Lancaster did eventually drop 22,000 lb grand Slam bombs, called by some earthquake bombs as they were made of high quality steel typical bomb shape and were used to bomb things like bridges which are very hard to destroy, need a direct hit, theses bombs penetrated deep into the earth and shattered the foundations so that the bridge or viaduct collapsed. 7,377 Lancasters were built, their first operational flight took place on 3/4 March 1942.
So I started my training on four engined Lancaster Mark 2 bombers which were in every respect the same as all Lancasters except for the engines which were Bristol Hercules 14 cylinder air cooled radial, all other Lancasters had four Rolls Royce 12 cylinder water cooled twin 6 cyl. vee Merlin engines. Lancasters were the outcome of a design called the Manchester which originally had twin Rolls Royce X engines 24 cylinder X, really two Merlins coupled at the sumps making a cross of four banks of six, these engines were a completed failure and before I went to South Africa in 1941 had worked on one of the Manchesters that had crash landed in a field due to engine failure. A.V Roe (Avro) knew they had a good aircraft and as The Royal Airforce refused to allow them any engines, so scrounged 4 Merlins from Rolls Royce on the “old pals network” and re worked the ‘plane from two engines to four and demonstrated to the top brass what a good all round bomber they had, and so it proved to be in service, carrying heavier bombs farther and higher than any other ‘plane at that time.
I studied the Lancaster and it’s systems including the Hercules engines until I knew every part, hydraulic, air, auto pilot, bomb release gear, undercarriage, you name it I knew and passed with ease my examinations, so much of what I had been studying was what I had been working on for a couple of years, different ‘planes but basically the same in principle. St Athan is a very old and well known R.A.F. Station the R 101 and R100 airships were built there and a “ring” of one of them is fitted to the wall of the huge hanger they were built in, which still stood when I was there, anyone interested in these airships should get “Slide Rule” written by Neville Shute and learn some very interesting facts about these two airships, Neville Shute was an aircraft engineer and any of his fiction books are a good read, perhaps his most well known book was the basis for the film “A Town Like Alice”.
After passing out from the F/E course I was given a short leave and in March 1944 told to report to 1664 Heavy Conversion Unit at Dishforth in Yorkshire and it was there that I joined up with the rest of the crew who had until that time been flying twin engined aircraft. What aircraft did I see on the runway when I got there? Halifax Mark 2s and 5s different ‘planes and different engines so I had to start all over again on systems and bits!!!
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11.3.44, I had to do some initial training to see if I could handle things actually in the air, so it was circuits and landings with a senior Flight Engineer to see how I went. Well we took off OK and did a circuit and came straight in land again, with me operating the various undercarriage and flaps etc as the pilot asked and all was going well round and round until the bumpy air and round and round got to me and I felt sick as a dog after about an hour and asked the F/E if we could pack it up. He looked at me and said if you give in now you are off the course and can go back to your unit, well funny thing I suddenly felt better and got on with the rest of the job for another hour, after that I was always too busy to feel sick.
I have a log book of my time flying, and I include here the information in it from the flights I made as crew member, rather than as a passenger. This began here, with the 1664 HCU, 1664 Heavy Conversion Unit, which means it was heavy conversion unit from 2 to 4 engine aircraft.
Some of the terms on the Log Book shall require explaining. The Lat and Long at the top I have added recently when I bought MS World Atlas and was able to pin point the airfield locations. You will note the first column is the date to help you follow the sequence. This log book records all my flying both training, operational and at Transport Command. C&Ls circuits and landings very boring and mainly for the pilot and engineer to frighten them as much as possible, D.C.O. duty carried out D.N.C.O Duty Not carried out. P.O Lauzon was my first operational pilot, others mentioned on this first page and perhaps elsewhere were senior pilots who had done at least one tour of operations and were being rested before doing another tour of at least 30, all were very much more frightened of the ‘sprog’ pilot than of anything the Boche could throw at them!! PO is Pilot Officer and is really a rank to ensure that the person will not put up any ‘blacks’ and behave like an officer and a gentlemen, probationary period usually 6 moths. FO is not Flight Officer which is a female rank in the WAAF but Flying Officer. 25th Feb 1:32 E Easy was the aircraft that we normally flew when I was with 420 Sqdn, V Victor was our designated ‘plane when with 432 Sqdn, but as we were very new got what was available due to serviceability problems. Will get to each one as I go through my log book, which will be about 30 pages.
Pilot Officer Lauzon asked if I would like to join his crew. The rest were already joined as a crew. I was the last one to join being an RAF Flight Engineer, they needed me to shovel in the coal and to keep the boiler streaming!! As I knew nobody on the course happily agreed, soon realised that all crews belonged to The Royal Canadian Airforce so I had joined a bunch of people who I had no idea of their country or life style, some thing else to study, I was going to be a busy boy! The rest had trained on twin engine aircraft of some sort in Canada and were now ready for the big time.
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We were all very young with different back grounds and likes and dislikes, remember I was with the Canadians who were used to a much higher living standard, more independent than us down trodden POMS (from the Australian prisoners of His Majesty, convicts) So where they had quite a lot of money we did not, all the same Yanky pay, and the food parcels poured in from their families in Canada, when we had leave they went to certain places arranged for them or hit the “big smoke” and found some one to enjoy their pay with, I went home to a shell and bombed Dover, first thing Mum wanted was my ration book so should could feed me, one of my father’s sub contractors always called at our house soon after I got home and from the inside of his very dirty overalls gave me a Black Market parcel of butter, cheese and bacon. My crew always made sure I had some of their surplus food to take home, sugar and jam etc. I could not invite them to stay at my house, one reason was there was no room and another was that I had to have a special pass to even leave the railway station near home even though the local cop on duty knew me. The whole south coast was a restricted area all roads in were manned and high fences were all around so no use trying the fields, took one of my girl friends once, was only allowed to stay 12 hours and had to either send her back to London or both go somewhere else, went somewhere else!! My parents not too pleased but I was on a promise and determined to find out if it was as good as everyone was telling me, yes it was!
After being introduced to the rest of the gang, I got down to serious study learning about fuel systems, tank positions and the fuel transfer arrangements that allowed one tank to supply all engines and many compilations of this, very necessary if flack makes a hole in a fuel tank, need to use that one up first and tanks have to be balanced for the same reason during operations, loose a full tank and you wont have enough fuel to get back home again!! Engine controls are important too, boost and rpm govern the fuel consumption, and which supercharger gear ratio being used is also very critical.
A very brief explanation of boost, revs and supercharger gearing. Boost is the measure of pressure, plus or minus of the air in the induction system of an engine. When a piston sucks in air it increase it’s speed and therefore lowers it’s pressure below atmospheric pressure at ground level (14Ibs per square inch roughly) The more weight of air that can be crammed into a cylinder before it is fired the move power is produced. Hence turbo chargers and super chargers, turbo’s are driven by the exhaust gases, superchargers by gearing direct from the engine, as the aircraft flies higher the air gets less dense, and the power from the engine becomes less, turbo’s and supers pump more air in so that power is maintained, use of ground level increases the power from a given capacity of engine cylinders, an engine without a charger would always show a minus reading on the boost pressure guage [sic].
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The setting of the throttle (accelerator) governs the boost pressure coupled with the turbo or super charger speed setting, the two work together and then setting is done by the pilot or engineer for the conditions at the time (climbing, cruising, etc) components that are a part of the system automatically retain this boost pressure until either a height is reached where the air is so thin that it cannot do so, or changes are made to flight conditions. Revs are the speed at which the propellors go round and relate somewhat to the gearbox of a car, selection of speed is made and automatically kept at that speed by a unit on the engine and one in the propellor itself, bit like an automatic gear box on a car, changing conditions of flight such as taking off and landing require different propellor speeds and reacation [sic] of the flight conditions, feathering which rotates the blades so that they do not “windmill” in the event of an engine failure are also incorporated. Guess it’s not so simple after all and I used to teach this but had the advantage of being able to flap my arms about!!
My first flight with P/O Lauzon was on March 16, 1944 and was Exercise 7&8 in my log book. Exercise 7&8 I have no idea but only took about one and a half hours so not very important I should say.
Our next exercise was the next day, the 17th, and was Local Bombing. This was a training exercise for the crew but mainly for the bomb aimer and pilot to get their co-ordination working together so that the target is hit. Small practice bombs used but sometimes larger ones full of concrete may be dropped.
The next night I was up with another pilot, Fry, for Circuits and Landing exercises again. More night training.
The next morning I was called to fly with yet another pilot, Vinish, for a Sea Search. VINISH is correct, think I wrote “finish” and got a sharp reminder! Sea Search was a very serious matter that was to see us spend all those hours searching a particular part of the ocean with other crews looking for a downed ‘plane, a hell of a strain on the eyes, the sun shining on the moving waves makes it very hard to see anything properly so things are reported that are not there and other things missed, and no we did not see anything.
You will note that I took off at 10:15 am flew for nearly six hours and then took off again the same day with a different pilot at 20:20 being tested on night C&Ls for about 4.30 hrs and that is only the time in the air, lots goes on before and after!!
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Then it was back to P/O Lauzon for two flights in one day, the 20th. Two and a half hours of Local Bombing in the morning then a six and a half hour Night Cross Country exercise.
Apart from actually flying and being checked by a senior Flight Engineer to find out if I could do my job properly, our navigator had to give me instruction on star charts, which star was where and how to use the sextant to take star shots while flying to help in navigation, the F/E position was beneath the astro-drome and it was another of his jobs to do star shots if and when the navigator needed them, the correct star had to be found and a timed shot taken to give an average reading, the wrong star could make life difficult and I can tell you the ‘plane bumping about, nasty people trying to shoot you down didn’t make finding the right star in amongst the millions out there easy.
During this course we also had to take instruction in escape technic’s [sic] both from the aircraft and the enemy, we went to a swimming pool and in full flying gear jumped in the water and tried to turn over an up turned dingy we managed, but could not see it being possible at night in a rough cold North Sea, we all treated it as a bit of a laugh, young and foolish in hind sight.
Our next flight, on the 24th March 1944 at 18:45, our crew did it’s first night operation over France as a diversionary raid to fool the Germans into sending fighters up to intercept what appeared a bomber force approaching targets in their country. This Bullseye Mission was a number of training aircraft that were sent in a direction different than the proper bombers, hoping this would direct enemy fighters away from the real bombers. This diversionary raid turned back before any target was reached and hopefully before any of the inexperienced crews were shot down!! The 1/3 shown on the log was a third of a point awarded towards the total of thirty points needed for a complete tour of operations. “Bullseyes” only counted as one third of an operation. The missions was six long hours wandering about over enemy territory before landing back at base with eyes very sore with looking for enemy fighters that never appeared.
Another course we had to attend was escape after being shot down, this was carried out by senior NCO’s of the Army at a special camp on the Yorkshire Moors, a cold and bleak place, with our instructors determined to show those “Brylcreem boys” what tough meant, we were marched and run about all day, all ranks, some quite senior officers going back on operations for their third tour, were made to wear overalls at all times with no badges of rank and shouted at as if we were new recruits in the Army. Escape training was carried out at night without any warning, doors were slammed no lights put on and we had to get into our overalls and get outside, loaded
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into trucks half asleep, and driven out on to the moors, dropped off in twos with a map, not told where we were and left to find our own way back to camp, the local police, army and the courses just finishing came out looking for us and if found we were arrested and help in jail until sent back to camp. The Canadians were very much anti authority, (much like the Australians I now live with) so nothing was sacred, buses were found in back yards and driven near to camp with lots of aircrew hidden under seats, some stayed out for days being fed and “watered” by lonely wives whose husbands were in the Forces, and said they have got lost and were tired and hungry, some did look as if they had been working very hard and needed a rest. This was our last training in the Heavy Conversion Course.
The fact that this was our last flight was a coincidence. Bulls Eye was not a graduation ceremony. If one was wanted by the higher ups and you had reached a level of training able to do it you went, the needs of the service were what governed what and where you went.
I had completed training and was graded on my performance in the course. Exam result is 73.5% That was based on my flying with instructors and theory of the aircraft systems at HCU 1664, not wonderful but remember I did do a theory and practicle [sic] course just prior to arriving at HCU on the Lancaster Mark II, different ‘plane with entirely different engines, so apart from crewing up with a bunch of wild Canadians, I had less than two weeks to learn all about a new ‘plane and it’s engines, not bad for yours truly. The results of my examination were signed officially by the Flight Engineer Flight Leader, a flight of men can be any number that can be controlled or over seen, a flight of aircraft also can be any number that is suitable for the type, 3 bombers being usual, more for fighters, a number of flight make a squadron, a number squadrons make a wing, a number of wings make a Group and a number of groups make a command as in Bomber Command. Got all that? So the Flight Leader responsible for a number of Flight Engineers under training, signed to say that I had reached a standard whereby I could be expected to do do [sic] my job properly. All trades of air crew had Flight Leaders, Navigator, Gunners, Wireless operator, Bomb aimer, and lets not forget the driver Leader for the Drivers airplane!!
This all ended in due course and our crew were given a posting to 432 Sqdn RCAF at Eastmoor who were equipped with Halifax Mark 3, same engines as Lancaster 2s and much better version of the Halifax’s at Dishforth, so all that study had paid off in the end!! My flying time with Squadron 432 are covered in those pages of my Log.
The RCAF was called 6 Group part of Bomber Command, most airfields had two Squadrons based on it, each was controlled by its own staff and did not always fly to the same targets nor even on the same days of nights.
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Usually the same nation were located at each base, so you had two Canadian Squadrons where I was, 420 and 425 at Tholthorpe as an example with my next unit. I just can’t remember which squadron was at Eastmoor with 432, the Lancaster book I mentioned before gives all the squadrons and I will just look to see which Squadron was at Eastmoor with 432 when they were with Lancasters. Doesn’t help, my book shows an HCU at the same base but that was to covert 432 from Wellingtons I think on to Lancaster II, they then changed to Halifax III just before I joined, need the same sort of book for the Halifax which I don’t have and maybe no one has! To continue both these squadrons, and 432 as well, were part of 6 Group. Each squadron was divided into flights the number I cannot remember nor can I recall how many ‘planes in each flight. I would recommend to you that you beg borrow, steal or even in extreme circumstances purchase a book called The Lancaster Story by Peter Jacobs it is distributed in the USA by Sterling Publishing CO Inc 387 Park Avenue South, New York it’s ISBN is 1 85409 288 8 it is a very fine book and gives much detail of the history and operational types of Lancasters I was given the book by one of Phyllis’s brothers and treasure it greatly.
We flew out of Eastmoor airfield. The airfields were just that, fields, hangers and other buildings had been erected, but I visited some many many years later and just the concrete runway was still there most had been removed for scrap and given back to the farmers, local drag car clubs still use some of them and guess those farmer with ‘planes of their own could land and take off on them. Although I do not recall the details of Eastmoor, I have read that the Standard Airfield design for heavy bombers was to have a main runway 2000 yds, and two secondary runways at about 60 degrees to one another of 1400 yds.
A fence had been errected [sic] around the perimeter and RAF Police patrolled this to keep strangers out, but guess if you really wanted in it would have been easy, gun positions were manned by RAF Regiment people with mainly light guns and fixed posts with bofors. The local towns were in the main villages, been there for centuries still using the roads that the Romans built, a village hall, for all the functions so a trip to one on a dance night would see all the lonely ladies out in force and us being the local best thing since sliced bread were over whelmed with attention, take your pick and hope her husband is not near!!!
Two crew slept in each nissen hut so no need to shout for quiet more like a moan about someones socks which were “humming”, don’t ever remember noise being a problem, none of us played craps or other gambling games like the Americans, guess compared to them our lives were a bit like “The vicar’s tea party”! There were no other ‘normal working hours’ type people in our huts so no problem.
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Life on the Bases 432 and 420 was the usual things. We played horse shoes, pool. I even had to have lessons from the wireless operator on the morse code and key. Buses were laid on to the local villages for the dances which were not all that popular, not too many lovely ladies there!! The odd trip into York but much the same old thing into the pub a few beers and away before the usual fights started between the armies of the Allies. Only those that had not fought anywhere had to prove how wonderful they were, just idiots, bit like the rubbish on earth today. nuf said!!
We didn’t have any “hours” as such when bomber crews, we were expected to be available 24 hours a day , but if “stood down” officially for a number of hours usually until next morning could go out of camp and be back in by 23.59, the usual time for late return from a night on the town.
Stations Order were posted on the various notice boards which would give times of lectures , and other places we had to be, one such was the visit to our camp by the Prime Minister of Canada, we had to line up to be inspected, not to bull parade more like a casual couple of lines of airmen of all ranks chatting away until he got near and spoke to some one, unfortunately the first three or four he spoke to and asked “Where are you from in Canada” were all RAF and not RCAF so when he got London, Yorkshire etc was a bit puzzled, one of the officers took him by the elbow and steered him in the right direction. We all wore RCAF brevets for our aircrew trade so not easy for him to know who was who, on my squadron only the Flight Engineers were RAF the rest all Canadians. The Canadians had a saying that I have just remembered, “Joe for King, home by Christmas” Joe was Stalin and King was the name of the Canadian Prime Minister.
So to recap, we were pretty free to do as we wished most of the time, and I like most others only read any notice board if we thought we were getting promoted, and left all that stuff to our pilot, who knew before we did when and where we were flying etc. That is why I got in such a muddle over my Officer’s interview, mentioned elsewhere I think you will find, just never bothered to read the notice boards!!!
Our missions were at first all night operations. As such I shall have to educate you about night and day in England, Winters starts about October/November and goes on until February/March, some visitors swear it never stops and is winter all year, but the important thing is that in these northern climes daylight ends very early and starts late so a man working a normal day starting at 8am and finishing 4-5 pm will always travel in pitch darkness to and from work. Taking off in darkness at 18.00 hours is no different from taking off even later. Darkness from say 7pm to 7am is 12 hours and we did not have bombers that could last that long and where would they have
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bombed anyhow? Hope that helps, just to take a random looking in the log book 6-10-44 15.45 take off to Dortmund all listed as night flying. Remember England is not too far from the Arctic Circle where 6 months of days and the 6 months of nights happens all the time!! At times we would land fairly early in the evening, but for another random look 15.9.44 22.00 to Keil 5.35 meant we got back to base about 3.30 am debriefing meal etc bed by about 5am, no early night that one.
If there had been a large night force out on a target say a 1000 bomber raid not every place was at the target at the same time, enough problems spread out, guess it would have been chaos otherwise so a raid would start soon after dark and continue until close on dawn when the day bombers took over.
April fools day found me acting as F/E to our Flight leader, Flight Lt. Cooper, doing circuits and landings at night for more than two hours to again check my skills, followed a few days later on the 4th with the whole crew doing the same thing. We passed this ok so now had to do a daylight cross-county to make sure we could go and come back!! The next day, the 8th, we did another “Bullseye”, this one 3 hours 35 minutes long, but were told they didn’t count towards points for a tour!
On the squadron you only got points for what you did operationally. While I am talking about a TOUR, it was a walk in the sun eyeing up the Canadian WAAFs, all who were very pretty and carried about a ton of makeup on their faces, my Canadian crew thought it wonderful, I thought they looked like a bunch of clowns Hey Ho. A TOUR was a certain number of operations 30 being the average but based on targets and what the service wanted so some did more and some did less I did 36, wanted to do more so that my crew could finish with the same F/E, as I had done some ops before joining them, I didn’t say anything to my Flight Engineer Leader but when he found out I had done more than I should have, he stopped me and sent me to get my new uniform as an officer!!! But that was yet to come of course.
On April 10th we flew our first operation, to Ghent, Belgium. The ops to Ghent was in all probability a German ammunition dump, a guess.
The raid is on so after a quick trip to the mess hall for a preflight meal it’s back to the barracks to put on my flight gear which is really only to dispense with the collar and tie, pull on the very large white woollen rollneck sweater under my normal working uniform top, pull on my flying boots and zip them up (keep hoping that the latest ones will be issued to us, these are impossible to walk in, made of foam and suede with long uppers lined inside with sheep skin, they certainly keep the feet and legs warn [sic] but after a few
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uses tend to lose their shape and “become down at heel” the latest ones are made from black leather as proper shoes and the leg portion can be removed by cutting the top off with the small knife hidden inside, more suitable for aircrew to walk away from the enemy after bailing out.
Down to the parachute section with the rest of the crew and draw my chest type chute and harness. On one operation we were told that ALL squadron parachutes had been repacked, a rumour had been circulating that a chute had had it’s rip cord pulled by mistake and all that fell out was an old blanket!! Parachute silk was much sought after during the war to make the “gift wrapping” that men looked for when their girls took their outer clothes off. We always poked a finger into the corner of the case to feel if there was silk (nylon?) inside.
Time to board the truck to take us out to the aircraft, as we called at each dispersal point calls of “race you back” and some not quite so pleasant were made to those climbing out, at last we were at our ‘plane, tumble out and grab our bits and bobs, I had in addition to my chute and harness a tool bag with a few spanners, pliers, bits of useful wire, string etc, other had large bags with the navigation and wireless bumf, and the tails gunner probably had a brick or lump of old iron.
We all climbed aboard to put our things in a position we could grab them if needed, my chute went on the floor in my position, as did my tool box, then I fitted my chute harness on making sure it was tight and properly fastened. down to the tail to remove the elevator lock and start doing my normal checks before we started the four engines, I had an aircraft log sheet to fill in, with what fuel was in which tank, and as soon as we started engines, all their details must be entered., by this time we had all settled in and a quick call was made to check that all intercom positions answered.
Halifax crew positions were spread throughout the aircraft. The bomb aimer’s position was in the nose where he map read if possible our mark of Halifax had no nose gun, it was found that fighters did not attack head on at night, various design changes took place during the war as needed so some had nose guns and some not. Then there was a blackout curtain, behind which was the navigator, then the wireless operator, all these at a lower level than the pilot, wop more or less under the pilot’s feet, up a bit the Pilot and behind him the Flight Engineer, who darted about as required. Then there was the mid upper turret and then tail turret. The Halifax had bomb bays in the fuselage behind the f/e position but beneath the floor but could be got at through panels if needed in the case of a hang up, also bomb bays were situated in the wings between the inboard engines and fuselage.
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In the cockpit where the pilot was were all the throttles, under carriage and flap controls, and the usual flying instruments. My position was also in the cockpit, where I would access the various contrls [sic] and dials needed to keep the plane flying properly. Only on very rare occasions did I have to help my pilots and that was if we had lost an engine and then only on landing. Once when a tyre burst as we touched down did he want a bit of muscle to keep it straight other than that managed without what seemed any effort. The Halifax position for the flight engineer was right behind the pilot, with my instruments, fuel, oil water pressures and temps etc on a rear partition, levers etc to change fuel tanks was either side behind the main wing spar. I had no resting place, no chair, so what I was only the engineer!! If a crash landing was going to be done all the crew expect the pilot could make themselves a safe spot by clinging together behind the main wing spar, so that was no worry, in a crash I would be as well off as the rest.
I was able to stand upright at my F/E position, and also when I assisted the pilot, think I could stand upright at the mid upper gunner’s position but needed to bend my back as I got near the tail, The inside was not pained as such, but from memory was a dark green in colour, probably the anti corrosion coating applied to Duralumin, Alclad and Aluminium sheets used to fabricate the ‘planes. The step up to my F/E position was about 9 inches, underneath was stored the oxygen supply for the whole aircraft, but I could still stand erect with my whole 68 and bit inches of height (the bit is much more important than the preceding 68 for those of us who are in a neat and compact package) I was able to turn round with relative ease, the space being sufficient for my needs, no windows of any kind apart from the roof astro-drome, the cockpit did have sliding windows both sides as well as a windscreen which was a great help to us, to see our way!!!, Both wireless operator and navigator had windows (non opening) complete with blinds for night work, there was also a large curtain between these positions and the bomb aimer nose, which was completely made of perspex in the Mark III version I flew in on operations, as far as I can remember we could all stand upright in the nose section where the nav and wop had seat with tables for their equipment. far from being cramped we all has as much room as we would require, not enough to hold a dance or even a large party but we could all move about with relative ease and reach anything needed to do our job. The fuselage looking back from my position which was just forward of the main spar, was really empty except for the mild upper gunner’s position, his lower body and feet only projected down about half way, with room to pass either side of him, we didn’t have the open side gun positions used in the forts.
During this time we had gradually crept up to the runway threshold and were now awaiting the green from the Aldis lamp, I had left my position to stand next to my pilot at the top of the steps landing down the wop,
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nav, and bomb positions, ready to hold the throttles open as we charged down the runway and to assist in any way wanted, I had already told the skipper that all engines were running Ok and so we set forth to battle.
The tail came up and we reached our “unstick speed” (whatever that was !!) the whole aircraft was shuddering with the effort of leaving the ground, a few skips off the concrete and we were airborne, time to take a breath, it had stopped completely as the trees bordering the ‘drome had got closer and closer, we once arrived back with bits of branches still caught in the undergear, and a failure of only one engine at that time with a full bomb and fuel load meant the end. Up with the undercarriage reduce the flap angle and set the throttles for climbing, synchronise the propellers, fill in the log book, reduce again the flap angle, check engine temps and pressures, change gills to get the temps right, stepping in and out and up to the pilot to do as he wanted, breathing heavily into the oxygen mask, which always smelt of rubber and rust and wet with condensation. I had to keep mine on to receive instructions from the skipper but most of the other crew could leave theirs unfastened until we climbed higher and went on to oxygen.
Back into my cubby hole, standing looking up out of the astro dome to see if we were in danger of climbing into some one else, all clear, down to the top of the steps to pile up the window and pamphlets that I would start to put down the chute later on, check all the engine details again, at every change of engine revs and at a regular period (think it was 15 minutes but not sure the log had to be filled in, a cardboard rotary calculator was used to work out what fuel had been used at certain revs and boost to check what fuel was left in each tank, the gauges were only a very rough guide!!
Not exactly a “Jack in the box” but I always took my job seriously and did all I could to ensure my side of things ran like clockwork, no guesses keep checking and worrying until home again safe and sound.
We had arrived at the altitude we were to fly at and engine revs and boost were reset, oxygen had been switched on at about the same time high speed had been selected on the supercharger for each engine, about 11,000 to 12,000 ft.
The navigator would tell the skipper at what time and which compass bearing he should be on to set course not for the target but the first of the course changes, and so with the constant roar of four engines, our little world of icy cold draughts, a lethal cargo, shuddering rocking in the streams of air from those in front, with many staring eyes looking for any others who might be near us in the black sky, seven young men went about their duty as they saw it.
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It was cold, it was apparently dangerous, if you worried about not getting back you probably wouldn’t, those that were frightened all the time were the real heroes, most of us just did it and were glad to be doing something to save our civilisation, not that we ever know just how bad things were or what a terrible bunch the leaders of the enemy were.
Yes I was a bit frightened on our first operation, but the ones that I always felt sorry for were the gunners. The pilot and engineer could see what was happening but were also very busy not only with flying the plane, but I had to record all the engine and fuel tank details plus other odds and sods. The navigator and wireless operator were shut up in their places with little to see from a small window and were themselves busy with their bits and bobs. The bomb aimer was in all probability stretched out full length looking at the sights below waiting to do his bit and telling us what he could see to help us avoid others and ensure we got where we were supposed to go. But the gunners isolated in their turrets had only themselves to talk to and fear can become a self promoting thing. Being busy kept me from being too frightened to do my job properly, and I can honestly say that I never really felt fear just a bit of apprehension on some operations, but more of that later.
There was no way to tell if we hit the target, not unless we were told so later. Most times, as here, we were not the first on target, it was all organised on “waves” so the thing was usually well alight or just a ploughed field by the time we got there. What we added to this was difficult to say or see from our altitude. The bomb aimer would see all the ground targets and perhaps what happened when the bombs landed. I was busy with my jobs and searching the sky above to help the gunners, didn’t really see a great deal. Sorry I am not able to give you a graffic [sic] picture of bombs falling and targets blowing up, Hollywood might but they live in a dream world anyhow!!
When we returned from our first operation, we were told the mission was only worth one third of a point!
We did not fly again for a week and then only flew a cross country exercise. On the 18th we flew an op to Paris. Ah Paris!!! Do you really think it was lit up??? All we saw were the flashes of bombs going off and the crash and flash of anti aircraft shells trying to get us. Every target we went to sent up flak, the Germans seemed to really hate us I wonder why? Until we started daylight operations we only saw what was lit up by our bombs and must say we didn’t hang about looking at the sights.
A five hour mission. How can it take five hours to fly to Paris you ask? The time taken to get to a target does not indicate how far it was, to confuse
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the enemy bomber tracks were deliberately set out as if a certain target were that night’s one when in actual fact we went elsewhere so the navigator did not have a period of nothing to do but was always calculating when and where to turn onto the next part of the course, gaining or losing time if necessary to arrive on target at the correct time, and checking on drift from winds not as per listed, and adding anything in his log that was of use to others, such as new flak sites. We never flew directly to any target nor flew home the same way, always many twists and turns to fool the enemy, those that chose the easy way home often didn’t get there, we followed the plan as set out by our squadron commanders, in our case it worked!!
Again, only one third of a point for some reason. Two nights later, on the 20th, we went to Lens, Belgium on an operation for which we were given one third of a point again!! I can’t seem to remember any reaction to this grudging point system, good boys did as we were told!! Funny thing is that most of us never really worried about reaching the end of a tour, the mateship of the crew was more important, ie just look at my and others search for old mates we flew with, can’t afford in most cases to get really together but nice to hold hands at a distance!!
On 22 April 1944 we went to the Ruhr Valley, known by all bomber crews as Happy Valley, solid flack from end to end.
Flak was present not just over the target of course. There were flak sites all about, and even flak ships. flak ships were in fact ships moored off the Enemy coast and were very bad medicine for anyone foolish enough to fly over them, guess being cooped up in a ship and see sick some of the time made the crew mad as they were very accurate and fast with reloading. Flak ships were well documented and only the crews with poor navigators or ‘planes in trouble ever went near then, we saw but kept well away!!
A slight shuffle off course, there were many flak towers of our own situated in the Thames estuary which were just as lethal as the ships, some years after the war and many years from now took one of my boys out to one in the first runabout I built, pretty massive things and I took a couple of photos to prove we had been there, our boating friends all turned back halfway and chickened out!!
Back to Happy Valley, the flak was heavy. Dusseldorf was a very serious affair, bits of red hot flak flew about inside the ‘plane as the shells burst, our navigator got hit but fortunately right on the torch in his May [sic] West (flotation vest), made him grunt a bit but he was Ok to get us home again. I had to check all manner of bits that got damaged, seem to remember the fuel control levers, about ten of them got damaged and it was a nightmare of a lottery which bit of frayed wire controlled which tank, but guess I must have
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done the right thing because we got home!! Just remember all this is being done in more or less pitch black darkness with the “driver” dodging flak burst and weaving about for the gunners, none of it calculated to appeal to the faint hearted!! But I wanted to get home as well and could have been on a promise from my latest girl friend, what more incentive could a guy have? Over Dusseldorf we were hit by flack. We returned safely. This was a full point towards our 30 needed.
On the 24th Karlsruhe was the target, and Essen on the 26th, back to France on the 27th to Montzen one whole point for this one, but on the 30th again over France to Somain and back to 1/3 point no idea why.
My log book for April lists 40.15 hrs operational, total 56.05. It is signed by Squadron Leader (rank about Flight Lieutenant shown as F/L and S/L) Officer Commanding (OC) “B” Flight This Officer was in overall control of all LEADERS for that flight of a number of aircraft and men to fly them, The ranks when I was in the RAF were Pilot officer, Flying Officer, Flight Lieutenant, Squadron Leader, Wing Commander, Group Captain, won’t bother with the rest, but the rank did not signal the position held visa vi aircraft operations as these ranks applied also to medical, religious, cook house and all other branches concerned with the RAF so a clerk could be a Squadron Leader if an officer, got it? BUT no non-flying type ever got to be incharge [sic] of operational people, want a riot do you? Unless you had pilot’s wings, very few other crew members ever made it to high rank, had to be a “driver” to get to the top. and so it should be I say!! Driver a term used by non drivers to put them in their place at times of getting about themselves, like chatting up your girl or not standing their round at the bar!!
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Underlined] F/E Reg Miles [/underlined]
May started with an air to air fighter affil. A Fighter Affil was us in a Halifax or Lancaster bombers in daylight practicing avoiding a fighter and a fighter doing the same to us, or should I say trying to us down (in
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theory we hope) camera guns used, good fun if you like sick making dives and climbs, as Flight Engineer the only one of the crew in constant free fall, all others belted in and the pilot having a real fun time as he tries to make the slow bomber do things never designed for it!! Hope that tells you what fighter affil was, never tried it at night guess not too many would land again in one piece, with 19-20 year old boys doing wheelies in the sky with permission of the 24-25 year old bosses!! But this one we didn’t finish due to the weather. Heavy cloud moved in and the exercise was D.N.C.O duty not carried out! My Log book will show by each notation D.C.O. or D.N.C.O. DCO is Duty Carried Out, DNCO has a not in it!!!
In fact May was a bad month only two ops. The first was to France at Le Clipon. I note that on the night of the 19.5.44 ops Le Clipon that there is a small red note 15x500 could be what bombs we took!! The second mission in May was to France as well, to Mont Couple for a grand total for the month of 2/3 of a point. Most of the time was spent night flying about England doing more training.
A recent TV show about drugs, reminds me of something during my service, which many people may not know happened. On at least two occasions we were drugged!! Not too sure which ones it was but, you see we weren’t ever told what was being planned or cancelled, just called up to do a raid. Once we were pulled out of bed to do a raid and given pills to keep us awake, the raid was then cancelled after we had climbed aboard out planes, we were then given more pills to make us sleep. No idea what the pills were or even if they worked!!!
The second of June started much as May with an op to Neufchatel in France for another one third point, and on the 12th six days after D Day, Les Lauzon and I were marshalling V Victor from our dispersal to the main runway, as I unlocked the elevators by pulling out the large pin something slipped and my hand was trapped and very badly cut, I had to be taken to the hospital, sewn up, bandaged and my arm put in a sling. No possibility of my going on the op so a spare F/E was called up in my place.
Later that night after some pain killers and a rest I heard the 432 ‘planes returning and went down to the Ops room where all returning crews had to call in and give our statement of events, what we saw, if we could give any details of aircraft shot down, and all the details that would help to decide if the target had been hit. When the Station Adjutant saw me he had a fit, my mother had just been sent a telegram to say I was missing on operations, my crew had been shot down and would not be returning.
This was a great shock to me. It would also be a shock to my parents. and as it was now just after 8 o/clock in the morning knew that my
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Dad would be at work in his office on the docks at Dover, gave the Adjutant the number and was put through in record time, told Dad I was ok and would explain the details when I saw him.
Each crew shared a nissen hut with another crew, not a happy situation when the other crew went missing, but the padre or one of his staff quickly gathered all the stuff up and it was sorted out by one of the squadron officers to send to the parents, anything not nice was removed. I was lucky my stuff was not sent before I managed to let them know I was still on camp!!
Nothing for me to do on the base so home I went on the next train from York to Dover. Trains, now that is something that you should all enjoy, no Air Raid Wardens, the guard just turned off all lights when an air raid warning was sounded, if a tunnel was near the train would go in there, but we are only talking about trains near the coastal regions, hit and run raids were the ones that tried to get trains, trucks etc but that soon stopped when the RAF squadrons became equipped with plenty of fighters to scare the low fliers away, happened to me a couple of times on my way to Dover on leave but really not a worry, worse things happen at sea we always said. Train travel was dirty, uncomfortable, long delays, overcrowded with troops and all there [sic] gear going about the country, only very rarely would a seat be available and soon given up to the lass with a baby on board or in arms, the corridors solid from end to end, tired people going back from leave and even more tired people going home for a spell away from war, but in some cases going into more war if their home was in the south, not that the north escaped bombing raids but it continued for longer in the south in fact almost to the day war ended, V1s and V2s almost to the end. After I was made an officer I travelled first class, now that was good if I had a travel warrant, not so hot if I had to pay for it, lot of rubbish I thought but must do as I am told like a good boy.
I arrived just after eight the next morning and phoned Dad from the Railway Station, he picked me up and took me home, Mum was at the local corner shop and post office, all the staff knew me and also knew about the telegram.
I did not notice a great deal about the Normandy build up, the landing happening on the 6th. We flew over the south of England on our night operations and sometimes were on our way home at dawn we would see the build up. As I usually spent time with my father in the Dover docks while on leave would have seen what was going on. But remember Dover was always very busy and some parts were off limits to every one, any double decker buses used on that part of the coast had all the top windows locked and pained on the outside black so no view of what was happening about the place.
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D Day itself, however, must have come and gone without me noticing it. A bit like V Day and J Day. I was in all probability flying somewhere, or coming from somewhere by car, train, boat, or foot, just never registered, but see years later the crowds in London celebrating, guess they were lucky to be there at that time.
Being home with a wound, I thought I would have some luck with the local girls if I spun the yarn that I had swum the English Channel with one hand, didn’t work out that way because a couple of days later I had a big lump behind my ear and a raging headache, high temperature and not a well boy at all. Dad took me to the closest Military Hospital which was in fact at Dover Castle (built by William the Conquer 1066), beneath which miles of tunnels had been cut and a large and modern hospital installed, I was told that I had an infected scalp, the poison was draining into a gland behind my ear and would take a while to heal, perhaps brought on by a combination of shock from my injured hand and the loss of my crew, a close bond exists when people depend on each other for their survival and air crew had a very close bond. I was taken by ambulance to an old country mansion up the valley a few miles inland from Dover, this was on or about the 10-12 June 1944, no medicine was available to treat my condition, just aspirin for the pain and high temperature, I lay in bed staring through the large windows hoping for sleep and return to health and wondering what had happened to my crew, night time was the worst, nursing staff all asleep upstairs and every one else snoring their heads off.
Then to make matters worse the Germans started sending over Flying Bombs on the night of the 13-14 June and every night and day after that, these pilot-less aircraft had a rocket type motor which had a pulse mechanism that gave them a strange but most recognisable noise, when the noise stopped they just fell out of the sky and the one ton of explosives made a nasty mess of anything underneath. They were programmed to fly up the valley where I was laying sick in bed and on the opposite hills from my bed were 20 and 40m/m quick firing guns, which of course fired at each and every one they saw or thought they did. I swear they were firing straight at me and thought it very unfair that after putting up with Jerry firing his guns at me now my own side were doing the same!
After the war there was a newspaper article showing the location of all Doodle Bug strikes in Kent. I still have a copy, and it is copied elswhere [sic] on this CD.
I was in that hospital for more than a week until one afternoon the doctor seemed to think I was ripe and cut into this lumps behind my ear and out popped a golf ball sized ball that looked like wound up white wool, all pain went and the wound soon healed up,.
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A few days at home to get my strength up and I was told to report to 420 Sqdn RCAF at Tholthorpe in Yorkshire, where I was crewed up with Jim Tease as pilot and the usual other members of E easy, they had lost their F/E somehow can’t remember now why, but they were a nice bunch and as I had done a few more trips than them, was an old hand!!
One such trip they made without me Jim has only recently told me of. On the 25th of July 44, Jim relates, we started for Stuttgard with over-load petrol tanks in the wing bomb bays, and the fuel lines were plugged so we could not get the fuel from them into the main tanks, so we had an early return. He then says “think you were the F/E but book says Naish”. His Book is correct.
The new crew to which I was assigned was as follows. Jim Tease Pilot, Bridgeman Bombardier, Nicklen Navigator and best man at my wedding!, Baker Wireless Operator, Vaughan Gunner, and Yack Gunner. Our ground crew were LACs Jones, Milne, Parker, Smith and Sgt Berry. All were RCAF.
When I was stationed with 420 Snowy Owl RCAF Squadron our motto was ‘pugnamus finitum’ which translated mean (so I’m told) ‘We fight to the finish’, now my long time RAF mate, (Halton, South Africa etc) arrived on the companion Squadron at Tholthorpe, good looking always got the pretty girl, 425 Alouette RCAF Squadron motto ‘Je te Plumerai’ “I shall pluck you” how appropriate for a French Canadian outfit, the re-write by all and sundry is painfully obvious, even more so for my mate Darce, got through the war OK but lost touch in 1947 and just hope he is still doing what he always did best!!
Our first op together was on the night of 28th July to Hamburg in Germany, the port inner lost all of it’s oil over the target, flack put a hole in a pipe so we returned on three engines and for some reason it wouldn’t feather so that was added drag but we made it back in one piece, and all felt good that one was over.
On the night of the 31st we were over Deuf-en-Ternois and had a slight argument with an ME109 we both tried to get into firing position and the Jerry pilot realised that he might come off worse if he didn’t go away which he suddenly did, we were happy to see him go!! We again had problems which meant we couldn’t return to base but had to land at Skipton an emergency aerodrome equipped with FIDO.
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Landing away from home usually would be on a FIDO drome. Once landed, our ‘plane would be towed clear of the runway and dumped for us to sort out in daylight, we would get our heads down wherever we could and as it was often nearly dawn by the time we had sorted out our problems we would get some more fuel get the fans fixed and fly back to base, where we would then be de-briefed have a meal and either get some kip or get ready for the next one.
August 3rd daylight to Foret-de-Nieppe in France target an ammunition dump. Flying at night we all went our way and took no notice of friend or foe unless forced to, by daylight the powers that be decided we should fly in, and practice formation, all very good for them that always get lost or need to hold hands, not us we know where to go and what time we should be there so get out of the way and follows us if you like!!!
Perhaps I should try to relive the first daylight raid I went on, that would have been 3:8:44 Foret-de-Nieppe. I mentioned before that as far as flak we never had a free ride, well the flak this first daylight one is well remembered.
It seemed all very strange at first to be able to see what we were doing, not having to squint with hardly any illumination to read gauges and find things by touch alone, so a bit like a holiday as we set “sail” to our target. All our friends around us, not I hasten to add in formation, but at time close enough to be able to recognise some and even give them a wave as we passed close. We of course were heading in the correct direction for the target, where some of the others were off to we did not know, kites flying off all over the place, and yet at night we all arrived where we should be, but how we missed one another in the dark is a mystery. Thinking about it, all the navigators were in their little cubicles without reference to what was happening outside and were working out their own headings taking into account the wind directions and the aircraft speed, so were doing their own plans to get to the target on time, bit like modern motorists taking different roads to get to their work places on time. Any how the skipper and I looked at the mess of planes going every which way and remarked that some of them must be mad, not us we knew where we we [sic] going. Gradually things sorted themselves out and a few of us were going in roughly the same direction, not all at the same height I might add but you can’t have everything can you? As the holiday spirit continued we saw some of our ‘planes cross our path and joined us, where they had been no one knew, but we had a gaggle of bombers heading towards the target. Crossed the coast of England and could see the French coast coming up, no need for the bomb aimer to tell the skipper and I but the navigator would welcome the information and the fact that we were not alone anymore!!
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“Ten minutes to target” came through the inter com from the navigator and as was usual a heading for the skipper to take as soon as we had dropped our bombs, often a lot of noise over the target so best to get our escape route sorted before going in.
And there was the target the first wave had been in and were on their way home again, but it was impossible to get to the target, one solid mass of bursting flak, not enough room between the bursts for even a small ‘plane let alone a bomber. The skipper and I stared through the windscreen, we did not say anything but guess he felt as I did that this was going to be one hell of a trip, the holiday was over that was for sure.!! The bomb aimer was crouched over the bomb sight giving directions, only the skipper and I could see what was in front of us but in we went and all was suddenly revealed to us what we could see were the shells that had burst, the ones to worry about were the ones that were on their way up, not quite back to the holiday spirit, but survival was now possible, the great puffs of stinking smoke were swept aside as we juddered from near misses and kept on course to our dropping point, a quick look around the sky showed our friends doing what we were doing and guess we weren’t the only ones to have had a bit of a fright at our first daylight op.
Daylight operations were less stressful then night missions I would say over all, though we didn’t know about stress then. We could see what we were doing as we took off and every one in the crew could do their job without trying to see with a very dim light, the wop and nav could even see outside through their windows, not having previosly [sic] seen the bursting flak, and burning ‘planes, the first time in daylight may have been rather a shock for them!!! For our pilot I’m sure it made life just a little easier, taking off in the dark with a full load, not able to see where you were on the runway or how close to the end and it’s obstructions you were, for me it was a strain but for him trying to physically lift the beast into the air must have been a constant worry, and landing back in the light at base where he could see all the other circling ‘planes, the runway not a shadow but there in all it’s concrete glory was much easier than trying to figure out where everything on the ground was and where he was in relation to other unseen aircraft. I suppose both kind of operations had their good and bad points, at night you crept into the target like a black cat in a black room, unseen you hoped but concerned with contact with both fighters and your own friends, navigation difficult because of lack of ground sighting, landing and taking off harder, even taxing to a dispersal difficult at times. In daylight everything could be seen even you over the target so no hiding in clouds, just fly in and drop the bombs and get out again, not sure which I preferred, if you survived all were good!!
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We had fighters flying with us to keep the enemy ones away, so just a little of the holiday spirit came back, but on future ones we had the sight of bombers falling to the flak, my most vivid one was seeing a Flying Fortress some miles away have a wing shot off and counting the parachutes that came out as the ‘plane tumbled over and over and eventually disappear through the clouds. But for this trip there was none of that, and later it was very nice to see all the other squadrons from the many ‘dromes in our part of the world circling their airfields to go into land, some had a few bits hanging off them, and I suppose some had injured aboard, but home was near at hand a mug of coffee well laced with rum and one more to enter in the log book as DCO.
August 4th daylight again to France a pilot less plane storage dump at Boiss-de-Cassair. These were the V-1 Rockets, or Doodle Bugs as they were called. All we could see of the target was really only a gap in the forest with the ramp for the doodle bug to be fired up for launching, and the rest of the site was hidden in the trees,. I guess the local French Resistance would have sent the information by wireless of the location. Afterwards, not much to see when a number of bombers have dropped a few tons of bombs on a target. We used 500lb and 1000lb bombs on these sort of targets. Not too sure what our maximum bomb load for the Halibag would be but must have been at least 6 ton, but please don’t quote me! The area looked like a very poorly ploughed field after we had gone.
Regarding Bomb Loads this what Jim Tease, our pilot, has in his log book and I feel he is correct in what states. “We made many trips with 16x 500lb bombs, others were 9x 1000lb + 4x500lb. only one trip with a 2000lb + incendiaries, no record of taking a 4000lb believe the bomb doors would not fully close on a Halifax if one was loaded, bombs and petrol load would depend on the target and it’s distance from base”.
August the 5th daylight yet again to France this time ammunition stored in caves at St-D’Esserent. As usual there was no way for us to know if our bombs hit the target, whether we exploded the ammo dumps inside their caves or not. The explosions caused by our bombs 500, 1000, 2000, 4000, bombs going off do tend to make a lot of smoke and fireworks so unless we were on the ground hard to tell our bombs exploding from the enemy ammo or target going up, we did sometimes get a report days later from our briefing officer to say “well done target gone”.
It is a bit hard for me to explain about what was saw on the ground both in England and over the enemy, you see when I was flying passengers in Avro Yorks, from UK to other parts of the world, one of the first things passengers used to say as well climbed up to 8000 ft our cruising height was “Oh look the sun is shining” they didn’t seem to understand that it always is!!
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The highest we ever bombed at was 24,500ft all crew members with paddles going like crazy!! But that is still well over the cloud layer. Because that part of the world is more often than not shrouded in cloud people forget that above the clouds there is always sunshine. So you see most times we were over cloud, never saw a completely cloud free sky.
August 7th night operation to bomb Tanks and artillery in the German line at La-Hougue. You will note that August was a very busy month, nearly every day we were out either day or night, can be a bit confusing to remember what and where we went, guess one target is much like another, lots of flak, bits of hot stuff flying about just ajumble in the memory, one thing that does stay vivid and I really can’t be sure just when it happened or which target it was, only know it was at night and could have been in August. I think it was this mission to La-Hougue.
We took off on a very dark and rainy night and were told that the cloud and rain would clear just as we got to the target, we seem to have started our night flights very late at that time. Well we climbed to our cruising height and were in thick storm clouds, listening hitting us and rain very heavy, the whole aircraft glowed with static electricity and large rain drop slid along the radio wires like illuminated ping pong balls, to burst as they hit the fins and rudders, the ride was very bumpy and the skipper and I tried going up or down to get clear of all this storm without any luck, just before the target was reached we flew into bright moonlight, bombed and returned within minutes into what looked like a solid black wall from ground to the sky and flew in this muck all the way home, I see we landed at Tilstock on Fido one night so perhaps that was the night, have a vague feeling that we were one of the very few who made it to the target that night.
August 8th Daylight to France to bomb oil storage dump at Foret-de-Chantilly. On the way home from this mission, or perhaps one of the other daylight missions, an enemy fighter came toward us. The Germans, however, seemed as cautious as my crew was. There were plenty of targets in the sky for the fighters so why risk getting shot at if you could creep up on a crew too lazy to do their job properly. So when this fighter approached us in daylight our gunners gave him a warning burst at a distance and he just turned away. However we watched as he dived straight on another ‘place about a couple of miles away and shot it down. That crew had not been alert and did not see him coming. We were all on our way home, but the time to relax was on the ground not in the sky.
August 9th night operation to Foret-de-Nieppe to bomb ammunition dumps. What does this mean, you might ask? Was it like they show in films? Like most people I often view WW2 films on the box and have
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always wondered which war the markers were intending to show, certainly not the one played a little part in. You see when a bomber is shown being attacked by fighters or anti aircraft fire there always seems a lot of shouting and the intercom is full of talk, not on any bomber I flew in, or passenger one either.
So let me go through what I and the crew did. On the ground we were the usual young, bugger about, chase the girls, have a drink etc boys, but once in the ‘plane that all changed and the pilot, skipper or skip as he was known was boss, not in any heavy handed way but no task was started without his ok and all functions were reported to him.
So he and I marshalled the aircraft in a position allocated to us for that night’s raid on the perimeter track leading to the runway in use, there we left it while a last meal was had, briefing concluded, and we as a completed crew were then taken by truck to our ‘plane. The Canadian Salvation Army called at each ‘plane as we waited to board, handing out cigarettes and chocolate, and a last fumble in the layers of clothes was made to get rid of any urine likely to cause pain, no toilets on our “kites”.
A green light was shone from the small caravan parked at the end of the runway to tell us it was time to climb abroad, this caravan was painted in large black and white squares, a Perspex roof blister was used to signal to the crews and need less to say it was towed away before we started to land back after our raid, with the way some of us landed it would not have lasted very long in one piece likewise the occupants!!
Each one of the crew settled into their place and checked that all was ok with their bits and bobs, the pilot would then call each position in turn (not by the persons name but what position they occupied, ie rear gunner, navigator, etc) and each crew member would reply along the lines of “OK SKIPPER” I was often left to last and was given the order to start engines when my turn came, after all we running satisfactory, I would log the start time and all pressures and temperatures etc, the navigator would no doubt make a note in his log of this time also, when our aircraft letter was flashed from the control caravan we would taxi onto the runway, I would select what angle of flaps the skipper wanted, set take off boost and hold the throttles behind his hand to ensure we stayed straight along the runway. As we climbed up I would only raise the undercarriage and flaps as he ordered, setting climbing revs and boost as he wanted, and would without any order synchronise the engine revs on each side so that the propeller blades did not rotate in respect to one another. If we were one of the first in our squadron to take off we would gradually climb to the operation height and circle the ‘drome until all our aircraft were present, not that we could see much on a dark night but we had a set time to “set course for the target”.
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During the climb and setting course for the target one very important job was the charging and locking of the Hydraulic accumulator, this was an emergency charge of hydraulic fluid which would be enough to lower the undergear and even the flaps if we were lucky, should damage to the engine which drove the pump or the system itself be damaged. Was just a large cylinder connected to the hydraulic system filled with air (what this was pressured to I have forgotten only 56 or so years ago so sue me for having a bad memory) fluid was let into this cylinder and charged to a certain pressure (sue me) and the cock turned off so the fluid was held under pressure by the air also in the cylinder, in an emergency the undercarriage would be set to ‘lower’ and this cock turned on and hopefully this stored fluid would lower the gear, Got all that? Phyll just read the first part I sent and was rather surprised that I could still know what to do but not sure if the RAF would still require my service!! Back to the plot!!
As we reached about 12000ft I would change the supercharger speed to high, make sure all the crew were on oxygen, and fill in all the details in my log these included petrol consumption and which tanks I was using, I always tried to have an equal amount of fuel in each tank by the time we reached our target so that should a tank be punctured we only lost a small amount of petrol, but each time I changed tanks permission was asked from the skipper and he was informed when I had done it.
There we are drifting along trying to make sure we didn’t bump into any of our own ‘planes in the dark sky, all lights were at dim, mine to fill in my log was at a glimmer when wanted, all the pilot’s instruments lights very low and the blackout curtain between the bomb aimer’s position and the navigator and WOP very tightly fastened, both working with minimum lights. And it got cold, the gunners and bomb aimer had heated suits but even they felt it, as for the navigator his hands were too cold at times to hold a pencil and asked the Skip if I could direct hot air down to his position, The skip and I already partly frozen but to get there and back we needed to know which way so hot air it was and some of our bits that might be wanted in more pleasant times went into cold storage.
There was no chatter between crew members, and if someone left their mic on by mistake he was soon reminded of the fact, young as we all were I am reminded of very professional we were, perhaps that is why we survived to tell our tales!
This professionalism was needed. One night we had a Halifax with a mid under turret, not a standard feature in earlier models, and a gunner was added to our crew to man it. The gunner we were landed with saw more enemy fighters in the 6 or so hours we were airborne than I think were
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available to the Germans at any time during the war. This excitability was not helpful. We go rid of the mid under and that gunner.
Why we survived and others didn’t was because we took notice of the experts (those pilots and crews who had done it lots of time) you don’t fly straight and level thinking of nothing much, but weave and bank slightly so that the gunners get an all round view of things, there is no blind spot under the tail if you stay awake. No need for a lower turret to fill that blind spot then.
I can only speak for myself but guess all the crew were feeling as I was, and that was that our navigator would take us there and back, our gunners would spot the attacking aircraft in time and either shoot it down or scare it off, our pilot was second to none and would steer us through whatever came our way, our radio operator would get a fix, receive a message, and let us know what was happening, our bomb aimer would always hit the target, and I would keep the old girl in the air until we got home safely again. So there was no need for lots of chatter we all did our jobs and depended on the others to do theirs.
The navigator would sometimes ask the skipper if I could do a star shot for him, over my position I had an astro dome, would unload the sextant from it’s case hang it from the hook, wind up the clockwork 2 minute time and after I had found whichever star was wanted tell the skipper and of course the navigator I was ready when they were, the navigator would tell me when to start and I would press the trigger and try to keep the star in the mirror., at the end of the two minutes a reading of the average of all my shots would come up on a panel which I would give to the navigator, on the ground I had been averaging 2 to 3 miles, not as good in flight but handy if other navigating items were not up to scratch.
The bomb aimer was in the nose during the flight and gave what information he could to the skipper but the navigator also heard it and it would be something like this “Coast coming up skip” “crossing the coast now”. Now we were over enemy territory.
Details of flack ships and sites seen in action would be reported much the same, no panic just facts. The gunners would report fighters positions and would not fire unless ordered to. We were told that on some nights our fighters would be in the “stream” so gunners watch out for them, and they would circle the German dromes to shoot down any fighters taking off or landing, the Germans did that to our bombers early in the war but as we got air superiority it was our turn to be the nasty ones. Still, Fighters of any type all were enemy until they proved otherwise. Very few of either nation came
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near us. In most cases the fighters saw we were a threat to them and went elsewhere.
Although there was sufficient ammunition for whatever may occur, our own use was very minimal and mainly used to test fire the guns soon after airborne, our job was to deliver bombs and drop them hopefully at the right place, which we seem to do most of the time.
One night standing in the astro dome doing my bit of searching the sky I looked up and saw a FW 190 almost within touching reach just above me, would not have been 10 feet away. I told the skipper and of course the gunners wanted to have a go, but as the skipper said we are supposed to be bombing and will just slide away but if we see one the way back shoot the bastard down. The FW covered the sky, was flying quite close and not much faster than we were, no doubt we could have given it a very sore bum. But the skipper rightly said no, could have all gone wrong anyway, maybe his mate was close at hand and while we blazed away at one, another could have had us who knows?
Remember that this is flying in darkness. We had radar, but not for seeing other planes. We used radar in a thing called H2S, shows as a small bulge under the fuselage of bombers, used to show a map of the ground and useful for bombing on nights with full cloud cover. Radar, good if you are a fighter but what good would it do us, never switch any radar on even H2S unless needed, gives out a signal for the enemy to follow and get you, switch it off and use the mark 1 eye balls.
There were very many different anti fighter systems used, these names are all either tail warning devices (which caused more trouble that they were worth) special aircraft with German speaking radio operators who would tune into the German fighter directors and give conflicting directions, The Germans would do as we did and use people with distinct dialects to stop this, microphones were installed in the engine bays and this sound would be sent out on the fighter wave lengths to stop the information from being received. Gee was a navigation aid using three or more radio beacons and a special receiver, window you know about but many different versions of Radar were used to block fighters, G-H, Oboe, Serrate, Monica, ABC, Corona, and many names I either never knew or have forgotten were all warning devices fitted near the tail to warn rear gunners of the approach of night fighters, I suppose some lives were saved until the Germans had a crashed ‘plane to work on and then it was just the reverse, switch it on and get caught! All of this electronics, if on board for this mission, would be in use or ready for use while we moved towards our target through the night sky.
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The navigator would also tell the pilot that it was time to start “window” and at what rate, another of my jobs, as was the dispatch of leaflets to inform the enemy that it was time to give in, why didn’t I ever keep some??? So you have a very noisy ‘plane with not much chatter going on all the crew going about their jobs quietly, checking with the skipper if required and all hearing what was being done to keep us safe.
The view from the cockpit at night was minimal, the occasional flare of a bursting shell which changed to continuos [sic] bursts as we got near the target or passed near flak sites, the halfseen shapes of other bombers or fighters with muffled flames from their exhausts, from the astro-drome on a clear night, the dark blue inverted bowl of the sky pierced with a multitude of twinkling lights, but these often shaded by the dark shadows of friend and foe as they passed by.
Dark nights and heavy clouds were the norm, rain and lightening greeted us most times, eyes strained to see what was not there, but ready to give a warning of any contacts either friend or foe.
A master radar controlled searchlight may catch us and very soon we were “coned” no panic, every one closed one eye to retain night vision, and either the bomb aimer or the rear gunner would give the pilot instructions about the best way to get out of it, usually to dive down the master one and do very sudden sharp turns to one side, always got out before any real damage was done, and never ever thought we wouldn’t!!
Now we were nearing the target and the ‘plane jumped about as we flew through the wake of our bombers ahead of us, on a thousand bomber raid at night over the one target things get a bit hairy. Some of the sudden jumps are not ‘plane wakes but the burst of anti aircraft shells trying to send us down, but at night you see the flash, hear the rattle of splinters, check that all is well with the crew and our ‘plane and just carry on. The navigator would tell the skipper than it was say 5 minutes to target, the bomb aimer would have set his bomb sight to drop the bombs in a certain pattern, we had wing and fuselage bomb bays, and with the right pattern the pilots had an easier task to control the ‘plane as it lost it’s load, a 2000Ib ‘cookie’ really gave us a quick lift when let go, I can imagine that some of the Lancasters that carried and dropped 12000Ib and larger “earthquake bombs” really hit the heights when relieved of their parcels!
Now all eyes were searching the sky even harder than they had been, searchlights were weaving their way across the sky, catching a plane which was lit up and looked just like a moth around a lamp, sometime they slid out of the light, some time they suddenly flashed into extinction, and some
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times the flashing of guns was seen as a fighter chanced his luck amongst the bursting anti aircraft and was answered by the bomber gunners.
The flashing of bursting bombs, rattle and crash of anti aircraft shells bursting, searchlights sweeping the sky and settling on some lone ‘plane to be followed by the stream of incendiary bullets, all make the hearts of the night bomber crews halt for just a fraction as they go about the job of beating the foe into submission. Hearts once young and tender soon become hardened to this show of defiance, but not to the sudden eruption of flames at their height as one of their own is hit and spirals to destruction, “bastards” comes through the intercom from all quarters and the empty bottles, bricks and old iron brought for this occasion are pushed out of gun turrets and down flare and ‘window’ chutes, the rage is personal you can’t do this to ours is the feeling.
All in all over the target it was quite a busy place to be and we still had to reach the aiming point drop our bombs and beat a hasty retreat. Each plane that was hit was reported and logged by the navigator, new anti aircraft gun sites logged, ‘window’ and leaflets pouring out the chute, bomb doors opened and from the bomb aimer ‘steady, left steady left steady hold it hold it and the magic BOMBS GONE, bomb door closed, new course from the navigator and turn for home, but still aware that his was perhaps the most dangerous time, many crews relaxed and never got home. So search the sky dodged the ack ack and searchlights, perhaps put on a bit of speed by dropping a few thousand feet, and again that most welcome call from the bomb aimer still in the nose ‘coast coming up, crossing the coast’ and now I could eat my bit of chocolate, and just ease a little.
The wireless operator would be giving weather and other information to both the skipper and the navigator, as the navigator and wop sat next to one another many messages were passed by notes to and fro, but one that sent shivers through us was
“Intruders reported over the ‘drome skip” not often but meant we could not relax even when we arrived back at base, never got caught, guess our night fighters got up and sorted things for us. So on a normal return to base we were greeted by the interlocking rings of lights from all the multitude of bomber bases in Yorkshire, and each one flashed it’s own recognition red light to welcome it’s pigeons home, no radio silence now as there was prior to take off, call in make our letter E EASY and given a height and position in the queue, and as we were called down and moved up in the queue sometimes had to loose our turn to one of ours with dead and wounded on board, or no fuel left or any one of the things that happen to planes that will go out searching for trouble, down we go and I stand by the pilot and do all the actions in reverse, undercarriage, flaps and so on, all the others are
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strapped in but not me I just stand next to our pilot and help him as and when wanted, down we go another perfect landing and taxi to our dispersal, the crew climb out to wet the grass again while the skipper and I switch off everything, lock the brakes and controls, and make our own way to a quick piss, climb in the waiting truck and head for debriefing.
Now we would give our version of events while we are handed a large mug of coffee liberally laced with rum. Here we report the sighting of the sudden eruption of flames at our height, which we knew to be one of our own being hit and destroyed – the sighting that sent us to throwing junk down at the enemy. But at de-briefing, we were told it was on a “Scarecrow” shot up by the enemy to make us afraid. But it didn’t, it made us mad and nothing the briefing officer could say convinced us that it wasn’t one of ours failing to their death. So was the whole thing counter-productive by both sides, we just got mad not scared, so the enemy lost that one and we never really knew if there were such things as “Scarecrows” just kept heaving out the junk.!!
After debriefing, we hand in our parachutes, and head for a meal and bed. Our ground crew would be busy checking E Easy for faults, some I will have reported on landing to them, the camera film will be taken from the bomb sight and on it’s way to processing, and a hush will settle on this and many airfields while the weary rest for the next effort, but usually woken up by the roar of engines being tested for the next one.
The next one was August 12th, a daylight run again to France. The target this time was Foret-de-Mont Richard, more ammunition dumps.
August 18th Night to France to bomb the Railway Marshalling Yards at Connatre. must again had a problem because we landed at Skellingthorpe, returning to base the next day.
August 27th daylight to France to bomb a construction site at Marquise – Minoyecques being built to launch flying bombs on London.
I must add details of my selection interview by a senior RAF officer for a commission, My Flight commander had asked me to put in for a commission and when I failed to do so, gave me a direct order, sat me down and made me fill in all the forms, I just forgot all about it and rather than play the usual games that Canadian Air Crew used to while away the hours between operations of horse shoes, billiards and pool, I managed to convince the Station Engineering Officer to supply me with a hut, tools, bench, and a worn out Hercules engine. This I proceeded to take to pieces and section so that every one who was interested could see the inside of a very complicated sleeve valve engine, and perhaps treat them with just a
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little more respect! I would check with my pilot each day if we were flying and if not cycle out to my hut which was away from the main area and certainly not in range of the public address speakers. So I happily worked on my own getting my clothes well covered in oil and the aluminium dust from the sawing and filing which clung to everything this mean that I had to wear really old uniforms when working and must say that after a few hours in my hut did not look too special! A breathless Flight Sergeant burst in through the door and shouted with the little breath he had left ”Your name Miles?” When I replied yes it was, told me that that public address (Tannoy) had been calling for me for some hours to report to Head Quarter for my interview with Air Commodore. Said I would go back to my barrack room to change “No you won’t, I’ve been looking for you all morning and you go there now” Didn’t want to be an officer anyhow so who cares, arrived at Head Quarters on my cycle to be met by yet another Flight Sergeant, if anything more angry than the first, “Don’t you read Daily order Miles” I walked into the waiting room to find all other applicants polished and shining in their best uniforms, sat in rows like birds on a fence, my own make said “Hard luck Reg” Before I could answer yet another Flight Sergeant with great glee said “Miles you’re next” So In I went to stand in front of the table behind which sat My Squadron Wing Commander, The Base Group Captain, My Flight Leader and the imposing figure of the Air Commodore. Their eyes were all focused on the notes they were making about the previous applicant as I saluted and stated my name rank and service number. Eyes were raised and a look of horror passed over the faces of each one as they looked at this dirty silver speckled scruffy airman. The Air Commodore asked why I had not appeared when called before and how had I got into this condition. It seemed to me that only the truth would do and so I related my story of the engine I was working on and said how sorry I was that I had caused so much trouble. The Air Commodore asked each of the other officers if they were aware of my efforts and no one did, “ring the Engineering Officer and check while we question Miles” he confirmed my story and said I was doing a good job and hoped it would be finished before I left the Squadron. While this was going on The Air Commodore and I were chatting away about my service history and how far I had got with the engine, finally he said “I shall be pleased to welcome you into the Officer’s Mess in a few weeks time, we need more people like you who just get on and do things” So I walked out head high through the waiting room and said to all and sundry “I’ve got mine good luck to you”
Quite a busy month trying to help our ground troops push their way through France. I have not mentioned the training flights also carried out between operations, so that apart from the odd break we were flying most days and nights. My crew and I must have had some leave during the first week of September because my flight record for that month is a training flight on the 9th and a note that I had had some more practise at flying a Halifax,
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we only had one pilot on board and that was Jim Tease so if he got injured or killed who would fly us home? That left only me who did at least know how things worked but as I had no flying training on small aircraft it was very difficult to manage something so big and slow to react to the controls, alter the angle of the control column and it seemed ages before anything happened so learners always over correct and you end up with a ride like a fair ground switch back, I practiced whenever I was able always in daylight and most time on the return flight from an operation, tried a few times landing on clouds, more forgiving than the ground, think I could have got back to England ok but landing without a crash I’m not so sure!!
Back to France in daylight to bomb a German strong point at Le Havre on September 10th. I seem to remember that we were one of the last on target and all that could be seen were bomb holes on top of bomb holes, The RAF and American Air Force had complete air superiority so we had only flack to contend with and that could be very accurate because the Germans use Radar tracking.
September 11th daylight to Germany, to the dreaded Ruhr Valley, to bomb a synthetic oil plant at Castro-Rauxel. Our height for this drop, based on the aiming point photo, was 16,500’, and our bomb load was 16 500lb bombs. We hit it smack on and our photo showed that, still have my copy given to us, and we were given a guided tour of 6 Group Bomber Command in recognition of our skill.
The tour we had of 6 Group Bomber command was more for the Canadian guys, so they could oggle the Canadian girls, told you before I was not impressed so just saw lots of lush offices and big boards with meaning less maps and figures on them. Waste of time I thought but the rest of the crew liked it so that was OK.
September 13th again to Germany in daylight to bomb the railway marshalling yards in Osnabruck, I have a note that it went well so presume the target was destroyed, daylight targets were a bit scary after night ones but soon got used to it and at least we could see what we were aiming at and whether we had been right on target.
September 15th A night raid on the shipping port of Keil in Germany, this was a 500 bomber operation, we were coned by about six radar controlled searchlights on the approach to Keil, with German night fighter hanging about out of the cones, all had to keep at least one eye closed as the light was very bright and if we managed to get out of them the fighters would pounce as we would all be blind, Jimmy Tease handled the bomber like a fighter diving and side slipping all over the place even at one time diving down one of the lights, and got us out, we were however hit by flack
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over the target and the perspex nose fell right off, Red Bridgeman the bomb aimer had to hold the black out curtains between his position and Nick Nicklen our navigator while I wired them together, Red had to stand with his feet over nothing all the way home to hold the curtain against the howling gale that came in, Nicks charts had all ended up down the fuselage mixed up with the bundles of window that I was pushing down the window chute.
These were sorted out and Nick went on with his job of guiding us home, from my notes looks as though we or some of our Squadron hit the target so a good prang was noted.
I do remember this next mission, a daylight raid on one of those massive guns built into the ground with a barrel hundreds of feet long pointed at London. This was September 17th. The target was in France at Boulogne, our height in my log is noted as 2000ft. 2000ft is very low for bombing could get damaged by the bombs in front of you going off especially in slow old things like Halis – Lancs. This was the only low level bombing I ever went on!!! Although we would bomb from 2,000 feet, we flew down from base in Yorkshire at about 8,000 feet. This was a good cruising height for our aircraft, as we passed over many cities, towns, airfields, hills, barrage balloons, tall chimneys, and other obstructions for low level craft.
When we got to the English coast lowered our undercarriage and flaps pulled back the throttles and dived down to 2,000 ft over the channel. The lowering of flaps, undergear and reducing engine revs helped us to quickly reduce our height, the channel is only a bit over 20 miles wide not a lot of distance to get a great old lumbering kite down low and level out and on course to give the bomb aimer a chance to fund the target.
The dive over the channel was to get us down to 2,000ft quickly, at the low height we were certain to hit the rather small target and not the surrounding empty fields or buildings. We also had to have time to make the approach without crowding other aircraft. We had to watch out for ‘planes all round us because, at this altitude, if we were too close to one in front we could get our ‘plane damaged by a bursting bomb from the plane in front. So not quite the “milk run” it would appear to be.
The flight down to the target on this trip must have been a change, able to see some of the country side. Although the whole operation only lasted 4 hours, and so not a lot of time for sight seeing, no doubt the gunners and bomb aimer had a nice view. The only time I had to look was when I took a moment as we flew over the village where my parents were living, but I did not see any street or bit that I could say, “that’s where I live”. It is surprising how difficult it is to recognise thing from the air that you haven’t seen a few
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times from the air. But the skipper and I as usual were busy making sure we got there OK. Sounds as if he and I were always busy doesn’t it? Well we were, bomber pilots had it tough, long hours at the “office” in all weather conditions, responsible for a number of other people’s lives, not forgetting their own. My job was to help him, so I did, as best as I was able. I also wanted to get home again!!!
Once we were down to 2,000 feet, we pulled all our hanging bits back on board opened the taps, then bombed this target with all we had, again being very careful not to get too close to the bomber in front. All I saw was a few acres of mud which kept leaping into the air and rearranging itself, guess another case of over kill!! After the target, we climbed again after bombing to 8,000ft for the return run over the afore mentioned obstructions to our flight path.
This target was noted in the log book as a “strong point” which we were told it was at the time, no one knew what it was so it was decided to destroy it. A ground investigation later on found the gun, much to every one’s surprise at it’s size and pointing straight at London, various TV programmes over the years have shown it and it’s concrete barrel rising from deep underground. Checking distances with my M.S World Atlas I found much to my surprise that Boulogne is the closest point in France to London, closer that Calais by about 10KM, so an obvious place to put a gun of this range and size.
September 19th we took our old ‘plane to the HCU at Dishforth she had done 56 trips and had been hard used many patches and repairs has been done so with all her proud bombing trips still painted on her nose she went to train more aircrew for the struggle still to come.
September 25th off again to France in daylight to bomb a German strong point at Calais another target gone, our new E easy going good!!
September 26th to France in daylight again to Calais bombed Gun positions and the docks in the harbour, noted as another good hit.
September 27th daylight to Germany Bottrop in the Ruhr, have note that we bombed a factory on visual which means some thing had gone u/s. My pilot, Jim Tease recently gave me some more information on this mission. “I had a friend now deceased who was a navigator on 428 Ghost Squadron. He wrote a book about Ghost Squadron & I compared his report of trips we were both on, and found we had different visions of what happened. On our 31 trip to Bottrop on Sept 27 I indicate there was 10/10 cloud for the whole trip, the Master of Ceremonies (Master Bomber) of the Path Finders lost his way and we bombed where (our navigator) said the target area was
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located. Ron’s book indicates the refinery was hit & smoke rose to 17000ft. So much for records!!”
My Log Book for that raid states “10/10 cloud Bombed Factory Visual M/C U/S” guess that all means we found a gap in the clouds and bombed the target but had solid cloud both there and back M/C U/S Master of Ceremonies out of order, unserviceable.
On one of these daylight raids we saw a V2 launched on one raid, didn’t know what it was just a streak in the sky. Looking out of the windscreen I saw a streak of smoke come through a layer of cloud and shoot up into the sky and disappear into the next lot of cloud, l know the skipper also saw it but who else I am not sure, lasted milli seconds. It was logged by the navigator and an estimation of where it had come from made by us. When and where seen etc was important, once a site was located it could be knocked out by bombing.
September 30th daylight again in Germany Sterkrade in the Ruhr saw one of our Sqdn go down and three of the seven get out on ‘chutes, we landed at a FIDO ‘drome at Cranesby, no brake pressure went off the end of a very long runway into a field of potatoes that had just been ridged up and we went across the ridges, a bit like roller skating on corrugated iron.
On the 4th of October we went to Bergen in Norway flying across the North Sea in daylight to bomb U/Boat pens and a large ammunition ship in the harbour. We flew across the sea both ways at 1000ft to be under German Radar, and climbed rapidly near the target to 12000ft, Mosquitos and Mustangs gave us fighter cover.
I still have an image in my mind of a semi-circular bay with a large ship moored more or less in the middle. As I remember it the country around Bergen is low lying, nothing at our height to give us cause for panic, but if the ship had blown up and we were down low could have cause major damage to one or more of our Halifaxs [sic].
The large ammunition ship blew up. The ship was still all in one piece when I last saw it and if our bombs had done the damage guess we would have been told. I think it was our rear gunner who told us via the intercom that it had blown up, and that is why we were there.
Our attack made the Bergan people even more anti British than they already were, Gillian visited there some years ago as the intended bride to the son of one of Bergen’s top families, the mother was a local member of parliament, they treated her most awfully which did not help when she casually mentioned that her Dad had bombed the place during the war,
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needless to say that romance soon died!!! The Norwegians still didn’t like us Brits, near enough to Germans and lots supported Hitler during the war, bit like the Swiss only interested in making money, the shits.
Of course, most ordinary Norwegian people hadn’t any view pro or anti regarding Germany and Britain, just wanted to get on with their lives as best they could. Those that were anti us had lots riding on our defeat, and were involved in either working for the Germans or making lots of money out of them by trading with them, those that helped us risked torture and death, and were really in more peril than we were, they were the real heroes. After the war and for many years, I never met anyone who speaking with what sounded like a German accent, was other than Swiss, even if they said their home town was in Germany!!!. I still find the Swiss attitude to money and it’s retention disgusting, particularly in the light of revelations of their trading with the Nazis in Gold and goods taken from innocent people. Guess ordinary people all over this world just want to eat and enjoy what little life they have, but greed gets in the way and those few who can claw their way up the ‘food’ chain and get much more than their fair share are the ones who I have no time for, being poor perhaps colours my out look!!!
So we come to the 6th of October and a night operation over Germany to Dortmund in the Ruhr Valley, this was a 500 bomber raid to the centre of the city, we again were hit by flack bits flying about all over the place and very red hot some hit the bomb door hydraulics which fell open and stay open and I’m sure that it was on this operation that a lump hit Nick Nicklen on his side making a very nasty bruise, fortunately it also hit the torch on his MAYWEST [sic] life jacket so didn’t kill him, he was in much pain but got us back to England ok, Nick was awarded the D.F.C. later and I am sure it was for this brave effort. Because of our damage we again had to land apart from our base and this time landed at Woodbridge and after some quick repairs we flew back to base the next day, where I was told that I had finished my tour of operations, had been granted a commission, given dockets and a leave pass to get my officers uniform and told to report back in seven days. A friend and I travelled to just about every city and large town in Yorkshire before we managed to get kitted up in Harrogate.
Before departing on leave and to await our next posting we had to hand in certain flying and escape items. There were mainly items of some value French and German money hidden in our clothes together with fine silk maps of France and Germany. Our flying boots which had a hidden knife in the sheep skin lining so that the long leg warmers could be cut off leaving what looked like ordinary shoes also were handed in, other items like compasses hidden under badges or in pencils, hacksaw blades concealed in the linings of clothes, a bag of oiled silk that could be used to hold water and a few other odds and ends we kept, these like so many things at that time
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had no value to us and no doubt went into the bin without much thought! Jim Tease and the rest of the crew still had a few operations to go but I was not allowed to finish with them told not to be so greedy, others wanted a go and as far as I was concerned they were welcome. So home on leave to await what the RAF had in store for me again. Cycling along the main road in Cliftonville what should I see but a bunch of very good looking WAAF’s (Woman’s Auxiliary Air Force, who did every job except fighting (which they sometimes had to do for their honour) from clerks to Radar operators, cooks to delivering aircraft from the factories, and with them a girl friend if but briefly from my school days, Phyllis Dike!! I made contact and started to see her and eventually proposed marriage to her, she wasn’t very keen but agreed in the end.
I was recalled to service and was posted to Heavy Conversion Unit 1332, Nutts Corner in Norther Ireland where I crewed up with F/lt Poore,a navigator and a wireless operator all of us being officers and had completed at least one tour on bombers, we were being trained to fly Avro Yorks on the main trunk routes from U.K to India and Ceylon now India, Pakistan and Shri Lanka [sic]. We started the flying part of the course on the 8th April 1945 and completed it on 17th of the same month. My flight log of my time in 1332 H.C.U. is presented later.
The Avro York interior lay out was much as the Lancaster. The pilot, F/E, Nav, Wop were together in a small group, the F/E acting as second pilot even if untrained. When spare pilots became available they took over the task of second pilot the f/e found himself a place amongst the mail bags to sleep and do his job as he could.
When a number of crews joined Transport Command after our course at Nutts Corner, we arrived at 242 Squadron in Stoney Cross. My log book details my flights with 242 Squadron.
Within a day or so we were all loaded onto an Avro York, flown I know not where and without any “by your leave” injected with multiple injections in both arms and I seem to remember elsewhere, we were told this was for protection against all the terrible deceases we could encounter in foreign lands, yellow fever was mentioned as one but there was a whole list of them. I know most of us were a bit under the weather for a few days, some even very sick. What sticks in the memory was that we weren’t asked or consulted just injected!!
I had already obtain permission to get married and given leave for that period, but the Wedding was on the 28th and I had to get home and do some organising, so used the “old boys” network and thumbed lifts to England and managed to get a train to get home in time. Don Nicklen my navigator
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from 420 sqdn came down from Yorkshire to be my best man, and I can’t say I saw much of him before it was away on a short honeymoon, and then back to camp for both of us!!
– Reg Miles
The URL of this page is
http://www.geocities.com/milbios/Milesbio4.html
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Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S.of T.T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U.s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242- 246 – 511 Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 5
242- 246 – 511 Squadrons, Transport Command, Lyneham, RAF
I started flying at 242 Sqdn on the 16th May again all training in passenger flying technique, rather different from press on bombing! We did a few cross countries and many three engined landing and the use of radio range flying. One exercise in the log book was Over Shoots and Landings. Overshoots and landings are practice in taking off again before you actually get the wheels on the ground, some clever dickies even run the wheels along the runway and open the throttles and take off again, alright for intrepid birdmen like fighter pilots but not recommended for serious passenger flying types. There are the odd occasions when the runway suddenly does not become clear for landing, animals, cars, fire engines, even other aircraft, so practice for these times (which may never happen) is necessary, these days a no risk practice can be made in the Flight Simulator, we had to do it the hard way with an instructor beside us and no knowledge of what we would be asked to do, he could shut down one engine and then another, drop the undercarriage, put on full flap, what ever his distorted mind felt like that day!! The pilots I flew with on Transport Command had all done at least one tour on bombers, some quite a number and were used to the enemy doing much the same to the aircraft, so no panic just the correct procedure and “What would you like next” often asked, with a wry grin. So the other to “overshoot” became automatic, with me acting on my pilot’s instructions about throttle, flaps and under gear, but I was always aware of what he wanted and would be “hands on” waiting, would have been a rather poor F/E if not ready when wanted!!
My crew went on leave after this training, so I was made a temporary Flight Engineer to the Squadron Leader, who took me on a test flight of my abilities to Cairo and back, left Stoney Cross on the 4th flew to Luqa in Malta.
Malta was still on a war footing. Luqa, on Malta, a dry and stony place all the airport buildings pained white but very small and certainly not like any airport you may have seen, a concrete slab to park on for refuelling, all
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of which had to be done through massive filters, with chamois leather inserts to catch any water and of course the ever present dust and sand. All the ground crew well tanned and going about their jobs with efficiency, being bombed continually taught them not to delay getting the fighters airborne, we were lucky that the fighters had gone before we started to use Luqa, the enemy ones!!
Malta is an island with a long history of invaders, us being the last, independence was granted some time after the war and I am sure the locals were glad to see all the foreign military go, wonderful harbour, well used by the Royal Navy during WW2, a street (very narrow and steep) in Valletta was lined with open fronted drinking bars, just really the front room of a house with easy entry for the soldiers and sailors to get drunk, think from memory it was called by the Navy “The Gut”, but could be thinking of somewhere else, for us, just a place to “slip” crews, water always very scarce, milk, butter and cheese from goats, think I have mentioned that before, as I have about collecting all the papers and books from the mess before leaving UK to leave both with the RAF and also some Navy types who crewed a fast MTB (motor torpedo boat) made a change for both crews to chat with some one other than their working mates.
The runway ended at a quarry, no sight for the faint hearted, as it was well stocked with aircraft that had not made it, guess the passengers just thought it was some where the RAF stored unwanted ‘planes. My first trip there was with a senior pilot to check me out so a quick run to Cairo and back, all 7,800 Km of it! My years in South Africa had made me used to hot weather shorts and open neck shirts so it was easy for me to climatise to the changed weather conditions. I now live in Mackay, Queensland and there is thriving community of Maltese people, many sugar cane farmers or the descendants of cane farmers, and NO they are not called Maltesers!!
On the 5th Malta to Cairo. Cairo, a large bustling over crowded city, full to bursting point with every shape, colour and size of humanity, and I am talking about 1945!! We had little to do with Cairo itself, as we either landed at Cairo West or at Almaza in Heliopolis, a suburb of Cairo, where we were put up in the largest hotel I have ever seen, not that I am into hotels as such, but as a young very green officer the Heliopolis Palace Hotel was mind blowing, acres of everything, not outside but inside, entry large enough to hold a soccer match, dining rooms that vanished into the blue and rooms so large that if they had been properly furnished a guide would have been required to see us to the door. Each crew had a room on arrival with number of beds scattered about and a couple of tables and chairs etc, guess the hotel had not been completed prior to WW2 and had been taken over by the British Forces, lots of “red tab” types swanning about, had a very hard war from the looks of things!! Food was good and served properly the same
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as our mess in UK, so no complaints there. About flying times etc you must remember that as we flew East the time got later and daylight ended sooner, ie Cairo – UK 2 hour difference, same as New Zealand – Australia.
We all took a trip to Giza and along the road to the Sphinx and the Pyramids, don’t know who built that lot but bet he over ran the budget, The one thing that still sticks in my mind is the overpowering smell of diesel oil on that road, not so much burnt oil but the same smell you get on a production oil field, the brown desert stretched to the horizon on either side of the road which was very black and shiny, perhaps that’s where the smell came from not bitumen but oiled sand!!! Now I’ll never know!!! Natural History Museum in Cairo a must if you visit, remember it as a highlight of my various times there and after these many years must be a wonder to visit now, didn’t go to the medical section if just before or after lunch, in fact might be a good idea to give that bit a miss!!
I wanted to buy Phyllis something special and found a market that specialised in perfumes. Channel number 5 or was it 7? was all the go, entered this so dark and gloomy looking shop, about the size of your average toilet, greeted with lots of bowing, and what sounded like praises for my everything, down some steep stairs to end up in yet another room the same size where there was a small table and two or three chairs, ‘would the effendi like some coffee’? (no idea how you spell effendi)’ well really wanted to buy some perfume’ lot more praised heaped on me but coffee came regardless, the cups must have been part of a doll house at some time and the coffee bitter and black, Now I had to sniff every smell known to man, ‘is this for your lovely wife’? what colour are her eyes etc and so on ‘does my lord have a mistress’?
By this time I was all sniffed out, couldn’t tell one heap of horse crap from another of cows, throat dry as dust from the coffee, and still I was given the full treatment until I made a purchase and bolted, can’t remember what scent I did buy but it was a big bottle!!!!
On the 6th Cairo to Malta, and on the 7th, Malta to Base. My flight log records of my time in 242 Squadron are listed later.
Two quick training flights with my real crew and then I was lent to F/o Good to go as F/E on a Short Stirling (never seen one close up before) that was to deliver supplies all over the world, why me I’ll never know, a very quick half hour lesson on where everything was, happily the engines were Hercules with which I had done all my operations, perhaps that’s why I was picked, only one on the squadron with that engine experience.
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The Short Stirling was just a bomber, not converted to anything, the fuselage was used to carry freight and we carted an exhibition of bombs etc all over the place, we also picked up and dropped off odds and sods as required, much like a “tramp steamer” at everyone beck and call!! The Stirling was the first of the four engined bombers for the RAF and suffered because of that, a bad spec. by the chairbound in the Ministry ended up with a well made but poor WW 2 bomber, they did get used for bombing, others as tugs and for training purposes, remember one of Nutts Corner left the end of the runway and landed in the mud, tipped up on it’s nose, the Station doctor rushed to the crews aid (they had all left some time ago) climbed up on the wing slipped and fell off and broke his ankle, mustn’t laugh!!!
The Stirling was slow had no great ceiling, noisy, draughty and I was a long way from home, my crew and a lovely Avro York, what else do you need to think a ‘plane was terrible?
So off we went in a lumbering noisy old Sterling, 15th June England to Castel Benito in North Africa 7 hours 20 of misery, Castel Benito was obviously a place named for the Italian Dictator, My only recollection of this place is sand more sand and then some more sand, the tents we slept in were filled with sand and the food was full of sand and even the ever present flies were full of sand, how the troops managed to service ‘planes and keep them flying is a wonder. I don’t remember if there was a concrete runway but if there was bet it was covered in sand, it blew everywhere, filled every orifice, eyes got sore even just during one night there, no thank you don’t want to remember that place!!
16th June Castel Benito to Lydda the airport for Tel Aviv in (Palestine) Israel 6 hours 45. Lydda, was Palestine. now Israel, was the main airport of Tel Aviv, guess the name has been changed so people like me have no idea where it is now, but was decent airport so probably just extended and has a new name. While at Lydda took the opportunity to visit Jerusalem, The Wailing Wall, Church of the Holy Sacrement [sic], built on the site of the cross and also Bethlehem. I don’t even recognise these places when shown on TV now, Wailing Wall about the same but more open when I was there, Bethlehem completely unspoilt, a crude stable as it always had been, no frills or religious artifice, The Church of the Holy Sacrament surrounded by squalor, beggars, the maimed, and only reached by a walk through narrow alleys, now seeing them on TV, must have had a bit of a clear out, but the Church full of the usual con men selling bees wax candles to see the sights, all they did is coat the hand with evil smelling grease no bee had ever seen, and the opulence inside made a mockery of “love thy neighbour” when related to the poverty outside. HOPE THIS DOES NOT UPSET YOU but just report as I saw many years ago!!! Guess I was full of brotherly love after a tour on bombers!!!
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18th June a night flight to Shaibah in Iraq 3 hours 45. Shaibah, now there is a place to bring back memories not for me but for the thousands of RAF blokes who served there, when I was an RAF Apprentice I heard more dirty poems about Shaibah and its population than anywhere else, some went on for pages and although not a collector of such memorabilia, remember one that had as it’s main item a wheel of very large proportions that continued to revolve against the odds. Another place of sand, from the air very little could be seen as most accommodation was built under ground or should I say the roof of concrete was just about ground level, ventilation was by open slots at ground level, bit like sleeping in a WW2 air raid shelter, situated in Iraq at Lat 30-2349N Long 47-3628 E at 2224ft, has taken me many years to find out just where it was/is, managed it by locating a web site all about the Gulf War, nothing more to say about another sand castle.
19th June Shaibah to Karachi in what is now Pakinstan [sic] 6 hours 15. After taking off from Shaibah we flew directly to the waters of the Gulf and flew all the way to Karachi as near as possible in the centre of the Gulf, many bad friend either side so instructions were to avoid problems, even did a bit of a “dog leg” at the Straits of Hormuz to stay away from any one’s territory. Was quite a peaceful looking scene in those days, lots of small ships ploughing their way along and across, probably smugglers and all manner of evil goings on if we did but know it!!
And so to Karachi itself, part of India then, but now Pakistan, thriving city of many thousands or millions, place that I bought many carpets to bring back to England to help cheer up a rather dark old house Phyll and I were renting.
There were very many carpet makers in the various streets working on looms made from everything imaginable, some used by young children making wonderful patterns with the dyed wool, both hands and feet being used at a rapid pace to insert the wool and move the shuttle. I would shop about for one we wanted to do a room, passage or a hallway, and athough [sic] most colours were somewhat bright and did clash with others we had, we were glad to be able to cover the floors with some thing soft and warm. Many of the carpets had long wool which made them bulky to carry especially some long ones for the stairs, but the carpet makes were only too pleased to wrap them in sacking for me. Most times the Customs at Lyneham let me through without any payment but on occasion I would be charged some small amount to keep them happy!! The chewing of beetle nut and the continual spitting out of it’s bright red juice made the pavement look as if a gang battle had taken place, many were the street side workshops, silver coins hammered thin, cut into strips and soldered into intricate shapes to make the lovely fret work for jewelry [sic], and delightful decorative items. In fact all streets in every Indian city of town I visited had it’s crafts men,
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woman and children, some carved ivory to make the famous balls within balls, time seemed to have no meaning to the carvers who I was told spent years on a single item, how they lived was a mystery. Apart from the clever ones there was also the cunning ones, just a few of the things they made were, cigarettes in a perfect copy of all English packets and tins which when lit popped and crackled as the dead bugs burst, Phyll was pregnant with our first son and suffered as so many woman do with terrible morning sickness, was told that Philips Milk of Magnesia would help, but none obtainable in England that would could find, bought the largest bottle I could find in India at the Officer’s Mess, Dark blue bottle and all the correct labels etc, Phyll took one dose and heaved it straight up, might have been the right bottle but the contents were foul and unknown, apparently it was quite a common practise to bore a hole in the bottom of bottles of all descriptions, whisky, gin, brandy etc the favourites, pour the contents out and fill with anything that looked right and seal the hole in the bottom, I was told that at time pattent [sic] laws in India were unknown. A shoe maker told me he could copy any size, style, colour, so with a pattern of Phyll’s shoe size ordered a pair of suede shoes as a surprise, was a surprise to us both, Minnie Mouse would have been proud to have worn them, not Phyll, yet without soap they could remove grease and stains from the dirtist [sic] of shorts and shirts, return them the next day looking like new, a large country with a great deal of talent in the common man!!!
20th June Karachi to Dum-Dum Calcutta in India 7 hours 05. I have been asked what this was like, flying out of a war zone and to these peaceful areas. But it was not like that at all. Most places we went were on a war footing. Also I don’t think that the local population welcomes us, our money yes, but us no thank you. India was in the throes of becoming independent after many years under the yoke of Britain, Pakistan and Ceylon were also stirring as was Egypt. We landed in Dum Dum (Calcuta) one time to be told that we could not go into town as some workers had had an argument with their foreman and had tossed him into the furnace and shut the door. Another time we received an invite to visit a local Big wig’s Palace, nearby got there when a crowd on a rampage filled the streets and our taxi did a U turn and took us back to camp, war in England was never like that!! Instead of landing back at home, each time we landed in enemy territory, well on most days!!
22nd June Dum Dum to Palam in India 4 hours 25. The old city of Delhi, like some so many cities in India, narrow streets, too many people and cows, but New Delhi a much cleaner place guess the name tells it all, many administrative departments built I would guess to house the government in a cleaner environment, may be just as crowded now as the old one was years ago, we used both names New Delhi and Palam as our stop off point for this place, not a major junction at that time and not on our normal route. Calcutta
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in the East of India was a large city, the RAF base of Dum Dum well known throughout the service, the dum dum bullet came from there, and from the tales I was told much more that was strange and a mystery to western eyes, saw the Indian rope trick once, yes the boy did vanish but always thought there was something a bit iffy about it, if you don’t believe it can’t happen I suppose. Again the streets red with beetle juice and lined with small workshops in some areas, wonderful brass work made by hand, beaten out of sheets of brass, bought a beautiful rose bowl there on one trip, stolen long after by a staff member of the roadhouse we had, really heavy brass with roses carved around the circumference, these were filled with glass and fired so the glass melted into the cuts and then ground until smooth, coated with silver and fitted with a silver mesh to hold the stems, bought a few different types but all long gone now, probably found a new home years ago with the craved wooden tray, crystal glasses, and they even stole the fez I brought back from Egypt!!!
23rd June Palam to Ratamalana in Ceylon, now Shri Lanka [sic], 8 hours. Ceylon, Sri Lanka, was a nice place, called at a number of ‘dromes there, Ratmalana, Negombo, a couple of them, our sleeping quarters were straw huts in amongst the coconut plantations, spoilt for me on one trip when I left my case on the bed and went for a shower, found when I returned that it had been stolen so no change of clothes until I could buy some more, found out when I asked the station police that it was quite normal for things to vanish, very light fingered some of them.
Great surf beaches there which we all found very welcome to cool off in the water, no hope of swimming as one minute the sand is dry and the next 10 feet of water, terrific undertow we were very luck [sic] we did not get swept out to sea, Africa the next stop!!
A rather nice hotel built on a promontory or maybe it was a linked island anyhow went there one night and had a game of snooker with the attendant, played quite well but was given a lesson on how to play the game, found out later that the attendant had been the “marker” for Horace Lyndrum, one time world Champion.
24th June Ratamalana to Karachi 8 hours, 25th June Karachi to Shaibah 6 hours 40, 25th June (YES THE SAME DAY). One of the things I did notice about India as we flew the length of it to Ceylon (Sri Lanka) from Karachi. That it was covered in trees and where the vast population lived I often wondered, certainly the street of towns and cities were full , covered in the red strains of beetle juice and cows.
Shaibah to Lydda a night flight of 4 hours 20. 26th June we had trouble with the electric’s of the flaps and undercarriage so missed a day!! 27th June
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Lydda to Castel Benito 6 hours 40. 28th June Castel Benito to Holmsley South 8 hours , and finally on the same day Holmsley South to base at Stoney Cross 15 minutes, all in an aircraft that I had had about ten minutes of this is this and that is that!!
We were now transferred as a crew to Holmsely [sic] South, with 246 Squadron, and I started flying again with a F/O Lunn on the 10th July doing 3 engined landings, another gap which could have been ground instruction or being a “dogs body” to my F/E Leader, or even a spot of leave and started flying with F/Lt Poore again on Yorks on the 22nd and again on the 28th doing various training flight, then it was off again on the 29th of July from Holmsley South to Malta, Cairo West, Shaibah, Mauripur (India) Dum Dum and so on back to UK on the 11th of August having flown on 29th and 30th July 1st 2nd 3rd 7th 8th 9th and twice on the 11th August. The reason was that there were so few trained crews and very few York aircraft, so we all had to do a great deal in fact far too much. The logbook of my time with 246 Squadron is presented later.
A York oversea flight was very different from Bomber operations, on bombers our cargo had no opinions of physical wants, just sad and waited to be jettisoned.
We carried mail as well, but our passengers were important, not in rank but in the interest of the service they were. So a completely different style of flying had to be undertaken, “press on regardless” the bomber style was no good for people. Safe and on time was the motto, no risks with bad weather, fly round it, we could not go over because there was no oxygen installed on the ‘plane.
From my point of view it was all very strange to start with, clothes for a couple of weeks was required but tropical ones were worn most of the time, so we got into a routine of flying out from UK in our normal uniforms, changed at Malta and left our “blues” there to be cleaned etc and changed back into them on our way home, leaving our tropical shorts shirts etc to washed, ironed and ready for us next time out. Food was another problem, Malta for example was still on very tight rations and my first taste of goat milk, butter and cheese still a rank memory!! The warning to be very careful what we ate, the sudden change in temperature and humidity took their toll of us all and from memory we are nothing at all out of our RAF Messes and very frugal in them. We were not able to drink much hard booze, mainly soft drinks and the occasional beer, the fruit was very welcome however and provided it was either skinned or peeled we could eat them, most of us took back to England some fruit each trip for our families, often when we landed back in UK, calls were out for certain fruit mainly bananas for sick children
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in London hospitals, something in banana which helped cure some illnesses, needless to say no one minded giving up whatever we had.
When you and I fly these days we bound the ‘plane and are quite confident we will arrive where we should, flying on operations we went and came back (hopefully) now we went and went and went and then turned round and came back but it was us doing the wenting and to places that we had never been before and had to land discharge our passengers, sort out the plane, refuel etc, find a bed and food and be ready for the next one in the following day, the first few time were difficult, strange places and people and equipment, and even a brand new crew, all who had done at least one tour but some had done a number, our navigator I remember wore “brothel creeper” suede boots in the topics, was to my eyes ancient and seemed to dissapear [sic] between flights into his room, never really got to know him!!!
I had to get out to the aircraft at least an hour before take off to check out things and run up the engines, you will note many 02, 03 04, 2359, times given as take off time so you can see I for one lost of lot of sleep, the rest of the crew were not in bed but sorting out all the charts, weather, flight plans etc, and we often flew twice in a day if needed so apart from the constant changes in climate as we flew hither and thither we were kept busy.
After take off and once we had reached about 8,000ft we could settle down to some hours of straight and level flight, passengers had to be checked, even in those days there were the terrified ones who could not look out of the window,
After a number of trips the whole thing became a boring job with very little excitement, great discomfort because of the climate, lack of food and the desire to get home to my growing family, I really loved the RAF but loved my wife more.
Among the sites seen during this flying over North Africa, ones that are stuck in the memory are the rusting tanks and other vehicles that littered the North African Desert as we flew in and out if Cairo, lots of miles of nothing then a heap of rust etc, all seen as we flew over at 8,000ft.
We as a crew were transferred yet again to the top Transport Command Squadron, 511 at Lyneham who still operate from there to this day. (August 1998). The logbook of my time with 511 Squadron is presented later.
The only highlight during October was the flight the skipper and I did on our own in Lancaster Bomber P 780 (it was used as the squadron spare parts transport) was to fly by my map reading to Prestwick near Liverpool to pick up a parcel and return, clocked up 3 hours 30 in a Lancaster. The York was a
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nice ‘plane to fly couldn’t go above 8000ft because we had no oxygen for the passengers and it was not pressurised, really a Lancaster with a different body to take freight or passengers, we even had a very good galley on board but until we were given an ex airgunner to act as steward was little used, don’t know what training our chap was given but on the first flight was told on the ground what and when we as the crew would like for our meal. He waited until we were well on our way before puncturing the tins and most of the contents ended in his face or on the ceiling, didn’t seem to know about changes of air pressure, but he soon learned!!
There is one trip to Langar mentioned in my log book where we picked up a York for a VIP Flight. We were in York MW100, which had been the first operational York delivered to the RAF. I have read that Langar was an AVRO refurbishment factory, where repairs etc were carried out, so it looks as though MW 100 was “tarted” up there for 24 Squadron VIP flight.
One of the more pleasant jobs we have, even if a bit sad really, was to fly back to England those British troops that had survived the death camps of the Japanese in Burma and else where. We used Freighter Yorks for this with mattresses spread on the floor and female nurses in attendance, the looks of thanks we all got from these sad men was soul touching, all crews involved would have happily got our old bombers out and bombed the bastards to kingdom come, I for one will never forgive them for their cruelty. Returning from one of the later trips we were met by the Squadron C.O. and told to move all our gear into the Waaf’s quarters (they had been moved out) get a decent room and then report to the main gate where transport had been laid on, the useless mob of non flying officers had crawled out from under the stones they had been hiding under, while we all risked life and limb, and were now insisting that we as crews were not allowed in the mess in flying kit, even though we had to breakfast at between 4-5am and then go straight out to fly, when we returned late night no food would be available after 6pm. Our C.O. wouldn’t stand for that, he had done at least 90 ops some with the Dam Busters, so we moved all the Squadron items from the mess to our new accommodation, which meant all the silver, billard [sic] tables most of the decent armchairs (we could never sit in one because these idle sods were always in them), all the liquor from the bar plus all the glasses and bits and bobs. We had all been paying mess bills but very rarely had been in England, so an even bigger shock was in store for them when they found their mess bills had sky rocketed.
The day after day of flying from cold damp England to steaming hot and humid India was very wearying and when at the end of February 1946 I was offered the chance to leave the RAF I took it, our son Tony had been born in April shortly before I left, I could have stayed on in The RAF, but long hours of flying and a new wife and baby were not the way to go if life was
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going to be at all normal, what I should do for a job I didn’t know, but time at home was what I really wanted, it had been a long hard war and I wanted a rest.!! I have been thinking about this part of my time with The Royal Air Force and it seems as if I should explain where possible the duties of the various aircrew members. Starting with the bomber crews, the pilot is the boss whatever his rank, some crews were formed with quite senior ranking officers as non pilot members, this was often caused by the need for senior officers to really find out what happened on operations, often this was of a temporary nature, but it was known for a senior officer to complete a tour with a N.C.O pilot. The pilot made all the decisions in the air and usually on the ground as well, he had to have the respect of his crew and a happy crew always had a father figure for their pilot even though he might not be the oldest member of the crew, fighter pilots could and possibly should be of a less serious nature, most times they only had to look after themselves.
The pilot must have some understanding of all the jobs that the crew carried out, not to any great detail but sufficient to understand when things went wrong, and in an emergency could make the correct decisions if that crew member was unable to do so, his training would take much longer and would start as a pupil pilot on small aircraft, when he got his wings and started his training on twin engine ‘planes he would be joined by his navigator and in some cases by the wireless operator, these two crew members would have been carrying out their training else where, and once passed as proficient would have been posted to the conversion unit to await joining a crew, it is possible at this stage that these three crew members could after completing their conversion course, be posted to a squadron flying twin engine aircraft, DC3’s. or twin engine light bombers or fighters such as Mosquito’s, Beaufighter’s, Blenheim’s there were many different RAF and USAF twin engined aircraft in service all over the world that this crew could have ended up flying, navigation and wireless equipment was all basically the same in the RAF and no doubt the same applied in the USAF. Assuming that this crew now carries on to four engine conversion, all of the previous training could have been carried out in Canada or South Africa some I understand also completed twin engine training in the USA. Crews formed of Canadian, South African and Australian nationals naturally liked to be all from the same country, I am not sure what happened in other countries but I joined a Canadian crew when they arrived in England because they had no Flight Engineers, I do know that other countries also had the same problem but just who and how much of a problem it was I do not know. So now we have the crew at a 4 engine conversion course some where in England, here the pilot must learn the tricks of flying and landing a large and most likely difficult bomber, having done some initial training with instructors he will now get his crew together and they will complete their training together, While he has been receiving instruction and doing take off’s and landings with an all instructor crew,
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usually only a pilot and F/E, if going on a cross country he would have both a navigator and wireless operator also from the instruction staff (all would be air crew who had completed at least one tour and told me that it was more scary instructing than doing ops!) the rest of the crew have been likewise receiving instruction. Navigators, wireless operators and flight engineers would be all flying both day and night being taught and checked for competence in their various jobs, and subject to being passed as suitable would then continue their training as a crew, any member that didn’t do their job properly was soon found out and a replacement soon found, our navigator had been passed as ok but on a cross country during our training got us hoplessly [sic] lost in the Welsh mountains and the pilot and I, map and beacon read our way home, needless to say he went! The pilot now has his crew and after arriving at a bomber squadron he and his crew are checked out again by the various section leaders, he will now go on two “second dickie” bombing trips to see just what it is all about, standing next to the pilot he will watch what happens all the way out and back, and have that little extra bit of knowledge that his crew hasn’t got.
So to complete this long story about the pilot he stands at the front of his crew and leads and guides them in the tasks ahead. He never shows fear nor does his voice ever tremble when in difficult situations, he may be trembling inside but no one would ever guess, a good bomber pilot was a hero unsung, I was lucky I flew with two on operations. The navigator must have an ability with numbers and calculations often carried out under very difficult conditions, many were remustered from pilot training having failed to reach the flying standard required, they made very good navigators because they understood the problems a pilot could have, and could be very quickly given what additional training was required for a navigator. His job simply described would be to get you there and back again, on time and on target, never as simple as that because the bombing routes were always being changed to dodge known hot spots of “flack” and lead the enemy into thinking you were going to one town and then suddenly turn and bomb some where else. His view of the target or for that matter anywhere we went was limited by his position below the pilot facing a blank wall, his instruments consisted of the usual pencils rulers etc. but also fitted were a repeater compass from the gyro-compass until in the tail, a Gee unit which had a screen and fixed radio stations in England broadcast signals that were projected as curved lines which could give him a fixed position, the gee signal did not reach far into the continent so was of limited use but did help the beginner out and home, H2S was also fitted in a belly blister underneath this was a very primitive form of radar and gave a misty picture of the earth below helpfull [sic] if bombing blind and could aid in locating a town and the trusty old sextant, much improved from the sailor’s version with a two minute clockwork motor that averaged out the readings over that period so was a bit more accurate, wouldn’t do on a yacht would rust up solid in no
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time, piles of maps, charts for everything. Not only did he have to keep up a proper running diary of events, such as aircraft seen to crash or explode any unusal [sic] sightings, we saw some of the early German rocket tests on one operation, we didn’t know what it was and said so and we weren’t told either, changes to targets would be passed to him by the w/op, wind drift had to be regularly checked and whether we had a tail or head wind could effect the time we got to the target, and when we got back home he had to hand in his charts for them to be checked just in case we hadn’t been where we were supposed to have been, a very busy member of the crew, perhaps managed to look out the nose on odd occasions but always working and figureing [sic] out the next course change. The wireless operator was probable a very frustrated man, he had all this high powered gear and could only use it to receive, except in an emergency which none of us wanted anyhow. Signals were being passed from group headquarters to the squadron in code and where they effected us were passed to those concerned, almost always to the navigator, these could be very sudden and high changes of wind direction as monitored by aircraft ahead of us, changes of routes to avoid a new “flack” post, recalls due to bad conditions over the target or fog closing in on our own ‘dromes.
Which meant we might not be able to land properly anywhere in England, 500 to 1000 bombers spread out all over England many crashed with crews killed was not a happy thought! So the w/op spent most of his time listening in, when we started using Master Bombers, (they flew round and round the target during the raid giving instructions to various crews where to bomb and telling those off who ignored him) the w/op got some extra work changing channels as briefed so that the German radio could not block transmissions. Our transmitted signals out were always brief until over friendly land and even then too much chatter from one ‘plane could cause trouble for those in real peril, ‘planes with injured on board or ‘planes so badly damaged that the sooner they could land the better got priority and all crews listened to see if one of their mates was in trouble often a few words of comfort from a friend helped no end, once we started doing daylight operations and could see many miles we could also warn others of enemy action such as flack and fighters, and when we given the job as “dive bombers” on a couple of raids warn other of bomb bursts and local guns that could be a danger. The Bomb Aimer’s (or as the USAF called him The Bombardier) job was to drop the bombs we had carted about the sky and drop them where they would do the most damage, his bomb sight of RAF planes was quite good, needed to be set accurately with wind speed and direction, had a set of switches that could be set so that various bomb bays on the ‘plane emptied first once all the settings were put in which also included things like height and temperature, could be others but it is a long time ago, then he directed the pilot to change course a degree or two either way until his sight was on the target and then he pressed the button and a
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sudden jolt told us we were a great deal lighter and could set course for home. The Master Bomber made a difference because he would tell us which coloured markers to bomb on and give us lots of warning as we came in towards the target. Pathfinder Force had arrived at the target with the Master Bomber before we got there, he told them where to drop their markers and which colour to use, they didn’t land on the ground but floated on parachutes so the Germans couldn’t put them out but they did light “spoof” ones which confused us until the Master Bomber started and then most bombs fell on the target. Some RAF and USAF bombers has a light machine gun in the front nose which the bomb aimer could use, don’t think is was much use, we never hand one. the only other job that the bomb aimer could do was help the navigator with map reading in daylight and he always called out when we crossed the coast both in and out of Europe and England, at night this showed up as a slightly different colour of grey. The USAF made a big fuss about how their Norden bomb sight was so good, reports I have read since the war seem to discount it’s accuracy, like most things, a good operator is good whatever rubbish he is given to use!!
Lets face it the Dam Buster’s used a sight made from a few sticks of wood and we know what they did. We now come to the Air Gunners we had two one as “tail end Charlie” in the rear turret, and another as the mid upper gunner, the rear gunner was considered the top man and he really had the worst position both for comfort and danger, both turrets were fitted with four Browning .303” aircooled machine guns, the turrets were power operated, and the rear gunner usually saw the fighters first particularly at night as they climbed up to get into position the Browning was no match for the fighter cannons so they could keep out of range and bang away until both gun positions were destroyed, then we were sitting ducks. We had two good gunners and just a couple of rounds fired at a distant fighter was enough for him to go else where and find a crew half asleep, we saw this a few times when on daylight raids and cursed them for not attending to their job of survival for the whole crew, some squadrons has much larger losses than others, we reckoned it was not luck but bad training and stupid people who once their bombs had gone thought they were home and dry. Another problem the gunners had and this also effected the bomb aimer was cold they all had electrically heated suits but it could get very cold at night and it made it just that much harder for the gunners to stay awake. On one trip they took our H2S blister out and fitted a mid-under turret, not like the USAF ball turret but more like a small bath tub with a gun mounting, didn’t look very comfortable and gave us a gunner we had never met. What a dissaster [sic] he never stopped seeing fighters from the time we left the ground until we got back, poor chap was probably “flack Happy” That bit of useless gear came out and never went back what they did with the poor gunner I don’t know. but he should not have been given a mid-under job a midupper would have kept him in contact with the rest of the crew and perhaps settled
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him down, who know what terrible tales he had to tell, but we didn’t want him!! The Flight Engineer usually came from the ground staff, had worked on engines, prefferably [sic] those fitted in aircraft, many were recruited like I was having been trained by The RAF at Halton Number 1 School of Technical Training, after passing out I had served two or three years on the flight line servicing a large number of different areo-engines so my F/E training could be specific to the engines fitted in the aircraft I should fly in, the course at St Athan in Wales was quite short, and like all the ex-brats found it no problem, my duties were to control the engines all the required speed the pilot decided and adjust boose and RPM so that they were all syncronised [sic] and did not “hunt”, raising and lowering undercarriage, flaps and bomb doors also were my job, on take off I had to help the pilot hold the throttles open and assist in correcting any swing which could happen with a cross wind and a full bomb load. Every other crew member was strapped in but the F/E had to stand beside the pilot to carry out his job, once off the ground U/G up and flaps retracted, climbing boose and revs set, temperatures checked and on radial engines gills opened or closed to keep the engines at the right temperature.
On water cooled the radiator flaps had to be adjusted for the same reason, a log had to be kept from the moment the engines were started so that a running total of fuel used to could be calculated, every change of boost, revs ,height and which gear the super charger was in affected fuel consumption. There reading were very important also which fuel tanks were in use so that all tanks could end up over the target holding the same amount of fuel, a full tank with a hole could mean no return to base. As an F/E I never really had enough time for all the jobs, the navigator called on me at times to do star shots with the sextant which I could hang on a hook in the astro-drome above my bank of engine and fuel instruments, there was always some thing that needed a tweek or a piece of wire to keep it going, and over the target apart from all my usual jobs I had to feed the “window” out of the special chute, some time there were large bundles of leaflets to send down, to let [sic] the Germans they had no chance or the invaded ones that thing would get better. Before and after a trip I had to check things, although the ground staff never missed a thing perhaps we survived because they were as fussy as we were. My log had to be handed in and any odd things explained so that they could be fixed before we went out again. When ever I had time or if fighter activity was great I would stand in the astro-dome and do my own bit of searching, one night to my amazement within almost arms-reach was a F/W 190 night fighter, I pointed this out to all of the crew and the skipper slowly dropped us a few feet until he was out of sight, the gunners wanted to have a go at him, but the skipper said you can’t be sure you will win and we are here to drop bombs!!! The different in the training for the carrying of passengers by those members of the flying crew that transfered [sic] from bombers to transport was not so very different except that the “press on
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Spirit” of bombers was now changed to safety and arrival at the destination on time. Pilots were trained to fly with the comfort of the passengers as of major concern, Navigators now had some visual land marks to help on long flights and with the help of the wireless operator many “fixes” obtained by cross bearings from two or more radio beacons. The war in Europe and with Japan was still on so many of the peace time facilities were still not available but most of southern Europe was conflict free so that flight were in themselves safe from enemy fire. The flight engineer’s duties still contained those element of engine, fuel, and general aircraft overseeing that were needed in bombers, in the early days he was the only member of the crew free to move about during the flight no cabin crew were employed, so the was the only contact that the passengers had with the flight crew, and many times his duties required him to reassure passengers who had not flown before, although he also acted as a second pilot, on long flights, ground prepared sandwiches and thermos filled with hot or cold drinks were given to the passengers by the F/E. On freighter aircraft another new duty the F/E had to perform was the checking of the centre of gravity of the load this had to be within very strict limits, because of safety considerations, each item of the load had to have it’s centre of gravity worked out and then it’s position in the aircraft designated to ensure that the centre of lift and centre of gravity were within limits.
All RAF Yorks of Transport Command were also Royal Mail carriers so that large bags of mail on both freighter and passenger ‘planes were carried, there was also a small compartment that could only be entered from the outside situated on the port side near the tail, this was for high security items and was usually filled and emptied by a person from the Consulate, who would also lock it.
Without checking with Phyll, or for that matter anyone else, I applied for release from the Royal Air Force, because I had been commissioned I was able to leave the RAF even though I had signed on as an apprentice for 18 years after the age of 18. Phyll was shocked when I turned up at the home she had started to make for us and told her what I had done, what was I going to do for a job?, how would I earn a living,? none of these things had really mattered to me, I just wanted to be with her and our new baby Tony. My Commanding Officer wanted me to stay in and said I could return at any time before my demobilisation leave ended, on the 27th of April 1946 (the day before our first wedding anniversary) I was given a demob suit, some food and clothing coupons and cleared from the RAF, my leave would finish on the 9th of July 1946 so I had a couple of months to decide what to do with my life and that of my family. Phyllis and I were married on the 28th April 1945, she was released from the WAAFs in November of 1945 and managed after a lot of form filling and chasing up the local council to get a requisitioned house, which she moved into in the early part of 1946. These
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houses had been empty for many years were of low standard compared to today’s, but ours was a solidly build three bedroom, two rooms and a kitchen down stairs but had only one cold tap in the house, gas lighting and an outside flushing toilet of the design known by young and old as the Thunderbox. I was still frying to India and Ceylon and only managed to get home for the odd night very seldom, so Phyll all on her own with no help from anyone sought out second hand furniture and managed to provide the basic things needed to make a home, Tony arrived on the 13th of April while I was on leave but I had to return to 511 Squadron as soon as all was well with Phyll and Tony, but was home again on the 27th of April for good.
– Reg Miles
The URL of this page is
http://www.geocities.com/jkjustin/Milesbio5.html
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Biography of Reg Miles
Ex Apprentice No 1 S. of T. T., R.A.F., Halton 39th Entry 34 – 67 M.U.s – 27 A/S Bloemspruit South Africa – Lympe Kent, Flight Engineer 432 – 420 Squadrons RCAF, 6 Group Bomber Command, Eastmoor, Tholthorpe, Yorkshire / 242 – 246 – 511 Squadrons Transport Command Lyneham, RAF
Chapter 6
Post RAF
My parents called round to this very old, dirty, requisitioned house and found me in my battle dress trousers and very large white flying rollnecked sweater sitting on the floor smoking a “Churchill” cigar (very large and the last of my Indian purchases) cleaning and stopping up holes in the wall of what would be our dining and living room. To say that they were horrified would be putting it mildly, where was their son of whom they were proud? The Flying Officer in the RAF who had been on bombers and regularly flew to India and other foreign parts, gave all that up to do what? I couldn’t tell them because I didn’t know, just wanted peace and my own family and no more racing about the world. Something would come along I said, my parents were not impressed they had battled for years to get a little bit out of the working class rut, still only out a little way and here was Reg on his way up and just throwing it all away to be at home cleaning up the dirt of years of neglect. After our marriage on each trip to India I bought carpets and other items that would help to furnish a home, after the floors walls and ceilings were washed the carpets gave a nice touch of luxury to the place. In the kitchen was a brick built “copper” this was filled with water, a fire lit under and when hot this water was used for cleaning the house, washing clothes, and once a week for Phyll and I to have a bath, the babies of course got at least one day. Friday evening was usually “bath night”, Phyll had managed to buy an adult size “tin bath” which spent most of it’s time handing on a nail in the back yard, with a fire going well in the back room downstairs, the bath was placed in front and buckets of cold and hot water carried in from the kitchen. Ladies first was always the rule so Phyll could have hers in comfort, when she got out I go in and removed my dirt, now came the reverse trip with the buckets of water, each one tipped outside to run into the drain by the back door, once tried to empty the bath by lifting it up to the window sill and sliding it out, not much luck with that just a lot more water to wipe up. I did eventually install a proper full size bath in the kitchen with the drain passing through the wall and hot water fed from a gas heater and cold from the one cold tap. The whole thing was boxed in with a hinged cover which gave Phyll a decent size work surface when cooking, and fun for the boys to hide in when not in use for either of it’s purposes. I
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thought I might like to work as a mechanic in a garage, just shows you what an innocent I was, spoke to a garage owner who had looked after Dad’s car before the war and asked if I could work there without pay for a couple of weeks to see what it was like. Started a few days later and after a day or so he wanted to pay me, worked there for a few weeks, can’t say I thought much of the job or the owner, gave me some wooden boxes with parts of a lorry engine in it and told me to build it up, no instruction manuals so took me a while to sort out what went where and he was not impressed, went out on welding jobs to hotels whose heating boilers had frozen up and cracked, nothing went right and as I unloaded the gear from the truck he threw a heavy spanner at me which just missed, I threw it back and nearly hit him, so he said I was not suitable for his job, not a very good start to civilian life! Next I called in at the Labour Exchange and it was suggested that I should go on a course to become a commercial artist, couldn’t draw to save my life so that was out, they had a vacancy for a Trainee Manager for a laundry would I like to try that. Why not I thought, so turned up for an interview by the boss lady and started next day, must learn all the processes she said and put me on a Hoffman Press doing fancy pillow slips, kept coming by every so often and throwing all I had done in the “do it again” bin, all females working there and most old enough to be my mother, put me on the calendar, long steam heated rollers that were used to iron sheets and other large items, I was at the back on my own taking things off while two or three woman fed them in, or course I got in a muddle and another job hit the dust!! So it was back home and helping Phyll with house cleaning, my father was not impressed and said I must have a job what ever it was and suggested that he could get me a job with the large building firm of which he was a very senior employee. When it came, it was as a painter’s labourer (the lowest for life in the building industry) but I just took it to save any arguments and did my turn of holding the bottom of ladders while the painter did the clever stuff, while doing this in the middle of the local shopping street two RAF officers much junior to me on my old squadron couldn’t believe their eyes, told them that good jobs like this were going fast so they’d better get in quick. I had bought a new bicycle, the one that I had bought with the money from my photo job before going into the RAF had been completely destroyed when my uncle Jack was killed on it by a German shell outside Dover. I cycled about Margate going from one painting job to another, the one I most remember was the one at the local brewery, being the lowest on the totem pole I had the job of lighting a fire with wood scraps and making the tea at mid morning and afternoon breaks, got things going just waiting to see how many to make and no one turned up, and went out side into the yard and there all the workers were, both brewery and building, lining up for tankards of beer. Told to come and get mine but just did not fancy cold beer for a drink, went in a had my cup of tea, we were there for some time and eventually I was persuaded to give the beer a
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try, never tasted anything like it, smooth and warming and just perfect, asked where I could buy some of it, told not be so silly, this was a special brew made by the brewer for the staff and not on sale anywhere!! I had not taken up the offer by my CO to go back into the RAF, guess time just went by and didn’t given it much thought, from a salary of 20 pounds a week I was now earning about 3 (took me about 14 years to get up to that again and it wasn’t worth as much when I did) we managed, or at least Phyll did, both of us took extra jobs she did cleaning for the local library and tourist department and also worked in the evenings as a cashier at a large seaside restaurant, later on Phyll worked at a couple of hospitals in the Margate area, I carried out maintenance at the same restaurant and also had a teaching job for the local technical college. My father was talking to the company manager who asked how his son the RAF officer was doing, when told that he was working for the firm as painter’s labourer suggested that there was a need for a fitter to take control of the depot used to store all the machinery used in the company and also large stocks of materials surplus from contracts would I like it? Would I just, right up my alley so after a couple of days I started work at this depot which was on ground adjacent to Manston RAF Base, and in fact my yard was next to the station bomb dump that my father had built just before the war. When I eventually found the yard it looked like a rubbish tip, met by an old man who said he was in charge and who was I. Explained what my job was and found out that he had been there for some time just to help unload and load up the odd lorries that came in from building sites, asked why things were scattered all over the place and he said that he just put things where there was a space, and certainly didn’t do any clearing up or sorting out. A number of sheds had been erected and were all full of a jumble of building materials returned from sites, he didn’t know what was in any of them and had no intention of finding out, bricks of every shape and colour were stacked in heaps without any order and large stacks of roofing tiles had collapsed, spreading out like the tide to cover other items, with weeds and flowers poking their heads between. Loaded lorries had driven over what looked to the driver empty areas, but were in fact filled with sheets of glass, tins of paint, sanitary fittings, and various strange items returned from sites as not required or perhaps in many cases wrongly ordered, so that a sticky mess of dried paint, broken glass, and unknown fragments covered some areas resembling the appearance of a hastily cleared bomb site. This would not do for me, dotted about amongst this bleak landscape were concrete mixers of all shapes and sizes, and many other rusting hulks that I had no idea what they were, order what was wanted and somewhere to work and store tools in safety. I found a shed that looked as if it might keep out the rain and with the old man’s help cleared some space for a bench which was among the multitude of items scattered about the site. One water tap was near the front entrance, I say entrance more like the gates of hell or a test of driver’s skill to weave
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through the junk piled just where it fell, and without me asking a cup of tea was soon offered, that at least had received top priority. I spent the following week looking at machines, to in the first case find out what they were and to check if they could be made to work, that would be my first job, to get the plant needed on building sites in a fit condition for work. To make matters worse there was no electricity or ‘phone connected to the site and very little in the way of anything to help me lift and replace things that were broken, I needed to get things sorted with the boss, calling into head office for my pay on Friday I asked to see him and told him what I needed and was given permission to book anything I wanted with their local supplier and arrange for power and telephone to be connected, the old man would return to his normal work of bricklayer’s labourer and I could engage a young man to take his place. So the clean up started, I concentrating on checking and repairing machines and my new helper re-stacking fallen heaps, wheeling away to a corner all the rubbish he found during his efforts, which would eventually be used to fill in some large holes uncovered during this clear up. The first shed I had used was emptied of all the rubbish and made into a small workshop where other benches were installed, the power and telephone were connected, I purchased some items of tools including a complete oxy-acetylene welding and cutting outfit from BOC, which I then had to learn how to use!! A call came for a large number of wheel barrows for a site, most that I had found had splits and cracks in the bodies and all had narrow steel wheels, repairs by welding were hastened and a quantity of wheels with pneumatic tyres were purchased, a coat of paint given from our stocks, all of which turned out to be grey of various shades when mixed together, the site foreman phoned to send transport, who shortly after receipt of the barrows phoned to register his delight in getting what appeared to be a truck load of new equipment. Gradually sheds were emptied, their contents sorted and listed and put away in some sort of order, all stocks of bricks, tiles, screws, nails, plumbing fittings, and all the multitude of items used in the building and construction industry were sorted and listen on stock sheets, these were sent to head office for typing and all site foreman and those people in the drawing, quantity and supply departments given copies, amendments made to these when required. All materials for building work was on licences, which were hard to get and the cause of a great amount of office time and paperwork, my lists helped to overcome some of these delays and gradually most people in the organisation used them to help in planning, they became even more useful when I was able to add separate sheets which gave lists of what machines were held in stock and what their state of readiness was. I was now getting more and more calls from sites asking for my help not only to supply machines and materials but my advice was asked for on the manufacture of items for sites and in many cases I was asked to make thousands of an individual item for the massive tower blocks being built in and around London to house those who had lost their homes
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due to enemy bombing. for most of this twelve years we still lived at Tivoli Road in the requisitioned house, much cleaner and more livable [sic] after Phyll’s ministrations, the wall paper in our bedroom which consisted of large purple parrots on a dark blue background had like the rest of the house been removed and given coats of a more restful colour of paint, there was always plenty of part tins returned from contracts so no problem with supplies! Philip our second son had arrived on the scene about two years after Tony, which gave Phyll. more work with washing and caring for two boys who carried on a constant war with each other and would always try to outdo each other in the speed at which they turned clean clothes into dirty rags. Sheila, Phyll’s sister came to stay and had the usual boy friends, mostly American service personnel from Manston, none of which seemed to understand that rationing of everything was still in place in the UK, invited to an evening meal on one occasion the incumbent boyfriend took out family’s weekly ration of cheese spread it our total stock of biscuits and swallowed the lot! Whether it was the same one who broke our settee into fragments one night in a fit of passion I don’t know, the remains however did come in useful as our ration of coal for heating had largely been burnt and the settee end up as fuel the stuffing and covers used to add humus to the starved patch of soil called garden at the back. To help with the family budget Phyll had obtained part time evening work at a large restaurant on the sea front manning the till, she also cleaned the Margate library, and at times the Margate Information centre, she wasn’t afraid of hard work but it did and still does seem all wrong that people like her who had done their bit during the war got nothing for their efforts while the stay at home fortune markers still got all the benefits, I noticed this particularly when visiting an aircraft factory in the Midlands, whole families worked in the one factory each one taking home much more than the fighting men did and most seemed to have a fiddle of some sort which enabled them to get the best of every thing regarding food and clothes, some got bombed but most got rich! Susan came along after a further eight years, she was born at home as Phyll had not been happy at the treatment she received at the local maternity hospital and determined not to suffer that again, her brother Peter was performing with a band at a local venue and his wife Jean stayed with us until she had her second child, we even at times had other artists to stay all to help with the family budget. I had changed my cycle for a “Corgi” , this was the war surplus parachutist motor bike, dropped with them for quick movements of men, they had a small 125cc two stroke engine, folding seat and handle bars, no instruments of any sort and very basic lights, push start, no gears, and certainly no suspension, the front tyre wore to a point after some miles so that turning on wet or icy roads was fraught with peril, many was the 360s I did on old cobble stones and slick corners. A large metal box was made and fitted and my range of operations grew to sites many miles away from base, it was a cold and slow means of transport, crawling up a
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hill with the box on the back filled with heavy tools after an hour or so on the road to be passed with ease by everything on wheels and some even on hoof did not endear me to other road users, who out of pure spite drove near and informed me if I pedalled harder would get along faster. To spend over an hour on the road to get to a site that had called me that they had problems with machinery, only to find as I often did that failure to check the oil in an engine had caused it seize up, the topping up with fresh oil prior to my arrival supposed to fool me, strong words were said by me while I stripped the engine freed the pistons and rings and got it running again. Some cases were even more bizarre, once called to a site two hours away because the small bulldozer would not “go”, this was in the middle of winter with ice and snow about, found that the machine had been left after it’s day’s work in a large puddle of liquid mud, this had frozen overnight and struggle as it may the poor thing could only slip clutches trying to get out of the clutches of the ice, a stern word to the “ganger” to get off his backside in future meant no more silly alarms from that site. On another occasion nearer home I was asked to call at a site because the 14/10 mixer would not mix (14/10 – 14 cu ft of dry material in and 10 cu ft of wet mixed out) It was still operating when I arrived on site to be shown that as the hopper tilted to pour the dry material in it shot straight out the other side, shut it down and had a look at the blades inside the drum, these often got badly worn after months of use, not in this case the drum was full to the brim with rock hard concrete. Again poor or perhaps in this case non existent maintenance, I had issued guide lines to all foreman as I found that certain work methods damaged or caused performance problems with plant, in this case of concrete mixers at the end of a day’s work a few shovels of sand or gravel should be placed in the drum and allowed to mix for a few minutes this combined with the liquid cement usually still present from the last mix and made it too weak to set hard, the following day it would be broken up during the first mix. There were a number of these information suggestions most of which I have no memory, one that still remains is the one involving flexible drives used on vibrators to consolidate in shuttering, or formwork, it was common practise to hang the vibrating head over the shuttering and leave it operating while the concrete was poured, the sharp kink in the flexible drive caused the high speed inner drive to cut a hole in the outer casing, this would be fairly large on the inside but often a very small slit on the out side, if this slit became immersed in the concrete the rotary action of the inner drive sucked in liquid concrete which soon set when switched off and the next day no vibrator, more obvious to the operator was the damaged caused if the actual vibrating head was to touch the reinforcing steel bars inside the shuttering, I have had the heads returned to me cut in half after being in contact with the steel. During the 12 years I was employed by Rice and Sons many things happened that are worth repeating. I cannot begin to remember them in any proper order will just tell them as they pop up in my memory, a local garage
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owner who’s place of business was just up the road from the yard, I bought my petrol from him and we often helped one another out with bits and pieces, he had been the only one who had an independent supply of electricity provided by a single horizontal cylinder glow bulb diesel engine to start it needed a long heating of the bulb part with an oversize blow lamp, then grasping the spokes of one of the very large fly wheels a heave to start the rotation and followed by more pulling until it fired and continued on it’s own, the trick was to let go before you went with it, rather like prop swinging an aircraft engine, his wife helped him to serve petrol, but needed the engine running to supply electricity for the pumps, the odd times when he was too ill to get out of bed I would start the thing for her and so we became friends and swapped ideas about thing, he had “come upon” some very cheap metal twist drills and wondered if I would like some they certainly looked good quality but would they cut I asked, we’ll give them a go he said and put one in his bench drill stand and tried to drill a hole, no luck must need sharpening, and still no luck, a close examination showed that they were left hand drills were stamped USAAF and no doubt had originated in the USAAF Base at Manston and were made for a DeWalt machine that did a number of operations some of which required left hand drills. The local manager of Rice and Sons had a number of children one of which was a young girl who like so many of her gender rode and had horses, the garden at his house had become too small for her latest horse and as there was quite a bit of open space at the yard now it was tidy he asked if we could manage to find room for it, wasn’t very keen but found a space between piles of bricks and partition blocks that could be fenced and space in a shed near by that would do as a tackle store. The young girl turned up with this, to us great hairy beast, and put him away while dad pulled up in his car and took her home. We used to let it out to feed around the yard during the day and never really had any trouble putting it away at night, not that any of us felt very comfortable with it, but it did cause trouble, one day it got it’s nose and most of itself jammed in the door way of a shed while it warmed itself on a potbelly stove that was burning to drive out the moisture from stored items, one of us climbed through a window and tried to back it out but it wouldn’t budge, only thing to do was push it forward and dodge the backward explosion as it’s nose got burnt, it often scratched it’s back on stacks of bricks or tiles, our only warning the rumble as thousands of carefully piled ones slowly slid down to cover yards of ground, when burning worm infested wood it loved to put its hooves into the hot ashes and the long length of pipe we used to move the wood about poured out smoke from it’s top end, the horse stood with this in it’s mouth and seemed to enjoy the odd smoke. We had a few minor problems with this horse, it got out one day when a stupid lorry driver left the gate open and the young lad I had taken on spent most of the day chasing it over hill and dale until it leapt a fence into a paddock of other horses and charged about until this owner
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caught it and insisted on knowing who the owner was. The end for us came when I arrived at the yard one Monday morning to be greeted by a very irate RAF officer, the horse had apparently got out during the weekend and right opposite was the grass runway of Manston Aerodrome, these acres of lush grass were heaven to the horse so in spite of large numbers of service personnel in jeeps and on motor bikes it just cantered madly about preventing the circling aircraft from landing. The main runway at Manston was some miles long, equipped with FIDO and a major airfield during WW2, at this time it was occupied by the USAAF flying Lockheed “Shrunk Works” F80 Shooting Stars, Spifires [sic] had by legend taken off across the runway it was so wide, the grass runway was used by visiting light aircraft to leave the main runway free for ops. I noted that the officer concerned was a non flier and after he had calmed down suggested that he get a few years in before going off at the mouth to me, but felt sorry for him as no doubt he had been torn off a strip by some other prat in uniform, told him the horse was not mine and mentioned my service number which shut him up, but the horse had to go and so it did. Another morning I arrived to be called over by the next door neighbour, who had a small holding and piggery behind his house, to complain about the noise I had been making late into the previous evening, said he would come over and shut me up if it happened again, told him I wished he had which surprised him. What had happened was I crawled into the drum of a large concrete mixer to check the blades and water feed pipes, it was going out on to a site the next day and the phone call only came in as I locked up the workshop, my men had already gone, knew that most of the mixer was in good condition but wondered if the blades and water pipes had been checked, blades were OK but still a small amount of concrete on the inside of the water pipe, got a hammer and cold chisel from the toolbox and chipped out the bits and pieces, a small pebble just didn’t want to move so pushed my finger in to flick it out, the pebble dropped down jamming my finger in and the harder I pulled the more it jammed. The only way I could get out was to hold up the pebble with a piece of wire while I eased my finger out, the tools I had with me were too large, that is why I was banging on the drum hoping someone would come and help me, but no luck and I was going deaf from my hammering. Perhaps the last shovel of sand put in to weaken the cement remaining in the drum had a piece of tie wire in, what a hope but after scrabbling about with my free hand for some time I found a piece, held the pebble up and quickly grabbed my tools and crawled out, the neighbour laughed and would come quick if heard banging late again. Another Monday I arrived at the yard to find the entrance blocked by a very large and dirty Steamroller, no sign of a driver, enquires with neighbours did not help, no note or message on the machine, just parked most tidily across the entrance, walking space only. None of my people knew anything about it and none of us knew how to drive, we checked the tank which had some water in it but no coal or wood,
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lit a fire made sure the sight glass was full and when steam started to come out of various holes, pushed and pulled every lever in sight until it moved into the yard, rolled up and down the yard a few times to make our road smooth and put the brake on, the fire was only wood so it soon burnt down and went out. It stay there for a couple of days and then one morning when I got to work it was gone, never did solve the mystery of the vanishing steamroller. While I was having fun and games at work Phyll was doing her best to balance what budget we had, many times when the gas meter was emptied we didn’t get any “rebate” only the return of the many foreign coins left over from my trips abroad that we had used to get gas because we were flat broke. Tony and Philip were a great trail being about 5 and 3 years old, she once got them all dressed up in their best white outfits, told them to be good boys and play together while she got dressed in her only decent frock, we were going to my Granny and Grand Dad Miles 50th wedding anniversary party, all the family would be there and poor as we were had to make out we were not. I was on my way home from some job or other and arrived in time to see the two boys playing together in the garden as requested, only they were playing in the heap of soot that the chimney sweep had left the previous day after sweeping our coal fire chimney’s!! Poor Phyll all the hard work, no [sic] only did she make their outfits, get them clean and looking smart, rushed to get dressed herself, and now had to start all over again, and I turned up dirty as well. We got to the party and everyone said how smart the boys looked, just one more of the miracles she worked. Kids can drive you mad and at other times make you laugh, arriving home from work one day Phyll told me that Tony had put his head into the bath of bleach water while she had been hanging out the clothes, ‘What a silly thing to do’ I said to him, ‘it could burn you and make your hair fall out’ With eyes as large as saucers he looked at me and said, ‘Is that what you did Daddy’ I couldn’t keep a straight face nor could Phyll. Returning from a trip to my brother’s small pig farm Tony suddenly said ‘I know eggs come from chickens Dad, do pigs lay sausages?’ always expect the unexpected where children are concerned. Apart from all the house work, looking after our growing family, Phyll always managed to find yet another job to help the budget, with Susan in her pram she pushed her quite a way to clean and tidy the house of the local vet, his wife looking after Susan while she did this, funny thing neither of us complained, just glad that we could feed and clothe us all from week to week. Among the jobs I did as part time extra work, was painting a house that a nurse lived in near the Manston yard, and doing all repairs and maintenance at the same restaurant that Phyll did evening work. This later one was a real learning experience, all equipment and machines had to be checked before the place opened for the summer season and most were completely strange to me. All the kitchen machines had to be cleaned and tested, and what most of them did was a mystery to me but head down and asked a few questions and off I went, the
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chipper didn’t work I was told, pulled a cover or two off and found that the last one to use it had put in a rock instead of a potato (dissatisfied employee?) cleared that, straightened the blades and OK again, the spud peeler was very slow, found that the abrasive lining was no longer abrasive! new lining ordered and fitted, and so I worked my way through all the catering gear. The manager asked me to look at the revolving entrance doors, had been very stiff at the end of the last season, what did I know about revolving doors, nothing but there must be a reason, climbed on top and found that the lock nuts that held the door up were loose and had allowed the door to drop so that it dragged on the floor, soon adjusted that and smiles from the manager, he began to think I was a miracle worker, but most of it was just the very uncommon common sense. This restaurant was situated on the land side of the road that ran along the beach, a section that was below high tide mark had a dance floor and entertainments as well as food and drinks served. The floor and walls up to high tide level had been “tanked” with a bitumen coating to prevent sea water damaging the decorations and timber block dance floor, some clever “dicky” had removed some of this timber block dance floor and “tanking” to increase the area used to cater for food and drink patrons, vinyl floor tiles had been stuck over the bare concrete floor that was exposed, at the same level and matching those already installed, but these new ones had no “tanking” underneath. The manager explained that as the tide came in and out the salt water dissolved the adhesive which expanded into a large ulcerous looking lump in the middle of the tiles, ladies with stiletto high heels punctured them when they stood on them and the resulting black goo shot up their legs damaging stockings and dresses. I had a look at the problem and sure enough a number were well and truly ready to “blow their top”, dug out those that needed replacing and realised that to put new ones in with adhesive was not the answer, nails would be good but the heads would probably trip people but headless one might be the answer but into concrete could be a problem, had an old gramophone at home that used the old steel needles, gave that a try and magic no problem the hardened needles went into the concrete easily and held the tiles OK, quick trip to the local gramophone shop got all their old used needles and a few boxes of new ones and just kept an eye on the tiles and as they started to bulge out they came and new ones in, during that summer think I changed the whole lot. I was on call during the evenings and week ends not too many problems, most had been already fixed mainly things broken by staff or customers, the ‘chefs’ were a funny lot always on their “high horses” about how clever they were and just threw things about if upset, more work for me, the amplifier and microphones at the dances often played up due mainly I think by drunks grabbing the mic. to bellow their inane rubbish. During the summer ‘season’ Phyll did other work, one of her aunties had a “Boarding house”, perhaps the more modern ‘bed and breakfast’ might convey to readers what it was,
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whole families came to Margate and other seaside resorts to spend their summer holidays, the cheapest accommodation for a family being the Boarding House, must be out of the house by about nine thirty and not let back in to the afternoon, these regulations varied, some miserable people stuck to them, but people never went back to them. Phyll’s job was to clean and tidy all the bedrooms, change over days, usually Saturday was very hard, most of the houses were big old places with perhaps only one lavatory and bathroom on each floor, some not even that, so chamber pots or ‘gusunders’ were provided under all beds, hence the commonly used expression used in those days for all things running late “here it is (time) and not a po emptied”. How Phyll managed to keep house, look after me and the kids and still go out to work I don’t know, no such thing as child minding in those days, we couldn’t have afforded it if there had been, must ask her some time how she managed it all!!! The house in Tivoli Road had no electricity, lighting by gas may be romantic but fraught with problems, too much gas pressure or touched when being lit and mantles break, a small hole will send a jet of flame against the glass cover and in winter when the whole house is cold, the glass shatters and people get cut, candles were used to move from room to room, and checking a sleeping baby without dripping candle grease on everything was an art soon learnt. We decorated this old house from top to bottom, never thought to ask for money to pay for things just got on and did it, remember Phyll standing on a chair wallpapering our bedroom just hours before she asked me to go out and phone the midwife as Susan was on the way, we had made up a bed for her in the dining room so no stairs to climb, I was pushed out and told to boil lots of water and get piles of newspaper, think the water boiling job was to shut me up, brave things woman, glad it was Phyll and not me going through child birth, I need medical attention if I break a finger nail, guess all men are cowards. Because the house was one of a long row of terrace houses, now known as town houses, houses all joined together, being old and some had been empty all during the war, mice had invaded one or two, we had used traps and got rid of ours but roofs and coal cellars joined, so that migration to the best food source was common. All food was kept in mice proof containers, the only source of food not covered being the layers of fat on the inside of the ancient gas cooker, efforts to get it clean only disturbed the recent deposits. Leaving Phyll sitting beside the fire in the room we used most of the time I went out to the cold kitchen to make our nightly drink of cocoa, as I lit the gas light I could hear a scrabbling coming from the oven, a mouse was having supper also, blocking the rear vent up with some clothes waiting to be washed I turned on the oven gas, waited for the scrabbling to end and picked up a dead mouse and in triumph took it in to show Phyll threw it on the fire and returned to make our cocoa. The next night a repeat performance was in sight as the next mouse awaited it’s fate, on went the gas, open came the door and Reg ended on his back against the wall as the
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cooker exploded, with the eye brows, eye lashes and moustache singed I staggered into Phyll, no longer the hero just a poor wounded soldier. The previous night the gas for our cocoa had not been lit, tonight it had, when I opened the oven door the gas escaped and was lit by the gas alight on top. Phyll covered my sores with Vaseline and I hurried out to get the mouse only to see it disappear behind the vegetable boxes in the larder, using all my force I crushed the box against the wall and another dead one, but of course the milk boiled over so I guess you could say, Reg one, the mice one, a draw. A friend of both Phyll and I when were at school was Laurie Foat he worked with his father who had a Greengrocer’s shop in Eaton Rd, I had been interested in bees when at school and found that Laurie also had an interest and had in fact a number of bee hives. We got together and started to expend the number of hives by breeding and bought quality Queen bees which we introduced after removing the old queens, we had bees in all sorts of places, orchardists welcomed us as pollination of their fruit trees was ensured, growers of many crops wanted our bees on site, this sometimes was a very painful as during transit the hives often moved and many times we travelled with swarms of bees round our heads, hoping that we would arrive on site still with enough to carry out the job in hand.
We experimented with new ideas, the only hive that had been used in England apart from the straw skip was the WBC, this had inner boxes in which the frames fitted, usually two types, honey and brood, and outer sloping ones that gave insulation in the cold months when the bees were in hibernation, we tried out the new style National hives, these were single wall and larger than the WBC (how I remember all this after 50 years, I do not know) The National hive was a copy of hives used in warmer countries such as Australia and South Africa, where the honey flow continued most of the year and hibernation was not needed, our extractor could not handle the bigger National frames and filling by the bees took much longer and in fact frames were often found to be only half full even if the honey flow had been good, they were easier to handle but really not for the small bee keeper who enjoyed the hobby more that the honey.
We also tried out a new floor board which had a fine mesh panel in it, a cover over it was controlled by a thermostat which opened and closed it depending on the temperature, this in theory helped the bees to drive off the moisture from the honey before it was capped. An old wives tale says that your bees know you and you must tell them all about you family particularly births and deaths, whether this is true I don’t know but sitting by the entrance to a hive as the sun goes down with crowds of bees at the entrance to the hive all facing inwards fanning their wings madly to drive off the moisture from that day’s honey crop is a rather magic experience, the bees ignore you and with your face close to them the sweet smell of clover,
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apple or other flowers they have been visiting beats any of man’s bottled perfumes.
As winter approached one year, it was obvious that two of our hives were not big enough to survive over the long months ahead, one had been used as a breeding hive for new queens, the other the remnants of one that had swarmed in an orchard miles away and the orchardist had not told us until it was too late to get most of them back. We would need to combine them and as bees are very territorial they couldn’t just be put together (one of the two queens must be removed), most of both hives would be killed, there were two normal ways to do this, cover each lot of bees with flour then combine them and by the time they had cleaned all the flour off themselves they would all smell the same, another ways was to block up the entrances put many layers of newspapers between the two and wait until the two lots of bees had chewed their way through and hope they would be friends.
Laurie lived over his father’s shop which had a flat roof which could be reached from one of Laurie’s windows, the combining needed to be watched to see if it was going according to plan, and the bulk of our hives were on land some miles away, the flat roof above the shop was an ideal place, we thought, the hives were set up near one another and a search through Laurie’s wife’s food cupboard failed to find any flour but a number of half packets of different coloured blanc-mange powder seemed just as good, the lid was removed from one hive and well dusted with powder, the floor taken off the other placed on top and it’s roof removed and the remainder of the powder sprinkled in.
Some of the bees took offence at this and gave us both our usual injection of anti-rheumatic treatment (after the number of stings I took should never get any joint problems, perhaps another old wives tale!) we retreated behind the closed windows of Laurie’s flat to watch events, all seemed to be going well until Laurie’s father suddenly appeared in the room, not a very happy Daddy, bees, all colours of the rainbow were driving his customers away, no one had been stung, but they were landing on everyone and everything and bright orange red, blue, and even multi coloured bees were not the normal thing seen in shops. After about an hour the panic was over and all the bees had settled down to do what bees do best, hum, and make honey.
Bees like the rest of living things get sick and we sent any suspect ones to Rothamstead Research Institute for analysis. I had been working the bees one weekend and on the Monday morning woke up feeling not too good, turning to Phyll in bed asked if my face was swollen, the look on her face and a sudden withdrawal of breath told me the tale, got out of bed and looked in the mirror, two slits that must have been eyes once, two nose holes
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that belonged more to a member of the pig family, the whole lot buried in a red blotched landscape of no sharp edges just fat curves, felt even sicker after seeing that sight. Phyll rang the doctor, (doctors actually came to see the sick in those days) who knew of our family history and at once remarked that it looked like a bee sting, told him we had a hive that we suspected had paralysis and were awaiting the results of tests, sat on my bed for about half an hour finding out all the symptoms of various bee diseases, gave me pills to take, come and see me in ten days, these blue pills got rid of the swelling but seemed to deposit glass chips in my joints, Phyll had to help me move and the pain was worse than the sting, managed to walk with great pain to his surgery after ten days, when I told him of my joints problem, said he should have given me these other pills to dissolve the crystals that would form in my joints.
Went to him once with a very swollen elbow, tennis elbow he said, don’t play it I said, showed me his elbow which was just as swollen as mine, got mine playing golf he said, what shall I do I said, don’t play golf or tennis for a bit was the answer!! Good doctor always came when asked and never gave you any bull, just one of the old school, straight answers to straight questions and don’t go to him if you just wanted a note to stay away from work, I never did, in fact had to argue with him at times when he wanted me to rest, but mutual respect was our way.
At work load was getting greater most self inflicted see a job do it is still my way, and the firm found that if they wanted some thing done and it was possible for me to do it, it got done. The “Corgi” motor bike was just too small for all the tasks expected of me, tried to get a van from the firm, but even old ones were very hard to get after the War, saw an advertisement for a 1928 Austin 7 only 20 quid, borrowed the money from my Dad and went to pick it up, one of the firm’s lorries dropped me off at this farm many miles away from home, it was in the back of a barn and sounded a bit rough when started up, farmer said it had been used to carry a full milk churn down to the front gate each day, drove it out to the yard at Manston, the engine rattle getting worse as time went on. Left it there to begin work on it the next day, stripped it right down, found the front seat was a bale of straw, no back seat, when pulled to pieces the small parts just filled a cardboard box, the chassis was two slender bits of channel joined at one end and that had a number of cracks in it, engine and body was all aluminium so very light, Phyll not very impressed when she first saw it, a box of greasy bits and some other bits of tin hanging on the workshop wall. I rebuilt the thing from scratch, crankshaft reground, cylinders rebored, valves and seats refaced, king pins and bushes renewed, any cracks in the chassis or body welded up, new seats, and tyres and tubes, it was a “tourer” open body and need less to say the canopy was missing, I had a new one made by a coach builder, when finished I spray painted it dark blue, and we now had our own motor car to
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go about and I had arranged payment by the firm for so much a mile when I used it on the firms business, which in fact covered all our costs of the car and a bit over, the overhaul had been done in the firms time and at their cost, not that they were made aware of it, and wouldn’t have minded if they had, for me to be mobile anywhere anytime was what they wanted and now had it.
I could take a decent size tool kit out on repair jobs and even the odd spare part, if they wanted me to do oxy cutting or welding a van or truck had to be available to carry the cylinders and other gear, and the oxy cutting began to become a major part of my work, I had taken on a fitter who stayed at the yard and together with the young bloke I had engaged kept on top of the repairs to machinery while I was out on jobs. A list of all of the metal work jobs I did on site would take pages and strain the old memory but some can never be forgotten for various reasons.
There are three which stick in the memory, Dreamland a very well known and large entertainment park, side shows, scenic railway, ghost house, roller coaster, you name it, Klingers a stocking and tights factory built by Rice and Sons, and The new Margate and district Telephone Exchange also built by Rice’s.
I’ll start with the last, the telephone exchange, this was a multi storey building with imposing stairs and entrance halls, Italian workers had been brought from Italy to do all the Terraza work to floors and stairs, my first contact with the site was when one of their machines would not start and the local garages couldn’t or wouldn’t repair it for them, not a very big job to fix it as I remember, but with typical Italian gusto I was treated as if I had saved them from a fate worse than death itself, showed me all their secrets for treating Terraza floors before people were allowed to walk on it, dozens of bottles of milk poured on after it was ground and washed, the fat from the milk sealed the pores in the cement and polish was applied over this.
The interior hand rail supports up the stairs had been concreted in before the Italians started their work, before they applied the final grinding and polishing they wanted the steel core rail for the wooden hand rail fitted, from their previous experience metal filings often landed on their Terraza and caused stains which were hard to remove, all the interior and exterior steel fences and railings had been contracted from by a London based company some 75 miles away by road. Their workmen arrived on site to fit the core rail and spent a couple of weeks drilling and fitting this top rail and returned to London, the manufacturers of the wooden rail itself came to the site to check that this work had been carried out properly, most people don’t look at wooden hand rails in multi storey buildings, next time you are in one have a look at the complicated solid wood shapes made to change direction
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round corners or up to the next flight, all made from plans and joins that are hard to see. The steel core rail was a mess and phone calls to the London manufactures went un-answered, there was also the question of some hundreds of yards of exterior fancy railings which had to be fitted into holes cut in the Portland Stone capping that was the topping for a wall that curved round and sloped and ended at various entrances on three sides of the building.
The call came in one morning to visit this site and see the site manager, who just happened to be my Father! He showed me the stair problem, the core rail in some cases had been cut short and in others it was too long making the legs fixed into the concrete look like a row of trees, some of the end rolls were all twisted, in fact it was a mess, went back to the yard got oxy gear and other tools told my staff expect me when see me and ring if you can’t cope, the only way was to remove completely the core rail, straighten and check for plumb the supports, and start one end and rectify as I went, finished that part in a week or so, it was OK’d by the handrail people and the Italians who still made a fuss of me and I started to pack up my gear to return to base, that was not on my father’s plans, the steel railing manufacturers had been ‘sacked’, would get no further payments, I would complete the work! ‘Thanks Dad I had other jobs to do,’ ‘but you don’t leave here until the railings are complete’, see what happens when you do a good job? you get more!!
I found that not only had I to get the railings to fit, but had to concrete the legs into the wall leaving the cement a good half inch below the top of the Portland Stone, I then had to come back when the concrete was set and pour melted lead into this space leaving it slightly proud, which I then had to hammer flat using a caulking chisel so that the lead prevented any water from getting at the steel in the wall and causing it to rust. All this was said as if I had been doing this all my life and my own father standing there and saying it, there’s family for you.
I started on a long straight section and when concreted in it was straight as a gun barrel, a good start, now for this curved and sloping section, each day was yet another battle with wedging posts upright, cutting and welding, all joins in the rails had to be half lapped, welded and smooth, at last this very long section was finished, ready for the lead. Back to the yard for a coke fired furnace, pouring pots, melting pots, scrap lead, coke and other tools, I needed help with this lead pouring so told my fitter to report to the site the next day and we would make a start, did the straight run first, each hold had to be done in one pour, lead soon gets a skin on it and if stopped half way would not seal properly, things went well until we did a hole that was damp and all hell broke loose, the hot lead turned the dampness to steam the lead sealed the hole, but the steam won and lead shot out covering
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both of us with lead spots on face and clothes, none in our eyes thank god, a lesson learnt, back to the yard to make to face masks with thick glass and a frame much like an arc welding mask.
Each hole after that had to be heated with the oxy torch to ensure no moisture was present, winter in England there is always moisture present, and so we poured and heated and caulked our way round to the last post outside the main entrance, heated, checked for moisture, poured, and bang the whole of the dark brick work at the main entrance covered in very pretty sparkling lead spots, who should walk out before we could hide, yes dad, “now you’ve got a long job picking every bit of lead out”, some we removed but like I said earlier it soon gets a skin and goes dark and it was winter with no light so we only spent one day doing the easy seen ones and then back to the yard for a rest!!
Dreamland was a very different job, it was the height of the holiday season and the crowds filled every place of entertainment, Margate was a sea side place and families came from all over southern England for their week or two of fun in the sun. Those businesses that depended on the holiday makers for their lively hood had just three months to make enough to last all year, rain didn’t really matter the people came anyhow just spent their money in different places and Dreamland was humming. A very large building had been erected just inside one of the entrances it was about 40 feet high and about a hundred yards square, really only consisted of a corrugated cement and asbestos sheeting clad roof on massive steel supports, the interior filled with side shows and games of chance (very little chance in most cases) and it was always very well patronised, if the sun was out it was a place to get cool and if raining a good shelter, most of the people who ran the side shows paid rent for the site and many managed to find a space in their stall to get their head down when Dreamland was closed for the night. I received a call at home before I even left for the yard to get my Oxy gear and come down to Dreamland to do some cutting, I always had plenty of gas bottles on hand and had purchased very long hoses because of the difficult jobs I was always getting. Arriving at Dreamland I could see this skeleton of a building still smoking from the fire, the foreman met me to say that the owners wanted it cleared away as soon as possible so that trading could start again, but if I made a start a professional in building removal was on his way and he would take over from me. Looking at the structure it was basically a cross with massive compound girder columns at each corner, with again compound steel trusses spanning from column to column, the roofing material had collapsed into the rubbish beneath, but the heavy purlins were all twisted about and had been put under great stress by the heat of the fire. The safest way was to get on top of the building and using boards climb up to the ridges from both sides cutting and dropping the purlins as you went, this would leave the massive truss supported only at
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each end, cut through this at one end with great care, and hang on when it dropped, climb up the other side and drop the remaining end of the truss, this could then be cut up into manageable size lumps and carted away, the two columns could then be cut close to ground level and chopped up and after the whole building had been removed a final cutting of the column stumps would make the site use able again. Explained my thoughts to the site foreman and the boss from Dreamland who both agreed that it seemed OK, barriers were put in place and men stationed to prevent anyone entering the area where I was working, ladders erected for me to get up top, but my hoses though long would not reach far enough, so with a bit of a strain got the two heavy cylinders up to the top of the columns and lashed them there, I would leave them in that position until the time came to fell the columns. Up I went, ladders removed and I started cutting away the purlins, each one acted in a different way depending on what the stress was, just had to be careful and not get too close at the final cut, but things went OK and soon the clatter of falling steel and the showers of sparks from the Oxy torch had a crowd of sight see’ers, got the first truss free of purlins and ready to drop one end, when an almighty bang nearly tossed me off the roof, looked round to where the noise had come from and there was the “professional”, with his long ladder leaning on the truss, he had cut through one end of the truss and had not cut any of the purlins, dangling by a rope tied to the ladder his torch burning the ladder and the truss hanging by the already under stress purlins. The site foreman rushed to help him down and put out the ladder fire.
I cut my truss end and went round to start on the other end when another loud crash rang through the site, the idiot had cut the same end of another truss and now two were hanging and swinging, told the foreman I was off, let the idiot kill himself but not me, don’t worry he said he has scared himself half to death and is going home the job is all yours, I often wonder if I should have thanked the foreman. For a number of days I started at sun up and worked long into the night, balancing on boards and cutting steel, usually woke up in the middle of the night shaking at all the near misses I’d had during the day but just went back to the job in the morning, Phyll was going to the cinema one night with her friend up the road and took a short cut through Dreamland to get to the cinema, saw me up on the roof sparks flying everywhere and just couldn’t go any further, got the job finished in the end but nobody ever thanked me and not even a whisper of some extra money, should have asked for some before I started I suppose, just too thick for my own good. Reading this could make people think that I am boasting about how clever I was, I’m afraid the reverse is the case, all of my children have more sense than I, if extra work is undertaken, extra pay is demanded, and received, promotion is given with extra perks for an employee of value, I just did everything asked and in most cases took on extra responsibilities without being asked and it seems never thanked, managers used my work to enhance their own images and gained increases
[page break]
of salary and position by getting work done under cost and dead lines because they could depend on me, and I the mug just kept on delivering. I obviously didn’t realise any of this at the time, probably would have carried on just the same if I had, but I had something that none of them had, satisfaction of doing a good job and over coming difficulties that would have had many asking for help, none of my jobs could ever cause me any embarrassment about my skill as a fitter, my training in the RAF taught me that near enough is not good enough, only one way, the right way, think before you start, it might be too late if you start to think after you have started!! The next job I will describe was again something quite different, a site had been cleared on the industrial are between Margate and Ramsgate for a factory being built to manufacture stockings and tights and owned by Klingers. This factory was a very special construction in reinforced concrete, a triple barrel vault roof with north facing double sealed windows, parking and storage beneath, no columns or supports of any kind on the factory floor. The drawings of the reinforcing steel bars to go into the roof were a maze of interlocking rods, the roof changing in thickness from massive beams running the full length, to just three inches in thickness in the centre of the curves and again getting thicker to support the large double glazed window units. I was given various lists of machinery required and the dates when they should be on site, apart from the usual concrete mixers and scaffolding, steel bar bending tools were wanted to make all the complicated shapes of reinforcing needed, the men on site would start working to the drawings provided many weeks before the actual construction work started. Benches, various benders and cutting gear was delivered to the site but the foreman had trouble actually bending some of the shapes with the machines provided, investigations of machines on the market indicated that there was none that could do the tight and difficult shapes wanted. The architect would not change his design, so the foreman, workers and I put our heads together and worked out a simple device to bend the difficult pieces, made one of the machines and once we were all happy with it made a couple more. Further tales of working life can be found in the FAMILY CD. Reg
[page break]
[Missing photograph]
[underlined] Wedding photo April 28 1945 [/underlined]
– Reg Miles
http://www.geocities.com/jkjustin/Milesbio6.html
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
Biography of Reg Miles
Description
An account of the resource
A detailed Biography of Reg' service and post service life.
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 Canadian Air Force
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Free French Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Margate
England--Wendover
England--Aylesbury
England--High Wycombe
England--Dover
England--Shrewsbury
England--Liverpool
England--Penzance
England--Devon
South Africa--Bloemfontein
England--Taunton
England--Blackpool
Sierra Leone--Freetown
South Africa--Durban
South Africa--Muizenberg
South Africa--Cape Town
South Africa--Krugersdorp
Germany--Dortmund
Belgium--Ghent
England--Folkestone
France--Paris
France--Lens
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Essen
Belgium--Liège
France--Somain
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Neufchâtel-en-Bray
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Hamburg
France--Creil Region
France--Saint-Vaast-La Hougue
France--Montrichard
France--Mimoyecques
France--Le Havre
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Osnabrück
Germany--Kiel
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
France--Calais
Germany--Bottrop
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Norway--Bergen
England--Harrogate
Malta
Egypt--Cairo
Australia
Queensland--Mackay
Libya--Tripoli
Israel--Tel Aviv
Middle East--Jerusalem
West Bank--Bethlehem
Iraq--Baṣrah
Pakistan--Karachi
India--Kolkata
Sri Lanka--Ratmalana
Sri Lanka--Negombo
Israel--Lod
India--New Delhi
England--Cornwall (County)
France
Queensland
Libya
Egypt
Germany
Belgium
India
Iraq
Israel
Norway
South Africa
Pakistan
Sri Lanka
Sierra Leone
West Bank
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Kent
England--Shropshire
England--Somerset
England--Lancashire
Egypt--Jīzah
France--Chantilly Forest
Creator
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Reg Miles
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
109 printed sheets
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
BMilesRJMilesRJv1
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
Georgie Donaldson
346 Squadron
347 Squadron
420 Squadron
425 Squadron
428 Squadron
432 Squadron
6 Group
77 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
Beaufighter
Blenheim
bomb aimer
C-47
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
control caravan
crash
crewing up
debriefing
demobilisation
dispersal
Distinguished Flying Cross
entertainment
FIDO
fitter engine
flight engineer
Fw 190
Gee
Grand Slam
ground crew
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 5
Hampden
hangar
Harvard
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
home front
Hurricane
Ju 88
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 2
love and romance
Manchester
Master Bomber
Me 109
mess
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
Mosquito
navigator
Nissen hut
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Oboe
P-51
Pathfinders
perimeter track
pilot
promotion
RAF Carnaby
RAF Dishforth
RAF East Moor
RAF Elvington
RAF Halton
RAF Langar
RAF Lyneham
RAF Manston
RAF Nutts Corner
RAF Prestwick
RAF Shawbury
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Skipton on Swale
RAF St Athan
RAF St Eval
RAF Tholthorpe
RAF Tilstock
RAF Woodbridge
recruitment
runway
Scarecrow
searchlight
Second Tactical Air Force
service vehicle
Spitfire
sport
Stirling
target indicator
Tiger Moth
training
Typhoon
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/630/30882/MPotterPL1878961-150914-06.2.pdf
84b52218f1a5776654ee80a871e15669
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
Potter, Peter
P Potter
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Potter, P
Description
An account of the resource
39 items. Collection concerns Peter Potter, (1925 - 2019, 1876961 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a rear gunner with 626 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, his logbook, memoirs and photographs
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Potter and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-14
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.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[inserted][underlined] Bire etc [/underlined] For Boxted 24-2 [/inserted]
[inserted][missing letter][underlined] A [/underlined][/inserted]
FLYING LOG BOOK
The following are Photostats of pages from my flying log book. They are a record of the operations made by me over enemy-occupied territory in 1944.
Although the completed missions were obviously very dangerous, those we were unable to complete (abortive) nevertheless remain the clearest in my memory. There were two.
The first, on the 8th August, was an op to Aire, a short trip which meant we had a bomb load of 12,000 lbs. However, shortly after take off we were faced with a massive thunderstorm. We attempted to fly above it, but it built and rose as fast as we did. Eventually we entered the cloud, and almost immediately flew into the downdraft. We fell from our ceiling approximately 24,000ft like a stone. At approximately 12,000ft we began to pull out of the dive and the controls began to respond. Our impetus took us down to 4,000ft before we pulled out and climbed to 12,000ft. At this time we realised we were losing height again even with the [deleted] two [/deleted] engines at full power. We decided to return to base as it was obvious we could not complete the op. as we were above the North Sea it was decided to jettison the bombs. This proved to be impossible as we were unable to open the bomb bay doors. The maximum speed we could maintain was about 140 mph and we were gradually losing height. We found out later that both the outboard engines had torn away from their side mountings and they were pointing down about 15 degrees, pulling us down even though we were at full power.
We reached Wickenby with a few hundred feet to spare and made a perfect landing. We had to. We could not have gained height again for another attempt. As we touched down on the runway the photo flash, equivalent to a 500lb bomb, fell out and came bouncing down the runway behind us, sparks flying everywhere. Luckily it didn’t explode. We were directed to the most remote area of the airfield and evacuated the aircraft in record time.
During the descent in the cloud we were entertained by a most brilliant display of St. Elmo’s Fire. The whole aircraft was covered with balls of fire running about. We took photographs but none showed the fire. However, parts of the plane showed as clear as if the photographs had been taken in sunlight.
[page break]
[eighteen pages of log book]
[page break]
27-2
The plane had been almost torn apart in the encounter. The rivets had been torn from the leading edge of the wings and tail-plane. The wings were twisted as was the body. The engineers from AVRO said they could not understand how the plane had remained airborne as long as it had. In their report after tests we received a letter from them stating that to sustain such damage the plane had to exceed 570 mph. if that was the case I believe we flew the fastest bomber in World War II. The tests on UMH2 were carried out under the supervision of Roy Chadwick and the letter to our Navigator was written in long hand, not typed and the original was kept by Jimmy. We all had copies unfortunately mine was lost when moving.
The second abortive was on 5th October 1944, Saarbrucken, when we hit icy conditions so bad that we lost two engines and all suffered some degree of frostbite.
We were routed over the edge of the mountains so were unable to lose height for some time. We were unable to climb and so aborted. We all suffered, also in later life. One engine re-started once we descended.
My most memorable successful operation was when dropping mines in the Kiel Canal from 500ft. We flew straight along the canal dropping one mine at a time in what was one of the most heavily defended targets of the war. There was so much firing along the canal that we could see almost as clearly as in daylight.
We all felt fear at times, but it affects people differently. For me it was a stimulant and when a civilian I was unable to settle until I became a fireman.
I flew on two other ops to cover for bods who could not get back to the station in time and their crews asked me to help out to save the absentees getting into trouble. On one op the C.O. knew what was going on as that morning he called me to his office to offer me a commission (which I had to refuse owing to putting my age up to join the RAF). He recognised me at briefing and knew I was with the wrong crew. However he did nothing except to say that he needed to know if I did it again.
After surviving a few trips we were given our own aircraft, UMF2, already a veteran of many ops. She proved to be a most dependable aircraft. Apart from the number of bombs painted on the side we also had the nude lady which I understand was repainted by the next crew after we completed our tour. The lady was no longer reclining but standing partly clothed. At a reunion a chap said it had been ordered to be removed, which it was, but repainted standing and captioned ‘Frigger of the fighting sixes’ instead of ‘Friga of -----. Whoever gave the order must have got the message as it survived. It was a special aircraft in that for some reason it had a much better performance than the vast majority of Lancs. She flew faster than others on
[page break]
28-2
the same revs and boost and it didn’t make any difference when engines were changed. Fuel consumption was better, a lovely plane. We never found her ceiling and she performed well in all weather conditions. Only once when on an op to Saarbrucken on 5th October 1944 did we have real problems with icing and engine failure with loss of all heating. We all suffered from frostbite and had to abort.
However, on 12th September 1944 target Frankfurt, when evading a fighter JU88 I smashed my lower jaw and was placed sick. The rest of the crew then had two abortives and became convinced I was their luck and pleaded with me to sign myself off which I did and flew with my jaw strapped up, hardly able to talk and still living on liquids. Wearing my oxygen mask I was in agony, but at least the pain kept me awake. Bone splinters from the jaw were still working their way out 40 years later. I was still unable to eat properly for many years and on occasions my jaw would lock solid for weeks at a time. Jaw and Larynx damage caused speech to be impaired and loss of voice if projected for more than a short period. Damage also caused a loss in inflexion ability.
Once the bombs had gone we either flew high or very low on our way home, preferably very high and as on the outward journey, weaving about all the time to allow us the greatest chance of seeing anyone underneath us, a method that stood us in good stead twice. On a moonlit night we flew high, on dark nights low, avoiding lit up areas. We used cloud cover at times, but not if our shadow was thrown.
UMF2 survived the war. I was told she completed over one hundred ops, but have not confirmed it. She was one of the only two aircraft to fly from beginning to and of Squadron Ops period and had been on C Flight 12 Squadron before C Flight became 626 Squadron.
Like many other crews we all learnt as much as possible about each others jobs and agreed amongst ourselves who was the best substitute for who. It was decided that Stu Tween W/OP was best gunner, Jim Jackson, N, was best B/A, Johnny Payne B/A, best F/E. Johnny Moore, MU/G best W/OP. I was best Pilot and also Nav, but every one of us practised at all other positions. I was the only one to land the aircraft which I only did 3 times with a very nervous skipper hovering and the rest on tenterhooks too. What would have happened if I had needed to do it with a dodgy aircraft I have no idea. Landing occasions were on August 1st, V2 on return from Rufforth, August 21st F2 and 29th F2, September 9th Navigated whole trip, September 27th, Navigated whole trip.
I had been taught to fly and navigate by a First World War[deleted]t[/deleted] pilot, my father also and tried to keep up-to-date as I grew older.
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/.
Format
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One photocopied booklet
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MPotterPL1878961-150914-06
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
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-03
1944-05-04
1944-08-04
1944-08-07
1944-08-08
1944-08-10
1944-08-14
1944-08-15
1944-08-18
1944-08-26
1944-08-27
1944-08-29
1944-08-30
1944-09-03
1944-09-05
1944-09-08
1944-09-10
1944-09-11
1944-09-12
1944-09-13
1944-09-26
1944-10-03
1944-10-05
1944-10-06
1944-10-07
1944-10-14
1944-10-15
1944-10-19
1944-10-20
1944-10-23
1944-10-24
1944-11-06
1944-11-11
1944-11-12
1944-11-16
1944-11-21
1944-11-22
1944-11-29
1944-12-06
1944-12-07
1944-12-12
1944-12-13
1944-12-15
1944-12-16
1944-12-17
1944-12-18
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Poland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Belgium--Ghent
England--Lincolnshire
England--Staffordshire
France--Caen Region
France--Calais
France--Falaise
France--Le Havre
France--Paris
France--Pauillac (Gironde)
Germany--Aschaffenburg
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düren (Cologne)
Germany--Emmerich
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Kiel Canal
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Merseburg
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Ulm
Netherlands--Eindhoven
Netherlands--Uden
Netherlands--Veere
Poland--Szczecin
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
France--Fontenay
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
Mike Connock
Description
An account of the resource
Flying log book excerpts from P L Potter’s log book, covering the period from 3 May 1944 to 17 December 1944. Detailing his flying training and operations flown. He was stationed at RAF Hixon and RAF Wickenby. Aircraft flown in were Wellington and Lancaster. He flew a total of 33 operations, one night operation with 30 Operational Training Unit and 17 daylight and 15 night operations with 626 Squadron. His pilot on operations was Flying Officer Ford. Targets were Paris, Pauillac, Fontenay de Marmion, Ferme de Forestal, Falaise, Volkel, Ghent, Kiel, Stettin, Eindhoven, le Havre, Frankfurt, Calais, West kapelle, Saarbrucken, Emmerich, Duisburg, Stuttgart, Essen, Gelsenkirchen, Kiel Canal, Duren, Aschaffenburg, Dortmund, Merseburg, Ludwigshafen and Ulm. The log book also contains type written details of two aborted operations and their causes.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Title
A name given to the resource
Copy of Peter Potter's flying log book
30 OTU
626 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
bombing of Luftwaffe night-fighter airfields (15 August 1944)
bombing of the Normandy coastal batteries (5/6 June 1944)
Chadwick, Roy (1893-1947)
fear
Ju 88
Lancaster
Me 109
Me 262
military ethos
mine laying
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
nose art
Operational Training Unit
RAF Hixon
RAF Pembrey
RAF Wickenby
tactical support for Normandy troops
target indicator
training
V-1
V-weapon
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/630/30879/BPotterPLPotterPLv5.2.pdf
74c5a13dfc72d89e4d5af84233f0c38e
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
Potter, Peter
P Potter
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Potter, P
Description
An account of the resource
39 items. Collection concerns Peter Potter, (1925 - 2019, 1876961 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a rear gunner with 626 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, his logbook, memoirs and photographs
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Peter Potter and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-09-14
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.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[Description of operational flying – Potter]
So, after surviving a few trips we were given our own aircraft, UMF2, already a
veteran of many ops. She proved to be the most dependable aircraft. Apart
from the increasing number of bombs painted on the side we also had the
nude lady which I understand was repainted by the next crew after we
completed our tour. The lady was no longer reclining but standing and partly
clothed. At a reunion a chap said it had been ordered to be removed, which it
was, but repainted standing and captioned 'Frigger of the fighting sixes'
instead of 'Frigga of -----. Whoever gave the order must have got the
message as it survived. It was a special aircraft in that for some reason it had
a much better performance than the vast majority of Lancs. She flew faster
than others on the same revs and boost and it didn't make any difference
when engines were changed. Fuel consumption was better. A lovely plane. We
never found her ceiling and she performed well in all weather conditions.
Only once when on an op to Saarbrucken on 5th October 1944 did we have real
problems with icing and engine failure, with loss of all heating. We all
suffered from frostbite and had to abort.
However, on 12th September 1944, target Frankfurt, when evading a fighter
JU88. I smashed my lower jaw and was placed sick. The rest of the crew then
had two abortives and became convinced I was their luck and pleaded with me
to sign myself off which I did and flew with my jaw strapped up, hardly able to
talk, and still living on liquids. Wearing an oxygen mask I was in agony but at
least the pain kept me awake. Bone splinters from the jaw were still working
their way out 40 years later. I was still unable to eat properly for many years
and on occasions my jaw would lock solid for weeks at a time.
Once the bombs had gone we either flew high or very low on our way home,
preferably very high, and, as on the outward journey, weaving about all the
time to allow us the greatest chance of seeing anyone underneath us, a method
that stood us in good stead twice. On a moonlit night we flew high, on dark
nights low, avoiding lit up areas. We used cloud cover at times but not if our
shadow was thrown.
UMF2 survived the war. I was told she completed over one hundred ops but
have not confirmed it. She was one of only two aircraft to fly from beginning
to end of Squadron Ops period and had been on C Flight 12 Squadron before C
Flight became 626 Squadron.
Like many other crews we all learnt as much as possible about each others
jobs and agreed amongst ourselves who was the best substitute for who. It
was decided that Stu Tween W lOP was best gunner, Jim Jackson, N, was best
B/A, Johnny Payne B/A, best F/E, Johnny Moore, MU/G best W/OP. I was
best Pilot and also Nav, but every one of us practised at all other positions. I
was the only one to land the aircraft which I only did 3 times with a very
nervous skipper hovering and the rest on tenterhooks too. What would have
happened if I had needed to do it with a dodgy aircraft I have no idea.
Landing occasions were on August 1st, V2 on return from Rufforth, August 21st
F2 and 29th F2, September 9th Navigated whole trip, September 2nd,
Navigated whole trip.
I had been taught to fly and navigate by a First World War pilot, my father
also, and tried to keep up-to-date as I grew older.
Of all my ops the ones I remember more than the others were: Kiel Canal,
Aire (abortive) when we hit down draft of a cu-nim cloud and the plane was
almost torn to pieces and Frankfurt and Saarbrucken when we landed with
full load of 62,0001bs with 3 engines. We also had a second dickie on board.
(Aire Abortive is reported separately).
When we flew it was necessary to keep a sharp eye out for enemy aircraft,
mostly at take-off and landing. Many of our aircraft were shot down for not
being alert at an times. There was never a time you could relax, even in
England. We were all concerned about the possibility of becoming Prisoners
of War and found out as much as possible from evaders and escapees who
came to give us such information as they had, e.g. no labels or names,
numbers on clothing. I had a Swiss knife with a German inscription on it and
some German matches and watch I believe had been taken from a Prisoner of
War or perhaps a dead German. I also had a French pipe and pouch of French
tobacco which I did not use as .I could not replace it and which by the time I
finished flying was nearly all dust.
Flying an aircraft which is open to the elements requires plenty of clothing. In
most bombers the wind could get into the fuselage from several points. To try
to keep warm was impossible and so we wore many layers of clothing, i.e. one
pair of silk socks, 2 pairs of wool, 1 pair sea boot socks thigh length, silk Long
Johns and vest, silk balaclava and a wool one, 1 wool and 1 cotton vest, 1 RAF
shirt, wool Long Johns, I roll neck sweater, 1 8ft long silk scarf, 1 tunic,
trousers, flying inner suit, electric heating suit, Irving trousers and jacket or
Kapok electric buoyancy suit, silk gloves, wool mittens, electric inner gloves,
leather gauntlets, leather lined flying helmet, fur lined flying boots, Mae West
Parachute Harness. In our pockets we had a torch, all the personal items
mentioned, the escape kit which would have maps of the area, several
currencies, concentrated Horlicks tablets, water purifying tablets etc. In our
clothing were hidden knives, films, maps, compasses etc. There was also a
Thermos, sweets, concentrated caffeine tablets (Wakey,Wakey) which caused
eyes to become dry and sore on a long Op. We also had a parachute to carry.
Despite all the clothing and heating by the time we reached our operating
height the cold would be creeping in and within half-an-hour we would be
freezing. When the temperature was below minus 30 degrees or more the
pain began to penetrate every part of the body. It was not uncommon to suffer
frostbite even with the heating still on. In F2 we also had hot air pipes from
the engine exhausts which were pushed into the flies........ to give extra
warmth to the legs, but still could not dispel the cold.
Before an Op. every piece of equipment was checked. Nothing was left to
chance. We and our ground crew would be crawling all over the plane making
sure nothing was missed. The ground crew of F2 were, 1 believe, the best on
the station (Wickenby). Proof I believe is the fact that F2 was one of only 2
Lancaster's on the Squadron to survive the war.
To increase our chances, we spent time in the sections to keep up-to-date and
also in the Intelligence section, often helping there.
Briefing was conducted before each Op when we were given all information
known at the time about the target and defences and weather en route. Very
often both would be wrong but we expected that and took things as they came.
Winds, cloud cover etc were never left to chance.
Interrogation on our return was more intense and I am afraid here we were less co-operative. After long hours frozen to the marrow all we wanted to do[?]
Interrogation on our return was more intense and I am afraid here we were
less co-operative. After long hours frozen to the marrow all we wanted to do
was get into bed to warm up after a hot meal (egg, chips and beans) and so we
had nothing of note to report wherever possible, even if we had had a brush
with a fighter. Any report unusual would mean an interminable questioning
of every member of the crew when we were dead beat and just wanted to rest
and relax. Only if something was completely new would we bother.
I flew with 3 other crews on Ops, one officially and the other 2 unofficially,
due to chaps being unable to get back to the station, as previously mentioned.
The official Op was with F/O Oram who was on his last Op and had lost both
gunners when he had to ditch. The first was to Kiel and the others to the
Ruhr.
Our ground crew were a grand bunch of chaps. The electrician, George Grant,
lived not far from my parents. On every Op he would bring a 3/4 inch steel
plate, heavily padded, for me to sit on 'for special protection'. Whenever there
was a stand down we would take the ones with nothing to do to a show,
cinema, dance or just a drink. There would sometimes be a dance on the
station and so we would lend or procure SNCO or Officer's uniform for them if
the dance was at one of those messes. Nobody, to my knowledge, ever
complained as most crews did this. We always made sure to get all drinks
when on the station and gave each one a pound to spend as he wished when
off the station. Also when any of them went on leave they were given a pound
a day if single and if married double this with an extra pound for each child.
Each of us shared the cost but the Canucks insisted on paying twice the
amount of us natives. The Canadians also bought two rounds to our one, etc.
Three of us gave local farmers a hand when we could and in return we were
given any farm produce they had. Over our time at Wickenby we were given
chickens, ducks, beef, pork, eggs, milk, cheese, butter, bread, dripping, etc.,
and twice when we couldn't leave the station for a while a delivery was
brought in by the local policeman.
Taking off from the station on a summer or autumn evening, turning towards
the continent, meant I was often presented with some of the most beautiful
sunsets I have ever seen and climbing often prolonged them. We flew into
darkness with bright skies behind, night below and daylight above and the
only real danger from the dark areas, which meant there was no time to linger.
on the exquisite sight behind us.
On each Op I took note of the route and times etc. of different dog legs so that
I would be able to estimate a course to be taken if the Navigator and
navigational equipment were damaged. My hope was that I could give the
Skipper a course to the centre of the British landmass from wherever we might
be at that time and that one of us would be able to check drift, wind speed and
direction and knowing aircraft speed, roughly work out ETA over Britain. All
details had to be kept in my head. We put it into practice only once as an
experiment and arrived over Cromer instead of Lincs. From Kiel. I did
navigate sometimes when on cross-countries and was OK but had all the aids
which I could not rely on in an emergency.
On night ops we flew on the outside of the stream until 30 or 40 miles from
the target when we moved to the right track for bombing, trying to find a spot
with nobody above us. There is nothing more unsettling than being on the
point of dropping the bombs and seeing an aircraft immediately above you
with its bomb doors open with bombs still to be dropped. This happened
three times early in our tour. To see bombs falling in front and behind your
wing and tail tends to make you more cautious and think of a solution. We
flew on the edge and higher than the main stream which allowed us to dive
into the stream if attacked, which in fact got rid of the attacker every time.
On a cross country a Flying Fortress came close to us and indicated a race.
Tom opened up and we moved steadily ahead of him. After about 5 minutes
Tom throttled back. It came alongside again and to our surprise the pilot gave
us the 'V' sign and waved, then moved away. Two days later a jeep called at
the guardroom and left a 40 oz bottle of Bourbon 'for the guys who were flying
the Lancaster UMF with the naked babe on' three days before. How they
found out our station I have no idea. We never found where they were based.
Tom and I collected the bottle and gave each hod in the guardhouse a tot
before leaving. For several days we had personnel who didn't normally travel
around the station coming to look at the 'Babe' and the C.O. commented it was
probably in need of modification but as nobody had complained about it there
was no hurry. Later when there was a stand down, our crew and the ground
crew got together to finish the bottle off with a toast to all USA Forces,
especially USAAF.
On one other occasion, on our way home over the Kattegat, a twin engine
aircraft flew alongside us for 20 minutes, quite close, possibly a Mosquito but
no recognition was possible due to bad visibility. No attempt was made by it
that could have been considered hostile and we thought it was one of ours or
Swedish. One thing we did not do was fire, except in defence, which would
give away our position. I am convinced that some chaps fired at imaginary
aircraft and made themselves targets.
Getting caught in searchlights was always bad. If this happened the usual
evasive action was taken, plus Johnny Payne and I would throw out 'window'!
We had no idea if it helped but we evaded almost immediately every time.
Luck or not it seemed to work.
Air pressure at height reduces the higher you go and can cause some unusual
effects. Nitrogen bubbles in the blood can cause a sensation similar to
intoxication. Also releasing the ground pressure in a flask, particularly hot
beverages, causing the contents to expand and boil.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Description of operational flying
Description
An account of the resource
Writes of being given their own aircraft with nude lady nose art which survived the war. Mentions icing problem on operation to Saarbrücken. Describes operation to Frankfurt where engaged by Ju-88 where he injured his jaw. Writes that they learn as much about each others jobs as possible and mentions that he had to land his aircrfat three times and navigating for a whole trip. Recounts other operations to Kiel Canal and Aire when they hit downdraft which damaged their aircraft as well as landing back with bombs from Frankfurt and Saarbrücken. Continues with description of keeping lookout for enemy aircraft, flying clothing , escape equipment and crew activities on operations. Writes about ground crew and their activities and more about his actions and incidents during operations, including an airborne encounter with a B-17 and subsequent arrival of a bottle of Bourbon from the American crew. Concludes with other incidents and comments about operations.
Format
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Five page printed document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BPotterPLPotterPLv5
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Saarbrücken
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Kiel Canal
Temporal Coverage
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1944-10-05
1944-09-12
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
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
aircrew
bombing
briefing
debriefing
Ju 88
Lancaster
military ethos
military service conditions
Mosquito
nose art
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1246/16354/MNealeETH1395951-150731-0140001.1.jpg
e326fd0b117c7b64d4e77ffdbe68ac61
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1246/16354/MNealeETH1395951-150731-0140002.1.jpg
1c00daa859f2dc0cc7349765790cd478
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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
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
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
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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EICHENLAUBTRÄGER GENERALFELDMARSCHALL PAULUS AN DIE DEUTSCHE WEHRMACHT UND DAS DEUTSCHE VOLK!
Am 28. Oktober 1944 richtete der in russischer Kriegsgefangenschaft befindliche Befehlshaber der 6. Armee in Stalingrad über den Sender “Freies Deutschland” folgenden Aufruf an seine Kameraden und das ganze deutsche Volk:
[italics] DEUTSCHE!
Aufangs August dieses Jahres sah ich mick durch die Entwicklung der Gesamtlage veranlasst, aus der mir durch die Kriegsgefangenschaft auferlegten naturlichen Zurückhaltung herauszutreten. Ich fühlte mich meinem Vaterlande gegenüber verpflichtet, im Bewusstsein meiner besonderen Verantwortung als Feldmarschall, meinen Volke zuzurufen, dass es jetzt nur noch einen Weg gibt, der aus der scheinbaren Aussichtslosigkeit unserer Lage herausführt: Trennung von Hitler und Beendigung des Kriege!
Heute wende ich mich sum zweitenmale aus meine Kameraden und das ganze deutsche Volk, in tiefem Abscheu über die in diesen Tagen durch den Errichtung des Volkssturms verbreiteten personlichen Beschimpfungen eines um unser Volk und Vaterland hochverdienten Mannes, des Eichenlaubträgers General der Artilleris Walther von Seydlite-Kurzbach, der als kommandierender General des 51. Armeekorps zu der von mir geführten 6. Armee gehörte.
Als ehemaliger Oberbefehlshaber stele ich vor aller Welt fest: Es ist eine infame Lüge, wenn der Reichssender behauptet, dass General von Seydlits vor anderthalb Jahren seine Truppe im Stich gelassen hat und zum Feind übergelaufen ist. Die Wahrheit ist vielmehr, dass er treu seinem Fahneneid mit der in 2 Weltkriegen immer vom neuen bewiesenen persönlichen Tapferkeit und Einsatzbereitschaft in den Trümmern der Stadt Stalingrad bis zuletet seine Pflicht getan hat und, nachdem seit Tagen weder Munition noch Verpflegung vorhanden war, ehrenvoll mit den Resten der 6. Armee in Kriegsgefangenschaft greaten ist.
[page break]
Wie ich schon Anfang August sagte, hat die 6. Armee, gehorsam den ihr von Hitler gegebenen Befehlen und im ehrlichen Glauben gekämpft, durch ihr Opfer Deutschland zu dienen. Wenn ich damals gewusst hätte ich anders gehandelt.
Es ist eine infame Lüge, wenn Herr Hitler behauptet, dass die deutschen Soldaten in russischer Gefangenschaft unmenschlich behandelt, dass sie mit Geissel und Gerickschuss zur Propaganda gegen ihr eigenes Vaterland gezwungen warden. Die Wahrheit ist vielmehr: trotz der zahllosen bestialischen Greueltaten die, durch Herrn Himmler veranlasst an Hunderttausenden wehrloser Männer, Frauen und Kinder, Angehörige aller Völker, in besetzten Gebieten und in deutschen Konzentrationslagern verübt worden sind, warden die deutschen Kriegsgefangenen in der Sowjetunion menschlich und gerecht behandelt.
Hier in Russland haben sich vater landsliebende deutsche Männer aller Stände in der Bewegung “Freies Deutschland” susammengeschlossen, um unserem Volke den Weg aus allem Elend in eine bessere Zukunft zu weisen. Einer der ersten, der sich zu dem Entschlusse durchrang, war General von Seydlitz. Das Vertrauen seiner Kameraden hat ihn dann an die Spitze des bald gegründeten “Bundes deutscher Offiziere” berufen, Völlig freiwillig, nur geleitet von dem heissen Wunsch, dem eigenen Volke in seiner Not zu helfen, haben sich Hunderttausende deutscher Kriegsgefangener dieser Bewegung angeschlossen, darunter Tausende von deutschen Offizieren und über 40 Generale. Nicht weniger als 30 sind Träger der höchsten deutschen Kriegsauszeichnungen: 23 des Ritterkreuzes, 6 des Eichenlaubes und 1 des Eichenlauzes mit den Schwertern. Auch Herr Himmler Weiss sehr wohl, dass es sich hier nicht um gepresste, ehrlose Subjekte handelt.
Ein Himmler, der durch seine Handlungen unserem Volke die Ehre genommen hat, das er jetzt mit diesem Volkssturm gewissenlos in den Selbstmord treiben will, hat kein Recht über Ehre zu richten. Der “Bund deutscher Offiziere” aber, mit dem General von Seydlitz an der Spitze, kämpft in den Reihen der grossen Bewegung “Freies Deutschland” für die Wiederherstellung der Ehre des deutschen Volkes, für dessen Freiheit, für den Frieden, der unserem Volke wieder seinen Platz unter den Nationen bringen wird. [/italics]
Das sagt ein deutscher Generalfeldmarschall!
[indecipherable word] OBO [indecipherable word]
DOSTAVITE OVO NIJEMCIMA
EPNI GERMANEVET KET FLETE
ADD TOVABB A NÉMETEKNEK
DODEITE TO NËMCON
PASSATELO AI TEDESCHI
VERTRIEB: DIE R.A.F. UND DIE U.S.A.A.F.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Eichenlaubträger Generalfeldmarschall Paulus an die Deutsche Wehrmacht und das Deutsche Volk
Description
An account of the resource
A call from the German Field Marshall Friedrich Paulus to his comrades and to the German people via radio 'Freies Deutschland' while he is a prisoner of war in Russia. After a call for reflection in August 1944 he feels he has to speak again despite being reluctant . He talks of the lies about the battle of Stalingrad spread by Hitler and Himmler on German radio - not cowardice but lack of supplies forced the German Army to surrender at Stalingrad. The atrocities inflicted by Himmler to many people and nations are in contrast to the way in which the Russians treat German prisoners of war. Thousands of imprisoned Germans troops, including high ranking and decorated officers, have joined in a call to the German military and civilians to end this war and get back to peace and freedom.
The text ends with a multilingual appeal to pass the flyer to the Germans.
Format
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One double-sided printed sheet
Language
A language of the resource
deu
rus
ita
Type
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Text
Identifier
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MNealeETH1395951-150731-0140001,
MNealeETH1395951-150731-0140002
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
United States Army Air Force
Wehrmacht
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
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.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Steve Baldwin
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
United States. United States Army Air Force
military ethos
prisoner of war
propaganda
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/584/31587/BHookingsEWHookingsEWv2.2.pdf
8d8e27c985230f5dc8df178d0b0cb3fa
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
Hookings, Eric
E Hookings
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Hookings, E
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history interview with Eric Hookings (184315, Royal Air Force) and two memoirs. He flew operations as a pilot with 619 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Eric Hookings and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-24
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
ERIC’S MEMOIRS BOOK TWO Chapter One Dortmund The next morning the disconcerting words of the lovely girl whom I really intended to see Again were soon forgotten as my crew and I tucked into our afternoon breakfast of bacon And eggs. We were due for briefing and, although the afternoon was cold, dark and miserable, the Laughter instigated as usual by upper and rear gunners Alex Norris and Ted Woods our Brummie boys, made light of the seriousness of our operation. It was November 6th 1944 and our destination on that fateful night was to be the Dortmund Em’s canal, a known lock on a tributary of the Rhine, through which ships of The German merchant navy had to pass, carrying their supplies to the factories situated along the Ruhr. As we made our way to our Lancaster bomber PG S I looked at the tense but still smiling faces of the crew I had come to love, Alex and Ted, Tasmanian Radio Operator Rex Temperman, Engineer John Tait, Bomb Aimer Ron Waters and my Navigator ‘Butch’ Croney - we were not just a crew but were really good pals. The first two and a half hours into or flight were purely routine, we were on course, the weather was predicted as clear over our target and the seven of us were vigilant in our observations. Suddenly from 20 year old rear gunner Alex Norris, came the shout “Port Go Skipper, PORT GO!” And I knew we had an unwelcome visitor. My immediate reaction was to put the ‘plane into an evasive corkscrew. There was a Focke Wulf on our tail. 2 The staccato of guns firing from our rear and upper turrets ceased when Alex called some three minutes later “I’ve got him Skipper. I’ve got him”. The relief was unmistakable as we were able to resume our planned course, for the fear of collision whilst flying in such tight formation was as extensive as being shot down. Our relief was very short lived for, shortly after making the routine checks for everyone’s safety and that no major damage had occurred, our world was shattered by high explosive cannon shells ripping through the underside of the Lancaster - obviously an attack from a second ‘plane. How had it slipped my mind that German Fighter ‘planes fought in pairs ? I was tortured with this thought when I realized the port engine was on fire and, in spite of our attempts to extinguish the flames, we were helpless. The centre of the aircraft was now well ablaze and the port aerlion was badly damaged Which made the Lancaster very difficult to control and we slowly began to dive to port. I had no option other than to abort the ‘plane and I gave the order to the whole crew “JUMP - JUMP - JUMP” Mindful of my crew’s safety and the gravity of the situation which primarily was explosion, I knew I had to get my boys out immediately but, with the centre of the ‘plane now an inferno there was no way out for us four members at the front of the ‘plane, the engineer, bomb aimer, navigator and myself, other than through a tiny escape hatch situated down in front of the engineer’s seat. 3 Frantic efforts to open the hatch were hampered by the slipstream and I yelled to John Tait “Get the axe and smash the hatch” before I turned and tried to regain some control to hold up the nose of the ‘plane to give those extra seconds to my crew who were trying so desperately to battle their way out. Suddenly and miraculously the hatch flew out and my boys plunged out into oblivion but, for me it was more difficult I wore my parachute on the seat of my pants and to get through this tiny space was nigh impossible. I do not to this day know how I did it but suddenly I felt myself falling and I reached for that beloved rip cord. Whether it was the stench of cordite, fear, the tumbling action of falling or those wonderful bacon and eggs I do not know but I was so sick on that way down, a fact I did not register until coming to an abrupt halt in a tree ! It was some time before I realized that my feet were not on the ground and although I had stopped falling, in the intense blackness I had little idea as to where or how I was. Was I sideways, feet down or even upside down ? But I very gradually came to my senses and realized that I was hanging from some sort of a tree. Training eventually came to the fore throughout my intense fear and worry for the rest of my crew. Had they all got out? Had I acted correctly? How would my parents know I was still alive when they were told my ’plane had not returned and, what was I going to do next ? I remained quite still and inactive trying to collate my thoughts. I knew that we had not been far from our target so I must be somewhere in Germany, but where ? I began to shiver - not as much through fear, but with downright cold and shock - I was freezing, hanging from a tree in the middle of a German forest and then I realized I had lost my beautiful Irvine fur jacket in my haste to escape that burning inferno. Chapter Two Get me out of here! 4 I was twenty four years old, I did not want to die, I knew I would probably be captured, would I be shot - no they did not shoot officers - DID THEY ? My mind became confused and I felt my morale slip to what I thought was its lowest ebb and depression hit me. All that money it had taken to train me, my wonderful training in America only to find myself in this lonely terrifying void. I had to get down and get home. The silence was broken by a faint whistling. Was it Germans? Could it possibly be one of my crew ? Could I get down before they reached me? My mind in a complete turmoil I listened and suddenly realized to my great relief that it was an English tune and that tune was the one that John Tate, my engineer was always whistling and he was approaching the tree that held me fast. Relief gushed through my whole body and I called out to him “John, John, I’m up here” He helped me down from the tree and to my amazement he seemed to be fine whilst I was shaking with traumatic tension. Until then I had not realized just what a state I was in, the stench of the cordite had made me so sick and my uniform was stained with vomit. Shivering with cold we sat down to assess our situation. Realizing we could not stay where we were we had to walk and, armed with the small compass from our survival pack we set off. Railway stations were out, they would be too heavily guarded and to walk at night would be just too obvious. We knew that we had to get away from our landing point, for patrols would soon be out looking for us so we, after finishing the burial of our parachutes, removed all epaulettes from our uniforms and the tops of our boots that would give away our identity, for without those tops they looked like ordinary boots. 5 We remembered to keep our Brevet wings so that in case of being captured we would not be deemed as spies. Aware that overhead our planes were returning to base we wished with all our hearts that we were with them, but nevertheless as we set out our spirits were comparatively high. John’s Joie de Vivre inspired me and we walked and continued to do so for two hours. The rain came down and, what started as a slight drizzle became an incessant downpour and we knew that we had to find shelter. Ahead of us we saw a small hut and decided that this must be our bed for the night. We went in, cold, tired and wet through, huddled into a corner and promptly fell asleep. How long I had been asleep I do not know but suddenly I was aware that the door to the hut was slowly opening. I put my hand over John’s mouth so that if he should suddenly cry out, we would be discovered and, breathing into his ear not to move we watched with horror as a figure stood outlined in the doorway and slowly entered the hut. Such was the blackness of the night in that hut that we could not make out what was happening, but then we realized that the human figure had gone into the other corner opposite and was doing exactly as we had done - curling up and going to sleep. We waited for half an hour until the steady breathing from the shapeless bundle told us that he was sleeping deeply then we both crept silently out of the hut and began to walk again. From that day to this we have never discovered who that person was, it could have been a tramp or it could have even been one of our crew following the same course as ourselves. 6 We walked until it was daylight through the continuing rain until utter exhaustion led us to realize we had to sleep so, finding a thick hedgerow we curled up and slept again. Awaking and feeling a little refreshed we decided upon a plan of action for we could not just wander aimlessly. We found a plank of wood and realized that with so much foreign labour in the area all wearing uniforms of a similar color to ours which we had stripped of all insignia, we might just get away with not being recognized. It worked ! And our aimless, dejected ambulation allowed us to travel slowly but freely. We even crossed an autobahn which was so dangerous because of the fast travelling traffic but, we then became stuck in a bog and whichever way we walked we seemed to get stuck even deeper. It took ages for us to extricate ourselves but eventually with the help of our plank of wood we managed and that night we slept in the open under the trees. John had managed to retain his rations but, somehow in the fall from the plane, I had lost mine, consequently we shared what he had and a breakfast of Horlicks tablets had never tasted so good. Again we walked, arriving eventually at a river - which one was it we wondered, we followed its course and eventually came to a bridge and, still carrying our plank of wood we crossed. About 3.45 in the then darkness of the third evening we came to a small village and knowing that the pangs of hunger would overcome us if we did not eat we decided to enter the village to see what we could forage or steal 7 Carrying our plank, we walked down the main street then, to our horror the doors of what must have been the village hall suddenly opened and out poured German troops. We were surrounded by them, for there had been some sort of meeting in the hall and these military personal, stumbling out of the light into the darkness did not notice two dirty laborers less than an arm’s length away from them. We just kept dejectedly walking and still carrying that plank we trudged through the midst of them all ! This unnerving episode made us decide to change our tactics and, after resting for the remainder of the day we decided to abandon the plank of wood and continue our journey at night. This was to be our downfall, for about 03.00 am whilst walking along a country lane, I suddenly heard German voices and realized there was a patrol ahead. I panicked and dragged John with me onto the grass verge and into the bushes. The combination of the gravel on the road and the crackling winter hedgerow made enough noise to alert the German soldiers on foot patrol who had gone behind the hedge to have a cigarette, and we found ourselves looking down the barrels of two rifles. Their shout of “Hands up” made us realize our freedom was over and we were to become Prisoners of War. We were marched to a German Field Unit nearby that was used as a rest area for Troops. It contained 3 wire cages that were used as prison cells for errant troops who had disobeyed commands, stolen, or not conformed in many other ways to their soldiering duties. John and I were put into one of these cages that was lined with straw. I was angry, angry with myself for being the cause of our capture, angry at the indignity of being incarcerated and angry because I could not get back to England to continue fighting the war. CHAPTER 3 CAPTURE That anger was exacerbated even further when we were told that we had actually walked into Holland and we had been captured on the outskirts on Enschede, the town on the Dutch/German border. Just one more day and we could have been in the hands of the Resistance who may even have got us back to England - God Willing. The officer in charge of this fighting front line unit, was most courteous and we could not have been more civilly treated. He offered us black bread and that dreadful Ersatz coffee which I, again angrily and somewhat foolishly refused, thinking in my ignorance that to not touch it would insult the Germans. Here I was cold tired and hungry and still finding room for my principles ! Next day we were transported to a chalet bungalow where we were confronted by the dreaded SS. John was dragged to the upper storey of the chalet and I was thrown into a room on the lower floor and set upon by two, what I can only describe as SS thugs. It was to be one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. They beat me, accused me of being a spy and held guns to my head and threatened to kill me if I did not tell them about myself. My ’dog tags’ saved me and I convinced them I was a British airman to which they then proceeded to thrash and torture me, trying to find out where I was from, what was my squadron, what was my target and where were the rest of my crew ? We were there for two days. Two days of pure hell with perhaps the worst part being that they threatened to kill John, who I could hear upstairs being shouted at because I was not giving them the information they wanted. I was convinced that I was about to die, for their continual switching between English and German and making threatening gestures, I knew they were in control of my life. 9. On the third morning we were marched from that chalet to a huge warehouse on the outskirts of Enschede, we were bruised and battered, dirty and exhausted but what seemed to be worst was the shame we felt at being tied together with manacles around our ankles. Our depression was most severe when suddenly, we became aware that the doors of the houses on each side of the road were slowly opening - word had got around that two Royal Air Force boys had been captured and tortured. Unaware of the danger that these citizens were exposing themselves to, our spirits were lifted by their murmured words of encouragement, their hand waves and that well acknowledged V for Victory hand sign, made famous by Winston Churchill. Hurled into a massive, freezing cold warehouse, having had nothing to drink or eat for three days we were joined by two American aircrew who had also been shot down and who were as dejected as we were. There was no escape for we were heavily guarded and we just had to accept what was to be our fate. Held for two or more days in that bitterly cold warehouse John and I were eventually moved, I went to Dulagluft Interrogation Centre near Frankfurt but I did not know what happened to John until 1946 when we met again. I was in Dulagluft for ten days, held in a icy cold, windowless 7ft x 5ft cell with just a straw palliase, the only light came from what appeared to be a 25 watt bulb high in the ceiling which gave just enough light for the guards to see me through the spy hole in the door. On the second day of imprisonment I was taken to a warm comfortable office where I was greeted with a friendly handshake from a German Luftwaffe Officer - the equivalent of a British Wing Commander. 10 This officer informed me that it was his duty to obtain certain information from me and he proceeded to ask questions about my squadron, the names of my crew and our targets. But, from his initial attitude I was aware that there would be a lot more questions to come and, when my only reply to all his questions was my name, rank and number he then told me go away and re think about the information that he wanted. During my incarceration here I was never subjected to any form of physical torture, the mental torment was enough but what I did learn quickly was that the only form of communication with the other prisoners was possibly in the toilets where we were constantly under the scrutiny of the guards. They spoke little English and although we were not allowed to speak, those muttered phrases to each other conveyed the latest news and happenings. My trips to the toilets became very frequent; I had use of the communal razor which did little to remove my weeks of stubble but my trips were mainly to relieve the boredom and trying to update any information. The fear of the unknown was horrendous - was I going to be fed - could I stand up to further interrogation - could I survive the hours and hours of loneliness and solitude ? I was fed eventually. A bowl of luke warm watery soup and some black bread, but there was considerably more interrogation to follow. My interrogation was at irregular intervals, sometimes I would spend up to four hours during the day being questioned and at other times I would be woken from my fitful sleep to be taken to the interrogation room for further cross examination. This continued for ten days but each day was becoming harder for me for I would not divulge any of the information that he insisted upon obtaining and my answers were always obtuse. 11 My stubbornness evoked his anger and his change of tactics and method of questioning became - him making suggestions to me and awaiting my agreement or dissent. Eventually he became so exasperated with me that he changed from Mr. Nice Guy to the SS Officer he really was and my refusal to tell him what was meant by H2S or the code name Village Inn finally broke him and not me. To his question “What was the Village Inn?” I replied “Which one do you mean, The Horse and Groom or the Royal Oak?” He jumped up, smashed his fist onto the table and shouted “ Hookings, the R A F must be scraping the bottom of the barrel using people like you, but we have found your ‘plane and all your crew have been killed” This was the termination of my ten day spell at Dulagluft. Next day I was taken from my cell and escorted by guards to Dortmund railway station. There were three of us prisoners accompanied by two guards, carrying rifles but we were all too cold, hungry and exhausted to try to attempt any form of escape. We had been told that we were to be taken to Stalagluft III in upper Silesia ,Poland, which was the German prisoner of war camp for officers. Dortmund railway station had been very badly damaged by the RAF, and we were ushered into a corner where we squatted for nearly six hours awaiting our transport To sit for such a long period on a stone floor was most uncomfortable and very tedious. Suddenly the sirens sounded and we knew that another raid by the RAF was imminent and, out of the blue masses of women children and poured down the steps into the station into what they considered to be a possible place of safety. 12 Abruptly the crowd halted - they had seen us and the abject hatred in their faces became apparent. We were in mortal danger of being attacked by this ugly throng of females all hell bent upon reprisal. We were bombarded with God knows what and the tension made us very aware of the serious danger we were facing. The guards also realising this, fixed their bayonets and stood in front of us warning off the mob who were obviously hell bent on tearing us limb from limb. Eventually the all clear sounded and the horde dispersed but not before spitting at us and shouting swearing and raising clench fists at us. No bombs had fallen in Dortmund that night so obviously the target had been another city situated in the Ruhr valley. Our train arrived and we were ushered aboard into a specially secure compartment and set off on what was to be a slow, lengthy and grueling journey continually being shunted off into sidings to let other - probably troop carrying trains, pass. Arriving at the outskirts of Leipzig we suddenly stopped and through the slatted windows we saw above us hundreds of B17 (Flying Fortress) American bombers whose target must have been the oil installations nearby. We were on that train for three days, freezing cold and with only crusts of black bread and water to sustain us but eventually we arrived at Sagan station where a lorry awaited us to take us to Stalagluft. CHAPTER 4 Stalagluft III Filled with apprehension as to what would happen next, I was dragged off the lorry and marched to the gates where to my delight we were greeted by hundreds of RAF prisoners of war, all clapping, cheering and giving us the V sign and within minutes I had recognised Peter Attwood who had trained as a pilot with me in Ponca City, Oklahoma ! Peter had been shot down on Saturday 4th November whilst bound for the same target as me. It was so good to see a familiar face. The first few days in Stalagluft 3 were very confusing. There were aircrew members who has been incarcerated there for as much as four years and their attitude and thinking was far different from that of us recent arrivals. Some had not even seen a four engine bomber and they were all so desperate for information and news from home. I was directed to what was to be my home for the next few months - a long wooden hut divided up into separate rooms each containing many officers. In my hut I was greeted by a Squadron Leader Mitchell a Canadian officer who was in charge of the fourteen fellow inmates who were all very interested in what I had to say. I was allocated to my bunk - the bottom of three - where I found a straw palliase and a thin blanket but, to my concern I noted that the base of the bunk had several slats missing - I later discovered these had been used to shaw up the various escape tunnels that led from our hut. The shock of my surroundings, the accommodation, the nonexistent ‘facilities ‘ was a profound jolt of disbelief to me, there was the constant awareness of security and stilted conversation, for we were constantly being watched and listened to. 14. After seven days I was summoned to a meeting with three fellow officers of superior rank, I was introduced to each member and who in turn ‘interrogated’ me. Their objective was to find out if I was a genuine English officer and not a ‘plant’ by the Germans, which unfortunately was commonplace. There was no doubt about my credulity to them but, my one concern was that my parents knew I was safe. I was therefore much relieved when they told me that it was the norm that the Germans told the Red Cross of my situation and whereabouts who, in turn advised your next of kin. It was not however until the end of the war that I learned my parents had received a telegram on Christmas Day 1944, telling them that I was alive and unhurt but, I was a Prisoner of War. However I had injured my leg when I became entangled with the branches of that tree that I parachuted into and the injuries that I sustained had been exacerbated by three days walking and the rough treatment I had received from certain individuals in their enthusiasm to extricate information from me. My leg had become inflamed and was quite painful when I reached Stalagluft III and after a few days, I approached the senior officer, Squadron Leader Mitchell (Mitch) to ask if there were my forms of medical assistance for us. He confirmed that this was so and sent me to see an Army Captain who was a doctor but, Mitch advised me “You must be firm with this doctor for he is inclined to be quite nonchalant and will dismiss your injuries as inconsequential“. I duly saw the doctor and taking the advice of Mitch I firmly told him I wanted my leg attended to and, that his being a doctor it was his duty to do so. 15 BAM !!! The answers that I received from that doctor are unprintable but, basically what he told me was that HE was a Prisoner of War too and as such he was only giving a very limited medical service gratuitously - and he had restricted supplies of medicines and equipment to treat the hundreds of prisoners encamped there ! With my tail between my legs after such a ticking off I slunk back to the hut where Mitch and my fellow ‘kreigies’ stood - all laughing their heads off - The sods had set me up knowing full well the character of the doctor. It was a lesson that I learned the hard way. The leg - it healed naturally! By the middle of November the weather changed and the cold set in and, having to stand twice a day on the parade ground to be counted I knew that I was in dire need of extra clothing, for all I had was my blouson battledress and trousers. I sought out the officer who was in charge of Red Cross supplies and asked if there was any chance of some warmer clothing. My luck was in, for he had a heavy Army overcoat and a pair of ‘Long John’ woolen underpants. Not quite my style after the natty dressing of my younger days but - being so cold, I was willing to accept anything. These items, were to become my only clothing for the next six months throughout that bitter winter of 1944/45 and the pants were only washed once in all that time. Being so heavy and thick it was impossible to get them dry and they hung on the line, frozen stiff and looking like some poor anemic body for many a day. I eventually got them dry by putting them under my palliasse and sleeping on them! The cold I overcame to a certain degree, but I had to next face a more serious and painful problem - hunger, for I was becoming weak from lack of food. 16. The rations distributed by the Germans were totally insufficient for survival. We had to exist on a daily ration of three slices of very thin stale black bread, two potatoes and a bowl of very watery cabbage soup. Our savior was the Red Cross parcels that were delivered to the camp every two or three weeks. However I never had a complete parcel - as was the intention of the Red Cross. Instead one parcel was shared between two or three of us - the German’s retaining the rest for their own consumption, for their food was also in short supply at the end of 1944. Consequently it was mutually agreed that any parcels received into our hut would be pooled and distributed equally between all fourteen of us and a daily Rota was devised that enabled each one of us to take his turn as ‘chef of the day’ which really meant that you had the opportunity of licking out the bowls of any food that had been prepared ! We were all very very hungry and I knew that I was losing weight rapidly by the way my clothing hung on me. My weight which had been around 10 ½ stone when I was shot down had dropped to 8 stone when I eventually saw England again and, being six feet tall I was pretty skeletal! The cold - bitter - but you could get warm with exercise and huddling round a tiny stove in the hut. The hunger - aching - but we grew accustomed to the gnawing pains but, for me, the worst disconcertion was the total lack of hygiene, privacy and the deprivation of keeping my body clean. The only washing facilities were one single cold water tap by the latrines which was invariably frozen solid. The latrines consisted of a row of ten wooden seats - no cubicles, for the guards wanted us under observation at all times. The seats were over holes in the ground into which everything dropped into the most foul smelling open trench which was cleared at intervals by Polish or Russian prisoners. 17. Depression and melancholy exacerbated by boredom did little for my self esteem and I tortured myself each night, questioning “ what I had done wrong to get myself shot down and possibly cause injury to my crew”. Our Senior British Officer realized that boredom was a major issue that could lead to mental illness if not dealt with and we were all allocated menial tasks such as guarding the windows as look outs when any secret meeting was taking place, for there were always plans afoot to conjure up differing ways to outwit and out maneuver and cause as much inconvenience as possible to the Germans. I was offered the opportunity to take classes such as learning the German language or bridge lessons: art classes: English language or math’s, for there were many teachers who were incarcerated who were willing to teach not only to relieve their boredom but to practice their skills. My choice was accountancy - a decision I have never regretted and a skill which throughout my life, has been invaluable. If the weather was good we were able to get out and play football or rounders or baseball with the Americans, but most of my time spent there was during the bitterly cold winter of 1944/45 consequently we were huddled inside the huts trying to keep warm. There were lectures given by POWs who had knowledge and experience such as the stock market, architecture, history and many other subjects so I should not have felt the boredom and depression which was exacerbated by my total lack of freedom. Then one day we were told to expect a ‘special visitor ‘to the camp! It was to be Max Schnelling the World Heavyweight Champion boxer who was revered by the Germans and greatly respected by the English - before the war. !8. We were told in no uncertain terms by the camp Commandant that we would fall in, line up and be smartly on parade in the prison quadrangle and that we would give a cheering welcome to the great man when he arrived. Our Senior British Officer agreed that we must do as we were ordered to avoid reprisals and we stood for hours on parade, awaiting his appearance. He finally arrived and went straight into the German Officers accommodation where he spent another hour, before reappearing to carry out the intended ‘inspection’ of the rows and rows of multi national Prisoners of War who had been standing in the bitter cold for hours. We were called to attention by our SBO and then, before Max Schnelling could move forward, we were ordered by our S B O “ Right Turn and Quick March” - which we all did, leading the boxer quite bewildered and confused. Disrespectful? No, not to the boxer, but to our captors who considered themselves to be so superior to us that they could demean us in this way. The camp Commandant was furious and threatened severe reprisals to us all, but our composed, clever and tactful SBO calmed the situation without too much punishment to us meager Prisoners of War. The weather was atrocious, cold, wet, windy and snow like I had never seen before but the news which by now I gleaned like all other inmates had not been too bad. Then came news that General von Runstead had made a counter offensive in the Battle of the Bulge and our expectations of all being released before Christmas were dashed. We prepared for Christmas - with me not being able to contribute very much but those men who had been imprisoned for - some as long as four years - had stored and saved what little they could from Red Cross parcels - there were no extra rations from our captors. 19 Being locked into our huts every day at four o clock gave us time to prepare games, create card games and write new words for the songs we recalled. Anything to help create the Christmas spirit. My job was to make paper chains to decorate our hut and I scavenged bits of paper from every Tom, Dick or Harry’s mail and parcels. The heartbreaking fact was that during the whole time of being incarcerated in P O W camps I did not receive one piece of mail and I was unaware of what was happening to my parents and brother and sister. This caused me extra depression and melancholy for I had no knowledge as to whether they were still alive and, having lost their homes twice to enemy bombs I spent many a long hour worrying about them and also my brother Dennis who was serving with the R A F. If I had only known the joy and happiness that was in my family on Christmas Day in 1944 for, having been told by the War Ministry that I was ‘Missing in Action‘in November, they had no knowledge as to whether I was alive or dead until the telegram arrived on Christmas morning telling them I was alive and was a Prisoner of War somewhere in Germany. New Year’s Day and the dawning of 1945 - would I still be here next January 1st? We knew nothing of what was happening to the advance of our troops or was it defeat? We thought the weather could get no colder - but it did. Bitter, bitter winds, temperatures 20 degrees below zero and very little to keep us warm. But I considered myself to be privileged when I saw Polish and Russian prisoners who were slowly freezing to death. Chapter 5 The March There were four ‘compounds’ in Stalagluft 3 - North, South, East and West, all identical and each housing about 2, 000 men. I was in the north compound before being transferred to Bavaria - Stalagluft 3a, some 5 miles away but exactly the same. It was from Stalagluft 3 that many attempts were made by prisoners to escape their confines by tunneling under the huts and attempting to reach points beyond the perimeters of the wire. These frantic, courageous, endeavors, fuelled by frustration and desperation to get back home to continue the fight against Hitler’s tyranny were costly, with the most famed attempt to break out later being depicted in the film ’The Great Escape’ where those men who had escaped were recaptured and upon the orders of the Fuhrer and to the revulsion of the Geneva Convention, shot in cold blood. By the end of January we had heard that Russian forces were advancing from the east but we had no idea where they were or how soon we would be released. However, we were to soon discover that our repatriation was not the intention of our captors when, in the middle of the night we were awoken from fitful slumber by shouts of “Achtung, Achtung, Raus, Raus, Schnell, Schnell” and we were forced from our bunks at bayonet point. We were told to collect our belongings and assemble outside the huts. Belongings - I had so very little, a few scraps of food, my malodorous long johns that I was wearing, my greatcoat my invaluable flying boots which, fortunately had been a new issue and a bundle of newspaper that was left over from my attempts to make those Christmas trimmings. How little did I realize when gathering these pieces of old German newsprint that these would probably save my life ! 21 We assembled shivering, outside the huts with our meager belongings and I was handed a red cross parcel - one of the many that had been hoarded by the Germans - possibly for their own use ? Considered to be quite a newcomer by my fellow inmates, some of whom had been incarcerated since 1940, I had assembled very little, but they had made sledges upon which they placed their motley collection of what they considered to be their valued treasures. Where were we going? We knew we were marched off in a south westerly direction. What was the reason for our sudden departure? To escape advancing Russian armies. Why were we being forced to leave the camps? So that we could be used by the Germans as protective shields and bargaining assets, for the Germans, in early 1945 were becoming desperate to save their own individual lives. We two thousand or so souls from Stalagluft 3A trudged aimlessly for what seemed ages through deep snow and biting winds and before too long, realized that we had been joined by prisoners from the other camps. Thousands and thousands of men of all ages, states of poor health and from far flung corners of the world - British, Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, Americans, Polish and many other nationalities were herded into long columns, slowly and silently trudging through that terrible wasteland of frozen white expanse not knowing where we were going, or even if we could survive another day, let alone to see the and of the war. At around three o’clock in the following afternoon with temperatures dropping even lower and with darkness falling we stopped trudging and were herded into a farm that offered some form of shelter in its great barns. 22 I had become separated from some of my fellow hut companions but along with 500 or so others I was put into a large one storey barn where the farmer, under forced directions of our guards, had thrown in some straw bales which we instantly spread around to curl up upon. Our only food was that which was in the treasured Red Cross parcels - but- much of that was in tins and we had no means of opening these ! We ate raisins, a little chocolate and biscuits. There was nothing to drink but, it was food - we were very hungry and exhausted and before long trying to sleep, curing up together for what little warmth we could make. I was woken from a fitful sleep next morning by lowing cattle, I was cold, hungry, thirsty and filled with trepidation as to what was going to happen. The doors burst open, our guards marched in and ordered us at gun point to reform those long columns and once again start marching. For the next eight hours we trudged through that ever deepening snow, we dare not stop for to do so would encounter the wrath of a guards or even to our own detriment - to slowly freeze and be totally unable to get up and start walking again. We had a small handcart and along with my fellow prisoners, I helped to pull it along. Those men who were sick, injured, frostbitten or plain exhausted took turns to rest and fitfully doze, whist we pulled them along. One of my companions helping to pull a cart laden with fellow prisoners was a Wing Commander Stanford Tuck, later renowned for his bravery. Escapism and literary skills. Unbeknown to me he was planning his escape and as a fluent Russian linguist he and his Polish friend were the only men who could do so safely. 23 At about three o’clock on that second day we again were herded into more barns, this time I discovered one housing cows and I knew I had to get near to those animals for my own survival - they offered warmth and although very smelly I was at a point beyond caring. Day three dawned and depression was rife, we had very little sleep because of the cold. We were bitterly cold, hungry and very thirsty, some of us suffering from frost bite. For indeterminate hours we trudged without stopping, through blinding snowstorms, not knowing where we were nor where we were going. Again around three o’clock in the falling darkness, we arrived at another barn and made toward the animals - only this time they were pigs. The pigs were moved out to make way for us to be accommodated and the stench was sickening, but who cared. Wing Commander Tuck was near to me that night and he asked a small group of us close by, to pile the straw into a corner to ensure he and his Polish companion were fully covered . It was their intention to try their escape. Along with my fellow prisoners we were herded from our barns early next day, leaving our two hidden fellow prisoners behind. It was not until the war ended that we learned they had got out of the barn unseen and had made their way across Poland to meet up with the Russians who were advancing fast from the east. They eventually reached Odessa and thence back to the UK Chapter 5 The lowest ebb 24 For days we trudged mile after mile through the bitterest winter weather I had ever known, carrying the sick and wounded, scavenging for whatever was edible, huddling together at nights for warmth and doing our best to help the sick.. One day whilst passing some isolated cottages, an elderly Polish woman appeared carrying a tray with what looked to be cups of coffee, she was handing these to the nearest prisoners one of whom was me. As I reached out to gratefully accept her generosity a German guard ran up, shoved me aside and knocked the tray from her hands with his rifle. She cried out in fear of being shot but the guard, realizing the anger he had evoked from his prisoners who, although weak with fatigue and hunger were massing around him, attached his bayonet to his rifle and prepared to defend himself. Suddenly we were surrounded by German guards and we had no option other than to recommence our lumbering trudge across the frozen slush and snow. By this time I was beginning to feel really ill, my body was so weak and exhausted I just wanted to lie down. My abdomen was racked with pain and I knew that I had to get somewhere to relieve myself. As we approached a barn where we knew we were to spend another night, there was a rush across the farmyard to try to get inside the cowsheds. The middle of the farmyard was thick with mud and cow’s muck and, as I tried to reach one of the cowsheds I slipped into the mire and, griped with excruciating pains, to my horror I had a violent attack of uncontrollable diarrhea. I had no means of cleaning myself apart from some straw and nothing to change into and for the rest of that tortuous, seemingly never ending march through torment, I was compelled to remain covered with not only cows muck but my own excrement as well. This was possibly the lowest point of degradation in my life. 25 I lost track of the hours, days and nights that we journeyed across Poland and into Germany but, eventually we reached what I thought to be a small town. It turned out to be the city of Spenbergh wherein were the biggest marshalling yards in Germany. The columns of men that had marched with me congregated in these marshalling yards of the German railway, there were thousands of us, all dirty, unkempt and hungry but, we were not alone, for also there were German soldiers of the Panzer Divisions who had returned from the Russian front, the majority of whom were wounded and in a terrible state. They, like us were in a state of limbo, not knowing where we were going or what was to happen to us. They also had been fighting for their country and we all had now one common aim - to get back home to our families - if we still had them ! We soon realized that these men had no fight left in them, for like us they were not only sick and injured but utterly demoralized and homesick too - but - they did have one thing that we did not have - FOOD. They had food, but we had still some cigarettes and before long there was bartering and exchanges that lead to talking, swapping experiences and a strange feeling of similarity. These men were not the cruel Gestapo or those in charge of P O W camps or their goons, they were like us, ordinary men who were just serving their country and who wanted to go home. The horrors that they had experienced fighting in the bitter cold of the Russian front and the total waste of life they had seen had left them traumatized beyond understanding. 26. The German Commander of the area a bloated arrogant man, had two geese that were kept in a cage - obviously for his and his fellow officers dinner, but of course, one night the inevitable happened - the geese disappeared. Where to, only those who had committed the mysterious robbery knew but, there were 10,000 or so prisoners in those marshalling yards who were crowded together and whosoever had taken them, did not offer to share the meal ! The commander was needless to say absolutely furious and he demanded compensation and retribution, threatening to shoot us individually until he was satisfied. Our Senior British Officer called us to assemble and told us that compensation was being demanded. What did we have to compensate those geese? We would all have loved to enjoyed a taste. Our only bargaining power were the cigarettes that some of us still had. Consequently collections were made for all to give as many as possible to appease the Commander and I being a non smoker had to contribute what I had. Eventually we were marched down to the goods trains that were waiting in a nearby railway sidings and were herded into cattle trucks. Forty five to fifty of us were pushed and crammed into a small truck, where the only ventilation was that of the small grille high in a corner. Also in that corner near to the doors was a slop bucket. Ten days I spent in that foul smelling hell hole, it was deprivation at its very worst. Dysentery was rife, we were unable to lie down and sleep was nigh impossible. The journey was full of stops and starts to let German troop trains go by, giving us the opportunity to at least have the doors open although we were never allowed outside, being constantly guarded by armed guards who looked only too keen to shoot us. 27 The only blessing was that here the engines would be refilled with the required water and sometimes a little would be given to us. It was a terrible journey, we were bitterly cold, starving and completely despondent. I never thought I would be pleased to see another POW camp, but we eventually arrived at Luchenvald, south of Berlin and, as we trudged from the railway I had my first glimmer of hope that I could sleep, eat and clean myself, although not necessarily in that order. The camp at Luchenvald was basic although dry and quite clean, it consisted of long dormitories each filled with three tiered bunks into which we fell exhausted. We were soon to discover there were no facilities for toilets and washing and it was very much down to the basics building our own latrines. I had to wash my clothes which by now were pretty rancid. Eventually, finding a cold water tap I proceeded to strip off and rinse myself down and scrub at those green long johns. As I have previously said I did my best and hung them out on a hastily prepared line but - in those sub zero temperatures it took many days to get them dry, eventually after hanging them around the stove in the centre of the hut I was forced to put them under my straw palliase mattress in the hope that one day I could wear them again. To this day I still envisage those pale, ghostly green long johns hanging stiffly on the line. I befriended a fellow POW - Alan Tustin, who shared the billet, he was a Flight Lieutenant engineer who’s Lancaster had been strafed whilst on the Peider Mundy rocket Factory raid, in the Baltic. His Lancaster had exploded and he was the only survivor. Alan was suffering badly from yellow jaundice and was completely incapacitated. The Only food that he could eat was rice and potatoes and I scrounged and bartered all I had to keep him alive. We became very good friends - a friendship that lasted for years to come. Chapter 6 Starvation and consequences 28 Rumors were rife that we were winning the war but, in a camp that now contained over 40,000 men of different nationalities - who could ever know what, was the truth? The camp was attacked by German fighters who flew low over the camp shooting at anything that moved. One day we realized that out hut was in the firing line and, jumping down from my top bunk I caught my leg on a protruding nail and ripped it open it took some time to heal, probably due to my unhealthy body and the lack of any medication. We were imprisoned in that camp for four months, February until the end of May 1945 but we did not accept our incarceration lightly. Many officers tried to escape - myself and Alan included. We became aware of the agitation and insecurity of our guards who were edgy and threatening and, fearing that we would suffer the same fate as the 50 officers who were shot in Stalagluft III we decided to make a break for freedom. Discovering a break in the wire fencing - probably cut by other escapees, late one night after stashing what little food we could carry and wrapping ourselves in the warmest things we could find we made our way pretty stealthily across the camp to that hole in the wire. The tension of knowing that we would be shot if we were caught in those probing searchlights brought us out in a cold sweat but we were desperate and fear drove us on. We got through the wire and, guided by the little compass that Alan had hoarded throughout his incarceration we made our way westward from where we knew the Allies would be approaching. We could see the flash of guns and could hear the explosions in the far distance and knew that must be our goal, hence we trudged throughout that night. Dawn eventually broke and we saw in the distance an old farm house and knew that we must make our way there for our own safety. 29 We were in the wilds of Germany; there were no roads, only fields and narrow lanes and no sign of life whatsoever but that farmhouse could mean food and our spirits rose with the thought. We approached the farm very cautiously for we were aware that armed troops may be inside watching us, but our fears were soon allayed when we discovered the place was deserted - or so we thought. The doors of the derelict hovel were open and as we moved in I saw a movement in a corner but, to my amazement it was not soldiers, but a frail, elderly, terrified couple who were cringing there with their hands in the air babbling for mercy. Without really thinking straight I put my hand into the pocket of my greatcoat and pretending I had a gun I shouted at them “Essen .Essen ” I must have looked like Jimmy Cagney standing there threatening those poor souls, they had nothing - but I had obviously seen too many gangster films to have acted as I did. We searched their house but there really was nothing to eat and those poor souls were starving but - we heard chickens cackling in the centre of the farmyard. Running toward the noise we discovered the biggest dung heap steaming in the middle of the yard atop which were dozens of real live chickens ! Food at last ! We ran toward the stinking heap not caring where we trod but those wily old birds were too smart for us, we chased them up the heap, round the heap and eventually through the heap but I - being me - fell over right into the muck and emerged not quite smelling of Evening in Paris. I was covered in dung once again and stank to high heaven BUT I had caught a chicken ! Now all we had to do was kill it and cook it. 30. I handed the scrawny old bird to Alan who looked at me in amazement “I can’t kill it” he said “But neither can I” I replied and staring at each other looking and feeling quite flummoxed I tucked the chicken into my greatcoat and we set off to seek food elsewhere and to find our way to God knew where. We started walking again an eventually found our way onto a small lane when suddenly we heard and saw a type of jeep racing toward us. Thinking they were Germans we knew our time was up, for we would have been shot on sight but, the Gods were watching over us and we discovered they were high ranking Russian officers and, they spoke English. They told us if we had continued along this lane we would certainly have been re captured and shot but, they explained, our safest bet was to get into their vehicle and they would return us to the Luchenvald camp which was had fallen into Russian hands. Realising our lives must be blessed we did just that and were returned to the place that we had so hopefully escaped from two or three nights before, only to find our German guards had fled and the whole camp of forty thousand men of mixed nationalities, were all being held prisoners by the Russians. For the Poles, Slavs, Czechoslovakians and other eastern European countries this was terrifying and probably meant a certain death, but for the British prisoners, our main fear was that we were to be transported to the salt mines of Siberia. Our arrival at the camp was greeted with cheers and hugs from our dormitory pals but suddenly we seemed to have acquired lots more friends - word had got out that I had a chicken and volunteers to kill, pluck and cook that poor old bird that had been inside my coat for 48 hours were extensive. I think Alan and I finished up with half a wing and the wishbone ! 31 The change in our captors, from Germans to Russians led everyone to assume we would soon be repatriated and to the delight of all prisoners ninety three large American lorries appeared outside the gates. But it was not be, for the idea was not to repatriate but to feed the starving inmates. Groups of prisoners were selected to form foraging parties and it was they that boarded the lorries. They travelled miles searching for anything that was edible from sheep and cows to vegetables which were bought back to the camp to be turned into soup, which was the only way to feed the forty or so thousand desperately hungry souls. Food in our belly’s brought much comfort but any feelings of elation were soon dispelled into despair when we saw those lorries disappearing with no prisoners on board. What was to become of us? Would we be sent to Siberia? Was a salt mine our destination? Would another long forced march be our fate. Depression was widespread. Should we just walk out of the camp? The sight of those heavily armed Russian soldiers put paid to that ideas , but, if we staged a mass break out then surely some must survive ? The calm composure of our Senior British Officer put paid to such ideas and we were told to remain calm for the Russian army were our allies and he felt certain that repatriation was imminent. For us to break out of the camp whilst there were still pockets of Germans who were fighting for their lives would be totally foolhardy. We remained in that state of limbo for two or more weeks before we suddenly realized that a huge fleet of empty lorries emblazoned with the Red Star was outside the camp. They had come to take us away - but to where - east to Russia or west for home? We did not know. We thanked when God, when we were told it west! 32. Those who had possessions grabbed them quickly, but for me - I had nothing except the clothes on my back and along with my comrades I joined the queues ready to board one of those now most welcome lorries. We were taken to the eastern banks of the river Elbe, the demarcation line between Russian and American armies. Told to get off the lorries, we were then marched across a ‘pontoon’ bridge to the other side of the Elbe where we were welcomed by the Americans. I have never been greeted so enthusiastically as I was by those American troops but, we respectfully bade farewell to our Russian comrades. The Americans had assembled many trucks into which we gladly climbed and from that base we were taken to Halle airbase to then flown to Brussels in a DC3. For me the experience was traumatic, for my last flight had been pretty horrendous. That flight brought home to me the reality of war, my flights had always been at night and I had not seen the damage that was widespread throughout the Ruhr valley. There were no buildings that were not touched; the majority was just ruins and rubble and as we were flying at only 1,000 feet and the day was clear and bright, I was filled with a sense of anguish and remorse. I had been part of this carnage and destruction - but I dreaded to think what I might find when I got home to London. There were thousands of us prisoners of war who were transported over the next few weeks and for me it was pure euphoria, I was free, I had no guard watching my every move, there was food - wonderful food. The mixture of people who were there for us, the Royal Air Force and Belgians were so kind and comforting to us all. We were fed - fresh tasty food that I had almost forgotten, I was in heaven. 33. The next item on the agenda was a programme of intense personal cleaning. We were de loused (we were pretty flea bitten) we showered, letting the hot water cascade over our emaciated bodies and then given new uniforms which for me consisted of an RAF Battledress and trousers. Our old rags which we had worn for so much time were then burnt I had to say goodbye to my long johns ! Chapter 7 Home 34 We were kept in Brussels for three or four days and eventually transported to a local air base where there were lines of Lancaster bombers, all waiting for us. For me it was pretty harrowing for here were the identical ‘planes from which I had jumped months before. My mind was transported back to November 6th. Where were my crew? Were they still alive? Would I ever see them again? These memories were Exacerbated by the realization that I now had to get on board if I wanted to get back to England. The last Lancaster bomber in which I had flown was with me, upfront in the cockpit and at the controls, this flight was somewhat different. There were 15 to 20 men who boarded the Lancaster, but there were in seats, of course no safety belts and men just sat on the floor above the bomb bay. For me that was taking a high risk - who knew if these doors could accidentally be opened. I had a far more safe seat, although a little uncomfortable, All the way home I sat on the Elsan getting up, only to let a fellow passenger use my chemical toilet. We landed safely - much to the relief of all those now ex P O W’s, at Cosford near Wolverhampton and, as we disembarked we literally kissed the ground. We were home, we were in England. The huge hanger at Cosford was decorated with bunting and banners welcoming us home, there were tables all laden with food the likes of which we had not seen for months. We were surrounded by fellow officers, pretty WAAF’s the Red Cross and the Salvation Army, What a welcome. Another de lousing was incurred, for we still had the little blighters on our bodies but eventually we were free to go home and I was given six weeks leave and a travel pass to my home in Morden.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Eric Hookings's life story book 2
Description
An account of the resource
Describes operations as Lancaster pilot. Detailed description of last sortie to attack Dortmund-Ems canal on 6 November 1944. His aircraft was attacked by FW 190 which was driven of and then set on fire by another fighter attack. Describes bailing out, evading along with his flight engineer. John Tate. Goes on to describe capture, incarceration and interrogation at Dulag Luft and transfer to Staklag Luft 3. Provides detail account of life in prisoner of war camp and long march by foot and train back to Germany. Covers liberation and repatriation.
Creator
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E Hookings
Format
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Thirty-two page printed document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BHookingsEWHookingsEWv2
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Poland
Poland--Żagań
Germany--Halle an der Saale
Belgium
Belgium--Brussels
England--Shropshire
Great Britain
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1944-11-06
1945
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
aircrew
bale out
C-47
Dulag Luft
escaping
evading
fear
flight engineer
Fw 190
Lancaster
military ethos
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Cosford
Red Cross
shot down
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 3
the long march
Waffen-SS
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2044/33128/PProbynEA17010017.2.jpg
76ef7463789edf93d945e4d397380091
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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Probyn, Ernest. Scrapbook
Date
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2017-04-23
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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Probyn, EA
Description
An account of the resource
42 items. Scrapbook containing photographs and clippings.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
EXTRACTS FROM LETTER FROM AIR CHIEF MARSHAL
[underlined] SIR ARTHUR HARRIS, KCB., OBE., AFC. [/underlined]
“I have always considered that the strain imposed by sustained Bomber operations requires that aircrew personnel should enjoy the maximum amount of freedom from restraint and should be relieved, as far as can be done without loss of efficiency, of routine Station duties. This policy, and I can see no reason for changing it, places on Station, Squadron and Flight Commanders the responsibility for ensuring that such privileges are not abused.”
“Unfortunately, my attention is continually drawn to the lack of discipline prevalent amongst operational aircrew, and to causes of complaint such as irregularities of dress, lack of smartness in bearing and appearance, slackness in saluting and a degree of untidiness in some of their living quarters which practically amounts to squalor. Apart from the bad impression created both inside and outside the Service, such symptoms cannot help but have an adverse effect on the behaviour in the air of the personnel concerned, as conditions of modern warfare, and in particular the gruelling task of Bomber crews, demand instantaneous and unhesitating obedience to orders, combined with a degree of physical and moral stamina which can only result from a high standard of self-discipline.”
“The junior aircrew members of today are the Flight and Squadron Commanders of tomorrow, and the Station and Base Commanders of the future, and unless they grow up with an understanding of, and a sincere regard for, the right ideals and best traditions of the Service, our efficiency and our prestige will inevitably decline. The conduct of our aircrews on operations has won, and continues to win, the admiration of the world. It is particularly undesirable, therefore, that their conduct on the ground should fall short of this magnificent standard, and should excite unfavourable comment by the other members of the Royal Air Force, by other Services, or by the general public.”
“Constant steps must be taken to see that aircrew personnel take sufficient physical exercise to keep them fit, particularly during lulls in operations. They must be educated in matters of general, as well as Service knowledge. They must be made aware of the achievements, both past and present, of the Royal Air Foce, [sic] and thus gain pride in their membership of our Service. Finally, they must be reminded that, as aircrews of Bomber Command, they form the spearhead of the national offensive, and as such can lay claims to be called a “crack Corps”, but that every “crack Corps” which has ever existed in any arm of the Services in any country, has been distinguished for its all-round efficiency, smartness and esprit-de-corps, just as much as for its valour and fighting skill. Let us see to it that Bomber Command aircrews do not forfeit in the eyes of the world, through ignorance fostered by poor leadership, their full claim to that title.”
[black and white head and shoulders photograph of Ernest Probyn in cadet uniform]
Self as Cadet Aircrew.
[black and white photograph of Ernest Probyn in Sergeant’s uniform, standing in front of trees next to a fence]
Self as Sgt. A/G at No. 17 O.T.U. R.A.F. Silverstone
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Ernest Probyn and Letter from Sir Arthur Harris
Description
An account of the resource
Two photographs of Ernest, the first as a cadet, the second captioned 'Self as Sgt A/G at No 17 OTU RAF Silverstone'.
The letter is a morale booster to encourage his airmen.
Format
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Two b/w photographs and one typewritten sheet on an album page
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Text
Text. Correspondence
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PProbynEA17010017
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
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Conforms To
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Pending text-based transcription. Under review
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Tricia Marshall
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Northamptonshire
17 OTU
aircrew
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
military discipline
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
Operational Training Unit
RAF Silverstone
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/96/940/MCatlingBG3005381-151228-03.1.jpg
d8edf48d44451c781ff42c9587071352
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
Catling, Gordon
Gordon Catling
B G Catling
G Catling
B Catling
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history interview with Sergeant B Gordon Catling (3005381 Royal Air Force), a poem and a list of 29 operations he completed as a rear gunner with 50 Squadron from RAF Skellingthorpe during 1944 and 1945.
The collection was been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Gordon Catling and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-11-21
2015-12-28
Identifier
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Catling, G
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. 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.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] FIFTY YEARS ON [/underlined]
They flew
Up and into the blue
From a corner in England
In days that were desperate
and in black nights that were moon-less.
Fifty years on, still in the pale
dawn hours I hear and tremble at the sirens call
So few
For what they had to do
Silhouettes in a searchlight,
Moths in a white devouring flame,
They damned the tides and history
We stood, while cities round us burned,
Fearful, to count how many had returned
They knew
The fear but glory too,
The strength and joy of oneness
of purpose, to fly in the closeness of brotherhood, for them
no question how or why but rise
for single-handed battle in the shattered skies
Now, through
the world, freedom that’s new
and fierce enough to breach walls,
springs from the seeds sown five decades
since by quiet heroes who
leave us this debt, hard to repay
because of them we live, remember them today
Theresa Turk
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Title
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Fifty years on
Description
An account of the resource
Poem of four verses of seven lines each in remembrance of those who flew and the freedom that they died for.
Creator
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Theresa Turk
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Poetry
Text
Identifier
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MCatlingBG3005381-151228-03
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Civilian
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
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.
Format
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One-page typewritten poem
Contributor
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Steve Baldwin
arts and crafts
military ethos
perception of bombing war
-
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6b0efa0b28ca18290c5cb80f735b9c04
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Title
A name given to the resource
Bain, Andrew
A Bain
Description
An account of the resource
58 items. The collection concerns Andrew Bain (1916-1943, 658930, Royal Air Force). He joined the British Army in September 1939 and transferred to the RAF in October 1941. He was killed in action 23/24 August 1943. Collection includes: observer's logbook, pay book, photographs (some loose, some in album), letters (numerous), brevets and badges, medals, ribbons and BC Clasp. Includes correspondence received by Andrew's widow Isabel following his death and a list of his effects. <br /><br />Additional in formation on Andrew Bain is available via <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/201025/">the IBCC Losses Database.</a><br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Lorna Aitchison Howieson and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-07-23
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. 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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Bain, A
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Postage stamp
Misses M. & M. Lumsden,
316, Kings Park Ave.,
Bankhead, Rutherglen,
Glasgow,
Scotland.
[page break]
10/7/43
25, Beaufort Gdns.,
Bishopbriggs,
Glasgow.
Dear Aunt Mary and
Aunt Margaret,
Isabel has been telling me about the thoughtful and very much appreciated wedding present you have given us and suggested I should drop you note to let you know how the boys in RAF blue are getting on.
Well I’m well and fit and thoroughly enjoying myself I am stationed down in Cambridgeshire near Ely and we can see the famous cathedral very clearly for it stands out as a landmark all around this flat country. I haven’t been
[page break]
(2)
there yet but I’ll get around to it sometime.
I am flying I a big 4 – engined plane doing night trips over enemy territory and, though it is hardly what I’d choose for a pastime, I find it exhilarating in a certain measure. I think this is mainly due to the excellent co-operation and infectious high spirits of our crew. There are 7 of us a Welshman, 2 Canadians, 2 Englishman, and 2 Glasgow boys. We all live together in the same billet and eat together and the sense of comradeship is a great help in the air. it doesn’t banish fear but it reduces it to a low minimum.
[page break]
(3)
I personally am greatly sustained by the love and kindness I receive from Isabel. I miss her a good deal but she writes me wonderful letters and we are always looking forward to my next leave when we can be together. I am continually grateful for having a wife who is everything I could desire.
I trust everything on the Home Front is under control as far as you are concerned though I’ve no doubt you’ll be as glad as I will to see the end.
Yours sincerely
Andy.
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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From Andrew to Isabel's Aunts Mary and Margaret
Description
An account of the resource
Letter in which Andrew describes life on the squadron, including the comradeship of his crew and appreciation of Isabel. Includes envelope.
Creator
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Andrew Bain
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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1943-07-10
Format
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One handwritten three-page letter and envelope
Language
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eng
Type
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Text. Correspondence
Text
Identifier
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ELumsdenM-MBainA430710-0001, ELumsdenM-MBainA430710-0002, ELumsdenM-MBainA430710-0003, ELumsdenM-MBainA430710-0004
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. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-07
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
aircrew
fear
military ethos
RAF Mepal
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1245/16466/EBainAWilliamson[Mr]430720-0001.jpg
96c6b266eaa317658a5d03231b0e0bbe
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1245/16466/EBainAWilliamson[Mr]430720-0002.jpg
c2e625f935db688e267f01adb20ab8cd
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
Bain, Andrew
A Bain
Description
An account of the resource
58 items. The collection concerns Andrew Bain (1916-1943, 658930, Royal Air Force). He joined the British Army in September 1939 and transferred to the RAF in October 1941. He was killed in action 23/24 August 1943. Collection includes: observer's logbook, pay book, photographs (some loose, some in album), letters (numerous), brevets and badges, medals, ribbons and BC Clasp. Includes correspondence received by Andrew's widow Isabel following his death and a list of his effects. <br /><br />Additional in formation on Andrew Bain is available via <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/201025/">the IBCC Losses Database.</a><br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Lorna Aitchison Howieson and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-07-23
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. 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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Bain, A
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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20/7/43
25, Beaufort Gdns
Bishopbriggs
Glasgow.
Dear Mr Williamson,
Since last writing I have done my conversion to 4 engined bombers and have for the last three weeks been on an Ops Squadron near Ely in Cambridgeshire. I have done my first few ops and have thoroughly enjoyed the experience. There is not the tension about life here that I had expected. It is not a hard life by any means, but we do more flying than ever now (for we have our kite to look after) and it is tiring work. We haven’t run into any serious trouble but there is a happy sense of comradeship in the crew and on Ops the the patter over the intercom is bright, amusing, and has a very reassuring effect. We all live eat and sleep together so we just have to get on well. My Flight Engineer is a Glasgow fellow from Linthouse so I’ll have company to travel to and from
[page break]
leaves.
I am coming home on leave next Wednesday (27th) for 6 days.
Isabel has now been discharged from the Waaf [sic] for medical reasons. Her aunt died some months ago so Isabel is now looking after her Uncle and his little boy at Bishopbriggs. I shall be going there on leave and you should address your letters there in future. Isabel is not out much these days so I might not manage in to see you this time when on leave but I’ll make a point of phoning you and I’ll tell you how things are. Has T.McL. gone out into the world yet? And how is HJB enjoying RAF life now.
Hope you and the family are keeping well. And enjoying Glasgow’s Fair attractions?!
Yours
Andy
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
From Andrew to Mr Williamson
Description
An account of the resource
Letter in which Andrew describes how he feels about life in the squadron and how Isabel has now left the WAAF and is looking after uncle and his son.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Andrew Bain
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1943-07-20
Format
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One two-page handwritten letter
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Correspondence
Text
Identifier
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EBainAWilliamson[Mr]430720-0001, EBainAWilliamson[Mr]430720-0002
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. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-07
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.
aircrew
military ethos
RAF Mepal
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1858/33473/BDavyHDavyHv1.1.pdf
c0d8b39f8730f4a4159c30d53ea11917
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
Davy, H
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-06-01
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
Davy, H
Description
An account of the resource
18 items. The collection concerns H Davy (1852721 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, memoir and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 626 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Nancy Davy and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
General memories
I volunteered for Aircrew aged 18 and after examinations and Medical reported for duty in March 1943.
RAF Number 1852721 (only the last three numbers were used)
Ops as detailed but not counted as part of tour 3
Number of ops 31
Therefore apart from training total number of ops was 34
I trained for 12 to 15 months in different places. As civilians we reported to Air Crew Reception Centre, at Lord's Cricket Ground in "The Long Room" London for three weeks. (6.98.A) We ate in the Zoo restaurant. Then to Initial Training Wing (ITW) Bridlington, Morpeth for Gunnery school where I was the course leader. Final exams had 98% Loved what I was doing. A Martinet towed a drogue for the rest of us to practise our gunnery skills above the North Sea. Wymeswold for "crewing-up", then Castle Donington to start training as a crew (Operational Training Unit); Lindholme Heavy conversion unit (HCU) to train on 4 engine bombers (Halifaxes); Hemswell Lancaster finishing school where we converted to Lancasters before going on to the Squadron in May 1944.
At ACRC I remember John Newbegin from Alnwick. I was in the bunk above him. He asked my name, I replied "Spike" and thereafter he called me Spike.
At the medical line up I was called in early. The MO said "Mr. Davy meet Mrs Davy". She was Thelma the wife of my cousin from Calstock. We had never met but she recognised my name on the list.
A lot of men were killed during training.
At Bridlington I got Scarlet Fever & confined to isolation hospital for six weeks. Plus two weeks recuperation leave which put me eight weeks behind those I joined up with.
When I went to Uxbridge for final Demob two others from that original intake said to me "We thought you were dead" They had accounted for only nine out of the sixty still alive. So perhaps scarlet fever saved my life.
To Wymeswold for 3 weeks Operation Training Unit (OTU).
At Wymeswold 200 or 300 crew were put into a hut and told to make up crews. Before this we were marching from place to place (perhaps to a lecture) and I was next to Sam Collens and we talked about our training experiences. I had passed out as 2nd out of 60 as a gunner. Sam said to me Harry Merry will join me as Flight Engineer, will you join us and I said yes can I be Rear Gunner and he replied yes you are my first crew member. After that the whole 626 aircrew intake was taken to a hut and instructed to form crews. All the men mingled and talked and somehow Sam collected his crew together. Tommy Birch BA, Joe Slack MUG, Ron Rainbird WO. Harry Merry would not join us until we had completed our initial training on twin-engined Wellingtons, the reason being that only 4 engine bombers carries a Flight Engineer. Harry joined us at Lindholme, a heavy conversion unit for 4 engine Halifaxes. Sam had met a Navigator Ted Davies, a pharmacist from Northhampton [sic]. A Welshman, short stature, handlebar moustache, super chap. I gelled with him from the beginning & were great pals. His wife was running the business during his absence.
[page break]
After Wymeswold half the contingent stayed there & half including us went to Castle Donnington for OTU.
We used ex-operational, clapped out Wellingtons for 6 weeks training. Very happy there. The Sword of Damacles hung over us as the culmination of this course was a series of decoy flights across the North Sea to draw German fighters away from the main Bomber stream. Also to carry out leaflet raids over Europe, in our case Paris. (called ops as detailed but not counted as operational). Bear in mind the Wellington had two engines & if one failed the plane could not get back on one engine. This meant they either crashed or ditched in the sea. Some crashed on take-off, one into the woods at the end of the run-way & all crew lost.
From Castle Donnington to Lindholme near Doncaster for Heavy Conversion Unit (HCU) & onto 4 engine heavy Halifaxes. Here Harry Merry joined us. A few weeks doing practice flights.
From there to Lancaster finishing school at Hemswell nr Gainsborough, Lincolnshire for final training in Lancs. End of training. Then posted to Operational Squadron, One Group Bomber Command, 626 Squadron at Wickenby near Lincoln.
Throughout the time of training as a crew we were warned on numerous occasions that if we withdrew from training no action would be taken, but if we withdrew after completion of training we would be reduced to ranks, loose [sic] our wings, & all documents would have Lack of Moral Fibre written across them. (Cowardice in the face of the enemy). We would then be sent to a correction establishment at Sheffield before being posted into the Army.
At OTU the final chance was given. On this occasion the Navigator Ted Davies left the crew as his wife was bordering on a nervous breakdown due to his flying career. He wanted to go on but withdrew.
Immediately navigator Jack Leuty joined us. He was an "odd bod" waiting to join a crew. He had spent time training navigators in Canada and his experiences meant he had flown cross country from brightly lit city to city whereas in Britain we had had blackouts for four years.
Most of our operations were at night in the dark.
When we were on the Squadron Joe Slack left us and was replaced by an Irishman Paddy Fulton.
At the end of our own tour of 30 ops (31 actually) we went on 6 months rest from operational duty. Paddy had not completed 30 ops so was posted to another crew. He begged to stay with us, even cried, but was not allowed to. He was killed on his next op with the new crew.
At Wickenby
Pilot – Pilot Officer B.A. (Sam) Collens
Flight Engineer – Sergeant Harry Merry
Navigator – Flight Lieutenant Jack Leuty
Mid Upper Gunner – Sergeant John (Paddy) Fulton
Bomb Aimer – Sergeant Tommy Birch
Wireless Operator – Sergeant Ron (Ronald Thomas) Rainbird
Rear Gunner – Sergeant Herbert Davy (then k/a Bert now k/a Herb or Herbie)
Crews became closer than brothers. Age 19 I was the youngest of our crew. We spent leisure time together, drank together, spent leave together (Sam & Tommy came to Saltash). Relied on each other in the aircraft. We knew we might die together.
[page break]
Accommodation was it [sic] huts. Officers had separate accommodation so Sam slept apart from us. We would wake some mornings and find 6 (or 7) empty beds in our hut. It was a fact of life that promotion was rapid because of the high rate of casualties and turnover of Aircrew.
Take off --- us from Wickenby
Up to 1 hour to climb to 10,000ft
500 planes all circling
Congregate over Mablethorpe, Lincs
9p.m. all navigation lights out
All to go in one direction across North Sea
Sometimes collisions in the dark
Could get caught up in the slipstream of the aircraft ahead and crash
Over the targets bombs dropping all around from other planes, from above.
Look up and see gaping open bomb doors in plane above
One fell between our wing and tail
Interrogation after each operation. (Now called de-briefing)
Model -- Lanc III manufactured in Canada
Didn't use the same plane each time because we had 7 days leave every 6 weeks and they were used by other crews. The one we used last may have been shot down.
I remember three in particular:
Sugar 2 S2
Victor 2 V2
Roger 2 R2 Also known as Bennets Beavers
Each Squadron had letters 12 was PH 626 was UM
Each plane in each squadron had a letter – 12 just the letter, 626 the letter plus 2
Station code name/call sign was GRATEFUL
e.g. our plane would be UM O R2
Also V2 H2 Y2 U2 T2 Z2 L2
When R2 (known as Bennetts Beavers after a previous pilot) became available Sam asked to use it because he knew it was a faster aircraft than others.
We now know PA990 R2 Bennetts Beavers was a "ton-up" Lanc. One of few that went out on and survived 100 operations or more. (105; some didn't even come back from one).
Roger 2 was the plane we used when we flew down across Kit Hill and Liskeard (where I could see our milkman delivering), the Lizard, 300 miles out into the Atlantic by daylight & under 1000ft to keep below the German RADAR & into Pauillac (near Bordeaux) to bomb
[page break]
the oil tank farm. (I now know I flew across Coombe Park, a farm where Luke held Nancy (age 5) in his arms to see the planes passing overhead, August 4th 1944).
We used R2 for Westkapelle.
Westkapelle was our last op. In 2005 I read that our Navigator was F/O L. Andrews. I have no recollection whatsoever of this substitute or why Jack Leuty wasn't with us. I remember the day well and it is recorded for the Polderhuis Museum at Westkapelle.
Again in 2005 I was asked if the crew ever swapped places. Some records showed that crews did, or flew with substitutes, but then records may not be correct. They were sometimes based on the planes that crews usually flew, not the ones they actually did fly.
The only time we did swap was when we returned from one op with a bomb still on board. We could not land (for fear of blowing up on the runway) so had to dispose of the bomb in the North Sea as was usual practice. Sam asked Tommy if he would like to pilot the plane, (he certainly would and did) and I went to bomb aimer's position and directed the bomb down to a wave I had my eye on. I cannot remember who covered my position.
Corkscrewing to avoid German air attack. The responsibility of the Rear Gunner was the protection of the plane and crew. He was required to give 100% concentration on continually scanning the sky – especially the dark side – to give adequate warning and instruction to the Pilot on what evasive action to take. Highly trained in aircraft recognition.
Majority of enemy fighter attacks were from dark side of the sky so that we were silhouetted against the light. The RG had to concentrate his search on the dark side when the tendency would be to look to the light. (Instructions said never look at lights) e.g. if the attack came from port side the RG would instruct Pilot to corkscrew port – first a 1000ft dive to port followed by 1000ft climb to starboard, then 1000ft dive to starboard followed by 1000ft climb to port which would bring the plane back to it's normal flight path. This procedure was repeated until the fighter abandoned his chase or either of us was shot down. (We now know that some German pilots gave up when they saw that we were alert and ready, and went in search of an easier target.) During a corkscrew anything loose and moveable inside the plane would speedily fly round and cause damage. Especially stomach contents!!
We used T2 for Frankfurt when we were badly shot up. We went via Mannheim in error (Don't know the reason why – navigational, wind, what? I do not know why we should be separated from the others by 50 miles or so.) Approaching what we thought was the target Frankfurt, B/A Tommy offered to help Navigator Jack by describing the ground scene. It was clear moonlight and he described the railway lines and river. "We're following the rail line now the river now the river divides" It obviously differed from the map because Jack said "Did you say the river divides? Christ we're over Mannheim!" That's when the blue searchlight came up. We were coned in searchlights, Sam called up "what shall I do Bert?" I replied "dive to port at top speed & get the hell out of here". I remember seeing the wings flapping. Speed was registered 400mph. by Harry Merry. (normal operating speed was between 180 – 210mph) dropped 18,000ft to 14,000ft. We were badly attacked by anti-aircraft guns, anything they could throw at us. After recovery, Sam said "navigator give me a course for Frankfurt". I can remember my thoughts-they are unprintable. I thought we'd had it. We were way after the main attack so we were a lone aircraft, vulnerable again but apparently not noticed/recognised by ground defences. Perhaps because we approached from the South instead of North. The target marker was still visible so dropped the bombs &
[page break]
returned for home. Sam said "course for Woodbridge" The port side engine had to be feathered because the fuel tank had been punctured. I saw what I thought was smoke and reported one engine on fire, but it was fuel. Wireless operator went back through plane & felt what he thought was blood on mid-upper gunner. "He's had it" Minutes later crackle on line & MUG said "what's the matter with you lot. I can't get any reply". He was covered in hydraulic fluid. Tommy reported bomb bay doors would not close. At some stage I know I opened my door to get back into the plane and to my parachute if were possible.
We had to land at Woodbridge an emergency airfield in Suffolk with a 5000yd runway, on three engines & bomb doors open. No radio & not knowing if undercarriage was down. The next day when we inspected the plane and talked this is what we found:
Each member of the crew had evidence of his position being damaged by missiles. I had a hold 2 inches in diameter where the doors joined (centre of backrest) behind my seat and in the gunmounting in front of me. The pilot and flight engineer sat side by side on the flight deck. There were holes in the Perspex either side of the flight deck where their heads would normally be. Tommy lying on his stomach in the bombing position had shrapnel in his harness over his heart. There were holes at all crew positions. Did we all lean sideways to look at something at the same time? There was a hole in the bomb door and a dent in the top of the bomb bay obviously caused before the bomb was dropped. Why didn't the 4000lb bomb explode inside the plane?
The thoughts that went through my mind when we were over Mannheim:
If I get out of the plane where would I land? On buildings, trees, water, forest?
On our second trip to Stettin
Did all the crew fall asleep returning over the North Sea? It was a crime. Crossed North Sea, crossed Denmark, across Sweden over Malmo, across the Baltic then to Stettin. Returned the same route. After crossing Danish coast into the North Sea I heard Bomb Aimer say to Navigator "We are just crossing the Danish coast" The Navigator replied "our ETA on English coast one hour" The next thing I can remember is hearing the Bomb Aimer's voice "hello Navigator, just crossing the English coast". Two or three nights later we were in the Adam & Eve (pub) Wragby. It was my turn to buy the drinks. Harry Merry helped me. He said "You were asleep in your turret, I saw you when I went to the Elsan". He passed the Wireless operator who was asleep at his table, no reaction from Mid Upper Gunner, climbed over Elsan slid down to rear turret looked through window & saw me slouched over guns. Retraced his steps shone torch down into Bomb Aimer & saw Tommy asleep. Thought to himself I will keep watch. Pilot asleep in his seat & next thing Harry knew was when Tommy said "just cross English coast". Meaning that at one point the whole crew had been asleep. Reasoning --- on this long trip we were issued with two wakey-wakey pills to be taken at regular intervals (4 hourly periods). Perhaps we took them too early & when the effect wore off they left you feeling very drowsy.
The lights of Malmo – memorable after the darkness of Britain.
Premonitions
One day the rear turret was leaking oil. I told Pilot we could not or should not fly. He agreed. Terrible losses that night. The next day the leak had cleared up. Afterwards other crew asked did I have a premonition. Yes. They all did too. Harry Merry said "Why didn't you want to fly in that raid?" I replied "Because if we had we would not be here now". He said he agreed & that other crew had felt the same without mentioning names.
[page break]
Over Stettin, over target, a voice from the cockpit said "crumbs, there's a bloody fighter coming straight for us!" They envisaged a head-on collision. I saw it as it passed over and above us. I was sure it was an Me262 the first true jet fighter.
Over 50 years later I met Dave Wellard, another Rear Gunner from 626 Squadron who lived in Saltash and he told me the same story. (We had never met before.) His plane was on the same mission. Were we side by side? Was there only the one fighter or two? He also recognised it as an Me262.
After we finished flying Sam was posted to RAF Whitchurch, Bristol. Harry Merry came down from Weeton, Lancs where he was stationed. I came from Avonmouth where I was stationed & met at pub at Whitchurch. When I walked in the door Harry shook my hand and said "Here's old Cat's Eyes. If it hadn't been for you, you bugger, we wouldn't be here now". He always called me Cat's Eyes.
Jack Leuty always asking for a fag, but when someone asked him for one he said "I'll sell you ten" I can remember being absolutely disgusted with his attitude. He was the only crew member who kept aloof from any of the others.
Mrs Lane a customer said to me when she heard I was joining the RAF "you might meet my son Pat" We didn't know each other. One day in the dispersal someone was using my cleaning rods without asking permission. I said to him "Next time ask". He had a Cornish accent. Told me he was from Saltash so I said to him "I suppose you are Pat Lane" He nearly fell over in surprise. "how the hell do you know that?"
Clothes:
Aircrew: I think only the gunners were issued with mustard-yellow coloured buoyancy suits but they proved to be far too bulky especially for Rear gunners because although it was possible to squeeze into the turret with them on it was virtually impossible to escape quickly. I never saw anyone wear one on operations!!! Consider temperature in the rear turret could be as low as -40° C. The main fuselage of the Lanc had hot air ducted from the engines hence the rest of the crew did not need to dress like rear gunners. Also rear gunners removed the Perspex window to get better vision. See photo of HD standing beside turret.
Order of dressing:
1. Long johns – made of wool plated with silk. 2 pieces long sleeved vest and full length pants.
2. RAF issue socks
3. Shirt and tie
4. RAF uniform trousers
5. "SUB" socks. Socks from toe to crotch Naval issue, thick knit (Submarine)
6. "SUB" sweater as above. Full length sleeves and hip length.
7. Thin cotton type electrically heated suit
8. Battle dress top
9. Electrically heated slippers
10. Fur lined leather boots (Escape variety, cut the tops off with the knife in an inside little pocket and they looked like shoes)
11. Silk gloves
12. Woollen mittens and small woollen scarf
13. Padded heated gauntlets
[page break]
14. Leather gauntlets with zips and elasticated top
15. MAE West floatation waistcoat filled with kapok
16. Parachute harness
17. Leather helmet with oxygen mask, microphone and earphones
We would take half an hour to dress, especially in summer. It was important not to get sweaty because it would freeze when we were airborne in cold temperatures.
It was impossible to use bodily functions in the rear turret. Sometimes for up to 10 or 11 hours. I drank little during the day before an op. The other crew could use the Elsan toilet situated in the aircraft behind the rear turret. I was only once airsick. I used one of my gauntlets and then threw it out the window. The gauntlet was replaced.
My parachute had to be stored in the aircraft behind the rear turret. If I needed it in a hurry it would have been impossible to get at it.
Personal Survival kit: (for all Bomber Crews) called Escape Kit.
Waterproof flat pouch approx 6x5 inches containing maps of European countries printed on silk each about 7 inches square, together with currency of European countries for use as necessary if shot down, could be used either to "pay" helpers or bribe people.
Celluloid flat box approx 5x4 inches containing 1 razor, 1 blade, 1 tube condensed milk, Horlicks tablets, aspirins, adhesive plasters, amongst other things now forgotten.
Compasses: small compasses were hidden on the uniform. E.g. a uniform button which unscrewed with a left-hand thread (to fox the Germans). A navigator's pencil which when broken in half revealed a bar compass on a piece of thread. Another small compass was sewn behind the brevet (flying wing badge).
Two metal trouser fly buttons when balanced one on top of the other had a white spot which indicated North
We were told that some crews who miraculously escaped their plane complained that the tube of shaving soap was useless. Of course it was an unlabelled tube of condensed milk.
Flying Rations for each operation consisited [sic] of 1 x two ounce bar of Fry's chocolate cream, 1 x two ounce bar of milk chocolate, one packet of chewing gum, and 1 x 4 fluid ounce can of orange juice. One Benzadrine (wakey-wakey pill) which once taken kept you awake for four hours.
To open my small tin of orange juice in the turret I pierced it with a bullet held sharp end down which I hit with my other hand.
Pair of fleece lined shoes attached to gaiters. One gaiter had a small knife concealed inside. On crash landing gaiters were to be cut off so that shoes would look like normal ones.
The Rear Gunner in his turret was not inside the plane but on a "platform" at the rear. To clamber into the turret was a time consuming and awkward business. The Elsam toilet at the rear of the fuselage had a hinged lid secured by an elastic rope. This was the RG's step onto a plywood shute. Partway down the shute was a hinged door secured by another elastic rope which closed automatically after passing through. Once through that door you placed your parachute pack in stowage on the port side of the aircraft, on hooks and again secured by elastic rope. Then still sliding, through two small sliding doors which were closed behind you after entry, forming a backrest. The gunner sat on a small lightly upholstered shelf-like seat for the duration of the operation with no room to move around. One door had a small porthole window. Plug in intercom & oxygen mask and check guns, sights etc. Equipped with 4x
[page break]
.303 Browning machine guns. The windows were Perspex which after cleaning became scratched, difficult to see through and susceptible to glare from searchlights & suchlike. Most RG's cut a panel 3ft high x 1ft wide out of the main window between the guns. The temperature could be up to -40°C. If the engines failed there was no power to the rear turret so I could do nothing.
If I needed to escape from my turret, or had the opportunity to bale out, I had to open the small doors behind me (my backrest), & manoeuvre back up the shute to pick up my parachute, then through the first door back into the fuselage proper. In theory in an emergency it should have been possible to turn the turret around and fall backwards out of the "backrest" doors. If the engines failed, no power so I could do nothing other than laboriously hand-crank the turret using two handles, one in each hand and each turning opposite to the other.
I was facing backwards in my turret so had to remember when giving observations and instructions to the other crew that "port was starboard".
I used to regularly mentally practice how I would get out if I had the opportunity. I never wore my cumbersome buoyancy suit. I removed my Perspex window for better vision and I decided I would rather die of cold than being shot down in flames. On the trip which took us to Mannheim in error I can remember I opened my "backrest" doors ready for evacuation if that were to be possible.
Rear Gunners were usually the first target for German fighter planes, and they were often the worst casualties of other attacks or crash landings. A Lanc could land at home base minus the R.G. There were stories of turrets being hosed out.
I am sometimes asked if I was afraid. Of course most of us were scared before take-off, but once airborne training took over and we all did our jobs. Anyone who professed to no fear often took stupid chances and made mistakes. Over the targets and when under attack we just had to get on with it, took evasive action when possible and hoped to survive. Once the bombs had gone there was a sense of relief but also easy to drop your guard. After leaving the target many planes were shot down by the following German fighters. I always said a prayer before take-off and heaved a sigh of relief and thanks each time my turret touched down at Wickenby. I know that our crew was among the lucky ones.
Many Aircrew carried a lucky charm or item on every op. and most carried out small rituals before take-off. When I was training my sister Peggy gave me a Cornish Piskie (Joan the Wad) bronze lapel brooch which I wore on my battle dress jacket all the time.
Sam carried a whole cashew nut. The others did not say if they carried such things.
Before briefing we usually had a shrewd idea of the sort of destination. The ground crew could tell from the fuel load and bomb load whether it was to be a long trip or short one thus guessing it would be Germany or Occupied Territories.
Briefing.
Pubs:
When at Bridlington the "Dun'cow" near Newcastle.
When at Castle Donnington the "Turk's Head". (with Sam & crew)
When at Lindholme the pub at Hatfield Woodhouse. (with Sam & crew)
When at Wickenby the "Adam & Eve" at Wragby (with Sam & crew) because the pub at
[page break]
Wickenby was a long way from our billets and a long way to walk. Mainly No. 12 Squadron used it.
Once or twice when in London on leave Sam, Harry & I, went to the "Queens" in Leicester Square til closing time 2p.m. Then to the Hong Kong Chinese Restaurant Shaftsbury Avenue. Then back to the "Queens" at 6p.m. Nearly all Aircrew there.
If we weren't on the battle order for that night we would all go down to the pub. The exception was Jack Leuty Navigator who seemed to keep himself to himself off duty. We made the most of each day because none of us knew if we would return from our operations. We did not go to the pub when we were on battle order.
I can remember one incident. Montgomery was held up at Caen the most heavily defended city in Normandy. He asked Bomber Command to destroy the German front lines so that 2nd Army could advance towards Germany. We had to bomb in daylight because the Allied Force was only 1200yds from the bombing area. Unfortunately the weather was bad so we were told to stand by in camp until it cleared. After three days there was no let up in the weather so most crews went down to the "Adam & Eve" for a few beers. At around 9p.m. the Wing Commander walked in. He very quietly said "I think you chaps should be back in bed, not down here". We knew what that meant so we all duly returned to billets.
We were woken at about 2a.m. to prepare for ops. (breakfast, dress, briefing etc) The briefing was to bomb the target short of the Allied lines. We were told the Americans had bombed the previous day and hit the Allied lines. En route I wanted to vomit probably because of the beer the previous night – the only time I ever felt sick. That's when I was sick in my gauntlet & tossed it out through the clear vision panel. As we approached the target area we saw "box barrage" of flak put up by the Germans. We were flying at approx. 12000ft, and the barrage was approx 1000ft above and below us. Like a curtain or a lethal Commando boarding net hanging in the sky. We had to fly straight through it. I personally witnessed seven Lancs go down. I have since met members of the Expediency Force who were on the ground who told me in words to the effect "your bombing was wonderful-not like those Americans yesterday. Not one of your bombs landed on our lines".
Coming home after one operation with landing lights on we were attacked by USA planes.
Sam to W/O "send up colour of the day"
Did they mistake us for Doodlebugs which had a red tail?
After the tour of operations all Aircrew were given a six months rest job before going back to another tour of flying operations. I was posted to report to an Aircrew Allocation Centre on a small disused airfield called Bracla near Nairn in North of Scotland. (Moray Firth). October. It seemed the coldest place on earth. The others were sent to different places. Don't know why and don't know why I was sent to Bracla. We were interviewed for three weeks for a choice of "Rest Jobs". Harry Merry was at Weeton, Lancashire. Can't remember where Sam and the others went. Tommy did Instructing.
Given three choices:
1. Embarkation Assistant, Movement Control, Ships in Ports in ports anywhere in the UK being responsible for meeting personnel and families on leave from abroad and checking RAF cargoes mostly from America and Canada (supplies for Armed Forces).
2. Transport.
3. To be an Instructor of Aircrews.
At the end of the three weeks we were allowed to choose. I was allowed my first choice
[page break]
Embarkation Control because I was interested in ships. Also someone had told me it was a nice job. Posted to a Service Camp at Kirkham near Preston, Lancashire for three weeks training for my new job. Discovered that Harry Merry was only twelve miles away but unable to meet because of the vagaries of transport in those days.
Then to Port of Bristol Authority – Avonmouth Docks where I was billeted with a civilian family the Bentleys. (Their son later played soccer for England team). Many happy weeks in that area. Among my duties there I was involved with unloading a ship carrying 128 wives and families returning from the West Indies on a banana boat which brought the first consignment of Fyffes bananas to England since 1939. Wonderful to taste this delicacy after so many years (1945). Had a good time in the docks boarding ships and receiving hospitality. Whilst I was there V.E. Day was celebrated with street parties. During my time there met up with Sam & Harry in a pub.
After that I was posted to Newhaven, Sussex, checking RAF personnel coming ashore on the cross-channel ferries from France. Again billeted with a civilian family Mrs. Bishop.
Another happy time.
At Newhaven I was expecting to be recalled to flying duties to Burma when V.J. Day was announced. Shortly afterwards my father without my knowledge managed to obtain a compassionate discharge for me to return to the family butchery business in Saltash. I was furious. Later I understood that all ranks except officers were demoted and sent to other jobs. Many of course continued flying.
Afterwards.
At the completion of flying operations crews would part with a handshake and promise to keep in touch. Of course many did, some went on to illustrious careers and many have kept up contact with various Squadron and Aircrew Associations but strange as it may seem now a large number lost contact. Some were traumatised, some just wanted to forget. Some wanted nothing more to do with Service life. We all got on with our lives and some like me suffered no post-war trauma but never forgot those years. It was my impression that Jack Leuty and Ron Rainbird did not want to continue the bond we had made.
Sam, Harry & I met up a couple of times. Sam married Brenda and came to Cornwall for their honeymoon.at [sic] Looe. They & Harry returned to the West Indies.
I married Nancy in 1959 and she will tell you that it doesn't take much to trigger a story or on meeting a stranger soon find I was stationed in their part of the country.
In 1959 Sam, Brenda and their four young boys came to Plymouth on a liner, stayed in a bed and breakfast in Saltash for a couple of nights and spent time with us. Then we lost touch again. One day (date not known) Tommy and Jenny came to Saltash from Leigh-on-Sea and looked me up in the shop. I was another of our depots, and left instructions not to forward telephone calls. However, Nancy phoned and said "a call for you". Tommy's voice came over the line "Bomb Aimer to Rear Gunner". The start of a renewed and lifelong friendship.
Nancy remarked how eerie it was to hear the same stories and memories from a complete stranger.
I knew a Merchant Navy Captain who was going to Trinidad and asked him to find Harry Merry for me. He came back with an address.
As a surprise for our 25th Wedding Anniversary Nancy wrote to Harry and asked him to telephone on a certain day, certain time, and if he knew where Sam was to ask him to phone too. Sam & Brenda by now living in Canada.
Tommy & Jenny stayed with us for the anniversary (a party for family and friends) and lo and behold at the designated hour the phone rang & it was Harry, then Sam. What a reunion
[page break]
down the line. Sam & Brenda came to stay with us on a visit to England and we had a most wonderful time. Harry died before Nancy could meet him. After Sam's untimely death Brenda came again and we to Missasauga. Tommy died having a heart attack whilst driving, but we keep up with Jenny.
On leave Sam came to Saltash once or twice with me.
Tommy came twice. On one occasion we put my motor bike on the train at Wickenby to London, somehow got across London then by train to Bristol. We had come straight from an op with no sleep so were very tired. I said I know a place in Weston Super Mare that might be able to put us up so we rode there. It was a sort of hotel/retirement home (so-called in those days for retired gentle folk) where my father used to stay on his Ministerial visits. Mr. Cottle the owner recognised me and said of course he could find us beds. After a good breakfast the next morning he would not let us pay anything. The dear old ladies there were very excited to see us. We then took the train to Plymouth. Got fed up with the slow start/stop journey so got off at a place called Bittaford near Plymouth and rode the bike the rest of the way and across the river to Saltash on the vehicle ferry. Because there were railings and a swing gate at Bittaford we had to manoeuvre the bike over them to the road. I had not told my parents that I had started flying on ops, and on one visit Tommy said "Isn't it time you told them?" We were at the "Notter Bridge" pub at the time. Father was very proud and after that when I was on leave in the shop he would say "This is my son who is . . . . . . . . . . ."
Now. A note from Nancy 2005
Herb is now 81 years old, (going on 65) still energetic with a vivid and accurate memory and I have been recording it all on the computer. Still adding to it. What started off as little memory joggers has grown into a full story. These are not the ramblings of an old man!!!!! All his life he has remembered his experiences of those RAF days as vividly as though they were yesterday. His interest in planes and ships and that training has stayed with him and his observations are as acute as ever. Over the years he has often been asked to give talks and his Rear Gunner reminiscences are always popular. Especially one entitled "When Port Was Starboard". He has only recently told me he still repeats his little mental flying rituals whenever he takes to the air --- on holiday or any flight. Amongst his photographs and memorabilia is his lucky Piskie charm.
[page break]
In 2009 during an interview he was asked what he thought about when on operations --- mother & sister perhaps? He replied once airborne all his thoughts were directed to being alert and scanning the sky and doing his job. But afterwards he told me that yes, he and Tommy had thought of their mothers and how devasted they would have been if anything had happened to them.
Heard that crews were very happy when they saw Lincoln Cathedral in sight on approaching base. How did I feel? "Well I never saw it because I was in the rear facing backwards."
Very relieved when the rear wheel touched down.
Between 1st day or [sic] war September 1939 and May 1945
Of every 100 Aircrew
Killed 51 51%
Crashes in England 9 )
Seriously injured 3 )
Prisoners of war 12 ) 25%
Evaded capture 1 )
Survived unharmed 24 24%
Of that 24% none were actually unscathed. All have stories of near-misses, lucky escapes etc. etc.
[page break]
55,000 Bomber Command aircrew lost their lives out of a total of 110,000. Rate of loss never before borne by a Military Force of comparable size in the history of the world.
Entitled to Defence Medal (ARP Messenger 1940-1941), & Part-time National Fire Service. 1942-1943 (No. Had to be in for 3 years)
39/45 Star
France and Germany Medal
Victory Medal (War Medal)
Apparently not eligible for Aircrew Europe Medal because I did not fly on operations prior to D-Day (6th June 1944), but I was on Squadron 5th June 1944 and detailed to act as Rear gunner because of illness of another crew member. Unfortunately he heard there was something momentous going to happen that night and pronounced himself fit so I did not fly. But in Feb & March our crew had flown 3 "operations as detailed" over Europe which didn't count. (See logbook)
Harris asked Churchill for a Bomber Command Campaign Medal, but Churchill refused. Montgomery & Tedder etc were all given Earldoms. They only made Harris a Knight. A lot of Bomber Command Aircrew took it as a personal insult but apparently it was his wish that he be given no higher award unless his Bomber crews were given recognition.
I was not alone by any means in refusing to apply for my campaign medals. They knew where we were when they needed us, but if we wanted our medals we had to apply for them.
We supported Harris.
After the War Churchill omitted to include and thank Bomber Command for their involvement.
[page break]
July 18th 2012 We went to London to see the new Bomber Command Memorial.
2013 Bomber Command "veterans" were awarded a "clasp". He was not going to apply for it.
During and after the War new regulations. Medals were presented to serving crew but if they had already left the service they had to apply for them. Was that in 1948 or before? We now know they had to ask for a buff postcard at the Post Office in order to apply.
July 2013 Applied for all medals
Applied for Membership of Bomber Command
August 2013 Nancy trying to find proof he was in the Fire Service
Memories of being in the National Fire Service, Saltash 1942 (previously Auxiliary Fire Service)
Must have had a number. Cannot remember having a photo taken.
Had to give up uniform (overalls) but kept the axe. Is it in this house somewhere?
David Coles, George Rees, Douglas Vosper, Colin Squires father.
The London Fire Brigade were given a rest from the London Blitz by being sent to the country i.e. Saltash. One called himself Flicker because his name was really Fricker.
One was an architect from Maida Vale.
From David Coles -- Two were husband & wife, there is a photo at Heritage. Sidney and Hilda Basset.
There appear to be no records or photos of NFS 1942, presumably because none were taken or had been destroyed during destruction.
2nd Sept 2013
Andrew found the axe in the roof along with some flying "souvenirs".
Axe No. 553 758 (or it could be 555 758).
[page break]
Leggings part of rear runner flying boots with inner little pocket (no knife).
Floating tablet for dying the water yellow/orange to be trailed from a dinghy in the event of being shot down over the sea.
Floating torch from the Mae-West.
Compound and cloth from service respirator to clear and coat lenses of goggles and respirators.
December 2013. Great niece Stephanie Pender asked for details as she is determined to get the Medals. She is in the British Army.
Medals received Feb 2014
War Medal 1939-1945
1939-1945 Star with Bomber Command Clasp
France and Germany Star
2014 French awarded Legion d'Honneur to all surviving veterans who helped liberate France
1944/45. 2015 Nancy applied.
September 2016
Legion d'Honneur arrived
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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General Memories
Description
An account of the resource
Herbert's service life in an autobiography.
He describes training in London, Bridlington, Morpeth and Wymeswold. Later training as a crew was at Castle Donington, Lindholme and Hemswell. He describes in detail his crew, aircraft and operations. After the war he returned to his job in Cornwall and made contact with some of his old crew. His wife concludes his story, writing in 2005.
Creator
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Herbert Davy
Date
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2005
Format
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15 typewritten sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BDavyHDavyHv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--London
England--Alnwick
England--Sheffield
England--Mablethorpe
England--Liskeard
England--The Lizard
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
Netherlands--Walcheren
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Mannheim
Poland--Szczecin
Sweden--Malmö
England--Wragby (Lincolnshire)
England--Saltash
France--Caen
England--Lincoln
England--Newhaven
England--Leigh-on-Sea
England--Bristol
Canada
Ontario
Poland
Trinidad and Tobago--Trinidad
France
Germany
Netherlands
Sweden
Trinidad and Tobago
England--Essex
England--Gloucestershire
England--Lancashire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Northumberland
England--Yorkshire
France--Pauillac (Gironde)
England--Preston (Lancashire)
England--Bristol
Publisher
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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.
Temporal Coverage
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1944
1945
Contributor
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Sue Smith
12 Squadron
626 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bomb aimer
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crewing up
escaping
flight engineer
Halifax
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Martinet
Me 262
military ethos
navigator
Operational Training Unit
pilot
RAF Brackla
RAF Bridlington
RAF Castle Donington
RAF Hemswell
RAF Kirkham
RAF Lindholme
RAF Morpeth
RAF Tilstock
RAF Wickenby
RAF Woodbridge
RAF Wymeswold
searchlight
superstition
target indicator
training
V-1
V-weapon
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1181/30735/BWagnerHWWagnerHWv1-01.1.pdf
e0571529641f83a364bcf25b44a796ff
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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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
Date
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2016-05-04
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Wagner, HW
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[front cover]
“…. we need someone with integrity, distinction and honour …
We need someone like H W Wagner”
[/front cover]
[page break]
Extract from “Those Who Fall”, by John Muirhead, a Flying Fortress pilot. Published b Transworld Publishers Ltd., 61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA.
“Everything happened that I have said happened, but it’s memory now, the shadow of things. The truth lives in its own time, recall is not the reality of the past. When friends depart, one remembers them but they are changed; we hold only the fragment of them that touched us and our idea of them, which is now a part of us. Their reality is gone, intact but irretrievable, in another place through which we passed and can never enter again. I cannot go back nor can I bring them to me; so I must pursue the shadows to some middle ground, for I am strangely bound to all that happened then.”
[page break]
2
[centred] Your life is waiting for you, H W Wagner. [/centred]
[centred and underlined] CARPE DIEM. [/centred and underlined]
The title is, of course, from the Latin poet Horace, of if you prefer his full name, Quintus Horatius Flacus [sic], in his book of Odes, and I will translate it for those of you who have not had the benefit of a classical education. It means “Catch hold of the day”, with the implication “and squeeze every drop of value you can out of it.” The quotation continues Quam minimum credula postero (trusting[?] the next day as little as possible) – because it might never come. While on the subject of Horace, another quotation of his seems to me to be suitable, although you may well not agree, except possibly insofar as it applies to your good self – Integer vitae scelerisque purus (a man of upright life and pure from guilt.)
Having been always interested in flying, it seems to me that life is like a take-off, circuit and landing, and I have divided this account accordingly.
[underlined] UPWIND LEG [/underlined]
The upwind leg has two parts – rolling along the runway to reach flying speed, then climbing to circuit height.
[underlined] Take-off. [/underlined]
[photograph of two young children with their mother]
I was born on 24 March 1923. In the photograph, I am the little chap in the middle. My mother on the left, of course, and my elder brother John on the right. There were destined to be two other
[page break]
3
brothers after me, Richard and Brian. Richard was only a year younger than me, and due mainly to the similarity in our ages he was the one who was always closest to me, although I never had anything against the others.
[newspaper cutting]
[centred and underlined] Henry Stanhope [centred and underlined]
[centred] Henry the Seventh hits the charts [/centred]
One of the more engaging trends last year was the elevation of “Henry” to the top ten of first names, as disclosed by Mrs Margaret Brown and Mr Thomas Brown in The Times last week. It now occupies seventh place, enjoying – without the benefit of royal patronage – its most significant renaissance since the early Tudors.
To the 47 boys whose parents proclaimed their choice in the columns of this newspaper, I say “Welcome” – before adding a short introduction to the life that lies ahead of them. They should not be deceived for instance by those dictionaries of surnames which one thumbs through in W. H. Smith’s but never actually buys. These will tell you that it means “head of the house” and no doubt to the Plantaganet kings it seemed peculiarly apposite.
“Henry!” to the modern cartoonist, however, is a little man with a toothbrush moustache and half-moon glasses, washing up in a frilly apron while his virago of a wife slumbers next door in their surburban sitting room. The best portrait to be hoped for is that of an elderly Tory in hairy tweeds unloading his Scotch in the gunroom while his equally hairy wife is bullying the vicar at the village fete. The image is rarely swinging.
Nor is it a name which lends itself to some comfortable sobriquet or short-form – which, of course, is one reason why mothers like it. At school they solved it by calling me Stanhope, at college by switching to “H”. During National Service, fellow gunners, nonplussed by having a Henry in their midst toyed with “Harry” but settled for “Stan”, which struck a more agreeably percussive note in the barrack room. My first editor, on being introduced, scratched his head doubtfully and said he had a cocker spaniel called Henry. “What should we actually call you?” he asked.
At school I would gladly have swopped the dynamo on my bike for a name like Bob, or Bill or – as it was in Wales, Glyn, Gwyn, Bryn or even Geraint. Boys see safety in numbers and being called Henry was only one up on being Christopher Robin. Survival had to be fought for.
It is however a name one grows into and, in middle age, can offer some interesting advantages. It is, for instance, not easily forgotten and one which acquires a life of its own. Who would think of referring to Irving, Cooper, Kelly, Jackson, Kissinger or the fictitious Higgins (“Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins”) without their given name (“Christian” now being considered ethnically discriminatory)? An invisible hyphen welds them together like bacon and eggs.
There are also, as yet anyway, not enough of us in the English-speaking world to cause confusion. Having said that, it is arguable that when two Henrys do appear in the same office, battalion or school, the mix-ups are almost embarrassing.
They can also at times be quite flattering. In the elitist circles of East Coast America in the 1970s, to be called Henry was almost a passport to any dinner party in town. “There’s no disputing that Henry has a really first-class mind”, I once heard a Harvard professor say, unaware of the warm glow of pleasure he was causing six feet behind during that brief moment of self-delusion. I have never been confused with Henry Cooper, but that is perhaps because he is really called ‘Enery – though I would never do so to his face.
My “hooray!” for the 1982 Henrys is not therefore unmuted. Our image needs polishing. When someone calls “Henry” I still want to turn round – not just carry on walking like the Toms, Dicks and Harrys (no doubt corruptions of the original) who can always assume that it’s not meant for them. Back to the sink ….
[/newspaper cutting]
My mother and father were both Irish, which of course makes me Irish by birth, although later in life I took out naturalisation papers to become a
[page break]
4
British citizen. Of my father’s family I know nothing, but my mother came from an upper-class county family, the Strongs. I still have a salver with their family crest in the centre. We lived in a big house on the shores of a bay at Strand Hill, in County Sligo. The only person I can remember there is my grandfather, a grand old man with a white spade-shaped beard, who smoked a pipe. There being no such things as pipe-cleaners in those days, Richard and I brought in feathers for him, saying: “A fedder for Pa’s pike.” Regrettably, I knew little of my father; it was obviously not a happy marriage, and my parents separated when I was above five. I do know, however, that he was a man of many parts – he had a degree in theology from Trinity College, Dublin, a qualification in dentistry, and he was a well-known sporting shot, contributing to a magazine called The Shooting Times and British Sportsman. For my mother’s part, she was a keen hockey player, and also an Irish county golfer.
When I was three or so, we moved to England, for reasons unknown to me, and our first home was in a village called Sonning Common, near Reading. We lived in quite a large house called The Laurels, with a large orchard (apples, pears, plums, greengages, damsons and cherries) and a one-acre field at the back. There being no refuse-collection in those days, there was a big hole at the far end of the orchard, known as the ashpit. When it was full, another one had to be dug. In the field, my father had a clay-pigeon trap, and used to gather cronies there from time to time for shooting parties. He had a gun-room in the house, with possibly about thirty guns of various calibres, and several hundred cartridges, and Richard and I used to go in there and play – what madness to let two little boys loose among so much lethal apparatus. An old chap used to come and cut the front lawn with a scythe, and one day we threw cartridges at him out of the window, which pleased him not at all. Another room was the dental surgery, which terrified us when we were called in for treatment, as dental surgery was in its infancy in those days, and equipment was primitive. You could be sure of a painful session there. I remember seeing in one of the magazines a picture of
[page break]
5
a set of false teeth, and I thought to myself: “They don't just take out the teeth, they take out the whole top of your mouth as well.”
Two years after arriving there, my father left, and I never saw him again. My mother was left to bring up four boys on her own, with occasional financial contributions from my father, and a hard time she had of it. Heating was by means of coal fires, cooking was done on an old-fashioned range, lighting was an Aladdin pressure lamp and candles, and there was no hot water. Monday was washing-day, using a coal-fired copper, so Monday dinner was always cold meat, the remnants of the Sunday joint. Other days, it might be stew, hash, or corned beef, with rice or macaroni pudding. Breakfasts were always porridge, and tea was bread and jam, with cake on Sundays. Shopping was done at Plumb’s stores, down the road, where there were no packed foods – everything was weighed up and served separately, and there were chairs for people to sit down and gossip to the shopkeeper while the order was being made up. Biscuits came out of big tins with glass tops, butter was cut off the block. A jug was left out for Mr. Saunders, the milkman, who came round with a horse and trap and carried a small pail of milk up to the door, replenished from a big churn in the trap. An old biddy, Mrs. McCallum used to deliver paraffin from cans hanging on the handlebars of her bicycle. Sweets were a rarity, but now and again we got a halfpenny to spend, with which we usually bought a Chicago Bar, a bar of evil-looking (and tasting) toffee, but which had the merit of being very long-lasting.
One Christmas, Richard and I got a small bicycle each, known as fairy-cycles, with hard tyres, and we could safely be released to ride round the village, there being hardly any traffic on the roads. Once a week, we used to go into Reading by Thames Valley bus, for bigger shopping, and used to finish up with tea and toast in the Lyons Corner Shop.
Such was the way of life in those days, and although my mother had plenty of worries, it was no hardship to us boys. We went to the village school, presided over by “Gaffer” Forder. I did two years
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there, the first year in Miss Cobb’s class, and the second year moved up with the dreaded Mrs. Clayton. While at Sonning Common school, I made the acquaintance of Geoffrey Dolphin, who remained a lifelong friend.
At the age of seven, then, we moved to Henley-on-Thames, to quite a nice house in a quiet road, St. Mark’s Road. This even had the benefit of gas-lighting downstairs, otherwise illumination was still by candle. There was a large walnut – tree in the back garden, which we were always climbing. John was sent off as a boarder to the Bluecoat School in Reading, and Richard and I started attending the National School, a grim fortress-like granite building very different from a village school and peopled by hard urban nuts of a type that we were not accustomed to, so we quite often had a rough time. The Avery’s, Blackall’s and the Fowler’s come to mind. Richard went into Mrs. Plumb’s class, I being a year older went into Mrs. Piper’s class, and she was much addicted to frequent use of the cane. In fact, I got it on my first day there. Lessons in those days tended to be of the repetitive rather than the interesting variety; this particular geography lesson consisted of repeating the names of mountains in Britain, from north to south. Of course, the names meant nothing to me, nor did they, I suppose, to anyone else in the class, but those who could not remember them were lined up in front and received a stroke of the cane. The most feared teacher in the school was Mr. Ackroyd, who was even more liberal than Mrs. Piper in his dispensation of correction; at the end of “playtime”, he blew a whistle, whereupon everyone stood stock-still. At a second blast, everyone moved to a place where their number of class was painted on the playground. Then he would shout “Classed, right and left turn”, and you turned in the direction of your classroom. One day, I turned in the wrong direction, and received a stroke of the cane for “disobedience”. Physical education consisted of what was known as “drill”, and this meant standing in lines on the playground and obeying order such as “touching the toes”, “clapping hands above the head”, and “running on the spot”. What strides have been made since, in the way of gymnastic exercises with proper equipment!
After two years at the National School, when I was nine, the
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educational system was reorganised, and Richard and I went to a junior school, called Trinity School, run under the auspices of Trinity Church, where I was married twenty-seven years later. This was presided over by Mrs. Billingham, known as Governess, and under whose instruction I first started taking a real interest in learning. At the age of eleven, there was an examination to determine who would go to Henley Grammar School and who would return to the dreaded National School, and I was relieved to be one of the successful 23%. By this time, we had moved to a council house in Western Avenue, the family circumstances having become even more [indecipherable word]. It must have been something of a strain for my mother, having to buy uniform, games kit and P.W. kit, but there was a small grant from the Grammar School foundation Trust to help those who found the going difficult. At Trinity School, I became friends with Jim Clark, who is still a good friend, and especially of Jim Davies, who lived just down the road from us. Jim Davies was a Fleet Air Arm fighter pilot, on Corsairs, during the war. Afterwards, he took a degree in law at Oxford, then worked in the Attorney-General’s office. He was killed in a Douglas DC 10 crash after taking off from Paris; a baggage-door had not been properly fastened, and it opened in flight. The ensuing decompression buckled the floor, which jammed the controls, and all aboard were killed.
This concludes the runway section, then. The aircraft is nicely on the move, has flying speed, and the way ahead, barring accidents, is clear, and there is plenty of room for manoeuvre. The next section of the circuit is the climb-out, gaining height, looking round and feeling the air.
[underlined] Climb-out. [/underlined]
The climb-out begins with the commencement of education proper at Henley Grammar School. I arrived there in September 1934, with Jim Clark. Education was undertaken seriously before the war – you had to work hard in order to qualify for a good job. I had no idea what sort of work I would eventually do, there being no careers guidance in those days. But part from
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the underlying seriousness, there was no worry attached to the whole business, and it was an enjoyable time. This is the little lad who started at the Grammar School at the age of eleven.
[photograph]
In the 1930’s, competitiveness was encouraged in both sport and games. Nowadays, it is actively discouraged – no sense of inferiority must be allowed to develop, even among those who know they are inferior. Any attempt to be better than the rest is frowned upon, because it would tend towards divisiveness and the creation of an elite, so everyone must conform to a lower level. But in those times, prizes were awarded for academic achievement and medals and cups given for sporting excellence – there was every encouragement to do better. So everyone worked to the best of their ability, and I do not think anyone suffered for that reason.
About the time that I started at the Grammar School, I took my first tentative steps in the world of golf. Richard was the moving spirit behind this, and we bought ourselves a putter each from
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Woolworths, price six denarii, and we used to take them up to a field about a mile away and just hack about. Jim Davies joined us too, and nearly all our spare time was spent in that pursuit. Balls were obtained by looking for them in hedges adjoining the gold course. Finding more than enough for our needs, we thought about how we might turn them to profit. We used to make the occasional cycle journey into Reading and sell them at a sports shop. A dozen would bring in three shillings or so (about 15 pence in modern money); later, we developed contacts among local golfers, notably Tom Luker and Bert Butler, which saved the trip to Reading. Most of the money was saved with the intention of buying a bag of clubs each, but 3d. a week was spent on the Saturday afternoon visit to the cinema and 1d. on sweets. When enough money was saved, we went into Reading and went round the Junk-shops, obtaining a bag each (and scruffy old things they were), and a motley selection of old rusty wooden-shafted clubs. And so we were in business. There was no way of joining Henley Gold Club, golf being the preserve of the upper crust, but there was a nine-hole course on a public common at Peppard, some four miles distant, where one could play for 10/6d. a year. We cycled there whenever time and weather permitted, clubs over the shoulder, sandwiches in saddle-bags. Jim Davis was with us in this venture, and you couldn’t have found a happier lot, day in, day out, through holidays. Through a good deal of my life, I have had enormous pleasure from golf, and met so many friends. Golf is a great leveller, and when a man is on the course, his wealth and social status matter not a scrap. What is important is his attitude to the game. A young American golfer of great promise, Tony Lema, who was regrettably killed in a light aeroplane crash on his way to a tournament, wrote in his book “Champagne Golf” – “Golf is the one game that really gives a man the opportunity to play the gentleman.” One does occasionally come across the other sort on a golf course, but they are not true golfers, and may
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be disregarded.
Another activity which took up some of our time, mainly in summer, was kite-flying. The materials were inexpensive, as we made our own. My mother would cut up old curtains into large octagons, about two feet across, hem them, and stitch a pocket in each corner. All that was needed was 3d ball of string and a fishing - net. Fishing net? Yes. The net itself was discarded, the bamboo split down the middle and used to make four struts. Many an afternoon we spent sitting on the grass gazing up at the kites and giving an occasional twitch on the string. Threepenny gliders, launched by catapult, also provided a lot of entertainment while the kite string was tied to a fence.
Next - door to Jim Davies lived a young lad with the reputation of being something of a crazy inventor. His name was Reggie Cripps. One scheme he thought up was that if old armchair springs were attached to the bottom of an orange-box, it would, if dropped from a few feet with him aboard, bounce ever higher and higher. Where he thought it would all end I don’t know. A preliminary trial resulted in a dull thud. He suggested attaching a multiplicity of springs and dropping him from the roof of his shed, but we declined to participate. Another idea was that he should jump out of his bedroom window, using his mother’s umbrellas as a parachute, but his mother enters a firm nolle prosequi.
Throughout my time at the Grammar School, staff wore academic gowns, which was a novelty for me. In my first year, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Clifford, who taught me my first words of French. Boys sat on one side of the classroom, girls on the other. Next to me sat Anthony Griffiths, son of the local Baptist minister. I met him again in May 1945, in Germany. Part of the camp I was in was being moved by train, and the train was in sidings at Luckenwalde station. Walking along beside the track, I saw an officer who looked familiar, and asked if his name was Griffiths. He had been a Spitfire pilot, and was shot down on a sweep over France. Also in the same class was Dougie Blows. We used to stay behind after school, until quite late, playing Fives, and indulging in practical jokes with bicycles in the sheds. One
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trick was to slacken off the nut, turn the saddle round and tighten the nut again. Another was to suspend bicycles up the trees, another to weave thin wire in and out of the links of the chain. A further member of the class was Nelson Swinney, who had the enviable reputation of being the only boy able to spit over the fives-court wall. In this class too I renewed the acquaintance of Geoff Dolphin, and we remained together throughout our Grammar School career.
Early on, I was given the nickname Otto, which remained with me while I was at school.
At the end of the first year, I was presented with the Form Prize, a copy of “Captains Courageous”, which I still have.
Physical education was in the hands of Mr. Clifford, and although in the gymnasium where there was some apparatus, it was not very imaginative. Sport was rugby football, which I considered a rough game and to be avoided if possible, if not possible, keep as far from the ball as you could - if caught in possession of the ball, you were likely to be done over. This attitude persisted for a couple of years, then I did get caught in possession of the ball and realised that the only thing to do was to make a run for it. Having got away with it unscathed once, I did not mind so much having a go a second time, and gradually began to enjoy the rough and tumble of the game. So much so that for my last three years at school I was a regular member of the First XV, and received rugby colours. This entitled one to wear a special cap, dark blue velvet with gold piping and tassel, when going to play in matches. I played rugby for many years thereafter, and derived as much enjoyment from it as I did from golf. I still enjoy seeing a good rugby match on television. Summer sports were cricket and tennis, but I never made much of these. I liked watching cricket, and found my niche when I was appointed first-team scorer.
In the second year, the study of Latin was introduced, taught by the somewhat austere Mr. “Fuzzy” Phillips, and I soon realised that the languages were my strong point, not the sciences. I found science interesting but did not excel at it. Mathematics I found
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very difficult, and spent many hours poring over problems on the nights when there was Maths homework. I used to retreat to the front room to do my two hours or so of homework in the evenings, illumination was provided by a guttering candle, as it was in all the bedrooms - there was only gaslight in the dining room, and that was none too brilliant. There was no temptation to skimp homework, as there was no television or any other distraction.
And so the years passed until I entered the Fifth Form, the year of the school certificate. To pass this, to get a certificate at all, one had to pass in a certain range of subjects - English language and maths were obligatory, also a language, then a choice of history or geography, then a practical subject, where I just scraped a pass in art, having minimal ability in that subject. If you did not get a School Certificate, you stayed in the Fifth Form for another year to have another rack at it. If you passed, you moved into the Sixth Form for a two-year course leading to the Higher School Certificate. The work was of a different dimension altogether, far more advanced. To get a certificate, you had to pass in two subjects at Main level and two at Subsidiary level. I took English and French at Main level, and Geography and Latin at Subsidiary level. At least, that was my intention, but the Headmaster, “Sammy” Barnes enquired why I was not also taking mathematics, having passed therein in School Certificate. “I’m no good at maths, sir”, I said. “Wagner, you’re taking maths,” he said. “Yes sir”, I replied, and I was unwillingly plunged into the calculus, co-ordinate geometry, the binomial theorem, and the like. English was in the hands of Miss Smith, a lively young thing; French was taught by the deputy head, Miss “Misery” Hunter, Latin by Mr. Darling, who also took P.E., maths by Mr. Potter, and Geography by Mr. Bryant, who was later killed in the war. I passed in all these subjects, which qualified me for University entrance.
At the beginning of the Lower Sixth year, I was made a prefect, and a year later captain of Periam House. Meanwhile, the
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golf had gone on pace. We played at Peppard until the end of 1937, with the occasional day on Henley golf course when we had 2:6d to spare (12 1/2 pence in modern parlance.) We knocked up the Henley professional, Bill Pedler, at 8 a.m. to pay the green fee (which pleased him not at all), played one round, then another half a round, had the sandwiches which we brought with us, finished that round, played another round, went home for tea, and played another round in the evening - 72 holes in one day - good value for 12 1/2 pence. At the beginning of 1938, we enquired about joining the junior section of the club, but this was beyond our means. However, they would admit us to the Artisan section for £1, which we gratefully accepted. A full 18-hole golf course and no more bike-rides over to Peppard. And we made good use of the course, being on it at every possible opportunity.
September 1939 and the war came. It was not unexpected, but to us boys it did not mean a great deal. We expected it to be over quite quickly, never dreaming that we would become embroiled in it ourselves in the fulness of time. Preparations had been going on for some time in the past - gas-masks had been issued, evacuees came from London (and to our horror stooped so low as to dig in the bunkers on the golf course as if they were on the beach.) This was the beginning of my second year in the Sixth Form, working for the Higher School Certificate. To pass this you had to get six units (two for a subject at Ordinary level, one for a subject at Subsidiary level, get them any way you liked.) I took an extra one, Mathematics, at the instigation of the Headmaster (I see I got this slightly wrong on the previous page, but now have the certificate for your kindly perusal.) Studies were somewhat interrupted by the fact that we had to share our school premises with a school evacuated from London, Archbishop Tennyson’s School. We worked in the mornings, they had the place in the afternoons, leaving me free in the afternoons to sneak off occasionally for a game of golf. Also, Richard and I bought a folding two-seater canoe, on instalments, paid for with money we earned finding golf-balls, and we often
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took it out on the Thames when weather permitted.
To go back to the day war was declared, Sunday 3 September. We listened to the sad announcement by the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, on the radio (or wireless, as it was called then), at 11 a.m. Shortly afterwards, the air-raid sirens sounded, and gas-masks were brought to the ready - nobody knew what to expect. It was a false alarm though, and soon afterwards we settled down for our Sunday dinner. Then Richard and I set off over the golf-course. It was completely deserted except for us two. At one tee, adjoining the road, we were taken to task and heartily condemned by a passer-by for indulging in a frivolous pursuit at a time of national catastrophe, but it is difficult to see how we could have helped by staying at home. With the departure into the Services of most of the greenkeepers, labour was short, and Richard and I volunteered to go over on Fridays and mow a few of the greens for week-end play, as did other members of the Artisans. Big shots among the Artisans in those days were Bill Steptoe, Cyril Moss (handicap 1), Alf Smith, Percy Clayton, and George Piggott (“I can’t never ketch ‘old o them shots, I can’t, no, not them shots”, speaking of the lofted chip.) I understand his feelings, because I am not much of a dab at them either.
My elder brother, John, went into the Army, the rest of us were still at school. Rationing began to bite; breakfasts were usually scrambled dried egg, dinners either sausage-meat or fish, and tea was bread and jam. We each had our own pot of jam (1 lb. / month), and we would sit miserably at teatime wondering whether or not to have another slice and keeping an eye on the level in other people’s pots. There was also some very dubious meat or fish paste about.
And so we made our way into 1940 and the end of my school career. I had by this time made up my mind to go to University and subsequently into teaching. There was no careers guidance in those times - you had to make up your own mind what you would like to do. I was accepted for Reading University, travelling in each day by bicycle (7 miles), and home in the evening, in all
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weathers. At this time I made the acquaintance of Ken Ablewhite, who had gone to the University the year before, and we used to do the journey together.
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[university shielf]
UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
LOCAL EXAMINATIONS SYNDICATE
HIGHER SCHOOL CERTIFICATE
This is to certify that HENRY W WAGNER of Henley Grammar School
Passed the Higher School Certificate Examination in July 1940 having satisfied the general requirements of the examination and having reached the standards shown (Advanced, Ordinary, or Subsidiary) in the following five subjects:
French Ordinary
Geography Ordinary
English Subsidiary
Latin Subsidiary
Mathematics Subsidiary
Index number 570
Place of examination Henley
Date of birth 24 March 1923
[signature]
Vice-Chancellor
THE BOARD OF EDUCATION accept the examination as reaching the approved standard.
Signed on behalf of the Board of Education
[signature]
Assistant Secretary
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We used to leave home at 8 a.m. in order to arrive for the 9 o’clock lecture, work till 12.30, have lunch in the Buttery, work again in the afternoon (usually in the library, as there were no afternoon lectures), have tea in St. David’s Hall (tea, toast and jam, and a lardy cake), then work in the evening until about 8 o’clock. It called for a good deal of self-discipline – you could waste an awful lot of time if you were so minded. Geoff Dolphin, whom I have mentioned before, also joined us at the University. In the first year, I had to study four subjects, two of which would be subsequently dropped. I took French (Professor Dessignet[sic], Dr. Bowen, Miss Paton, Miss Dale), Latin (Mr. Cormack), Geography (Professor Miller and Miss Campbell) and Logic (Professor Hodges). This first year course was called Intermediate Arts. In the sporting line, I played rugby, and even did a bit of rowing.
In the summer of 1940, before going to the University, I worked on a farm with Ken Ablewhite. Labour was scarce, and farmers were glad of anyone who could help them out. The days were long and tiring, but the work was very satisfying, especially as there were a couple of lively land-girls working there as well – Pat Pepper (as hot as her name suggests), and Mary Kew. We indulged in turnip-hoeing, sheep-dipping, silage-making, and harvesting until it got too dark to work any more. Dick Green, the farmer, used to lend me a 12-bore when the corn was being cut, and I supplemented the meat-ration at home with quite a few rabbits.
At the University, the men all enrolled in the Officers’ Training Corps with a view to joining the Army. This was not at all to my liking, but I did it because everybody else did. Wednesday afternoons were given over to training, wearing Army uniform, and consisted of drill, weapon-training, tactical exercises, etc., under the supervision of Captain Gillett and Sgt. Major Warwick. After a few months, an Air Training Corps was started, and I thankfully transferred to that. Flying had always been a great interest of mine, and the A.T.C. was much more to my liking. The Commanding
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Officer was Professor Miller, with the rank of Squadron Leader, but he knew little about the Air Force. All the administration was done by a regular R.A.F. Officer, Flt. Lt. Jordan. He had been shot down in a Hurricane and was badly burned about the face. He was assisted by Sgt. Linton, a W/Op Air Gunner, who had been shot down in the desert and had walked back to our own lines. He mounted a Vickers Gas-operated machine-gun in the grounds, and always manned it when the sirens went, hoping for a crack at a low-flying German aircraft.
As I said, flying had always interested me, and I had my first flight five years before the war began. It was just a matter of good luck, as paying for a flight was obviously not on. Sir Alan Cobham’s air circus was due to come to Henley in 1934, and by way of publicity coupons were printed in the Henley Standard, the first to be drawn out to be awarded a free flight. I went round all the hours in the neighbourhood asking if I could have their coupons, and sent in a whole batch. One of them brought home the bacon. The flight was in an Armstrong-Whitworth biplane which seated about 12 people, and lasted for some 20 minutes, over and around Henley. The next flights were undertaken when I was in the University Air Squadron; Flt. Lt. Jordan used to put up a list in the week of those wanting to fly on Sunday afternoon. He allocated the flights as equally as possible. We flew in various 2-seater Miles aircraft from Woodley aerodrome.
After working at Dick Green’s farm in the summer of 1940, Ken Ablewhite and I bought a motorcycle each. I got a 150c.c. Royal Enfield two-stroke for £15 and Ken got a 150c.c. Excelsior for £17.10.0d. Neither of us had ever ridden a motorcycle before, so the dealer that we got them from took us into an alley that ran behind his yard and explained the process and let us have a go for a few minutes, then he turned us loose to ride them back to Henley, without any tax, insurance or driving licence. Now and again we used them to go in to the University, but not often, as there was not much petrol allowed on the ration. Before long,
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I changed my Royal Enfield for a 250c.c. O.K. Supreme, a 4-stroke, which was a great improvement.
[photograph of Henry]
Photograph taken for identification purposes on joining Reading University Air Squadron.
[photograph of Geoff Dolphin]
Re the photo of me taken for Air Squadron purposes:- a pupil at the Queen’s Girls’ School, Wisbech, saw it and said: “Cor, I wish I’d ‘a knowed you in them days, Mr Wagner.” I said: “What’s the matter with me now, then?”, and she said “Well, it aint the same, is it.” I signed, and said: “No”.
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[photograph] Family photograph taken in 1940. Me in the blazer, next to my brother John. Brian on the right and Richard on the left. [/photograph]
And so we move on into 1941, in the summer of which I took, and passed, the Intermediate Examination of Arts. I started keeping diaries about this time, and some of them are still to hand, so I have many reminders of details which I would otherwise have forgotten. I note, for instance, that the air-raid siren was a frequent occurrence, even in the daytime, but there was never anything near Henley. The nearest bombs, and they were only small ones, fell at Doble’s farm, Shiplake, about three miles away. In this second year at the University, I took up cross-country running, and was a regular member of the team. Matches took place on Saturday afternoons, usually with two other teams from other universities taking part. The distance was 8-9 miles, and I noted, on one occasion “going was easy at first, but rather hard after halfway, mainly over soaking boggy ploughed fields and wet muddy lanes.” The 1941 diary is remarkable to me now for the amount that I managed to cram into each day. While actually at the University, every possible moment was spent working, often until 9 p.m. or later. And yet I seemed to go to the cinema at least twice a week and play golf at least twice, with swimming canoeing and a multitude of other activities
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thrown in, particularly at week-ends and in the vacations. In the summer, I worked again with Ken Ablewhite on Dick Green’s farm.
In September, having passed the Intermediate Arts examination, I returned to the university for one more academic year, to take First Year Finals in the summer of 1942 – call-up into the Air Force was deferred until after that examination.
On 8 December 1941, the Japanese attacked the American fleet at Pearl Harbour, and thereafter a state of war existed between Japan on the one hand and America and Britain on the other.
After the Christmas term ended, I worked in the Post Office at Henley, sorting letters and parcels. Extra staff were always taken on in the run-up to Christmas, and the pay was very welcome.
In June 1942 I took First Year finals and reached an acceptable standard, studying French with subsidiary Latin. This left one more year to complete the degree course, but there I had to leave it. For me, that completed the upwind leg. The circuit had been planned out reasonably well and everything seemed to be in working order. I knew where I was going, barring accidents, attacks by Gremlins, and that sort of thing, but there was the matter of the war to be dealt with first, and this constituted for me the
[underlined] CROSSWIND LEG. [/underlined]
Towards the end of August 1942 (the month in which I got the only hole-in-one I have ever had, playing a friendly game on Henley Golf Course with one David Mitchell), my call-up papers arrived and I duly reported to the Aircrew Reception Centre (ACRC, known as Arsy-tarsy) at St. Johns Wood in London. After a medical along with other members of the University Air Squadron, we were moved to a big block of what were before the war luxury flats (although there was not much luxurious about them then) called Viceroy Court, at Regents Park, to await events. It was the normal practice for prospective aircrew to be sent to an Initial Training Wing (there was one at Ilfracombe), but since we had done our initial training in the University Air Squadron, we were spared that, and went to a holding unit at Brighton, billeted in the Metropole Hotel, right on the front,
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which had been taken over by the Air Force for the duration. While there, I had this photograph taken. They must have done a brisk trade at Empire Studies because all the Air Force personnel seemed to patronise them.
[photograph]
People say to me sometimes: “Why did you join up? You were of Irish nationality and therefore not under any obligation.” But I felt that this was now my country, and that the obligation did exist. Then they say: “Well, why volunteer for aircrew then?” But the adventure of flying always enticed me; I felt that that was a job I could do as well as the next man, and that therefore there was no excuse for chickening out. Admittedly, there was not much chance of coming safely out at the other end, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.
After a fortnight or so, postings came through to various Grading Schools. These were elementary flying training schools where prospective pilots or navigators were given a 12-hour course on Tiger Moths. Most were hoping to be pilots, of course, but instructors decided on suitability. I went to Brough, near Hull, and came under the instruction of Flying Officer Rothbone (later killed when a pupil landed a Tiger Moth on top of the one he
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was taking off in.) I went solo after 9¾ hours, about the average time, and was graded as a pupil pilot.
From Brough, I went on leave, and then back to Brighton again, this time billeted in the Grand Hotel. The time there was spent in drill, P.T., signals, aircraft recognition, navigation, armament, and clay-pigeon shooting. After some three weeks there, we were warned for posting, and one night, left Brighton on a special train which drew out at 2.30 a.m., arriving at Heaton Park, Manchester, at 11 a.m. Heaton Park was where those on overseas posting awaited their draft to a ship, and was a miserable hanging-about restless sort of place. Manchester is a rainy place anyway, and this was in January 1943. It was usually fog-bound and gloomy, and I was in a billet in Salford, some miles from the camp, a damp dingy tenement. Thankfully, I was not there long before my draft came through, and proceeded by train to Blackpool. All those on draft were dispersed round boarding-houses with typical seaside landladies. Tropical kit was issued, so we knew we were off somewhere warm. Three kit-bags had to have numbers and names put on in Indian ink – ordinary, flying, and tropical. That evening, Lee was one of the first away for the evening’s drinking; Bassingthwaite never got away at all. The time at Blackpool was spent just hanging about waiting – attending lectures, drill, route marches, going to the cinema, and that sort of thing. Finally, after about three weeks, towards the end of February, orders came to move. We went by train to Liverpool, marched to the docks, and embarked on a troopship, the S.S. Strathmore, 23,000 tons, and got organised on board, initiated into the process of slinging hammocks. These were slung from bars in the ceiling, and were difficult to get into because they were inclined to throw you out again. Also, the bars were too close together, with the result that you head was looking directly across at your feet. I soon gave up hammock-slinging, and laid mine out on the floor, but I was on the lowest deck of all, below the waterline; one of the propeller shafts ran just under the floor and thumped – thumped away all night, so sleeping was not the rest it should have been. The next day, the ship set sail from the Mersey and headed out round the north of Ireland.
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The sea was green and rough; almost everyone was seasick, and the evening meal was tripe and onions swimming in milk. There were not many takers. Life on board was pretty leisurely – there were a few lectures, frequent action-stations practice, but most of the time was spent reading and talking, and just sitting in the sun as the weather got progressively hotter. The ship was not in convoy, but sailing alone with one destroyer escort. It went far out into the Atlantic, then turned east, and ten days later land was sighted, and we entered harbour at Freetown, where the heat was stifling. There were many other ships in the harbour. The destroyer released depth-charges outside the harbour, having presumably detected a submarine. Three days later, the ship put to sea again, and in another fortnight arrived in Durban, South Africa. We then went by train to the Imperial Forces Transhipment Camp at Clairwood, just outside Durban. South Africa was a new world to all of us, far removed from the austerity of England. There was no black-out, and the shops were full of things unobtainable at home. The first things I bought were a big slab of chocolate and a tin of sweetened condensed milk, both of which I consumed as soon as I got back to camp. I used to go to the cinema every day in Durban with Peter Taylor and Maurice Gregson, and often we went swimming. Only one other thing stands out in my mind about that time, which was an organised visit to the Lever Brothers soap factory. I have always enjoyed visits to factories – Huntley and Palmers biscuit factory in Reading, Fry’s chocolate factory in Bristol, the Tusker Brewery in Nairobi.
After some ten days at Durban, we entrained for a two-day journey up through the Drakensberg mountains to the high veldt, to get another holding unit at Nigel. This was on an aerodrome, on Advanced Flying Training School where pupil pilots trained on Oxfords. A week later, postings came through, and we were dispersed to various Elementary Flying Training Schools to train on Tiger Moths. I came under the instruction of a South Africa officer, Lt. Goddard, not the easiest of men to get on with and somewhat anti-British. Circuits and landings was the first part of the programme, for which
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We flew about 20 miles to Rietgat, [sic] a small auxiliary aerodrome, just a part of the Veldt fenced in by barbed wire. Apart from circuits, the flying was done from the main aerodrome at Kroonstad, Orange Free State. Eventually, I had a solo test with Lt. Hooper, and did two solo circuits, going on later to solo steep turns, spins and loops. Three thousand feet was the statutory minimum for loops, but I always went up to four, being a great believer in plenty of height. They always say that the two most useless things in flying are height above you and runway behind you.
When I had done 10 1/2 hours solo, an incident occurred with Lt. Goddard which put paid to my aspirations to becoming a pilot. We flew to Rietgat [sic] and carried out various exercises, then Lt. Goddard said: “Just do one solo circuit, Wagner, then we'll go back to Kroonstad. Don't take long over it, because I'll have another pupil waiting.” He took out his control-column, secured the straps, and off I went. As I said, it was a very small field, and as I came in over the wire, I could see I was too high, so I opened up and went round again. This time also I could see I was too high, and opened up again. I saw Lt. Goddard standing in one corner of the field waving his control-column in the air and obviously in a rage. The third time, I was on the high side again, but I thought to myself that I had to get down at all costs. The Tiger Moth ran and ran – having no brakes, I could not arrest its progress, and it stopped about two yards from the wire, too close to turn it under power. So I undid my straps, got out, caught it by the tail-skid, pulled it back a few yards, turned it, got back in, and taxied back to where Lt. Goddard was waiting. “Right, Wagner,” he said, “fly me back to Kroonstad and make a good job of it because it is the last time you'll be at the controls.” And regretfully that was the end of my pilot training. I was “washed out”, as the saying went, and was, of course, very disappointed. Within three days, I was on my way to Roberts Heights, Pretoria, where I was re-graded as a Navigator. The three weeks I spent there were just time-wasting, doing odd jobs and often going into Pretoria to the cinema, waiting for a vacancy at a Navigational Training School. Eventually, a posting
[picture of Tiger Moth “I could fly one of these before I could drive a car”.]
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came through to 43 Air School, East London, which was quite a long way off. The train journey was through some spectacular scenery, down through the mountains to the coast. This was an Initial Training School where the rudiments of navigation were taught. I was, in fact starting again from scratch. Here, I met Graham Walker, who had been at the University Air Squadron with me, and who had been graded as a navigator from the start, and we kept together. For the first three weeks, nothing much happened, and Graham and I spent most of our time in town, going to the cinema, or swimming in the Indian Ocean from Orient Beach. We did quite a lot of P.T., had a few rugby games and had a lot of rifle and ordinary drill. While doing rifle-drill one day, the Station Warrant Officer, W/O Barnett came out to watch. He was a big fat man with piggy little eyes, a most unpleasant character. Observing the manoeuvre “Put down-arms”, when the rifle had to be laid on the ground, he remarked: “you bloody lot remind me of a lot of Waafs getting down on a jerry”, and I thought to myself: “What a common man, what a low lad.” Eventually, the course proper started, with lectures on DR navigation, plotting, meteorology, armament, signals, radio-navigation, aircraft recognition, compasses, and astro-navigation. This was all very concentrated stuff, and lasted for ten weeks, ending with an examination.
At the end of the course, postings came through, and I went with two friends, Graham Walker and Dave Wright, on an overnight train journey down the coast to Port Alfred, a small town miles from anywhere. This was where the practical navigation was done, interspersed with lectures. We were billeted in tents. There was a beautiful beach, almost deserted, where huge rollers came in from the Indian Ocean, picked you up and tumbled you along through the surf. There were sharks outside the line of breakers, so you had to be wary about going any further out.
the Flying Training was done in Ansons, with South African Air Force pilots. Their Ansons did not have hydraulics on the undercarriage, and it had to be wound up by hand, which was an awful chore. All right letting it down though. On alternate flights,
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one was either first or second navigator; the first navigator was responsible for plotting, wind-finding, working out courses, ground-speed and time of arrival, while the second navigator did photography and obtained fixes and bearings using the Astro Compass (which was not a magnetic compass but more of a bearing-plate) – all very well in the clear daylight skies of South Africa, but not likely to be much use in Europe where the ground was mostly obscured by cloud and everything was blacked-out at night. Also the second navigator took sights on stars, using a sextant, but astro fixes were far from reliable. Sights had to be taken on two stars and the readings converted into position-lines, using the Air Almanac. It took about 20 minutes to get a fix plotted, by which time you were about 40 miles further on.
And so the course went on until the middle of December. There were written examinations in all subjects. The last flight was a long navigational exercise, from the eastern side of the country to the western, and was by way of being a celebration. Base – Uitenhage – out to sea – George – Oudtshoorn, - Youngsfield (just outside Capetown). We stayed two days at a hotel in Capetown, and were disappointed not to be able to go up Table Mountain, as the weather closed in. We flew back to Port Alfred, and that was the end of the course.
[Picture of The Lagoon, Port Alfred]
On 23 December 1943, the passing-out parade took place, and brevets were pinned on with all due formality.
[Navigators Brevet]
Sergeant’s stripes were sewn on later onto best blue, battle-dress and greatcoat. That evening, there was a flight dinner at the Bathurst Hotel in Port Alfred. The traditional services Christmas dinner took place on the 25th, all serving being done by the officers.
[Air School logo on menu]
43 AIR SCHOOL
PORT ALFRED, South Africa
Christmas, 1943
DINNER
Fried Stock Fish and Butter Sauce
Roast Turkey and Boiled Ham
Roast Potatoes
Boiled Potatoes
Green peas
Cauliflower and White Sauce
Christmas Pudding and Brandy Sauce
Fruit, Nuts, Sweets, Mince pies,
Beer
Toast: Absent Friends
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We left Port Alfred on Boxing Day, for the 2½ - day journey back to Clairwood Camp, Durban. There was the usual splitting-up of friends on posting, but by this time I was in company with Leslie Shawcross. This Shawcross had crashed on a low-level map-reading exercise, when the pilot flew too low and the aircraft skated across the countryside, so he had had a narrow escape, very nearly being yet another of the many thousands killed in training.
[photograph] ‘No. 5 Air Navigators Course’ [/photograph]
And so we move on into 1944. At Clairwood, we were members of the Sergeants’ Mess, and this was quite a luxurious place, with very good food and a bar. There was plenty of free time and no harassment, as we were just waiting for a ship back to England. We were not waiting long – on 6 January we embarked in Durban Harbour on the S.S. Arundel Castle, 19,000 tons. We were on an upper deck this time, sleeping in bunks instead of hammocks. Unfortunately for me, mine was the top of a stack of four, right under an emergency light which had to be left on all night and shone directly onto my face. Furthermore, a card-school gathered below and played all night, with frequent calls of “Twist”, “Bust”, “I’ll see you,” so sleep was intermittent. Life aboard was generally very leisurely, with the
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occasional gun-crew, look-out or messing duties, and most of the time was spent reading, talking or seeing cinema shows.
On 7 January, we were tugged out of Durban Harbour, and steamed around waiting for the convoy to assemble. On 12 January, we entered Mombasa Harbour; little did I know I would be there again 23 years later. We left that same day, headed out to sea and then turned north. On 17 January we entered harbour at Aden, left the next day and steamed into the Red Sea, and thence to the Gulf of Suez, where we anchored. Aircrew destined for the Middle East disembarked here, mostly South Africans.
A pilot, Flt. Sgt. Fillmore, lent me a book of Tennyson’s poems, which I enjoyed reading over and over again. My favourite was The Song of the Lotos-Eaters, and the most poignant is Crossing the Bar, which you will find at the end of this book. I have always liked reading poetry (proper poetry, that is, not what passes for poetry these days), and am quite happy reading again through old friends in An Anthology of Modern Verse. Think of all the philosophy of life wrapped up in this one:-
[centred and underlined] IF [/centred and underlined]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors[sic] just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
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Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Back to Port Suez – no, that wasn’t its name, it was Tewfik. Although the ship was anchored some two miles off-shore, an all pervading smell of burning tar and sulphur wafted out over us, its purpose being, so we were told, to counteract an outbreak of bubonic plague on shore. The ship steadily filled up with naval and R.A.F. personnel heading for home, and there was little room to move about. On 2 February, we entered the Suez Canal. About half-way along the Canal, it passes through the wide expanse of the Bitter Lakes, and it was the practice for north and south-bound convoys to pass each other at this point. There was a lot to be seen there – ex-Italian warships, submarines, flak-ships, army camps, gun-positions. All those aboard the troopship were able to indulge in the luxury of
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shouting abuse and obscenities at Military Police on guard at the gate of an army camp, about twenty yards away. The Canal is very narrow, and there was only about ten yards to spare on either side of the ship. At Port Said, after passage through the Canal, we took on oil and water from tankers, joined a convoy of four other troopships and three destroyers, and moved out into the Mediterranean. Torches and emergency rations were issued, as the northern coasts of the Med. were still in German hands and there was still enemy activity, although by this time the North African coast was in our hands. This coast was plainly visible to port, between Tobruk and Benghazi. Four days later, the coast of Sicily was sighted. The rest of the convoy went off to Italy, and the Arundel Castle was Stirling Castle entered harbour at Port Augusta. We left next day, joined a new convoy, and headed west, the next stop being at Algiers for one day. This was the last stop on the way home. We passed the lights of Tangier to port, went through the Straits of Gibraltar, round the north of Ireland and into the Mersey. Disembarked immediately, and proceeded by train to Harrogate. There was not much to be done there – kit inspection, medical, documentation – and at the end of February I went home to Henley on leave, for three weeks, returning to Harrogate thereafter.
After a few days at Harrogate, a posting came through to Whitley Bay, Northumberland. This was yet another holding unit. Aircrew were churned out from the training schools, then gradually moved up the line as vacancies occurred, heading inevitably for the squadrons – there was always an ample pool of trained men to draw upon. In Whitley Bay, we were billeted in ex seaside boarding houses, run by typical seaside landladies, and very sparsely furnished, food to match. There was much hanging about, parades, kit inspections, route marches, drill and lectures. On one occasion, even, I was detailed to dig the front garden of the boarding-house. I was not sorry to leave Whitley Bay.
The next posting was to an Advanced Flying Unit at West
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Freugh, near Stranraer, in Scotland. There was, of course, more waiting about while things got organised – lectures on the Browning gun, firing it on the range, dinghy drill, hydraulic systems of aircraft, flying control, night-vision, beacons and occults, radio procedures, astro, parachute drill, and “airmanship” (which covered just about everything). Here, I made the acquaintance of “Biff” Brewer, so-called because he was a keen golfer. Fortunately, the Sports Officer was also a keen golfer, and he often gathered together a few officionados and took us to Portpatrick Golf Club, where the professional had sets of clubs which he loaned out. It was a good course, along the cliff-tops, from where you could see Ireland across the water. There was a flying-boat base at Stranraer, and Sunderlands could be seen taking-off and alighting in the lough.
At West Freugh, these photographs were taken. They were intended to be handed to resistance groups in the event of being shot down, to aid in the preparation of false papers. These were known as [indecipherable word] photos.
[three facial photographs]
Flying training was done on Ansons on this course, an extension of the work done in South Africa, but under more difficult conditions. The weather was much worse, and on night-flying there were no lights to be seen, only the beacons and occults, and more use had to be made of radio bearings. The routes were generally N.W., over the Irish Sea, where there would be less traffic, a typical one being Base – Ayr - Rathlin Island (N. Ireland), - Dungannon – Peel (Isle of Man) – Base.
This course lasted six weeks or so, then the next posting was to an Operational Training Unit at Abingdon. There were talks
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on new aspects of navigation, such as navigating on the climb and descent, and on Gee, a radar device which enabled the navigator to get an instant and very accurate fix – no more need for getting position-lines and transferring them as necessary. There was much practice in plotting in the navigational trainer. There were also talks on the German Air Force, and other Intelligence matters, and on Escaping and Evasion.
At Abingdon, crewing-up took place. Twenty pilots, twenty navigators, twenty bomb-aimers, twenty wireless-operators and forty gunners were assembled in a hall and left to their own devices. It was up to each one to slot himself in, and in the end twenty crews emerged. My own crew consisted of :-
Warrant-officer Wilfred Bates – pilot (Newcastle)
Myself as navigator. (Henley-on -Thames)
Sgt. Leslie Roberts – bomb-aimer (Liverpool)
Sgt. Jack Jones – wireless-operator. (Lampeter, Wales)
Sgt. Thomas Worthington – mid-upper gunner. (Liverpool)
Sgt. Robert Thomas – rear-gunner. (Whitehaven)
There was no need for a Flight-engineer at this stage, as training was carried out on Armstrong – Whitworth Whitleys, which only had two engines. Later, on Heavy Conversion Unit, we were joined by Sgt. Eric Berry (Sale, Cheshire).
The Whitley was a heavy bomber in service at the beginning of the war, but since superseded. It was not a pleasant aircraft to fly in, being very cramped, cold, lumbering, and having no radar navigational equipment. Also it was very difficult to get out of in an emergency. The wing chord was very thick, the two wings being joined by a narrow tunnel across the fuselage, through which one had to crawl to reach the escape-hatch, encumbered by heavy flying-gear and a parachute-pack. It was engined by two Rolls-Royce Merlins. The Whitleys we trained on were tired and worn-out, and would not get above 12,000 feet.
As runways were being laid at Abingdon, we moved to Stanton Harcourt, a satellite for Abingdon, and flew from there.
[picture of Armstrong – Whitworth Whitley.]
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[photograph] Warrant-officer W.A. Bates. Pilot.
[photograph] Sgt. L.G. Roberts. Bomb-aimer.
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[photograph] Sgt. T.W. Worthington. Mid-upper gunner.
[photograph] Sgt. E. Berry. Flight-engineer.
The flights in the Whitley were, of course, longer than those in the Anson, a typical one being Stanton Harcourt, Newquay, Milford Haven, Stanton Harcourt, about 4 1/2 hours, including an hour or so on the bombing-range. One trip I have noted shows some of the difficulties that could be encountered : “Took off in fine weather 10.30, but ran into cloud half-way to Newquay. Started to descend, but the
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cloud got lower and thicker. Climbed to 12,000 feet, but icing started, so went down to 7,000 feet, still in cloud. Spotted a hole in the clouds, and went down through it to have a look. Identified position as Falmouth. Headed north, homed along the St. Eval beam, landed, and had dinner. Took off again 1500, and flew low along the coast, looking upwards at the cliffs of Hartland Point as we passed. Cut inland at Burnham and flew eastwards via Swindon through low cloud and bad weather, back to Stanton Harcourt.”
Apart from the long trips, there were many shorter ones, such as practice on the bombing-range and fighter affiliation, and quite a few navigational trips in Ansons while pilots were on familiarisation on the Whitleys.
The OTU course finished early in August; we returned to Abingdon, and a couple of days later went on leave. After leave, the next posting was to 4 Group Aircrew Training School, Acaster Malbis, near York. Being now in 4 Group meant that we would be operating on Halifaxes. Training School it might have been, but it was in fact yet another holding unit. Nevertheless, there were lectures on many diverse topics, such as broadcast wind velocities for bombing, pathfinder techniques, pyrotechnics, oscilloscopes, dinghy radios, hydraulic systems, German targets, flak, H2S, air-position indicator, homing on Gee, airborne lifeboat, - all good stuff.
The next move was to 1652 Heavy Conversion Unit, Marston Moor, near York. Here, we were introduced to the Handley Page Halifax, Mark III, on which we would be operating. Pilots had to learn the technique of flying a large four-engined aircraft, and the rest of the crew had to familiarise themselves with their positions in the aircraft and new equipment, as well as the general layout of the aircraft, such as flare-chutes, escape-hatches, oxygen equipment etc. The Halifax was engined with 4 Bristol Hercules sleeve-valve engines, and its all-up weight was some 30 tons. It did not quite match up to the Lancaster in performance and weight-lifting, but it was a good airman’s aircraft, solid, robust, and very dependable – it could take more knocking about than a Lancaster. It cruised at about 230 knots indicated airspeed when light, 210 when loaded. Fuel consumption was .9 air
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miles per gallon, and could carry about 5 tons of bombs, depending on the distance of the target. The bomb-load was usually mixed - perhaps one 2000 pounder, two thousand-pounders, four 500 pounders, and the rest made up of incendiaries, either 30-pounders or canisters of 4-pounders. The aim being to knock the target about and then set fire to it.
Here, we were joined by Sgt. Eri Berry, flight - engineer, and were now a complete crew of seven.
[photograph]
The first few Halifax flights were for W/O Bates to learn how to handle the Halifax and get used to doing so, including 3-engined flying, and for the bomb-aimer to drop practice-bombs on the range, so there was not much for me to do - just keep tabs on where we were. Even if lost, it was easy enough to get a Gee Fix and give a course for base. Air - to - air firing, for the benefit of the gunners, took place out to sea, beyond Flamborough Head. Flying was often cancelled through bad weather, or because of unserviceability of aircraft, since these were rather tired ex-operational aircraft, or ones
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which had been damaged by accidents. After about a fortnight of this sort of thing, the time came to venture further afield. The first attempt was a failure - Base S/C climbing to 16,00 feet - March - then the port inner engine packed up, so the propellor was feathered and we returned to base. It was another fortnight before we did a navigational trip again, the only flying in the meantime being night circuits. Much of the time in between was spent going into York to the pictures with one or more of the crew, or drinking in the Boot and Shoe or Spotted Ox at Tockwith, the nearest village.
A typical cross-country was Base - Darlington - Goole - Bury St. Edmunds - Market Harborough - Coventry - Nottingham - Base, but equipment of some sort often went wrong - one of the engines, Gee, H2S, DR compass - involving an early return. Sometimes we did not even get off the ground , as equipment proved unserviceable on being tested, or flying was cancelled at the last moment. If anything went wrong with the flying of the aircraft, there was a very efficient service known as Darkie (you couldn’t get away with that name nowadays.) The procedure was to call Darkie, and on enquiring the nature of the emergency , type of aircraft, whether heavy or light (i.e. bombs on or not), they would give a course to fly to the nearest aerodrome which could accept the aircraft, and monitor your progress to it. One such occasion reads “after 20 minutes, port inner packed up. Called Darkie, and landed 2125 at Bottesford, near Nottingham, a Lancaster Conversion Unit. Reported in at Flying Control, drew blankets, had supper, and turned in. Left 1340 the next day and flew back to base.”
At the end of the Heavy Conversion Unit course, the sausage-machine churned out the next, and final, posting, which was to 51 Squadron at Snaith, not far from Doncaster. We were now a fully trained crew, ready to be let loose on the Germans. All the crew were billeted together in a Nissen hut, which was shared with one other crew. Most of the daytime was spent in the Navigation Section or in the Bombing Section with Robbie, doing nothing in particular, playing draughts perhaps, or Chinese Checkers. The radio was always playing, a popular tune at that time being “Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar…..” I became heartily sick of that tune, and still dislike it even now. Another
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popular tune was “I hate to see that evening sun go down” (true enough), and, prophetically, “Don’t fence me in.”
The first few flights were familiarisation of various sorts - practice bombing, air-to-air firing, fighter affiliation. On the first flight, we did 3 circuits, then a tyre burst, so that was the end of that. On the first cross-country, which was up to Scotland, down to the Isle of Man and back to base, bad weather prevented us landing there, and we were diverted to Melbourne, returning to Snaith the next day. The next cross-country was Base - York - Belfast - Liverpool - Sheffield - Base, and was for practice in using the navigational aid H2S. If you will look back to the picture of the Halifax, you will see a bulge under the fuselage back towards the tail. This contained a rotating scanner. When radio waves were transmitted from it and hit something vertical, they were reflected back and showed as white patches on the appropriate receiver at the navigator’s position. Thus towns showed up extremely well and could be identified from a special map. Open ground showed up quite well; from water, there was no return. Controls on the set enabled the navigator to get his bearing and distance once the pinpoint was identified. Here is a photo of the H2S screen taken on a cross-country, while heading out over the Irish Sea. It says on the reverse “29.10.44 // 14,000 feet. 282˚ T. ISLE OF MAN. Range marker 10 miles. Sgt. Wagner.”
[photograph]
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The white patch towards the bottom is the northern tip of the Isle of Man. The white line going towards the left is the aircraft’s heading 282˚ True. The black line in the centre was over the northern tip of the Isle of Man when I took the bearing, which was shown on a rotating ring round the outside of the screen. The large circle was the range-marker, which I had set at 10 miles - 10 nautical miles, that is - we never worked in m.p.h. and statute miles, but knots and nautical miles.
Here is an example of a navigator’s log, and it gives some idea of how unremitting a navigator’s job was. An X means that the fix was obtained from H2S. The first fix is shown as X 173 YORK 13, which means that the aircraft was on a bearing of 173˚ from York, and 13 miles from the centre.
[missing photograph]
For the benefit of those of you who know nothing of the navigator’s craft, I will give a very brief description of the bare essentials. If you pointed a car at a destination on a limitless extent of tarmac, and proceeded at a set speed, you would arrive at that destination,
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and you would know how long the journey would take. Not so in an aircraft. The aircraft is suspended in a moving body of air, and where that air is going, the aircraft also goes, in the same direction and at the same speed, as when you have a goldfish in a bowl of water, so due allowance has to be made for wind speed and direction. “Well, once you know the wind speed and direction - - - - .” All very well, but first you have to find out what it is; then, it keeps changing, so you have to go on finding out what it is. Why does it keep changing? Imagine flying from A to B across an area of low pressure (see digram.) The wind-pattern in areas of low pressure is as shown by the arrows.
[diagram]
A comparison between where the aircraft actually is and where it would be if there was no wind gives the wind speed and direction, but it constantly needs updating.
Furthermore, the speed of the aircraft varied considerably through the air (and so over the ground), depending on height. Air becomes less dense the higher you, so there is less resistance to the aircraft flying through it. And density, of course, varies with the temperature - the warmer it is, the less dense, so temperature had to be taken into account as well. To complicate matters even further, aircraft on operations did not maintain a steady height for long; if they did, it would make matters easier for the Germans - they could inform their night-fighters of the height of the stream, and also fuse all their anti-aircraft shells for that height. So almost all navigating had
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to be done on the climb or descent. This meant that not only was the wind changing because of the particular weather pattern but was also different at different heights, as was the airspeed. So the navigator had to calculate and estimate what was likely to happen, without much hard information to go on.
Of course, on an operational sortie, the bomber-stream approached the target by a roundabout route, never heading towards it till the last few minutes, to keep the Germans guessing. Even then, it might divide say ten minutes before H-hour, and attack two different targets simultaneously, to divide the night-fighter force. There might be five or six different ‘legs’ to fly before reaching the target. Supposing the distance “out” was 600 miles, if you did not arrive within three minutes (early or late) of your allotted time, the Station Navigation Officer would want to know all about it. He would likewise be none too happy if at any time, “out” or “home”, you had strayed more than three miles off track. It was, of course, in your own interest to stay exactly on track – safety in numbers – night-fighters would prefer to catch solitary stragglers out of the main stream.
Pilots had a small route-map with the turning-points lettered, and I often got the query: “Pilot to navigator. Where are we, Wag?” and I would answer, for instance: “Leg[?] C to D, about 1/3 of the way along, on track, half a minute late.” It must have been monotonous for him sitting up there looking out into the darkness, turning as directed, but not having the faintest idea of how it was going or where we were. Although the bomber-stream contained several hundred aircraft, you never saw another one until in the vicinity of the target. You know all about navigation now, do you? Well done. As you appreciate, navigation was not on exact science, but more of an approximation. The art of the craft, if I may so put it, was to reduce the uncertainty and keep it within tolerable limits. Overleaf, you will find a letter taken from Picture Post, a popular magazine of the time, written by a member of a bomber crew, appreciating the navigator’s work.
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[newspaper cutting] The Key Man of a Bomber Crew
I am an American serving with the Royal Air Force, and have been serving since the outbreak of the war. Being a member of a bomber crew, and really knowing what goes on, I’m amazed at the way the British Press, including yourselves (“The Last Hour in a Lancaster,” May 15), refer to certain members of the crew as the “key man.” There is a “key man” in a bomber, but it isn’t the flight engineer, pilot, rear gunner, or wireless operator – it is the man whom Bomber Command refer to as the “key man”, namely, the navigator.
When we are flying over enemy territory, I often look at the other members of the crew (who, by comparison, are having an easy time), and then look at the navigator, who is working from take-off to landing. I realise then that it is from that map-strewn table that my destiny is controlled. The control column may be the nerve centre, but it is the navigation table that is the brain of an aircraft.
An Ally, R.A.F. Station, Somewhere in England. [/newspaper cutting]
To return to Smith, 16 November 1944. Woken 0740 by an airman and navigators were told to report to the Navigation Department for preliminary briefing for operations. This was so that navigators would know the target in advance (being warned to keep their mouths shut about it), and be able to get part of their work done beforehand. This consisted of marking turning-points, drawing in tracks on the charts, measuring the compass bearing of each and the distance, and seeing that everyone was in agreement. Then we had breakfast, at 0920, and went to the Briefing Room at 1000, with complete crews, for the main briefing, attended by the Commanding Officer (Wing-Commander Holford), Navigation Officer, Bombing Leader, Met. Officer, Intelligence Officer and Armament Officer. Afterwards everyone repaired[?] to the locker-room and put on flying gear. This consisted of inner quilted flying-suit, outer gaberdine suit, flying boots lined with lambswool, and parachute-harness. Contents of pockets were handed in, helmet, goggles and oxygen-mask picked up, as well as three pairs of gloves (woollen, silk, and leather gauntlets), microphone and intercomm[sic] lead. I carried the gloves only for use in emergency, in case of fire, and goggles for the same reason. If so desired, one could draw a revolver and six rounds, which I always did. You never knew when it might be needed; one of the great fears was coming down in the target area, where the natives would be vicious, and five rounds could be used on the Germans, the last one being kept for personal use. * So, with all this gear and parachute-pack and navigation bag containing all the necessary equipment (pencils, rubber, ruler, charts, Douglas protractor, dividers, Dalton computer), I repaired to the aircraft (C6A) together with the rest of the crew. We took off at 1250 and did a Radius
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Extract from “The Bomber Battle for Berlin”, by Air Commodore John Searby DSO DFC, published by Airlife Publishing Ltd, 101 Longden Road, Shrewsbury. [inserted in red] COPYRIGHT? [/inserted in red] [inserted] Applied for and granted. [/inserted]
Confidence in the skill of the navigator came only second to that placed in the captain: This aspect of the work of the crew has not always received the prominence it deserves, though somewhat earlier in this narrative I have made the statement that Bomber Command stood or fell by the quality of its navigators; and this is true. To be ‘lost’ over enemy territory was a frequent occurrence in the early days of the bomber offensive, as we have seen, but the consequences were nothing like so frightening as later on when the night sky was stiff with opposition. With a multiplicity of aids available after 1942 and in the context of a streamlined technique with Pathfinders to light the way there and back such incidents were few. However, on some occasions, when windspeed at altitude was unusually high, it could happen and could be damaging in the sense that security of the crew was impaired – seemingly – and those not in the know, such as the gunners, were entitled to feel anxious. We all took the navigator for granted – both captains and the remainder of the crew alike – he had the answers and was expected to produce them at the drop of a hat. A competent and confident navigator was a powerful factor for morale from first to last – courage, determination and the will to press on in the face of flak and fighters was one thing; but only the skill of the navigator could ensure that the effort was taken to the [indecipherable word] spot. The demands on his services were frequent, and we all heard with relief the familiar voice over the intercom on the way home: “Dead on track, Skipper – you should see the coastline in a few minutes – you can start letting down any time now.” A shaky navigator could be an uncomfortable thought in the minds of the rest of the crew – so much depended on him, and whatever the situation he must remain cool and capable of using his head quickly to calculate the new course to get us out of trouble. With punctured tanks, and the fuel running low, a single mistake on his
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part could result in a ‘ditching’ on a winter’s night with a rough sea below: likewise, he could run us over heavily massed defences such as the Ruhr perimeter by miscalculation. When the unexpected arose he was the first to be asked if we were still on the correct track and if not, then why not? Like the policeman – his lot was not a happy one.
And another reference later on:-
Navigators bore a heavy responsibility in getting aircraft to the target. Theirs was an unenviable task, subjected to a constant barrage of noise, working in the worst possible conditions, interrupted occasionally by enemy action and ‘nagged’ not infrequently by requests for information; they were expected to remain oblivious to all external alarms.[?]
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of action. This was necessary so that the whole squadron could set course over base at the same time. In order not to have a lot of aircraft milling about in the circuit at the same time, each navigator was given a track outward from base, towards the NW, each a few degrees different from one another so that aircraft coming back did not collide with any still outward bound. It was up to each navigator to determine his course to fly to maintain that track, and how long to fly it before turning to arrive over base at the appointed time of departure. In this case it was 1340, and the target was Julich, a small town not far from Aachen, only just inside Germany, being used as a supply and transit centre for the front-line forces, so we were not long over hostile territory. Bombing height was low, 10,000 feet. There was a little flak and no fighters. At the same time, a force of Lancasters was attacking Duren, a similar town a few miles to the south. It was an uneventful trip, but very effective, as this clipping from next day’s Daily Telegraph shows:-
[newspaper cutting] Two Rhine Towns Written Off
Photographs of Duren and Julich taken two days after they were attacked by very forces of R.A.F. bombers on November 16 show a close concentration of bomb craters almost without parallel in any previous attack by the R.A.F.
The centres of both these recently fortified towns, which were among the main defences of the Rhine, have been completely destroyed. [/newspaper cutting]
The following day, bombing photographs were on the board in the Intelligence Room. A camera was always operated a certain number of seconds after the bomb-release was pressed and took a photo of the point of impact. Our photo was in the centre, and enlarged, and showed the best strikes of the squadron, 200 yards from the centre of the town.
The second operation took place on 18 November, and was another daylight trip. The target was Munster. Navigators’ briefing was before breakfast, main briefing after. Took off 1245, radius of action, and set course 1325. Flak was light, no fighters were seen. Munster was covered by cloud. Concentration appeared poor on this attack. A word here about target-marking. There were two methods, Newhaven and Wanganui. Newhaven was used when the target was clear of cloud.
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Pathfinder “illuminators” would go in first and drop white flares, by whose light the second lot of pathfinders could identify the aiming-point. As near to this as possible they dropped the appropriate marker-flares. There were several different sorts – red shooting yellow stars, green shooting red stars etc. - and bomb-aimers knew which to look for. This did not give the Germans time to confuse the issue with their own flares some distance away. Most large German targets had decoy sites a few miles away where fires were often lit to simulate and attack, and these did a [sic] times attract a number of bombs. Wanganui marking was used when the target was obscured. Pathfinders dropped parachute flares upwind of the aiming-point, or rather upwind of the centre of the town. These burned for two minutes or so, and bomb-aimers aimed at them. This method was obviously not so precise as Newhaven, but it ensured a good spread of bombs, hopefully in the target area. Flares had to be continuously renewed throughout the attack. Always, some pathfinders were Wanganui-equipped, just in case the target could not be seen. So, after, at briefing, the instruction was: “Newhaven, with emergency Wanganui,” If all else failed, and nothing could be seen, bombs could be dropped by making use of the navigational device Gee. This was accurate to within 1/4 mile or so, and was therefore acceptable for this purpose. The bombsight was not used, and bombs were released on instructions from the navigator. Gee, however, could not be used on distant targets; it depended on signals sent out from England, and was susceptible to jamming. As one proceeded further away from the transmitting stations, the signals became weaker, and more difficult to identify, and on the cathode-ray tube gradually disappeared among all the clutter provided by the Germans. On some raids, a Master Bomber would orbit higher up, watching progress and giving instructions. There was a natural tendency for bomb-aimers to release the load a few seconds early, and this progression led to a “creep-back”, so that the Master Bomber had to advise a change of aiming-point. I heard once an instruction from
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him: “Apple Pie to main force. Bomb upwind edge of smoke.” And then later, when we were on our way home:” Well done, chaps. Now get off home and have your breakfast.”
On return from the Munster attack, Warrant Officer Bruce crashed in collision while waiting to land. After putting all the gear away, crews were de-briefed by specialist officers who took notes on how things had gone, and anything unusual that might have happened, and while this was going on, mugs of thick cocoa were provided, and tots of rum. I always took the rum neat, but there were some who tipped it into their cocoa, and almost unbelievably some who refused it altogether. After this second operation, we went on leave for ten days, during which Bob Thomas, our rear-gunner, got married.
Two days after return, operations were notified, the target being Essen, in the Ruhr. Navigators' briefing took place at 8 p.m., main briefing at 11. Took off 0226, radius of action, set course 0311. Usual route, base - Reading, - Beachy Head – over to France. Arrived over target 2 minutes late, bombed Wanganui flares 0539, arrived base 0823. De-briefing, breakfast, went to bed and slept till 5 o'clock. Heavy flak, some fighters in the target area, and this would be a suitable juncture to digress for a few words on flak. Intelligence knew where the heaviest concentrations of flak were, and aircraft were routed to avoid them, but there was no dodging it on the approach to, and over, the target. Bombing heights usually varied from 21,000 to 18,000 feet, different waves being allocated different heights. The Germans, knowing this, could only spread their shells about, barrage fashion, filling the sky with as much explosive as possible, in the hope of catching someone at random. The greatest concentrations were naturally north, west and south of the target, and it was not possible to avoid them. You could not go over the top because the aircraft, loaded, would not go high enough; you could not go round the outside because fighters lurked there, and anyway everybody would be coming in at different angles, causing collisions galore; you could not go underneath because of the risk of “friendly” bombs falling on you. So the only thing you could do was get your head down and run the gauntlet hell for leather through the middle, hoping that nothing
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had got your name on it. I only looked out twice over the target; it was like a fairground on Saturday night – target indicators, fires burning, photo flashes going off, anti-aircraft shells bursting, searchlights. After that, I just didn't want to know, preferring the scholarly calm of the “office.”
Here, I attach an account of the briefing for the Essen raid; you will see how much intricate organisation went into planning an attack. [account missing]
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Following the briefing and report on the operation, there are notes on some of the many devices used to outwit the Germans. References to “Window” may need some explanation. These were strips of metallised paper, cut to the wavelength on which German radar operated; each strip gave off briefly an echo on their cathode-ray tubes, the same as an aircraft did, with the result that their screens were hopelessly confused and it was impossible to pick out individual aircraft. It was first used in the fire-storm attacks on Hamburg, and vastly reduced flak casualties. There were two sorts, the broad and the narrow, the second working on night-fighter frequencies. Here is a strip of the narrow. [inserted]
The following night, there was an operation on Duisburg (docks and transport.) It was an uneventful trip. Took off 1640, radius of action, set course 1714. Base – Reading – Beachy Head – France – Duisburg. Surprisingly, flak negligible, no fighters. Bombed 2006 on Wanganui flares, arrived back at base 2340, supper, and into bed 0100.
The next operation was two nights later, on Hagen, in the Ruhr. Set course 1814. Over Reading, the port inner engine failed, so we went NE and jettisoned the bombs in the North Sea beyond Flamborough Head, and returned to base.
On Monday 4 December, there was a short local trip, down to Derby, followed by a blind bombing run on York, using H2S. A further word about H2S here. It was quite accurate on a fairly large target (provided it had been positively identified first – not much use though in a large conurbation such as the Ruhr.) The bombs were released on instructions from the navigator. I did not like using H2S for any purpose, and steered clear of it except in case of necessity. German fighters were known to home onto its transmissions, so I left it switched off as far as possible.
At this juncture, it would be appropriate to digress for a while (with your kind permission, of course), and describe briefly the modus operandi
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of the German night-fighter force. The ever-increasing activities of Bomber Command forced the Germans to withdraw large numbers of fighters from other fronts, so there were plenty of them about, mostly in Holland, northern France and western Germany. The single-engined types were Me 109’s and FW 190’s; the twin-engined were Me 110’s, Me 210’s, a small number of the later Me 410’s and most effective of all, Ju. 88’s which started out early in the war as bombers but were later converted largely to night-fighting. The single-engined aircraft operated on a system which the Germans called “Wild Boar”; they were vectored onto the bomber-stream and left to their own devices, to find and attack as best they could. The twin-engined operated on the “Tame Boar” system and came under close control from the ground; they were also equipped with radar, so that once they latched onto a target they were hard to shake off. The two standard methods of evasion were a violent “corkscrew” or a violent diving turn to port or starboard. Knowing that its presence had been detected, a fighter would often go and try its luck elsewhere, trying for a more unwary victim.
Now, if you had taken the trouble to read that list of various devices in the plastic envelope a couple of pages back, you would have noticed the one called Mandrel. Aircraft of 100 Group (Counter Measures), usually Stirlings (which were not fit for bomber operations because they could not get up very high), flew a “race-course” pattern out in the Channel, jamming the German Wurzburgs, which were long-range radar detectors. The Germans therefore knew that a raid was pending, but did not know where the main force would emerge from behind the screen. So they had two radio beacons a long way from each other, called Otto and Ida, and fighters orbited these beacons waiting for the main force to manifest itself, and when It did, half of them anyway were in the vicinity. It became the practice for the R.A.F. to insert a Mosquito among those orbiting these beacons, and he might be lucky enough to get a couple before they rumbled what was going on, and dispersed. At any rate, it made them nervous and threw them out of gear. This operation was known as a Mahmoud. There were many other operations designed to
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deceive and disrupt - a Mosquito would lurk near every fighter aerodrome, and catch fighters taking off or returning to refuel. “Spoof” raids would be taking place by smaller forces on widely-separated targets, or just several aircraft dropping target-indicators and then nothing else happened.
In the second half of 1944, the Germans hit upon the most effective way of dealing with a bomber once it was found and identified, so simple that it is amazing it was never thought of before, and it was a long time before anyone twigged what was happening. Early in the war, more aircraft, notably Wellingtons, had a turret underneath, but the fitting of these was discontinued, so there was no protection from below. Two tail-warning and downward-looking radars, Monica and Fishpond, were fitted, but these were removed when it was found that the Germans were homing onto them. Realising that they had a clear field from underneath, the German Fighter, invisible against the dark background below, would gradually increase its height until it was some 150 to 200 feet below the bomber, with the bomber silhouetted against the lighter sky above and its exhaust flames clearly visible. On the same course and at the same speed, the bomber was a sitting duck. German twin-engined fighters had a cannon sticking out through the roof, and the gunner could let rip with a no-deflection shot. They always aimed for the starboard wing-tanks, not the fuselage where there would be a risk of detonating explosives on board. Having thus set the aircraft on fire, they departed in reach of other prey. They carried no tracer among their ammunition, so that there was no give-away, and a bomber seemed to others round about just to catch fire for no apparent reason.
To return to Snaith. On Tuesday 5 December, the warning was given at 1130 for operations that night, the target being Soest, on the eastern edge of the Ruhr, which meant flying all the way round the industrial and heavily-defended complex. Main briefing 1415, out to aircraft, back for alterations to the flight plan, out to aircraft again, took off 1700 and set course 1800. Arrived over target 2 minutes late. Bombed on Gee, as the bombsight was unserviceable. Flak heavy over Hamm on the way in, light over the target. Arrived back at base 0200, a nine hour trip. Four
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aircraft went missing on this attack.
The following night, operations were laid on against Osnabruck. Took off 1600, set course 1625. Down to Reading at 2,000 feet, and saw Henley on the port side on the way. Passed over Reading bridge when workers were on their way home and the lights of vehicles were clearly visible. The sky was full of aircraft heading S.E. Climbed through icing cloud, proceeded on time over France and so to the target, one of the first aircraft in. Bombed on Gee. Out north over Holland, arriving back at base 2210, a six-hour trip. Flak very heavy over target. Eight aircraft missing from this attack.
The next day we did dinghy-drill in a reservoir, very cold, wet and muddy. On the 9th we did a practice flight, three simulated bombing runs of York, followed by practice-bombs on the range. On the 10th, roused at 0245 for operations, but cancellation came through after main briefing, the target being Bielefeld (presumably the viaduct.) This was laid on again next day, but cancelled again when everybody had got their flying-kit on. On the 12th, an operation was laid on against Essen. Flight-planning 1200, main briefing 1330. Took off 1600, set course 1620, bombed on Wanganui flares 1939, and arrived back at base 2200. Heavy flak in target area, as was to be expected over the Ruhr. Six aircraft failed to return. On the 15th, an operation was laid on against Dortmund, but later cancelled.
On the evening of the 17th December, briefing took place for an attack on Duisburg at 2230, then we had supper. Took off 0300 on the usual route via Reading and Beachy Head, and out over France. The weather deteriorated rapidly, wind velocity rose to over 100 knots, and the meteorological forecast was very wrong, so that the main force became widely scattered. Tried to make up a bit of time by cutting corners, but nevertheless arrived over the target seven minutes late. No marker flares were seen - with that wind velocity they would not have been much use, so we bombed using Gee. Soon after turning for home, we were set upon by a twin-engined fighter, which was driven off three times by our gunners. There followed a short interval when he seemed
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to have gone elsewhere, but such was not the case.
Here, I will digress once more (“what, again? Oh, all right then, if you must.”), and consider the possibility of surviving a tour of operations, I have already indicated that they were not very great. A tour consisted of 30 trips; average losses about 4%, therefore after 25 trips, a man was statistically dead, and therefore again the average man could expect to last 12 or 13. Some of course went on their first and some on their thirtieth, and obviously you needed a lot of luck on your side - it was not so much a matter of skill as of luck - a flak shell could catch any crew, no matter how skilful. As to the attitude of aircrews in general, there was a certain amount of fatalism involved, induced by the perithanatic situation in which they found themselves. I hope you will bear with me while I explain perithanatic for the benefit of lesser mortals than yourself. It comes, of course, from the Greek “peri” meaning ‘around’ (perimeter, peripatetic, periscope), and ‘thanatos’ meaning ‘death’ (euthanasia), and psychologists say that when in this situation there is an acceptance of what is going to happen and it ceases to worry. Personally, I never saw in others any evidence of fear - apprehension, yes, but not fear. When I say that the average man could expect to last 12 or 13 trips (i.e. rather less than half a tour,) this is borne out by the overall statistics of Bomber Command for the whole of the war - some 100,000 men flew with Bomber Command, and 57,000 were killed (i.e. rather more than half.) Today being Remembrance Sunday, I am reminded of a remark by Richard Dimbleby, commenting on the service at the Cenotaph: “Those that took the wings of the morning, or set their course by the stars into unimaginable dangers - - -.” The hazards were well enough known, though, “and their name was legion, for they were many.” - flak, fighters, mechanical malfunction, icing, cumulo - nimbus clouds and lightening, base fogged in on return, shortage of petrol, collision, fire, to name a few. In church the preacher, Canon [deleted] one indecipherable word [/deleted] [inserted] Hartley, [/inserted] an ex-prisoner of the Japanese, said: “I wonder how long Remembrance Day will go on. Until, I suppose, there is nobody left who remembers.”
To return to the situation in which we found ourselves. After
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three or four minutes there was a series of rapid thumps from the starboard wing, and almost immediately the Flight Engineer said: “Wilf, we’re on fire.” I looked back from my position down in the nose, and could see that there was a roaring mass of flame where the wing-root joined the fuselage and that the situation was obviously beyond control - burning petrol swilling in from the tanks, round the oxygen bottles, which would explode in due course. There was only one thing to do, which was to get out, and that right speedily, because one of two things was going to happen in a very short time - either the tanks would explode or the main-spar would melt and the wing would fall off. So even before the order came to abandon the aircraft, I was already buckling my parachute pack onto the harness. My seat, on springs, folded itself against the starboard wall when I stood up; I kicked away the legs of the navigation table, which folded itself down onto the port wall, leaving an open space on the floor with the escape-hatch in the middle. This was the way out for the three of us in the nose - myself, bomb-aimer and radio-operator. The mid-upper gunner would use the entrance - door half-way back down the fuselage, but the turret was difficult to get out of, and it took time. The rear-gunner would swivel his turret and drop out over the end, but again the turret was not easy to get out of, and furthermore his parachute pack was stored in the fuselage outside the turret. The pilot and flight-engineer would use whichever exit they could get at most quickly. I opened the hatch, raised it above the vertical, lifted it off its hinges, and dropped it through the hole. I then sat on the forward edge of the hatch and dropped through. A few words of explanation about how the parachute harness was designed. The pack was clipped onto two buckles on separate straps which came down from the shoulders and were attached to the main harness-straps by two pieces of string. The intention was that when the parachute opened, the string would snap, the pack would swing upwards, and you were left suspended from the shoulders. As I dropped through the hole, though, the pack
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caught on the rear edge, snapping the string, so that by the time I was in free fall, the pack was way up above my head, and to make matters worse the release-ring was facing backwards, so that I had to scrabble about to find the release-ring behind the back of my head. It was a relief, therefore, when there was a violent jerk as the parachute opened, and I was safely on the way down. The aircraft had been at a height of 14,000 feet, and the descent would take about 1/4 hour. After a few seconds, there was a whoomph as the tanks blew up, and I did not know whether anybody else had got clear. There were flashes of light and a rumbling in the distance, which I took to be thunder, but realised later were anti-aircraft fire, also, it was raining hard. As a factual observation, and with no intent to blow my own trumpet, there was no feeling of fear or panic in me - fear only comes when one has an alternative, and in this case there was not one, there was only one thing to do - rather a feeling of annoyance that when I got down I was going to be caught and stuck inside for the rest of the war. One of the advantages of being the navigator was that I had a pretty good idea of where we were; I knew we were over the British side of the lines, but knew also that there was a strong westerly wind which would probably carry me back inside Germany. If you take an average wind-speed on the way down of 80 m.p.h., I was going to drift some 20 miles. It was about 6.30 a.m., and still dark - perhaps just a hint of daylight - “dawn’s left hand was in the sky” (Omar Khayyam) - so I could not see where I was going to land, and in fact plunged down through branches of a tree and hit the ground. The advice was that when you landed, you were supposed to roll your parachute up and hide it. I realised that this was not on, as it was draped over the tree; furthermore, it was an apple - tree in the back garden of a house, and the curtains in one of the bedroom windows parted and a face peered out. So I took off my life - jacket, dumped it, and went down the side path and out of the front gate. Turning left, I heard the sound of marching feet approaching, so I turned right, and in a few minutes was out of the village and in open country. It was now getting light, and the thing to do was to find concealment wherein to [deleted] ly [/deleted] lie up for the day. Soon I found a wood of fir trees, and took
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refuge. First, judging by the sound of gunfire from the west, I knew I was in fact inside Germany. Then I examined the contents of my evasion-pack. This was a flattish plastic box, slightly curved to fit inside the thigh-pocket of a flying suit. It contained a map on silk, razor, rubber water-bottle with a packet of Halazone water-purifying tablets, energy tablets, Horlicks tablets, barley-sugar and chewing-gum, also a small compass of about 1” diameter. And there was a small slab of nut toffee.
My clothes were by this time wet through, and it was cold as well, so I did not have a comfortable day. Set off walking south, as soon as it was dark, keeping clear of the roads and going across country, over ditches full of water, through fences. The intention was to walk into France where I might make contact with the Resistance, and knowing the language would be a help. At daybreak, heavy rain came on again. Hid in a small fir plantation, after taking off wet flying-suit and boots, but could not sleep due to cold and general discomfort. Children with their mother and a couple of dogs passed within a few yards of me, but apparently did not see me. I ate three Horlicks tablets, one piece of toffee and a piece of barley-sugar, which I planned to be my ration for two weeks. It was a bad time of the year for evasion, there being nothing in the fields in the way of berries, fruit or vegetables. I drank from streams or troughs, using the water-bottle and purifying tablets. Set off again at dusk and walked till about 4 a.m., then came across a barn and stepped inside. As soon as it was properly light, I saw that there was a loft full of hay, with a ladder leading up to it, so I went up there, took off wet flying-suit and boots, stuffed them with hay, burrowed well down, and went to sleep. Not that stuffing them with hay did any good – they were still wet and cold when I put them on again. Pushed on again when it was dark, over the waterlogged fields. At daybreak I saw what appeared to be a dilapidated farmhouse, and I approached it with the intention of sleeping therein. It was occupied though; a middle-aged woman came out, and must have recognised me for
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what I was. Obviously, though, she was not in any position to cause trouble; I followed her inside and made sure there was nobody else in residence. She indicated I was to sit at the table, and gave me a few small apples, two slices of bread and two cups of coffee. It was by now broad daylight, so after leaving, there was not time to look for a good place of concealment[?]; the best I could do was a copse with wet brambles in it, so I hid up there for the day, although it was only half a mile or so from the farmhouse and one could expect the German woman to alert the authorities. There was not much sleep that day because I kept waking up with severe cramp, induced no doubt by wearing wet clothes for so long. I decided it was no use going on south, the distance being too great, so I turned back north towards Holland. The reasoning was this :-
[diagram]
There was no way of getting through the lines by going due west – anyway, the River Rhine was in the way, and that would be well-guarded. However, the British advance northwards into Holland had been very rapid, and looked like continuing, so I thought I would head NW round the corner in the lines and either hide up or maybe fall in with the Dutch resistance until the fighting moved on further north. An outside chance, but any chance is better than none.
That night, 21 December, it rained hard again. Towards dawn, I wandered about looking for somewhere dry to sleep. Stayed for a while in a shed beside the road, then it stopped raining so I carried on for another three miles. Found a stack of loose straw, so I dug some out and made a cubby-hole in the side, climbed in and went to
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sleep for the day. Got out at dark, put on flying suit and set out again. That night, it froze, and my flying-suit, being wet, froze stiff and the zips would not work so I could not get at my ration-pack. Suffered pains from cramp again. Walked all night, breaking ice on puddles to drink from. By this time, for various reasons all added together, I was getting light in the head and not thinking very clearly. I came to a railway embankment and climbed up. When I got onto the track, I thought: “This is stupid, all I have to do is walk along till I come to a station and get a train home.” So I turned left and walked along the track for about 20 minutes; seeing the lights of a station ahead, and hearing voices, brough me to my senses, so I got down off the track and pushed on. At daylight, bedded down in a partly-cut wood of fir trees. American bombers passed overhead. Pressed on again at night, and without thinking what I was doing, went through a village instead of skirting round it, as usual. At the far end, there was the click of a rifle-bolt, and a voice: “Halt, wer da?”, so I knew that was the end of my run. “Englische flieger,” I said, and the reply came: “Hande loch[?]”. I had run into a sentry-post. The soldier approached and indicated with his rifle that I should go into the post, which was a dug-out about ten feet square, entered by going down some steps. In it, there was a table, a chair, a bench, and it was heated by a wood-burning stove and lit by a pressure-lamp. The sentry was an oldish chap, well-meaning and obviously not one to make life difficult – he didn’t want any trouble, and I was in no state to give him any anyway. I patted the chest of my flying-suit and said: [five foreign words] and he indicated I should put it on the table, meanwhile keeping me closely covered with his rifle. He indicated also that anything else in my pockets should be put on the table. After that, the atmosphere became less strained, and he provided me with a bowl of soup. Then, seeing my clothes were wet, he told me to take them off and he hung them in front of the stove to dry, giving me his
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blanket to wrap round myself, and indicating that I should lie down on the bench and go to sleep. In the morning he permitted me to shave, using the razor from my evasion-pack, and then gave me a slice of bread and some of his meat-paste. As I said, not a bad old chap at all. By this time, his relief had arrived, and being apprised of the state of affairs, went to fetch another man. With this new man and the old original guard, I walked 8 km. to a fighter aerodrome at Alpen. This was on Christmas Eve. I was taken into the Officers Mess and subjected to all sorts of questions (but not of an operational nature) by those gathered therein. None, as it happened, could speak English, but one spoke French, and he translated for the rest. He asked how many times I had been over Germany, and when I said “eight”, he said that was nothing, he had been over London 66 times. They were interested in my flying gear, and also in the contents of my evasion pack. They gave me some of their dinner, which was a sort of spaghetti bolognese, but I was shunted aside into an alcove to eat it on my own. I was then handed over to their Service Police and made to sit on a stool in the middle of the room, watched over by a surly individual with a rifle. After several hours of this, my back ached, so I moved the stool against the wall, but an outburst and rifle-waving indicated I should stay where I was put. That night, I slept down in a warm cellar, locked in.
The next morning, that is on Christmas Day, I left Alpen with one guard; we walked five kilometres, then got a lift in a car to the nearest station and went by electric train to Dusseldorf. This was one of the R.A.F.’s main targets, and was much knocked about. On the platform I noticed a rat-faced little man going from person to person, talking to them and indicating me with a nod of the head. A few started drifting in my direction, and I didn’t like the look of things at all, but the guard saw what was happening as well and unshouldered his rifle, which caused them to lose interest. Bomber-crews were known throughout Germany as terrorflieger – (terror-flyers), which
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I used to think was unfair, as we were only going about our lawful business, and I don’t suppose German Airmen considered themselves as terrorflieger when they were bombing English towns. On the other hand, one can understand the attitude of civilians. The carpet-bombing of German towns was aimed at breaking the will of the nation as a whole to continue the war, by means of terror and destruction – any factories, military installations or transport facilities were a bonus unless they had been specially pinpointed for attack.
We waited for an hour in the waiting-room, then got a train to Frankfurt-am-Main, via Hagen and Giesen; Giesen had at one time been subject to attack, as the sidings were littered with smashed goods-wagons. It had started to snow by this time, and it was bitterly cold in the train. Civilians sitting opposite were much interested in the nature and qualify of my flying-gear, especially the boots. On detraining at Frankfurt, we walked a few km. to the Aircrew Interrogation Centre at Oberursel and I was handed in to official custody. My flying-gear was all taken away, except for the boots, and I was shoved into a cell in solitary confinement. The cell measured about eight feet by four; there was a bench along one wall with a blanket, a small barred window high up, and a light which never went out. There was a radiator below the window which came on at times during the day, but was off at night, so that it was hard to sleep because of the cold, and to make matters worse, footwear was taken away at night. There was a spyhole in the door, and beside the door, a handle. To go to the toilet, one pulled this handle, which caused a signal-arm to clang down in the corridor outside; this brough along a guard who escorted one back and forth. Outside each cell was a box containing sheets of toilet-paper; the first time, I took two sheets, but it was made very plain to me that the standard ration was just one. Hard luck on anyone who happened to be suffering from a common prisoner-of-war complaint known as the squitters or
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screamers. The daily allowance of food was four slices of bread, one plate of soup and two cups of warm weak coffee without sugar or milk. I presume the object of this solitary confinement, without seeing any one else and with absolutely nothing to do was a sort of weakening-up process, to make one more willing to talk when the time came for interrogation. It didn't bother me a lot, though, as I have always been somewhat solitary by nature.
After two days, I was taken out in the evening and up to a comfortably-furnished softly-lit room, smelling richly of cigar smoke, where an officer started off with general small-talk, then came to Air Force matters. The Geneva Convention states that all a prisoner is obliged to do is give his number, rank and name, which I did. He asked how long it was since I was shot down, and I saw no harm in answering that correctly, but when he said “That would be the night of an attack on Duisburg”, I thought I had said quite enough, and when he asked about squadron number and type of aircraft, I said: “You know I can't give details such as that, sir.” He persisted for a while with other questions, then gave up, and I was taken back to the cell for another couple of days, returning to the same interrogation room and interrogating-officer as before. This time, the approach was somewhat different. He began by remarking on the fact that I wore no identification discs. There were two of these, one round red one and one oblong green one with the corners clipped off. The were made of some sort of fibre, and the red one was fireproof. They were normally worn round the neck, but the string on mine had broken the day before the last flight, and I was intending to renew it when I got back. The dialogue went something like this:-
“There are two things that worry me about you, Sergeant Wagner. Here we have one single man in R.A.F. uniform who cannot, or will not identify himself, and who moreover claims a German name. How do I know you are who you say you are? Some details of your last flight might help to clear things up.”
(I could see what he was getting at – a veiled threat – but I
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explained the matter of the identity-discs, and said I could say no more.) He continued: -
“The second thing is that here we have an airman who has been wandering about in Germany for six days, claiming to have been shot down, but we have no others of the crew, and to crown it all, no wreckage of an aircraft that he came from. How do you explain this?”
“I jumped out over Holland and drifted back into Germany on the way down. Presumably the aircraft disintegrated over British-held territory.”
“Well, as it happens, Sgt. Wagner, I know more about you than you think. You come from 51 Squadron, Snaith, flying Halifaxes. The Commanding Officer is Wing-Commander Holford, and.....”(He went on to name the Navigation Leader, Bombing Leader and Signals Officer.) “You see, I have had other crews from 51 Squadron, and they have said more than you are saying. Now, what I would like to know are what operations you have been on, and what was your route and height to Duisburg. And what was the bomb-load.”
“The bomb-load was no concern of mine – I don’t know what it was. The height varied continually, and I can’t remember the exact routeing. Even if I could, the Geneva Convention only permits me to give Number, Rank and Name.”
At this stage, he desisted, and I was returned to my cell. I was roused at 2 a.m. and given a piece of bread and a cup of coffee. Departed 4 a.m., and walked with about fifty others, mostly Americans, to the station. Waited about for two hours in the cold, then went by train to Wetzlar, not a long journey, about two hours. Marched 4 km. to a camp, searched, given a P.O.W capture-parcel, and allocated a billet in a room of 3-tier bunks containing some 20 men. The Capture-parcel was a small fibre suitcase containing pyjamas, towel, socks, shaving-kit, soap, darning-holdall, toothbrush and toothpaste, comb, chocolate,
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and pipe and tobacco or cigarettes, and came by courtesy of the Red Cross. I dumped this on my bunk, stood up, and recognised the man in the bunk above. This was John Trumble, whom I had done some of my training with in South Africa, and we remained together through the hard times that lay ahead. His face lit up, and he said: ”Waggie!” and I said: “Hello John. A right old turn-up this isn’t it?” He had no other members of his crew with him either, so we teamed up. We spent six days altogether at Wetzlar, which was what would be called, I suppose, an Aircrew Disposal Centre, always cold and hungry, and that took us over into January 1945.
I stayed together with John through many difficulties for the rest of the time in Germany and returned to England with him. I stayed with him for a few days in the summer of 1945, then unfortunately we lost touch with each other, as so often happened in those days. It should not have happened, but it did. I often wondered what had become of him, and after writing the above, resolved to make a determined effort to find him. I knew his address was, in those times, Pottene Park Farm Devizes, but he had no connection with the farm, just lived in a rented cottage there. I thought of writing to the present occupier of the farm, asking him to send my letter on if John was still local, or perhaps he could look in the local telephone directory and see if he was listed. Then it dawned on me – “Phone directory, that’s it”, the library in Wisbech having directories for the whole country, about sixty of them. So I waded through some forty directories, and found several A. Trumble’s, but by a bit of good luck John always used the whole three Christian-name initials, A.H.J., and I located him in a village near Truro. If his name had been Smith or Jones, this method would not have been practical, of course.
There follow now some extracts from a diary I kept at the time, with some notes where further explanation is necessary.
5 Jan. 1945. Posting-lists up in the mess-hall. I am going tomorrow with John to Stalag Luft 7, Bankau, Silesia.
6 Jan. Marched down to station in the afternoon, after being searched and given
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a packet of chewing-gum each. Entrained in 2 cattle-trucks, 25 to a truck. One Red Cross parcel between 2 issued for journey. Half the truck occupied by guards.
7,8,9 January, on the train.
10 Jan. Detrained 0800 and walked up to the camp through deep snow. No greatcoats. Searched. Got a billet with John, & we got organised in a combine with 2 others for food-parcels and meals. Filled a paillasse with wood-shavings.
11 Jan. 1 Red cross parcel per man per fortnight promised, and reasonable German rations. First parade 0915 & the other at 1615. Quite a good library. Snow on the ground all the time, and very cold. Got greatcoat. Walked round perimeter track occasionally.
14 Jan. Went to church service in the evening. (The camp padre was an Army officer, Captain Collins. Air Force padres were, in the nature of things, unlikely to be captured. Captain Collins was a remarkable man, but more of him later. A very large proportion of prisoners attended church services, not I think because there was nothing else to do but because a belief gave a man something to hold onto in difficult times.)
One evening, there was a Russian Air-raid in the vicinity of the camp. I had just put margarine and honey on a slice of bread when the sirens went and the lights were put out, so I put it down on a stool and went to look out of the window. When the lights came on again, no bread. Accusations of theft, but everybody denied responsibility. Then I saw a mangled piece of bread stuck to the rear of another man’s trousers. I scraped it off and ate it.
18 Jan. Warned to be ready to evacuate the camp as the Russians were getting close. Packed case, packed as much food as we could, and wolfed the rest. I was ready to carry case, food parcel, and blanket wrapped round neck. Had to wear flying-boots as no ordinary ones were available. (These were lambswool lined, loose-fitting, and not designed for walking.) Very close Russian bombing. Sleepless night, as we had to be ready to move off any minute.
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(By this time, I had been issued with this identity-tag, and was officially “on the books.” In the event of death, the lower half was broken off and kept for records, the other half was buried with the body.)
[inserted]
19 Jan. Departed 0500 in bitter weather, after hanging about in the cold for a long time. Marched all day, 27 km. to Winterfeld. Had to eat snow as no water was available. spent the night wedged in a very small barn – hardly slept at all.
20 Jan. Wakened 5 a.m. and set off again. Marched all the morning, 12 km. to an abandoned brick-factory at Karlsruhe. Warm and dry. Had something to eat, a brew of coffee, then went to sleep. Feet very bad with blisters, so tied boots on with wire. Started dragging case inside the lid of another abandoned one, towing it along with a bootlace. Much kit jettisoned by the side of the road. Left 2000, as the Russians were getting close again. Marched without stopping all night.
21 Jan. Crossed the Oder 0500 – bridge mined, ready to blow up. Stopped in a village, but no accommodation was available, so pressed on another 5 km., making 41 km. in all (i.e. 25 miles). Many chaps dropped out during the night because of bad feet and exhaustion. Arrived Barrkwitz 1100. Got bed-space in a barn and had something to eat. A bull charged in scattering everybody. When it was ejected, went to sleep.
22 Jan. Roused 0300, as Russians were still pressing on Issued with a few carraway biscuits. The Germans had a bit of a job getting the chaps moving again, and there was some shooting. Pushed on 16 km. to Jenkwitz, arriving at noon. Moved some cattle out of a barn and got a bed-space organised. Warm, but very damp and smelling strongly of cattle. Ration 1 cup of coffee, 1/2 a biscuit and marge.
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(Coffee issued by the Germans was made of acorns roaster and ground up, and with milk and sugar from Red Cross parcels was not too bad at all.)
23 Jan. Left 0900. Marched 25 km. to Wassen[?]. Small bread issue and 1 cup of soup.
24 Jan. Spent the day at Wassen[?] trying to get some rest.
25 Jan. Left 0600 and marched 27 km. (17 miles) to Heidersdorf.
26 Jan. Stayed the day at Heidersdorf. Ration 2/5 of a loaf, and marge.
27 Jan. Left 1100 and marched 24 km. to Pfaffendorf, arriving at 1700. Small barn, wretched cramped bed-space, underneath a ladder – grain falling down from above all the time. Made up a double bed with John.
28 Jan. Left 0400; did 22 km. to Stansdort, in bitter weather, a fierce cold wind and driving snow. (You could rake your finger-nails down your face and not feel a thing, a real blizzard.) Arrived noon, dead-beat. Ration 4 biscuits and ½ cup of soup. (The German soup was watery in the extreme. There were two varieties – a) made from shredded dried turnip, and b) a less popular variety made from a very dark green cabbage of some sort, like spinach, known to the consumers as Whispering Grass, after a well-known song at the time.) Cold uncomfortable bed-space. Left 1830, still dragging case – nothing jettisoned. Collected 2 packets of hard biscuits (8 in all) outside a town after 3 km. Walked all night through a fierce blizzard – heavy snow, roads sometimes blocked, so had to clamber through drifts. Much transport abandoned. Many more chaps dropped out during this night.
29 Jan. Very heavy going. Slow halting freezing march. Arrived Peterwitz 0200 in an exhausted condition. Got a good warm ample bed-space; made a double bed with John and turned in, too tired even to wait for soup from the field-kitchen.
30 and 31 Jan. Spent at Peterwitz, resting.
1 Feb. Left 1000 and did 17 km. to Prausnitz.[?] Snow thawed half way, so had to start carrying case, and found it very heavy. Small dirty farmyard, absolutely crowded. However, got a good dry bed-space upstairs
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in a barn, by a water-cistern. Much brewing of coffee and porridge on fires in the farmyard. Soup twice a day from the field-kitchens.
[underlined] 2, 3, 4 Feb. [/underlined] At Prausnitz. On the evening of the 4th, issued with marching rations – 1/3 loaf, 1/3 tin of liver-paste, & some margarine. Although you could not style our progress as “marching” – we shambled along in a dejected shabby column, with German guards along the sides accompanied by Alsations.
[underlined] 5 Feb. [/underlined] Roused 0400; left 0700 and did 7 km. to Goldberg. Slight rain. Stole some sugar-beet along the way and gnawed at it. Packed into cattle trucks at the station, 55 men to a truck, and locked in. (These trucks, common on the continent, bore the legend 40 hommes, 8 chevaux, so we were well over the limit. There was not even enough room for everyone to sit down. There was a small barred window in each corner, also one large tin for toilet purposes. The vicinity of this tin was not rated very highly.) Travel slow, with many long halts of 7 to 8 hours.
[underlined] 6, 7, 8 Feb. [/underlined] On the train. Very hungry. Ate some spoonfuls of flour, barley and sugar mixed, from a cocoa tin. No water. Bought a crust of bread from Eddie, which he found beside the track, for tobacco.
9 Feb. Arrived at Luckenwalde, 23 miles S.W. of Berlin, 0800, feeling very weak. Marched 5 km. up to the camp, Stalag IIIA. Much hanging about. Brewed coffee. Queued up all the afternoon and had a hot shower. Got a billet with John – not too bad a position, on the floor on wood-straw, underneath a window. Warm and light anyhow, and room to stretch out. Porridge and potatoes from the Germans and a cup of soup from our own field kitchen.
10 Feb. Changed into pyjamas and washed dirty clothes. Had a shave.
11 Feb. German rations 1/6 loaf, 5 potatoes, 1/3 litre of soup, and German tea in the morning and evening. (This tea was a herbal mixture, and with milk and sugar made a reasonable drink. A count was held in the mornings early, to find who wanted their tea brewed and who wanted the mixture dry, to smoke – it was just like herbal tobacco. The potatoes were grown in a field near the camp, the crop being fertilised with the contents of the latrine (or “abort” in German), and were boiled in their skins.)
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67.
[Newspaper cutting from “The Prisoner of War” dated May 1945, detailing the journey of prisoners to Stalag Luft VII and the conditions in Stalag IIIA, Luckenwalde]
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68.
12 Feb. Wrote home. (This letter, however, did not arrive.) Bad attack of dysentery, which made me even weaker – nearly everybody had it. (This was brought on by eating raw or undercooked food, insufficient bulk, the freezing conditions of the march, and by general weakness and lack of resistance. For the first few days at Luckenwalde, everyone just lay on the floor, listless and apathetic, except for occasional dashes to the abort – not everyone made it in time!)
14 Feb. Usual day, weak with hunger and dysentery.
16 Feb. and thereafter, a succession of wretched days, very little food. Listened to BBC news brought round and read out daily in each barrack block, received on an illicit radio. This was known to the Germans, but they failed to unearth the set. Anyway, even if they did, there were others in reserve. Shaved and washed once a week. Two roll-call parades in the freezing cold every day, between 30 minutes and an hour each.
[photograph of the bunks]
Three-tier bunks of the type encountered at [indecipherable word] prison camps such as Bankau. At Luckenwalde we just lay on the floor.
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[photograph of ‘feeding quarters’]
Feeding-quarters for a “combine” of six.
[photograph] Luckenwalde. Bringing up one barrock-block’s daily ration of soup. The tub was known as a “keevil”. Blankets airing on the barbed-wire. [/photograph]
This was not the outer perimeter of the camp – there was the no-man’s land of some 50 yards, then the proper fence interspersed with towers (known as “goon boxes”) occupied by machine gunners. The term “goon” was used slightingly of all Germans, named after a comic-strip of the time – The Goons were a stupid shapeless lot of sub-humans. All
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Germans were treated with contempt by R.A.F. Prisoners.
[photograph of prisoners exercising}
Prisoners from the “cooler” at exercise. The usually got there for insulting the guards.
[photograph of soldiers in compound]
American compound. The Americans were late arrivals; all the huts were occupied, so they were accommodated in tents.
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[photograph of soldiers cooking]
Americans operating their cooking-stove, known as “blowers” or “Smokey Joes”, worked by means of a forced-draught propelled along a tunnel by a fan. All made from good-tins and pieces of wood. John's and my Smokey Joe stood on a base detached from over the doorway to the abort. The abort, by the way, was in a long hut, wooden box-like structures, perforated at suitable intervals, over a deep trench, and accommodating about 30 people. It was a social meeting-place and the centre for gathering and passing on rumours.
27 Feb. On fatigue. Slept last night fully dressed because it was so cold. Up 0600, in the dark, collected keevil and went down for tea. Parade. Breakfast. Another parade for blanket inspection. Had a wash and shave in cold water in a dirty wash-place. Afternoon roll-call 1700, then a Red Cross parcel issue, one between four, which greatly improved morale. Shared it out and had some real food. Then the sirens went and the lights went out, so turned in.
Parcel issue was not usually as convenient as this – it was often one between seven or one between nine, which made sharing difficult. Some people made nearly all the contents of their parcels into a sort of solid cake, known as “glop”, but we preferred to use one item at a time.
In 1982, I went to a Stalag Luft 7 reunion at Nottingham,
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and this is the menu and address to those present. Note the amounts stated in the menu, maintaining the tradition of difficult share-outs. How do you share six prunes between ten?
[menu missing]
Klim was dried powdered milk from American Red Cross parcels. The Limburg fish-cheese is worthy of note. It came in wooden
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boxes which, when opened, revealed about twenty oval flattish cakes covered with some sort of skin, and gave off an appalling stench. The only way of eating this delicacy was to strip off the skin, liberally douse the content with pepper and salt, hold your nose, and consume the cheese with the utmost despatch. There were not many takers, so there was plenty for those with stomachs strong enough to take it, but over-consumption could precipitate an attack of the squitters.
A few other items from this programme:-
Amongst the “sporting activities”, we find Louse Hunting. Lice thrived in the crowded insanitary conditions. If you have not had the privilege of encountering any, they were flat dirt-grey insects, hard-shelled – if you squeezed one between your fingers, it had no effect. The lurked in the seams of clothing, so had to be winkled out and crushed between thumb-nails, and there was a little spot of blood if they had recently fed. They carried, of course, the germs of typhus, and the Germans were always much perturbed to hear of increased infestation – any plague would have swept like wildfire through the camp, and while I don’t suppose the effect on prisoners would have worried them a great deal, it would eventually have affected the Germans themselves.
Dog-walking to Kreuzberg. Kreuzberg was the nearest town, and any prisoner requiring dental or medical treatment had to walk there, accompanied by a guard and the inevitable Alsatian.
Goon-baiting, which accounted for the majority of the inmates of the “cooler”, and was a popular sport aimed at making the Germans feel uncomfortable. I don’t think it took place much in Army camps, as soldiers were used to taking orders and doing as they were told, but aircrew were more rebellious independent spirits inclined to follow their own dictates. In a bomber-crew, for instance, the pilot was the captain, and any decision must ultimately be his, but he rarely had to give orders; in case of necessity, he took advice from the appropriate crew-member, a specialist who knew more than he did, weighed up the advice and then made his decision, but it was more a matter of consensus than orders. Goon-baiting usually consisted of telling the Germans that their country was finished, in ruins, that
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they had been misled, and that things were going to be tough for them. Ferreting came into the same category of making the Germans feel uncomfortable and inferior. A ferret was a member of the camp staff who prowled around looking for illegal activity, and was dealt with by the “duty pilot” system. The airman on duty, accompanied by a runner and a tail, would take up position at the entrance to the compound. When a ferret appeared, his name and time of arrival would be written down, making sure that he knew what was happening. The runner was sent off to go into each hut and call out : “Goon in the block”. The “tail” followed closely behind the ferret, making his presence felt. If the ferret turned round and remonstrated with him, he melted away into the crowd and a replacement took over. The object of all this was to inform the Germans that the compound was our preserve and that they only came in under sufferance.
And now a tribute to Captain John Collins, the Stalag Luft 7 padre. Read again the paragraph that describes him; every word is true, but words alone cannot do him justice. Where most of us were trudging along, heads down, concerned only for ourselves, he would appear at different parts of the column, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, so that everybody had a share of inspiration from his company. I can picture him now, face reddened by the blizzard, always cheerful, always optimistic, his arm round the shoulder of a man beginning to despair, carrying his gear for a little way as well as his own, then a pat on the back and off to find someone else. And the man he had just left thought: “If he can bloody well do it, so can I.” Truly a “man among men”, and I am sure his inspiration did save lives.
I kept some record of day-to-day events while at Luckenwalde, on odd scraps of paper: here is one such, written on the end-paper of a library-book, and making the best use of available space: -
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[pencilled notes indecipherable]
and on another scrap, a drawing of a Halifax; John, being a Lancaster man, asked me to do it so that we could see the differences between the two types:-
[pencil drawing]
MH were the identification letters of 51 Squadron.
16 March. Germans cut rations to potatoes every other day, 1/6 of a loaf a day, and half margarine and sugar rations.
21 March. Cold. High wind blowing dust all over the place. Difficult day for Smokey Joe – cut up a Klim[?] tin and made a windshield for him. Issue of 1 American Red Cross No. 10 per man – prunes, chocolate
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peanut butter, tuna, plum jam, Camel cigarettes. 3 wrapped chocolate for raisins. News good today – Worms, Ludwigshafen, Neustadt and Homburg taken. Germans in chaos all along the line.
24 March. Twenty-two today. They’ll probably be thinking of me at home and wondering what sort of birthday I’m having. (There had been no news for them from 19 Dec. to 6 March, so they had only heard less than three weeks before.) Shifted dirty straw from bedspace and burned it, in response to an anti-typhus purge by the Germans, so we lay on the bare boards thereafter.
27 March. Issue of the dreaded Limburg fish cheese. Got a bundle of wood from a Russian for 2 cigarettes. Diphtheria broke out in our barrack – block – enforced gargling the opening of windows.
30 March. Good Friday. Washed, shaved, & put on hair-grease. (This was an issue of an evil-looking black grease, much resembling axle-grease, which it may well have been. Goodness knows why they issued it.) Cleaned shoes. Parade by main gate 0920 for church – The Seven Words from the Cross, by Captain Collins.
2 April. Day dragged interminably. Made some prune jam, but it was cold and windy, a bad day for Smokey Joes.
5 April. Issue of 1 American Red Cross No. 10 per man. One more and they will all be finished – time to tighten belts again. Destruction of German rail-system and rolling-stock by the R.A.F. prevents supply of more parcels.
11 April. This evening, it was announced that a partial evacuation from Luckenwolde would begin tomorrow. All officers going, & N.C.O.’s from Barrack 3 and 33 from Barrack 7. John and I volunteered to be among the 33 because we thought the others might not get transport and would have to march. Packed kit and shared our food for carrying; we had a whole case full of tins of food stored up, a little from every parcel.
12 April. Called out to move off after soup 1100. Much checking and roll-calls. Search, just before which we had to get cracking in a hurry and puncture all our tins. Nothing taken, except they took one of John’s blankets. Marched down to Luckenwolde station. We had our
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blower[?] with us – John insisted on bringing it, and just outside the station we set it down and had a hot brew, which was very welcome although it was a hot day. Issue of 40 cigarettes per man. Entrained in cattle trucks, 40 per truck. Stole porage[sic] oats from a nearby train. (Looking up through the floorboards of a truck, we saw sacks inside. On being slit open with a knife, a steady stream of oats came through a wide crack, which was much appreciated by those in the vicinity.) Sleeping-space cramped, but I have been in worse. Very hot and stuffy – no ventilation.
13 April. Up 0600 & brewed up. Had bread, then stewed prunes. Talk by Wing Commander in charge of the party. Bombing of the line down at Treuenbrietzen means we can’t leave here for some time. BBC news read out during evening, also it was announced we go back to camp tomorrow.
14 April. Up 0600. Porridge, thin bread. Results of trading with German civvies – ½ loaf, 2 onions, 6 eggs, 30 saccharine tablets, and 4 lbs of potatoes for 65 cigarettes and 2 bars of soap. Marched back to camp and got organised in our same barrack. While we were away, 2 R.A.F. chaps shot trying to climb the wire – “stir-crazy”, I suppose.
17 April. Issue of 1 parcel between 2. That is the last now. Water turned off nearly all day.
18 April. News good today. Our advance appears to have slowed down, but the Russians have started a big push on the Berlin front, and are doing well. Organisation going ahead for running the camp ourselves when the Germans leave.
20 April. Bombing of Potsdam and Wriezenburg[sic] by U.S. heavies. Lovely fine day. Clouds of smoke over target. Made out a list of food in stock and rationed it to last 5 weeks. This evening there was a feeling in the air that something was going to happen, but there was no definite news. Russian artillery plainly heard, red glows in the sky.
21 April. Heard German staff moving out with lorries, tractors and cars during the night. Not called out on parade this morning. A few German guards still left, but not many. Russian tank crews brought in – short imprisonment for them. Looting of German staff quarters, but not much to be had. Prisoners record-cards from the camp offices were distributed – here
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is mine:-
[blank page]
Dull rainy day. Wing Commander Beamont[?] (who later became chief pilot for English Electric, and was in charge of test-flying Camberras and Lightnings), announced that the Germans had left, the camp was surrounded, and the Russians were fighting in Luckenwalde and Juterbog last night.
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22 April. Slept fully dressed last night in case we had to make a dash for the trenches. French and British flags flying at the gate, and a big red Russian one over the cookhouse. White flags at intervals round the perimeter barbed wire. At 1030 Russian tanks and lorries arrived in force. All the Russian prisoners were given rifles and moved out straight away, anxious to kill Germans. (Russia was not a signatory to the Geneva Convention for treatment of prisoners of war, and they had a terrible time of it in the camp, almost starved or worked to death. The same treatment was accorded to German prisoners held by the Russians.)
Artillery duel just outside the camp in the evening, between Germans hiding in a wood and a party of Russians.
[pencilled notes indecipherable]
The next few pages are photo-copies of the part of Wing Commander Beamont’s[?] book The War in the Air, which deals with the liberation of Luckenwalde.
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THE WAR IN THE AIR
then came the end in Europe. For some it was sudden: the nights suddenly quiet because no engines had to be tested for the dawn; the days suddenly long because they knew there would be a tomorrow. But for others, in the prisoner-of-war camps, it was a more drawn-out affair.
THE LONG LIBERATION
10th April. After weeks of better and better news, and of resigning ourselves to waiting for a few more weeks until final liberation, strated [sic] by our fighters, it will be an amazing stroke of fortune (and I know well enough what 20-mm can do to trains). However should this move come off, my policy will be to try and stay behind with the sick. This is the allied target area – not Munich.
Two days ago we saw a Mosquito release a cloud of leaflets overhead at about 20,000 feet. Intelligence reports that the contents are telling Russian prisoners-of-war that they will be liberated within ten to fifteen days.
The Russians have been literally starved by the goons and are dying in dozens of TB. The hospital is crammed with them. We had collections of food which we can hardly spare for them. Meanwhile great preparation of emergency food. Am fairly well off this time. One lives and learns. Over and above the Red Cross parcel I have acquired six chocolate bars, a tin of fish and three pounds of chocolate pemmican by judicious trading during the past weeks. So even without food from the Germans I should have nearly two weeks food at a bare living rate. In addition I have just traded a blue sweater and a pair of Jack Sharkies for two boxes of prunes, value 2s. 6d. But two days' food.
Midday. Germans announce officially that we move tomorrow. Have sent name in as unfit to travel – this is only partially true. But one risk is as good as another and I prefer this one as a fat better chance of liberation.
11th April. We have informed the Germans that this move is being carried out entirely without our co-operation. The only possible reason must be that we are intended to be held as hostages in the last stronghold in the mountainous area of Munich.
3 pm, Thursday, 12th April. After another night of tension, the camp was marched out to entrain for the incredible journey through the battle area to Munich this morning. As a notable change from the normal practice the move took place to the endless accompaniment of 'bitte,' absolutely no 'Raus! Raus!” at all.
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Even more amazing, my scheme has come off. I have been left behind with the sick bods against all the advice of the well-meaning older kriegies who were, I think, suffering from a surfeit of sour grapes. This was the best chance, and now, not three hours after the main party had gone, comes the news that the allies have cut the Magdeburg – Berlin autobahn. They could be here tomorrow.
The suspense is something of which I have never experienced the like. Waiting for a big low-attack show is a tea party in comparison! Atmosphere is electric.
The German officer on appel said, when I asked permission to remove a partition in a block for a new camp office: ‘One does not start a new building at five to twelve.’ At least they know the form.
The main party was still reported at the station, having spent the night in the trucks waiting for an engine which the Reichbahn [sic] people think is unlikely to materialise.
At 9.30 pm we received word that the boys were coming back as transport is impossible. Tank spearheads are reported at Brandenburg, Wittenberg – thirty miles from here – north of Halle and Leipzig. We are directly in front of the three-pronged thrust, and nothing short of fantastic ill-fortune can prevent our freedom in the next few days.
Saturday, 14th April. We worked late into last night trying to repair the damage in the blocks, caused by the departed kriegies themselves. In seven barracks there was hardly a serviceable bed. After appeals we received about fifteen per cent assistance in the big job of making sure that the returning boys would have at least a place to sleep. It is galling, the number of men who are not in the least concerned about the welfare of their friends and think only about themselves.
Still, somehow we arranged things and this morning the first party came in at 10 am, to the accompaniment of clapping and cheering from the Poles, and a loud chorus of ‘Hey, hey, the gang’s all here!’ from the Americans, accompanied by a trumpet, a violin and a mouth organ.
During yesterday’s appel we held a two minutes’ silence at attention in memory of Roosevelt who died yesterday. Particularly effective as the Americans were not on appel at the time, and remarkable
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because the company of German guards, who had paraded and were about to march off, remained at attention with us.
Reminder that the Germans are still in control came last night when two RAF NCOs attempted to climb the wire at the eleventh hour. One attacked a sentry with a bottle and was shot and killed. The other wounded. Bloody fools.
15th April. Terrific raid on Berlin suburb about twelve miles north of here last night. Made London show seem quite insignificant. Incredible din and display. Patton has a security blackout on the drive across the Elbe at Magdeburg. It is fifty miles away and is heading for us. Groups of kriegies stand in the compound all day staring south-west.
The atmosphere has more than expectancy, however, as the abort, always unsavoury, has sprung a leak.
Today’s big tragedy – I sat on my pipe and broke it.
Monday, 16th April. Tantalising news that the camp at Magdeburg to which the remainder of Luft 3 were sent from Sagen, has been liberated intact! When will our turn come?
Tuesday, 17th April. Another great Fortress raid passed over this morning. Mustangs and Thunderboirs [sic] are constantly in sight. Every thud and explosion, every flash of light in the sky is taken to be an indication of the advancing Americans.
Stalag II A consisting of some 4,000 Allied soldiers was evacuated into this area last week and, having arrived, had nowhere to go. They are living in the open, with no food supplies and no medical attention, and are in a tragic condition. The SBO sent our last reserve of Red Cross parcels to them yesterday together with two doctors and drugs.
Four hundred Russian sick were suddenly taken from our camp yesterday for destination unknown.
Wednesday, 18th April. Day after day, rumours add to the tension. The Russians are advancing fifty miles to the east, the Allies form miles to the west and south, but we are still here! The new optimisty [sic] has not borne fruit and now there is a new situation: no more Red Cross food.
Thursday, 19th April, night. The strain of boredom of the last few days was relieved at midnight when the Wing Commanders were routed out for a meeting with the SBO. His office was crammed with
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a circle of figures crouched round the table upon which lay a map of the area and two guttering lamps. He told us that the Russians had broken through south-east of us, were less than thirty miles away, and that the Germans proposed to march the whole camp unit of 4,000 prisoners-of-war in hostile country with no destination and no supplies of food or drugs, and most probably no shelter. The whole district is a battle area and such an action on the part of the goons cannot but have tragic results.
Friday, 20th April, morning. Still no further action by the Germans. We have our remaining food stocks packed and ready. Whether we go or stay, there will be no more food in a week’s time. With the possibility of freedom nearer than it has ever been, the chance of getting the chop is rather great. But to hell with the war! The only course is to relapse into one’s normal state of mental rigidity and sunbathe.
Saturday, 21st April. The most amazing day of my life. All night fires raged, guns thundered, and cannon shattered and at dawn a violent tank battle took place at Luckenwalde. Juterbog, twelve miles to the south, is in flames. FW 190s are ground-strafing within sight at all times. In short we are in the front line.
(By now most of the German guards had deserted, leaving the prisoners in charge of their own camp).
We are in the most critical of all stages now. Nearly free but without news of relieving forces, and in this country of brutality and horror anything might happen yet.
We know that the Russians are all round us. Perhaps they will be here tomorrow. I win £30 if they are. It is grand to have a job again. Quite a strange thing using a telephone!
Hell! An FW 190 has just strafed the whole length of the camp. I must go and see if there have been casualties.
Midnight, and no casualties. The organisation is almost complete. Amazingly enough the telephone network is operating and I have a set in my temporary office-cum-bedroom now. Very tired, have checked and arranged pickets on the of the NCOs’ compound.
Sunday, 22nd April, midday. Russians are here in force. Fighting all round. Local tank commander’s attitude is very brusque and dogmatic. I don’t think they like us very much. Tanks charging up and down have torn up our communications and in places the wire.
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The French are hysterical, the British a little less so, and the Norwegians are calm. The Americans are reported only a few miles away. I hope they get here before this comedy becomes a tragedy.
At long last the Red Air Force’s close support Aira-Cobras, Yaks, and Stormoviks fly above us. So do the Luftwaffe, putting up a brave show to the last. It was fascinating to watch a silver dart of a Messerschmitt delta jet dive straight down on to a formation of forty Fortresses, then Bang! bang! and a Fortress fell away while the Me 163 shot straight up into cloud.
In another scrap two Me 109’s shot down three out of twelve Aira-Cobras without loss. The Aira-Cobras were flying in formation under cloud. I caught a glimpse of the 109s as they dived straight astern, shot down two of the Cobras, and whipped up into cloud leaving the rest of the formation running round in circles wondering what had happened. Farther on the Me 109s came down again through another hole in the cloud and destroyed the third Aira-Cobra. They suffered no loss themselves.
1 pm. The Russians depart leaving us in temporary control. They have brought up a quantity of flak already, so it seems as if the area is nearly stabilised. However there are still plenty of bangs, and plenty of great unneighbourliness in this area.
The news announces tanks penetrating deep into Berlin.
Evening. Violent fighting in the woods to the north. Shells whistling and screaming overhead, and 109s dive-bombing the autobahn. The Russians have added heavy flak to their set-up here. The din is fantastic. More fierce fighting on the boundaries and cannon-strafing by Junkers 88s. Two Serbs and a number of Russians killed in the fighting round the camp. Violent action between a Russian tank and Germans as it left the main gate. The Russians seemed to win. They have taken General Ruge with them to fly him to Moscow. This leaves the SBO as the senior Allied CO.
(Undated.) Told officers and pickets to dissuade the men from going through the wire if possible, but if told to ‘b------- off’, to ‘b-------- off’ promptly and avoid incident. Then talked to the chaps in the blocks and reported to the SBO. Suggested that all compounds should be open, giving free circulation throughout the whole camp but within the wire. Bed at 2.30 am. Strafed by a Ju 88 at 4 am. Cannon shells all over the shop but fortunately no casualties.
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[typewritten script from The War in the Air]
1945
8 am. Another direct threat to officers. Three sections of the wire cut away and Army NCOs loose. The RAF hanging-fire though pretending to follow Army lead. Walked into each barrack and addressed the men. Think I put the position over and am more certain than ever the trouble is due to just one or two bad characters. At one point nearly used the SBO’s authority to throw the worst types into the cooler, but steered clear. Am sure freedom of circulation within the whole camp would ease the situation.
This is the worst couple of days in my experience without exception. The feeling of the possibility that we might lose control of a mass of desperate men, under condition of front-line war and artillery shells, machine-guns, rifles, aircraft cannon and bombs going off all round, is inclined to be unpleasant. I think we can hold our own, but it is not a comfortable position.
Russians killed off four German wounded hiding in the woods. Nice people!
Stormoviks and Yaks in great numbers today. They seem to operate well on their side of the front! Dog-fights between four Aira-Cobras and one Me 109 overhead this afternoon. The Russians seem to weave violently at all times. The Yak is a good little fighter in the Spitfire class.
Our pet Junkers 88 low-strafed us with front guns again in the moonlight. Plenty return 20-mm fire from the town. Very interesting to be at the other end for a change. I admire these Luftwaffe boys for carrying on to the grim end.
A Russian patrol found four French POWs in a house outside the camp with some women. Russians shot and killed the Frenchmen for refusing to obey an order. They probably wanted the women for themselves.
Our own trouble has died down for the moment. We have averted a riot I suppose, but in actual practise discipline as such is gone.
Wednesday. Still no Americans. This waiting is tricky. Plenty of food now when at odd moments I can find time to eat. Yesterday I had my first hot drink and a meal of bread and rhubarb at 3.30 pm. The Russians are giving us all they can. Very friendly now and much back slapping, but no respect.
Thursday. Situation tense again in my compound. NCOs are not the
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slightest bit prepared to meet the officers half-way, and are quite certain that we are there to make life unpleasant.
In all this turmoil the thought that we are no longer in fact prisoners-of-war and should be home soon is difficult to grasp and is not in the least exciting.
Saturday. So ends this demoralising week of passing on and handing out orders that one knows perfectly well will not be carried out. Held a roll parade to check ration strength this morning. The men took a lot of persuasion and diplomacy to turn out for that. Last night the news of a link-up between the Americans and Russians at Torgau cheered everyone immensely. The later report that a jeep bearing three American war correspondents had been seen on the way to Berlin should do much to settle the present unrest.
Watched a Mig shoot down a 190 in four short bursts. Very pretty.
Wednesday. Ten days since the Germans left. One of the biggest battles we have seen is now raging on the north-east and northern borders of the camp. Rifle and tommy-gun fire is incessant and mortar duel is in progress with us in no-man’s land. The radio has announced the release of all camps taken by the Americans and British, but has said nothing of us. Our people must be worried. So are we.
Thursday, 1800 hours. The first Yanks in the camp. Two war correspondents in a jeep from the lines at Magdeburg. They are taking taking Beatty, our press correspondent, back with them tomorrow and he will fly to Eisenhower’s headquarters with our records. Maybe things will start moving. All the boys want to push off west and are doing so in increasing numbers. I would be right with them if I hadn’t this damned responsibility. Wrote a brief note home and put it in the jeep. It might get through.
Friday. Sunshine. Many more people walking west. Two hundred of the men from this compound alone walked out yesterday. The position is intolerable. We can and should march the camp west to the Elbe with of course the Russian’s approval. The Americans are at Wittenberg. Only thirty miles away – one day or so on a bicycle.
1600 hours. American colonel from Davescourt headquarters here, said our evacuation starts at once! Trucks arriving tonight and we shall be flown home. Can it be true! Shall we, shall I be out of this country of death and home in England? It is almost too much to expect.
Wing Commander ROLAND BEAMONT’S dairy,[sic] quoted by EDWARD LANCHBERY
It was too much to expect. The Americans sent the trucks, the Russians sent them back. It was another two weeks before they got home.
[/typewritten script from The War in the Air]
[page break]
Enclosed below is an account of the last days at Luckenwalde from my own point of view, and the journey home.
[pencilled notes indecipherable]
On one of our private forging parties, John and I fell in with some Polish prisoners who had been employed at the factory making V1 flying bombs. None of us could speak the other side’s language, so everything was done by signs. We went back to their billet with them, and they produced enamel mugs and bottles of spirit, looking like lemon-barley water, which we gathered was fuel for the flying-bombs, and must have been almost pure alcohol. Some was poured on a table, a match applied, and it went “whoomph.” We imbibed a fair quantity of this, and were soon blotto. We staggered back to camp and sagged down to sleep it off; woke up with a raging thirst and had a drink of water. This had the effect of re-activating the spirit, setting the whole
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[pencilled notes indecipherable]
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business in motion again, so we were back in square one.
I see “Stinger” is referred to here and there. This was Staff Sergeant Nettell of the Glider Pilot Regiment, the senior N.C.O. in our hut, and something of a comedian. Rumours were rife towards the end, our prisoners were somewhat apprehensive about what the Germans might have in store for them. One day, Stinger came into the hut, called for silence, and announced: “Everyone in this hut – is to parade outside in five minutes time – to march down to the stores – to draw picks and shovels – to dig their own graves.” I thought: “So it’s come to that, has it?” There was a stunned silence for a moment, then laughter broke out – Stinger and his jokes again!
The Russians were very reluctant to let us go, and our impatience mounted. American army lorries arrived on 6 May to take us away, but the Russians sent them away empty. The next day, prisoners started off trickling away on their own, walking westwards, and John and I set off in a part of about a dozen. After walking about 7 miles, we met another convoy of American lorries heading for the camp. One of them picked us up, turned around, and set off towards the west, finishing up at a P.O.W. reception centre at Schonebeck, in what was a Junkers aircraft factory. So on 7 May we were once again in safe hands. The war officially ended the next day with unconditioned German surrender.
11 May.
Embarked in lorries and proceeded via Magdeburg and Brunswick to an ex-German fighter aerodrome at Hildesheim. Had a hot shower and a de-lousing. In the latter operation, an orderly put the nozzle of a large syringe down the front of one’s trousers and sent a blast of DDT round the interior. Assigned to an aircraft party. Got a Red Cross parcel containing soap (toilet, tooth and shaving), shaving-brush razor and blades, 2 handkerchiefs, tooth-brush, face-cloth, toilet-bag, 50 cigarettes and ½ lb of chocolate. Soup, bread, coffee and a K-ration for tea.
12 May. Called out to the aerodrome after breakfast. A steady stream
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of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. at Louvain, about 12 miles out. Deloused once again.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. Deloused yet again – they must have thought those lice were pretty hardy characters, to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, for tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, give ration cards and leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another ½ hour for one to Henley. When I arrived home the rest of the family were still in bed and I had to knock them up.
The following letters are in order, as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read: “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
* Letters on page numbered 90 onwards.
[page break]
[newspaper cuttings relating the heroism of the aircrews of Bomber Command]
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[Three newspaper cuttings on Bomber Command – the third worded as follows:]
The campaign fought by Bomber Command was the longest and the most sustained in British military history. It lasted from September 1939 to May 1945. It cost the lives of 57,000 of its aircrew – Britons, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans – a total which represents well over half of all those who flew on operations. Nowhere else was the casualty rate so high, perhaps because nowhere else was battle joined with the enemy on such a continuous and relentless scale.
They were all young men, all highly-trained. They came to England from all over the Empire, to volunteer for and to create the last Imperial force there would ever be. In the darkest days they were a symbol that ultimately their world would triumph, whatever the cost. They were a special breed, on a special crusade, and possessed it seemed of a special courage. They did not ask to live, but only to win.
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51
in charge, rumours were rife, and prisoners were somewhat apprehensive about what the Germans might have in store for them. One day, Stinger came into the hut, called for silence
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89
of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, marvelling at the damned good job we had made of it, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon [sic]. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. At Louvain, about 12 miles out. De-loused once again, tea, and turned in.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. De-loused yet again – they must have considered the lice pretty hardy characters to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, and tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, given ration cards, leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another 1/2 hr. for one to Henley. When I arrived home, the rest of the family were still in bed, and I had to knock them up.
There followed several days of seeing old friends and places again, writing to parents of the rest of my crew, playing golf, servicing motorcycle and generally relaxing and feeling glad to be home again and to be able to wander as I pleased. The following letters are in order as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read; “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
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90
No. 51 Squadron,
R.A.F. Station,
Snaith,
Nr. Goole,
Yorkshire.
Reference:- 51S/801/251/P.1.
18th December, 1944.
Dear Mrs. Wagner
It is with the deepest regret that I have to confirm the news already conveyed to you by telegram to-day, that your Son, 1604744 Sergeant H.W. Wagner, failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning.
Your Son was acting in his capacity of Navigator in an aircraft which took-off during the early hours of this morning to deliver an attack on a target at Duisburg, and I regret that nothing was heard of the aircraft or its crew after the time of take-off.
The loss of this crew is a sad blow to all of us here, particularly so in the case of your Son, who was looked upon as one of our outstanding Navigators, and who commanded the respect of all. We cherish the hope that he and his companions may yet prove to be safe and well, though prisoners of war.
Your Son's personal belongings have been gathered together by the Station Effects Officer and forwarded to the R.A.F. Central Depository, who will send them on to you in due course.
I would like to add that the request in the telegram notifying you of the casualty to your Son was included with the object of avoiding his chance of escape being prejudiced in case he was still at large. This is not to say that any information is available, but it is a precaution which is adopted in the case of all missing personnel.
Please accept the deepest sympathy of myself and all the Officers and Men of the Squadron.
Yours Sincerely
H.A.R. Holford
Wing commander, Commanding,
[underlined] No. 51 Squadron, R.A.F. [/underlined]
…./Over.
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91
AIR MINISTRY,
(casualty Branch),
73-77 OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.1
22 December, 1944.
Madam,
I am commanded by the Air Council to express to you their great regret on learning that your son, Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner, Royal Air Force, is missing as the result of air operations on 18th December, 1944, when a Halifax aircraft in which he was flying as navigator set out for action over Duisberg [sic] and failed to return.
This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded, and if he is a prisoner of war he should be able to communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross committee, and as soon as any definite news is received you will be at once informed.
/If
Mrs. J. E. Wagner,
14, Western Avenue,
Henley-on-Thames,
Oxon.
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If any information regarding your son is received by you from any source you are requested to be kind enough to communicate it immediately to the Air Ministry.
The air Council desire me to convey to you their sympathy in your present anxiety.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient Servant,
Charles Evans
98
[photograph]
A photograph of the cemetery in Holland, sent to me a few months after the war by Mrs Worthington, mother of our mid-upper gunner.
[photograph]
A close-up of the crew's graves before proper head-stones were fitted.
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of Dakotas was coming in, filling up and taking off again. Took off 1600, flew over the devastated areas of the Ruhr, marvelling at the damned good job we had made of it, and landed at Brussels 1800. Tea and biscuits from the Naafi waggon [sic]. Transported in lorries to 42 R.H.U. At Louvain, about 12 miles out. De-loused once again, tea, and turned in.
13 May. Taken back to Brussels Airport in the afternoon, got aboard a Dakota and flew back to England via Ostend and the Thames Estuary. Landed at Wing, near Aylesbury. De-loused yet again – they must have considered the lice pretty hardy characters to have survived two previous assaults. After more tea and biscuits, transported to Bicester aerodrome, where we stayed the night. Bacon and egg, bread and marmalade, and tea.
14 May. Train to Cosford, near Wolverhampton. Given new uniform and kit, went through documentation, given ration cards, leave passes, and pay. Medical exam.
15 May. Left late in the afternoon, travelled through the night, and arrived at Reading 0430. Two hours to wait for a train to Twyford, and another 1/2 hr. for one to Henley. When I arrived home, the rest of the family were still in bed, and I had to knock them up.
There followed several days of seeing old friends and places again, writing to parents of the rest of my crew, playing golf, servicing motorcycle and generally relaxing and feeling glad to be home again and to be able to wander as I pleased. The following letters are in order as received by my mother. The original telegram has not survived, but it read; “Deeply regret to inform you your son Sgt. H. Wagner failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning. Pending receipt of written notification no information to be given to the Press.”
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90
No. 51 Squadron,
R.A.F. Station,
Snaith,
Nr. Goole,
Yorkshire.
Reference:- 51S/801/251/P.1.
18th December, 1944.
Dear Mrs. Wagner
It is with the deepest regret that I have to confirm the news already conveyed to you by telegram to-day, that your Son, 1604744 Sergeant H.W. Wagner, failed to return from an operational flight over enemy territory this morning.
Your Son was acting in his capacity of Navigator in an aircraft which took-off during the early hours of this morning to deliver an attack on a target at Duisburg, and I regret that nothing was heard of the aircraft or its crew after the time of take-off.
The loss of this crew is a sad blow to all of us here, particularly so in the case of your Son, who was looked upon as one of our outstanding Navigators, and who commanded the respect of all. We cherish the hope that he and his companions may yet prove to be safe and well, though prisoners of war.
Your Son's personal belongings have been gathered together by the Station Effects Officer and forwarded to the R.A.F. Central Depository, who will send them on to you in due course.
I would like to add that the request in the telegram notifying you of the casualty to your Son was included with the object of avoiding his chance of escape being prejudiced in case he was still at large. This is not to say that any information is available, but it is a precaution which is adopted in the case of all missing personnel.
Please accept the deepest sympathy of myself and all the Officers and Men of the Squadron.
Yours Sincerely
H.A.R. Holford
Wing commander, Commanding,
[underlined] No. 51 Squadron, R.A.F. [/underlined]
…./Over.
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AIR MINISTRY,
(casualty Branch),
73-77 OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.1
22 December, 1944.
Madam,
I am commanded by the Air Council to express to you their great regret on learning that your son, Sergeant Henry Wolfe Wagner, Royal Air Force, is missing as the result of air operations on 18th December, 1944, when a Halifax aircraft in which he was flying as navigator set out for action over Duisberg [sic] and failed to return.
This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded, and if he is a prisoner of war he should be able to communicate with you in due course. Meanwhile enquiries are being made through the International Red Cross committee, and as soon as any definite news is received you will be at once informed.
/If
Mrs. J. E. Wagner,
14, Western Avenue,
Henley-on-Thames,
Oxon.
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If any information regarding your son is received by you from any source you are requested to be kind enough to communicate it immediately to the Air Ministry.
The air Council desire me to convey to you their sympathy in your present anxiety.
I am, Madam,
Your obedient Servant,
Charles Evans
98
[photograph]
A photograph of the cemetery in Holland, sent to me a few months after the war by Mrs Worthington, mother of our mid-upper gunner.
[photograph]
A close-up of the crew's graves before proper head-stones were fitted.
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[photograph] Some of the graves. This photo was taken about 1982 by Mrs. Worthington's daughter, Joan.
In 1989, I saw a notice in “Airmail” inserted by a man who had visited Venray and seen the graves of 12 R.A.F. Men. He named them, and offered to send photos to relatives. I told him the names of my crew and the circumstances that led to their being there, and he sent me the following photographs.
[photograph] Warrant Officer W.A. Bates, pilot.
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[photograph] Flight Sergeant L.G. Roberts, Bomb-aimer.
[photograph] Sgt. E. Berry, Flight engineer
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[Photograph] Sgt. T.W. Worthington, Mid-upper gunner.
[photograph] Sgt. R. Thomas, Rear-gunner.
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Shortly after the war, I applied to join the Caterpillar Club, membership of which is limited to those who have saved their lives by means of a parachute. The club was founded by Leslie Irvin, who invented the modern parachute.
[inserted] Membership card to the Caterpillar Club. [/inserted]
In the middle of June, I went to stay for a couple of days [inserted] with John [/inserted] and his long-time girl-friend (now his wife) Vilna. They lived in a cottage at Potterne Park Farm, Devizes, Wiltshire. A very pleasant visit it was, the last time but one that I saw them for 44 years. But more of that later. We lost touch; it shouldn't have happened, but this sort of thing often did.
My leave expired on 11 July 1945, and I returned to Cosford. This was only for a few days, for the purposes of medical examination, documentation and getting fitted out in full kit. It was a time of unease, restlessness and doubt. I knew only one other person there, Frankie Sedgewick, who had been with John and me at Barkau and Luckenwalde. He was a great virtuoso on the piano and the accordion; although he could not read music, he knew all the tunes, and had a wonderful sense of rhythm. Before we left Barkau for the march, he had become the possessor of a beautiful accordion, thanks to the Red Cross. On the point of departure from Barkau, he slashed it with a knife, tears streaming down his face, and said: “I can't carry it, and those bastards aren't having it.”
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and said: “I can’t carry it, and those bastards aren’t having it.” He had been a member of a Stirling crew, shot down dropping supplies at Arnhem. The aircraft belly-landed on a road, skated along it and ground to a halt. The crew evacuated – Frankie into a ditch on one side, the other six into a ditch on the opposite side, all under fire. The six were on the British side and got away; Frankie was on the German side and got pulled in.
By the 15th of July, I was back on leave again, until the end of August. I spent those six weeks working on harvesting at Dick Green’s farm, playing golf, going swimming, and generally having a relaxed and leisurely time among friends. The war with Japan ended after the dropping of the two atom-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6th and 8th, as it was all over. On 29 August I reported to R.A.F. Wittering and remained there for nine days, but there was nothing much to do and no real reason for being there – the only purpose it served was to demonstrate to us that we were in fact still in the Air Force. Then there was a 48-hour pass, for which I went home, then back to Wittering again, then off on leave again.
In October, I went up to Liverpool to stay with Mr. Roberts, father of our bomb-aimer. While there, we went to visit the Worthingtons before returning home a few days later, but it was not long before I was back there again, for a fortnight this times, and the affair made good progress. It looked as if this might be it.
I applied for early release from the R.A.F. so as to continue my degree course at Reading University; this was granted, and I was demobilised shortly before Christmas, ready to start at the university again in January 1946.
This would seem to take us to the end of the crosswind leg, and it is now time to turn onto the downwind leg. This one is the longest of all the legs of a circuit, and the most peaceful. Everything should be organised and running smoothly; there is nothing of any urgency requiring to be done, and one may proceed with dignity and decorum towards
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the next turning-point, meanwhile watching the world go by.
[underlined] DOWNWIND LEG. [/underlined]
In January 1946 I returned to Reading University. When I left, I had one year to do for my degree, but now I had two extra terms, which were quite welcome as they gave me an opportunity to settle down again. I was only doing two subjects (as usual for an honours degree) – French and Latin. The French consisted not only of the language itself but also translation into French and from French, classical literature, modern literature, old French, the development of the language from Latin, essays and a considerable amount of reading. In term-time, and even during holidays, I worked very hard, often on into the night. During leisure times, I played a lot of golf, usually with my brother Richard, at Henley Golf Club. He was always a better player than me; where I would be hoping that my second shot finished somewhere on the green, he would be seen picking the spot on the green where he proposed to land his ball. During the summer, I worked on Dick Green’s farm, mainly on harvesting, and often borrowed a gun from him to go rabbiting. Tight rationing was still in force, so a rabbit was always welcome as an alternative to the dreary diet of sausage-meat or fish. Being a hot summer, I frequently went after work for a swim at Shiplake Swimming Baths, on the River Thames.
Joan came down from Liverpool for a week, and I went up to Liverpool and stayed with her family, and also spent a fortnight with them on holiday in North Wales, near Prestatyn. We became engaged during that summer, but early next year it was all over. Looking back, the affair was doomed to failure, because we could see so little of each other, living such a long way apart. There was neither the money nor the time for frequent visits, and the flame flickered and died.
1947 was the year of my final examinations, and I continued to work as hard as ever, reluctant even to give up time to play golf. I did join the University cross-country club, and used to run in
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team matches against other universities and athletics clubs on Saturday afternoons.
In June, I sat the final examinations for my degree, and when the results came out I found I had passed the B.A. with Honours in French, Class II Division 1. I did not expect a Class 1 degree, as these were rarely given. It must have been a close thing, though; some weeks afterwards, I met the Professor of French, Professor Pesseignet, and her said: “I would have liked to give you a First, but there were other considerations.” (He did not specify what they were.) However, Class II Division 1 was classified as a “good Honours degree”, so I was quite satisfied. Class II Division II was a run-of-the-mill degree, and Class III was for those who only just scraped through.
I acquired another motorcycle that summer. I disposed of the old 250 c.c. O.K. Supreme and took over a 500 c.c. high-camshaft MSS Velocette, a far superior machine in every respect. One evening, I went over to Maidenhead to help my friend Geoff Dolphin do some work on his 350 c.c. Royal Enfield. When the job was done, we repaired to the local for some refreshment and got talking at the bar to a Mr. Jupp. He ran a holiday-camp for London youth-clubs in the Isle of Wight, and asked if I would like a job helping in the cookhouse for a few weeks. Having nothing lined up in the way of holidays, I accepted, and went down there several days later. One evening, I was sitting at a table outside, reading, when a girl came and sat down and started reading too. After half an hour, I said: “That’s another book finished,” and stood up to leave. She said: “Would you like to read the paper?”, so I said: “Yes, please”, and she went and got her Daily Mirror. (Years afterwards, she said to me: “I didn’t know how near I was to losing you, offering you the Daily Mirror.”) When it got duck, I said: “It’s too dark to read any more. Shall we take a ride up to Culver Point?” and that is how it all started. Before leaving her that evening, I said: “Are you committed to anything tomorrow?” When she said no, I said: “I have to go up to Brading in the morning to get the cakes for the canteen. Then we could go along to the other end of the island, to the Needles and Alum Bay, and have
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something to eat on the way back. Would you come with me?” By the time that day was over, the friendship was pretty firmly established. Many years later, I said to her: “Why me?”, and she said: “I liked the look of you.” Honest to the nth degree.
She also said: “I threw myself at you, didn’t I?”. I said: “No, you didn’t throw yourself. All you did was open the door. What you were saying, in effect, was: “If you like what you see, do something about it.” The ball was always in my court, it was always up to me to make the next move, if I wanted to.”
The following day, as she was leaving for London again, I said: “Write to me”, and she said: “No, you write to me,” and I realised that of course it was not up to the girl to do the pushing, that was my job. This is the photograph she gave me as she left, with her address on the back. [photograph not included]
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[certificate]
UNIVERSITY OF READING.
It is hereby certified that HENRY W. WAGNER has been duly admitted to the Degree of Bachelor of Arts of this University. (Honours School of French Class II Division 1)
[signed] E. Smith [/signed] Registrar.
July 5, 1947. [/certificate]
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[photograph] [inserted] All my love, Darling, Joan xxxx [/inserted]
and this is one I acquired later, taken when she was a little girl.
[photograph]
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And so the affair progressed; we were very happy in each other’s company, and I quickly got to know her as a gentle, understanding, kind-hearted, undemanding and completely straightforward and honest, completely unselfish, and those characteristics remained with her, unchanged, for as long as she lived. There were never any words of anger, recrimination, accusation or petty temper between us. It did not take me long to realise I had got a good one.
Sometimes, I went up to London, to her home, for the week-end, sometimes she came to Henley, and we saw each other very frequently.
In the autumn of 1947, I went back to the University for one more year, to take a Diploma in Education, a necessary qualification for teaching in grammar schools. After finishing the course, I toyed with the idea of going into the R.A.F. Education Branch, but by the time the paper-work was all completed, I found out that the main requirements were for teachers of English, mathematics and physics. By that time, it was too late to apply for jobs in state-schools, but I got a job at Bodington College, Leatherhead, Surrey, a private boarding-school for boys 11 - 18, and started there in September 1948.
[photograph]
I taught mainly French and Latin, with some English, mathematics
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[missing photograph or document]
and geography. The classes were small, the fees high. The boys all came from upper-class families, and were easy to get on with. Masters were in contact with them a great deal in leisure-times. I used to run a model aircraft club, and we flew diesel-engined control-line models on the playing-filed when weather permitted, and built or repaired them on
[page break]
[University of Reading Diploma]
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dark evenings or in wet and windy weather. I was in charge of Rugby Football, and this led to many discussions on team selection and tactics. There were lessons in the evening instead of the afternoon, leaving afternoons free for games - I either played or refereed. There was always a match against another school or a club on Saturdays and sometimes on Wednesdays as well. In the summer I umpired cricket.
The headmaster, the Reverend J. G. Wilkie, was a man of liberal views on education, only hard on those who transgressed the boundaries of good conduct and gentlemanly behaviour. Prefects were allowed to smoke in their studies, and to brew coffee, and often when I was on duty and had seen all the boys into their dormitories and put the lights out, some of the prefects would say: “Come in and have a smoke and a cup of coffee, Mr. Wagner, and we’ll talk about Saturday’s team.”
On alternate week-ends, provided I was not on duty at the school, I used to go up to London and stay at Joan’s; the other week-ends, I went by motorcycle to Henley, and Joan came to Henley by bus, and the love-affair progressed well. One day she said to me: “Henry, are you going to marry me?” I had taken this for granted, it had never crossed my mind that it might be otherwise. I realised that a girl needs to have it put in so many words, and it was remiss of me not to have made the situation clear before. So it was settled, and the wedding was fixed for August 1949. The greatest worry was where we were going to live, as only four years after the war housing was desperately short, and we had no money to start buying a house. Talking the matter over with the Headmaster, he said that there was accommodation available in one of the blocks round the old stable-yard, which we could have at a low rent. So I spent all my available spare time redecorating this, and eventually it looked quite nice. Furniture and carpets were acquired on hire-purchase - you had to have “dockets” to get these, - and Joan
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made curtains and gradually accumulated the bare necessities. I had a radio of my own, but televisions and washing-machines were almost unheard-of, and we did not hanker after them. Nor did we have a refrigerator.
[photograph] Badingham College, from the playing-fields. [/photograph]
[photograph] My Velocette, in the stable-yard. [/photograph]
[photograph] Joan on the motorcycle, taken at Henley. [/photograph]
[photograph] Joan on holiday (right) with her friend Joan Rampton. [/photograph]
Joan made her own wedding-dress and the bridesmaids’ dresses. Joan Rampton was the chief bridesmaid, and her (Joan Rampton’s) little sister the second bridesmaid. For our honeymoon, we
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would be going to Bantry, in the far south-west corner of Ireland. These are the photos we had taken for our passports. [two photographs]
The wedding took place at 11 a.m. at Holy Trinity Church, Henley-on-Thames. Richard was my best man.
[photograph of the bride and groom]
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[photograph of the wedding party]
[photograph] Leaving the reception. [/photograph]
This was held at a hotel just
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across the street from Henley station, so we did not have far to go to the train. Train to Fishguard, overnight ferry to Cork, bus to Bantry.
On our return a fortnight later, we settled in to The Cottage, Badingham College, Leatherhead, Surrey. One of my first jobs was to go down to the bank to get out some money. I came out of the bank, and was handing over some of the money to Joan when the cashier came out. He said: “Did you know your account was overdrawn, Mr Wagner?” I must have miscalculated somehow, and I said: “No. I suppose you had better have this back, hadn’t you?”, and he said: “Yes, I suppose I had,” and took it. Joan said: “Right, I’ll see about a job then,” and immediately went and got herself a job in a grocery shop. What with her money, an advance on my salary, and a loan of £60 from my brother John, we were able to carry on until we got ourselves sorted out. But money was always scarce, as I suppose it is for nearly every newly-married couple, and there were no luxuries. We used to go to the cinema twice a week – no golf, no drinking, and holidays were in caravans or boarding-houses, travelling by motorbike. The furniture was being paid off at just over £9 a month. Food was still severely rationed. We did not ask for much – we had each other, and that was enough.
I enjoyed my work, Joan enjoyed working and being with other people. She always liked to have other people round her, and even later in life when money was not so important, preferred to be working than staying at home. We still went to London and to Henley on alternate week-ends.
The even tenor of life continued at Badingham for another three years. In the summer of 1952, on our return from holiday in Colwyn Bay, the headmaster said that, owing to expansion, he needed part of our house. That meant we would have to go. There was no chance of accomodation[sic] in the “Stockbroker Belt” of Leatherhead, so I gave in my notice for December 1952.
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and set about applying for jobs in the vicinity of Henley, as my mother was willing to put us up until we got sorted out. I got one at Earley, on the outskirts of Reading, at Woodley Hill Grammar School, a boys’ school. This meant a journey of seven miles by motorbike, but that was no hardship except on bitter winter days or in heavy rain. Richard did some auctioneering for a firm in Henley, and they had space to store our furniture above the auction-rooms, so that cost us nothing.
So in January 1953 I started work at Woodley Hill, and Joan got herself a job in a shop in Henley. Richard, being a partner in a firm of estate-agents, would keep an eye open for possible living accomodation[sic] for us, but this was still in extremely short supply. After a few months, nothing seemed to be coming up, so I began to apply for a job in South Africa, where the conditions of life would be better and we would find somewhere of our own to live. Joan was in agreement – she was always willing to try anything, and never raised any objections in major decisions of this sort. But no sooner had I started to apply than Richard came up with something that suited us absolutely. A golfing friend of his, Gerald Mundey, lived with his mother and his sister Joy on a big estate up in the woods at Harpsden, about 1½ miles out of Henley; the gardener’s cottage had become vacant, and we could have it at the modest rent of £10/month. So we moved our furniture up there and settled in. It was fairly isolated, but we got on well with the Mundeys and Joan was still out all day working. I started playing golf again and joined Marlow rugby club. Looking back, it was selfish of me to be out at rugby on Saturday afternoons and often well into the evening, and then go golfing on Sunday mornings, but Joan never complained, although she would have been perfectly right to do so. Once, playing rugby against Kodak, up in London, I broke my right ankle, and had to spend ten days in Henley hospital while it was mending. I had a few more days at home, then went back to work, riding the motorcycle with one leg encased in plaster, the leg which operated the gear-change lever.
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[photograph] Marlow Rugby Club First XV. [/photograph]
I played right-hand prop, and sometimes hooker when the need arose. The regular hooker was Budworth, on the right in the front row. He used to fly Beaufighters against terrorists in Malaya before he came to us. His wife usually accompanied us on coach-trips, and was one of the few women I ever knew who drank pints of bitter. Colin Gill, left in the front row, had a glass eye; in the course of one game, it dropped out into the mud and the game had to stop while we looked for it. The bath accomodation[sic] adjoining the changing-room was a deep recess about ten feet square sunk in the concrete, and we would settle down in the hot water after a game with pints of beer standing on the concrete behind us. After a particularly muddy game, the contents of the bath would be not so much hot water as thin liquid mud. Songs were sung. An invitation came once through the post
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for me to attend a stag-party. At the bottom of the card it said “Singing by our own choir.” Joan said: “That doesn’t sound very exciting, singing by our own choir,” and I said: “Oh, but you don’t know what our own choir will be singing.”
Many such memories of Marlow Rugby Club come back to me, such as the stag-party that got out of hand; the piano was adjudged not to be functioning correctly. Beer was poured into it without producing any improvement, so the instrument itself was dismantled, without finding the cause, and by that time nobody in a state to re-assemble it. After that, the committee put a stop to further stag-parties. Then there was the occasion when a large stag-party, complete with strippers, was held in one of the pavilions at Twickenham, attended by several clubs, and those in the know will recall that I made a libation to the gods of rugby-football on the centre spot of the pitch. The amount of pleasure I have had throughout my life from golf and rugby is really incalculable. Before I stopped playing rugby, I was made an honorary life-member, for services to the club. The club ran seven teams.
[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card front]
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[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card page 1]
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[Marlow Rugby Union Football Club card pages 2 and 3]
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for me to attend a stag-party. At the bottom of the card it said “Singing by our own choir.” John said: “That doesn't sound very exciting, singing by our own choir,” and I said: “Ah, but you don't know what our own choir will be singing.”
Many such memories of Marlow Rugby Club come back to me, such as the stag-party that got out of hand; the piano was adjudged not to be functioning correctly. Beer was poured into it without producing any improvement, so the instrument itself was dismantled, without finding the cause, and by that time nobody was in a state to re-assemble it. After that, the committee put a stop to further stag-parties. Then there was the occasion when a large stag-party, complete with strippers, was held in one of the pavilions at Twickenham, attended by several clubs, and those in the know will recall that I made a libation to the gods of rugby-football on the centre spot of the pitch. The amount of pleasure I have had throughout my life from golf and rugby is really incalculable. Before I stopped playing rugby, I was made an honorary life-member, for services to the club. The club ran seven teams.
Fixtures Sept. 1964 – April 1965
1st XV Captain: R.J. WELSFORD
“A” XV Captain: G.L. SPINKS
EX “A” XV Captain: P. TRUNKFIELD
“B” XV Captain: D.L.G. THOMAS
CYGNETS XV Captain: R.H. RAGG
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[Rugby fixtures Sept 1964 – April 1965]
[Rules of the ruby club]
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Eventually and inevitably there was an addition to the family. Helen was born at the maternity unit in Henley, and Joan was so proud of her, and she was certainly a lovely little girl. These photographs were taken while we were still living at Red Hatch Cottage, some in the garden, some on holiday.
[six photographs]
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[seven photographs]
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[six photographs]
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[two photographs]
We had been at Red Hatch Cottage about four years. Happy days though they were, money was still tight. I had the motorcycle fitted with a sidecar on Helen's arrival, so we could still get about. But we wanted a home of our own, and there did not seem to be much hope of getting one. I used to go to the bank on Saturday mornings to get out enough money for the week; the bank balance was often down to below £5, and I dreaded a month that had five Saturdays in it.
One day, I saw on the staff-room notice-board a circular from the National Union of Teachers asking anyone who had any salary queries to get in touch with them. For most of my time at Badingham the school was not recognised by the Ministry of Education and did not therefore count as reckonable services under the regulations. However, before I left, it was inspected and recognised. I put the point to the N.U.T. - was there any possibility of having this service all recognised for the purposes of stepping up the salary scale? They replied that it was up to the Local Education Authority. So I put the matter to the Berkshire Education Authority. I was called to the telephone one day at school – yes, they would recognise all that service, put me four steps up the ladder and give back-pay also for those four years. This amounted to some £270. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. When I got home, I said to Joan; “They rang me up from Shire Hall today. They won't recognise that service.” Terribly disappointed though she must have
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been, she put her arm round me and said; “Oh well, you tried.” All the time we were married, she never made me feel inadequate, not good enough for her, although I sometimes felt that was indeed the case – she deserved better than me. She never was sarcastic, never criticised me or made me feel small. All she had to know was that it was my best that I was doing; it may not have been a very good best sometimes, but as long as it was the best, that was sufficient. But even if things turned out well and I had not done my absolute best, I would be gently reminded. Her whole philosophy of life was based on love; she believed in being in love, she loved her husband, family and home. And in return, she always knew she was well loved. I was glad to be able to give her the happiness and security that she needed. Indeed, our marriage was secure in every respect - “Secure:- without care or anxiety, free from fear or danger, safe, confident, in safe keeping, of such strength as to ensure safety” (Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary.) I found this cutting many years later, tucked into Joan's writing -case; it obviously appealed to her, embodying as it does her whole philosophy.
[newspaper cutting – from the New Testament]
But I digress; I shall return to this theme later. Hiding her disappointment, and knowing I must have been disappointed too, she didn't complain but tried to console me with: “Oh well, you tried.” I let it ride for a few minutes, then told her the good news, and she was absolutely delighted. We would have enough money for the necessary 10% deposit on a house and to pay for the removal. There would be nothing to spare for the extras that would be needed, but these things would come in the fulness [sic] of time. So it was not long before we were looking around at new houses being built, and eventually settled for one on Ravensbourne Drive,
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Woodley, about three miles out of Reading and not far from the school where I worked. We used to go over on Sunday afternoons and see the progress being made, and as soon as it was ready we moved in. There was a great deal to be done getting the interior comfortable to live in, but Joan was a great home-maker. The garden was a wilderness containing a lot of builder's rubble, but I set to work to make it look nice and pleasant.
[two photographs]
Ravensbourne Drive, taken from outside our house, looking down the road (left) and up the road (right)
[two photographs]
The back garden. The back of the house.
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It was a big job getting the garden in order, but I was much indebted to John for a great amount of help – he used to come over and give a hand whenever he had the time. We mixed and laid concrete along the back of the house and at the side, and made the path running up the garden. I bought a concrete sectioned garage which we put up. I laid lawns, made a sand-pit for Helen, made the trellis and put climbing-roses on it to divide off the vegetable-garden, and planted the willow-tree. Made a coal-bunker too – there was no central-heating in those days. A whole range of kitchen cabinets as well – it was a matter of making things then rather than buying them. And always words of praise from Joan for what had been achieved.
Joan used to take Helen out to a nearby park in the afternoons, where there were swings, and it was there that she met Jean Hindley, who had her little girl with her. Joan was never backward in making friends (Think again how she got to know me), and Jean and Derek have been friends ever since. I always call into see them when I go down to Woodley, and there is always a warm welcome. We also made friends with Babs and Dave Read who lived a couple of doors along, and held lively parties
[eleven lines obscured by photograph]
had pints of mild and bitter, so it was quite obvious he had at least one redeeming feature. He used to be a Petty Officer in the Navy, on the engineering side. As I got to know him better, I
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was happy to consider him a good friend – straightforward, even-tempered, he took life very much as it came. Gradually, other inhabitants of Woodley joined us, and quite a large contingent from Woodley used to go over golfing at Henley – Jim Trevaskis, Bill Spelman, George Wall, Frank Way, Jeff Morgan and Alan Thorngate. I held the post of captain of the Henley Artisans Golfing Society at the time, and for a number of years thereafter. We played matches against the artisan sections of other clubs, and Joan and Anne used to make the sandwiches and come over and organise the teas for us. Good days they were, golfing at Henley in good company. Sunday mornings were the usual time, and after the game we would repair to the Bottle and Glass at Binfield Heath to take pre-prandial refreshment and play darts with the locals. On Friday evenings also we used to go out to one pub or another for beer and darts. And Joan put up with all this without a murmur of protest!
The school moved to new buildings at Winnersh, near Wokingham. In those days, and in such a school, teaching was a pleasant enough occupation and the boys were in general easy enough to get on with. There were exceptions, of course, but in the main they were a decent lot. On a journey from the front of the class to the back it might be necessary to give the odd boy a cuff, but the usual reaction seemed to be: “Fair enough, he caught me out,” and that was the end of it. Not so in these days, though. An action of that sort now would result in reports to the Head, parents up to the school, letters to the Education Department, and so forth. I remember writing on one boy’s report once: “Oafish stupidity is his outstanding characteristic.” At a parents’ evening his father said: “I take exception to this remark, Mr. Wagner. Can you justify it?” “Yes”, I said. “This very morning, when I had got the class settled down to work, he came in late, hurled the door open, which wrenched the door-stop out of the floor, slammed the door, and went to his place without a word of apology.” “Yes”, he said, “I see what you mean. I shall take the matter up with him.” On the other hand, on the last day of the summer term, one of my Sixth Form
[page break]
126
French students said: “Would you care to some out for a farewell drink, Mr. Wagner?”, so off we went. This would cause some raised eyebrows these days. I remember saying to him: “Two years ago, you were an inky little lad in the Fifth Form, now you’re a gentleman,” and that was the way with many of them.
While at The Forest Grammar School, my head of department was Keith Fletcher, an extremely able man and easy to get on with. He expected his staff to do their job competently and conscientiously, he consulted and advised, he did not lay down the law but what he said went, and he did not suffer fools gladly. He was a friend in those times, and has remained a friend every since. We see each other from time to time.
In the fulness of time, there was an addition to the family, and Philip made his appearance. In those days, it was the practice for only the first child to be born in hospital, so Philip was born at home. [Three photographs of Henry with his children]
[page break]
127
[Six photographs of the family]
[page break]
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Henry Wagner's life story. Part one
Description
An account of the resource
Hand written by Henry, Part 1 covers his early life and time at university. It goes on to cover in some detail his time in the RAF, his time training in South Africa conversion to the Halifax and operations on 51 Squadron. It also covers his time as a prisoner of war and his post war career as a teacher in both England and Kenya. This part also covers his marriage, two children and their first house.
Creator
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Henry Wagner
Format
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153 hand written pages with photographs
Language
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eng
Type
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Text. Memoir
Text
Identifier
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BWagnerHWWagnerHWv1-01
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
South Africa
Germany
Kenya
Germany--Winterfeld
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Requires
A related resource that is required by the described resource to support its function, delivery, or coherence.
Henry was born Irish but later became a naturalised British Citizen. He talks of his early life in Ireland, going to school at Henley-on-Thames and went to Reading University. (Higher School Certificate p15). He joined the University Air Squadron. After passing his final year examinations he was called up and joined the RAF. (Photograph p 21).
He passed through the Aircrew Reception Centre in London, Brighton, and Liverpool, Henry found himself sailing to Durban, South Africa. He tried to become a pilot but failed a test in a Tiger Moth so was placed in the Navigational Training School. He met Graham Walker while there. On 23 December 1943 Henry became a Sergeant with a Navigator’s brevet. (Navigator brevet p27).
After moving through RAF West Freugh, Scotland, Henry was then posted to the OTU RAF Abingdon to learn more complex skills in addition to lectures about the Luftwaffe, Intelligence information and ‘Escape and Evasion’. Henry crewed up at Abingdon. (Photographs of crew p 34-5). The next move was to 4 Group Training School, and this confirmed for the crew that they would be flying Halifax Mark 3 aircraft. Here lectures were ‘all good stuff’.
The penultimate move was to 1952 HCU RAF Marston Moor to learn about the Halifax Mark 3 and meet Sergeant Eric Berry, flight engineer. (Photograph p37). Henry describes the duties of the navigator, the use of the ‘Master Bomber’, some of the anti-aircraft techniques that were used in the technological war. (Photograph using of the H2S p39, pieces of the ‘Window’ radar defence p50).
Finally, they moved to RAF Snaith. There Henry took part in raids on Julich near Essen x 2, Hagen (an aborted mission), Soest, in the Ruhr Valley, Duisburg x 2, Aachen, Munster, and Osnabruck. There was a degree of acceptance that they were statistically going to die during their duties.
Henry was returning from a raid when he appraised the pilot that there was a fire onboard. The pilot to decide to abandon the aeroplane, and Henry parachuted from his plane. He landed in the garden of a domestic house and explains the contents of his evasion-pack. He was captured, moved to the Aircrew Interrogation Centre was in Oberursel and then onto Stalag Luft 7 Bankau, Silesia. Here he rejoined John Trumble with whom Henry had undergone part of his training. There was an army padre at the camp and the influence Captain John Collins had on the POWs both at Stalag Luft 7 and when the men were marching to other camps is described. They arrived at Stalag 3A, Luckenwaldwe. Henry describes Red Cross parcel, daily life there, attacks of dysentery, and ‘Goon-baiting’.
When the ‘gen’ revealed the Russians were only 12 miles from the camp, the Germans abandoned them, and RAF Wing Commander Beamont assumed command of the camp. On 22 April 1945, the Russians arrived. They refused to release the POWs, so Henry and John walked 7 miles westwards where they were met by the Americans and taken to the Reception Centre, Schonebeck.
With VE declared and de-lousing completed they were returned to RAF Wing, Aylebury. He shows the graves of his crew (photographs p 99-101).
On demobbing Henry resumed his university studies and became a teacher. He married and had children. Henry went to a Stalag Luft 7 reunion in 1982.
Claire Campbell
1652 HCU
51 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aerial photograph
air gunner
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bomb aimer
briefing
C-47
Caterpillar Club
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Dulag Luft
evading
final resting place
flight engineer
Flying Training School
Gee
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
killed in action
Master Bomber
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
missing in action
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
perception of bombing war
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Acaster Malbis
RAF Heaton Park
RAF Marston Moor
RAF Snaith
RAF West Freugh
recruitment
Red Cross
shot down
Stalag 3A
Stalag Luft 7
target indicator
target photograph
the long march
Tiger Moth
training
Whitley
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30988/SYeomanHT104405v10025.1.jpg
d057d241a829cc5a2ca74b3ce31fa26b
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
Yeoman, Harold
Harold Yeoman
Harold T Yeoman
H T Yeoman
Description
An account of the resource
31 items. Collection concerns Harold Yeoman (b. 1921 1059846 and 104405 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a pilot with 12 Squadron. Collection contains an oral history interview, a memoir, pilot's flying log book, 26 poems, a photograph and details of trail of Malayan collaborator.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Christopher E. Potts and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-28
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
Yeoman, HT
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined]POEM – “I ABANDON NOW [/underlined]
I abandon now my sight
And blur in melting eyes
The grim woods
And the words of winter
The creaking stubble
Mottled with black-veined stones
To freeze my hand.
I close my senses to
The thrust and surge
Of throatward blood
Nor move to tissues’ impulse
And the bleak hill
Is silence.
But I am waiting
Beyond the bound of fear
And calm
Past all my crying:
I do not tremble though
The cold steals to numb
This body
To ultimate subjection
Resigned in the dispassionate veil
Of winter’s unreasoned
Despair.
21 Dec 44
Cosford - Tuddenham
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
I abandon now
Description
An account of the resource
Three verses poem about fear, despair and resulution.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1944-12-21
Format
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One page typewritten document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Poetry
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SYeomanHT104405v10025
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Shropshire
England--Sussex
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-12-21
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
arts and crafts
fear
military ethos
RAF Cosford
RAF Tuddenham
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1524/30282/BBaxterPDBaxterPDv1.1.pdf
577eb11ecf5974b8a0c61795657b59c5
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
Baxter, Peter Dennis
P D Baxter
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-07-12
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Baxter, PD
Description
An account of the resource
63 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Peter Baxter (b. 1922, 52604 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, photographs and documents. He was trained as an airframe apprentice at RAF Halton and served as ground crew before volunteering to become air crew. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 12 and 153 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Michael Baxter and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
I Flew with Nine Wing Commanders
Description
An account of the resource
The detailed and wide ranging story of Peter Baxter's service in the RAF from an Airframe Apprentice to Flight Engineer Leader.
Creator
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Peter Baxter
Format
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Book in .pdf
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Memoir
Text
Identifier
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BBaxterPDBaxterPDv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
England--Lincolnshire
England--Buckinghamshire
Wales--Glamorgan
England--Staffordshire
Wales--Gwynedd
Germany--Berlin
Italy--Milan
France--La Rochelle
Europe--Frisian Islands
Germany--Essen
Germany--Düsseldorf
Italy--Turin
France--Lorient
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Nuremberg
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Mülheim an der Ruhr
Germany--Wuppertal
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Wanne-Eickel
Germany--Bonn
Germany--Paderborn
Italy
Great Britain
Germany
France
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
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.
12 Squadron
153 Squadron
50 Squadron
aerial photograph
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
Battle
Beaufighter
Blenheim
bombing
Cook’s tour
coping mechanism
crash
crewing up
debriefing
dispersal
Distinguished Flying Medal
Do 217
entertainment
final resting place
fitter airframe
fitter engine
flight engineer
fuelling
ground crew
Halifax
Halifax Mk 1
Halifax Mk 3
He 111
Heavy Conversion Unit
incendiary device
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
Lincoln
mess
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Navy, Army and Air Force Institute
Nissen hut
nose art
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
pilot
promotion
RAF Cosford
RAF Faldingworth
RAF Halton
RAF Hemswell
RAF Kirmington
RAF Llandwrog
RAF Scampton
RAF St Athan
RAF Sturgate
RAF Tilstock
RAF Waddington
RAF Wickenby
recruitment
target photograph
training
Whitley
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/524/8758/AAn00202-150907.2.mp3
3a51154e9d6d6fcbea96557bce0d714b
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
A Navigator from 101 Squadron
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
An00202
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with a leader navigator from 101 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: So it’s rolling now and my name is Chris Brockbank and I’m conducting an interview with [name redacted] and he wishes to remain anonymous when the recording is lodged, and we are at his home which is near Scunthorpe and we’re going to talk about his career in general but specifically the wartime activities and today is the 7th of September 2015. [redacted] could you start by saying where you come from and what your early life was and how you came to join the RAF, and then your history from there please?
AN: I was born in London and after education I spent a time in the city of London as a clerk cum secretary initially to a Lloyds underwriter, and after that to a shipping company and from there I volunteered for the RAF. Didn’t like the idea of the army or the navy but as a Londoner I wanted to get into the war having experienced the Blitz. I was taken on, on the PNB scheme and went first of all to America for pilot training with the United States Air Force, which I failed as many people did, and I was given the option to re-muster to navigator. I went to Portage La Prairie west of Winnipeg and when we started there we were told the important thing for a navigator was to remain on track and we were also told that one important aim, rather one important aid, was astro-navigation using a sextant. I did the course at Portage La Prairie which I passed, came back to England having done a little astro-navigation in the air but on the ground we were required to take hundreds of shots and plot them out for the instructors to check to make sure we hadn’t cooked them and then after that I came back to England, went to RAF Melham? where I did more flying once again no astro-navigation because as newcomers to this aid we had to be precise and this took time, and if you’re flying around the UK it’s short legs, it’s short legs and you haven’t got time to do astro-navigation and so I had my course at Melham? and then with a lot of other newly qualified aircrew I went to Wymeswold where one important thing we were told was that a good aircrew was a good team and we then went into a big room where we were told ‘crew up’ and so we stood around whilst the pilots picked us out and Rusty picked me and then together we picked our bomb aimer, our wireless operator and a gunner. We did our flying from Wymeswold and Castle Donington and then after that we [loud crackling noise].
CB: Just dropped it, we’re okay.
AN: After this we proceeded to Blyton where we converted from the Wellington which we’d trained on at Wymeswold to the Lancaster, at the same time we also picked up an engineer and a second gunner so we were now a crew of seven. Having done our course, once again including night flying but very little navigation we were then posted to 101 Squadron. We knew nothing about the squadron and we arrived to find that instead of getting H2S, a map reading radar to help with the navigation, instead we’d picked up an eighth crew member who spoke German and so was able to jam the German instructions to their night fighters. Also, once again it was stressed to us about staying on track, there being safety in numbers, also the question of timing. Bomber Harris didn’t want aids to be, the bombing to be in bits he wanted a complete termination of the target if you like and so we had to keep to timing that we were given and at the same time this meant that we had, we were spaced throughout the attack and this gave coverage to every, the whole Bomber Force against the night fighters or so it was thought. The other thing we found was that while we were at Wymeswold and Blyton we were introduced to a lovely aid called Gee, where you counted blips on a screen and converted this on special charts to latitude and longitude, but when we got to 101 Squadron we found the Germans had found Gee equipment on crashed aircraft and they were jamming the signals so our last Gee signal, our last reliable fix, was going to be round about the French coast, so we needed to get to height as soon as possible so we got a chance of getting a reliable wind because when we went to briefing, the navigation briefing for an operation we were given the forecast weather, the forecast winds, but bear in mind the forecast winds were based on what the meteorologists knew about the weather in the UK plus information sent back by Coastal Command from the North Atlantic patrols which [laughs] didn’t give you much. So it meant that once we got flying and got past the Gee stage where we had long legs we had time to practise, to use astro- navigation. If there was cloud cover and we couldn’t use astro then the next fix we were going to get would be when the bomb aimer said ‘Bombs gone’ so we needed if possible to get a fix in between to get some idea most importantly of whether we were on track and secondly that things were, we were also on time. So it meant that when we got into the bombing area and the bomb aimer said ‘Bombs gone’ I had to work quick to reset my equipment to get an accurate wind to use on the way back. Now there is a funny story goes with this. As I say I was kept busy but on our first trip the skipper asked me to come up front to have a look at the target to see, and so I saw all these bomb flashes and the flak and everything and my comment was ‘Bloody hell’ and I went back into my office and I never came out to look at a bombing, as a target, until my last trip. The other job I also had to do was that the captain would report to me when he saw an aircraft being shot down which I recorded, and I think that all these reports were combined after the war to ascertain as far as possible where aircraft were lost. I’ll have to stop and think for a minute, yes, I’ve already said to you I don’t look upon myself as a hero, I was doing a job. These are my thoughts, also why did we survive a tour when other crews didn’t? Well I like to think my navigation helped but in all honesty we got through because of luck. We had an in-flight collision, we survived the other crew didn’t. Also we lost an engine on one occasion and Rusty had to decide whether or not we should go on. This is where we had a bit of a hiccup, at Blyton we picked up an engineer. When we flew round the UK he seemed okay, but he couldn’t cope with operational flying and on the occasion when we lost an engine instead of being able to give Rusty advice on whether we could carry on to the target or not he was lying on the floor and it was a case we had to get rid of him, and in his place we got a very good engineer which also helped. In the same way we survived fighter attacks, we had good gunners, the thing is we were a crew but we were a team. We relied on each other and we trusted each other. In the year that I flew with Rusty never once did he ever query a heading I gave him or a change of speed I gave him, he trusted me implicitly and this is how our crew operated, we relied on each other and this plus luck is why we were able to finish a tour. Right, after I finished my tour I went instructing back at Wymeswold and whilst I was there Wymeswold was taken over by Transport Command and I spent a lot of my years until I retired in Transport Command. I became an A category navigator which meant that I was qualified for up to royalty. I carried, in my capacity as a navigator, various persons like Field Marshal Montgomery, I was part of a back-up crew when the Duke of Edinburgh visited Borneo, this was it, I enjoyed Transport Command, it was hard work you did a lot of flying but you saw a lot of the world in bits. I say in bits because if you went somewhere you were allowed twelve hours on the ground which included sleeping, eating, briefing. Didn’t have time to see anywhere but when on Britannias we slipped crews so therefore you had about a twenty-four hour gap between legs so then if you wanted to you could go into the local area. Apart from my transport work I obviously had ground appointments like adjutants and things like that and also I finished up at Scampton where I was involved in the training of radar navigators for the Vulcan and also for, oh dear, the coastal fighter. Anyway can’t think what it was but we were training radar navigators and that’s where I finished my RAF career.
CB: Did you fly in the Nimrod?
AN: No, no, no it was the Buccaneer.
CB: The Buccaneer yes right, okay, we’ll pause for a moment.
AN: After the air force I spent six months playing golf then I got bored then I became a civil servant for ten years.
CB: Doing what?
AN: Clerical work and then I retired again. I think I’ve covered everything in a nutshell.
CB: You’ve covered it really well thank you. So shall we cover one or two other bits?
AN: Yes certainly.
CB: This business of LMF.
AN: Um hum.
CB: And the navigator, what happened to people, well first of all in the case of the navigator, what happened to him? I didn’t mean the navigator, I meant the flight engineer, your flight engineer what happened to him as a result of that?
AN: We never saw him again. He was off the station very quickly. I mean we don’t think he was LMF we think it was medical.
CB: Right.
AN: Now because if he’d been LMF, now I was, it was after I left the squadron, my wife told me about it the LMF parade where the person concerned is, marches on and his stripes are torn off his uniform and then he’s off the station. LMF, were they LMF? Who can tell? I mean that in all honesty I don’t think I ever worried about what would happen to us until I started going out with my wife. Then I had a reason for wanting to survive but until then, I can’t, I can’t speak for other crew members because that’s something you keep to yourself. We all, well I say all, we had little mascots, I had a little doll I had in my inside pocket of my battledress, you got, you got very, very, very how can I explain it, you, you, you things had to happen, people might fly in a silk scarf, these things went on. Now our Canadian rear gunner he always took two beer bottles with him so he could bomb the target himself. Now one night, the station commander used to come round and wish us all luck and the Canadian rear gunner told him he hadn’t got his beer bottles so the station commander went back to the mess and brought him two beer bottles so he went on the raid happy that he could bomb Germany.
CB: These little snippets are classic aren’t they but people were handling stress in different ways?
AN: Um.
CB: I think that the LMF bit one doesn’t want to overstate at the same time it is important to understand it and some people as you say perhaps had, weren’t feeling very well, and would react in a particular way and it wasn’t actually lacking moral fibre.
AN: Yes. You see, I mean in my case as a navigator, I was busy, I was busy all the time. I mean if I was in the middle of taking, I mean it was three astro sights to a fix. If I was in the middle of that and we hit bumpy weather or we were attacked by a fighter that was wasted time, had to start all over again so I was kept pretty busy, then had, I mean I hoped that when I took my three shots it would meet exactly in the middle, never happened you got a cocked hat. Provided this cocked hat wasn’t too large you could say ‘Right I’ll go for the middle of that cocked hat and I can trust that’ but I mean you had to take each case on its merits.
CB: But occasionally there would be a very high cloud top cover so what did you do then?
AN: Oh yes true, then all you could do was just hope.
CB: Um.
AN: You couldn’t do anything, and because I had no aids.
CB: But you were clearly skilled at using the equipment.
AN: Dead reckoning.
CB: Yes.
AN: But that was based on the winds the met office, the met can’t forecast weather now so. And of course one other thing when we talk about luck we were on the Nuremberg raid, the ninety-three aircraft.
CB: Yes.
AN: Well we lost a quarter of the squadron on that and amongst us the quarter of the squadron we lost was our most senior crew on their twenty-ninth or thirtieth trip. And how were they lost? They were shot down by a gunner in a Halifax aircraft who mistook the Lancaster for a night fighter.
CB: Crikey.
AN: Now the thing is.
CB: Savage irony.
AN: We were taught, right from the word go, that if the night fighter, if you saw a night fighter, if he wasn’t attacking you, ignore him, because if you fire on him you’re giving away your position.
CB: Yes.
AN: This is another bit of luck.
CB: Um, um. What happened to the crew in that case?
AN: They were all, one escaped, one evaded but the rest were killed.
CB: Um. Okay, now as I understand it from Rusty you had a curious experience of an explosion beneath the aircraft?
AN: Oh this was at Mailly-le-Camp.
CB: Yes. So that put you inverted?
AN: Well, I think Rusty is a little bit incorrect there.
CB: Right.
AN: Because if we had been upside down, or doing a slow roll I think he terms it, he tells everybody this, and I keep quiet. If we had inverted my sextant in its box would have been at the side of me. If he’d inverted the box would have gone up in the air and come down and clobbered me. I don’t recall a sextant clobbering me.
CB: Okay.
AN: That’s all I can say.
CB: Yes, okay. Now fighters chase you and the rear gunner says ‘Corkscrew’.
AN: Yes.
CB: How did you manage that situation as a navigator?
AN: Well as navigator I mean i just sat there and waited for all clear. I mean the thing is we had a, we had a number of attacks but only one where it persisted and we felt that the normal night fighter pilot he could have been new and if we took the correct action he’d go and find somebody else who was asleep. This particular one continued the attack and our gunner shot him down. [Chuckling] luck.
CB: Um. So you’re a special ops squadron, what was going on with your German speaker crew member?
AN: In what way?
CB: Well he sitting in the back?
AN: Yes.
CB: What was he actually doing and did you link in with it?
AN: Well the, as I say, our operators, who were ABC operators were spaced throughout the attack and I think they were given certain frequencies each to monitor. We didn’t know much about this because we only saw our special at briefing, he didn’t live with the rest of us, they were kept away from us in case they said if they talked in their sleep.
CB: Yes.
AN: And gave away secrets.
CB: Yes.
AN: So we knew nothing really of what he did, but he like me was lucky when we talk about being afraid. He, like me, was kept busy. The wireless operator was kept busy but all the rest were spending all their time looking out for fighters and seeing people shot down. I didn’t experience that, our special didn’t, the wireless operator didn’t ‘cause we were all kept busy doing our jobs and we were fortunate in that respect.
CB: And what was the wireless operator doing linking in with you?
AN: Well that he couldn’t help me as such but he was, he was listening out for, there were broadcasts at certain times, we had a classic case where it was, well Rusty was in London getting his uniform and we went to Berlin with the squadron commander, and this particular one we were going, we were coming in to Berlin from the north, from Denmark. The forecast wind was something like sixty-five miles an hour. They’d started then, certain aircraft were given the job of giving broadcast winds, which they were giving to us and so we were given something like eighty-five when I got a pinpoint on the Danish coast I reckoned it was a hundred and thirty, and we were coming into Berlin with the wind right behind us, and I had to say to the wing commander, ‘Do an orbit’, he did an orbit, I said ‘Flaps down, undercarriage down’, now normally speaking we had a system, when the bomber aimer said ‘Bombs gone’ the bomb doors were closed, Rusty put the nose down and we got the hell out of there. I had planned, I planned that, I loved that because it was a short run out of the target before you turned west. Too far, too short and you’re off track. In this instance the wing commander he was sitting down in his cockpit on instruments and we’re going through with nothing on the clock and I said to people afterwards, ‘How do I say to a wing commander for Pete’s sake let’s get the hell out of here?’ A bit of, looking back on it funny.
CB: Yes.
AN: But not at the time.
CB: No quite, because there’s a strict hierarchy?
AN: Um.
CB: So bombs have gone, then there’s the delay while you wait for the picture to be taken?
AN: For the picture to be taken yes.
CB: What was that like?
AN: It seemed a lot longer than it was but the thing is we had this short distance to run which took that into account, as I say and then we turned and by then hopefully I would have worked out a wind and the first thing I do, no sooner turned on a course, I’d give Rusty a new one to allow for where we were and what the wind was, or what I thought it was.
CB: So you’re over the target, you’ve dropped the bombs, the flash has gone and you’ve taken the picture. There are lots of planes around you so how do you take a new heading when there are so many, so close, how long before you change heading?
AN: Well, we wouldn’t change, we’d change heading when we got to the end of that particular leg out of the target.
CB: Right.
AN: It was a case in the same way we had our collision, it happened. Who’s to say how many aircraft collided with each other, and why did they? I mean the thing is this, that at night you can’t see much, this is what we relied on for our safety, the fact we were in the dark.
CB: Sure. Now you went on ops to do your thirty?
AN: Um.
CB: But you didn’t fly every night, so what did you do on the nights when you weren’t on operations?
AN: Well.
CB: And in the days?
AN: Well, the thing is first of all I mean we’d flown by night and we’ve come back at dawn, we’re ready for sleeping. It would all depend, I mean it might well be we were down for fighter affiliation or an air test or something, it could vary in the same way we might get back and they’d say ‘You’re on ops again tonight’ because being the special squadron we sometimes flew not with, we were 1 Group, but we might be flying with 5 Group, covering 5 Group from the fighters.
CB: So the attrition rate on your squadron was higher than the average of others?
AN: Yes, because I mean the thing is that we did our first op in November and finished our last op 4th June and in that we did thirty trips.
CB: Um. So in then extending, so when you were flying with the others then you’re doing a higher rate of ops?
AN: Yes.
CB: How did that go down with the aircrew?
AN: I don’t think we ever, we ever talked about it really. I mean we had a spell where the Bomber Command in its wisdom said ‘Oh, getting ready for the invasion we’re doing the French targets’ and because they’re French targets they’ll be a third of an op which would have taken us longer, but after Mailly-le-Camp where we lost a lot of aircraft they changed their minds. So all of a sudden we suddenly found we’d done more ops than we thought.
CB: [Laughter] Right.
AN: But once again my attitude changed when I started going out with my wife. Before then, before then it was the case that if there were no ops then right it was down to the village pub with our ground crew. We were very fortunate with our ground crew, we had a corporal in charge of our aircraft, he’s dead now unfortunately, but he lived in Scotland just near Perth, and if any of us were up in Perth area we’d always pop and see him and his wife, and he was a corporal he stayed a corporal he wouldn’t take promotion ‘cause he would be going away from his aircraft. He had a radio at dispersal and he heard us coming back, he was ready for us, and if we were going on an op I’d get in the aircraft and I’d unpack my stuff ready, my chart, and if one of the ground crew was coming up front he’d say ‘I’m coming up front cover your chart up’. Never asked us until we got back then they’d ask us where we’d been. In the same way that after we’d had our collision and the aircraft was a write off we came in the next day, not only did we have a new aircraft we had a new insignia, the insignia that’s on that picture there, ‘Our Willy’.
CB: So there was, in your case there was a very close liaison with the ground crew, what about other aircrew when their?
AN: Well this is the thing that the loss rate was so high you didn’t get to know people. I mean you knew the odd people for different reasons, I mean I didn’t even know all the navigators because I mean you go into briefing, you see we had a nav briefing then there was the crew briefing when we could see peoples’ faces when they saw what the target was, we’d already had that shock we’d got over it but it was the briefing and then after I’d finished, I’d finished doing my calculations I’m back as a crew member again, I’ve ceased to be an individual.
CB: Yeah.
AN: And so you did, I mean I’ve had people say to me ‘Did you remember so-and-so?’ I’d say ‘No, never heard of him’ whereas on the other, yesterday I was able to say to Rusty ‘Yes the aircraft next to us was x squared and the captain was McKenna’ why I don’t know I remember that but it’s, people change so much.
CB: When you took off you had to form up?
AN: Well.
CB: How place?
AN: Well not, no not necessarily, what we had, we had a beam and we would fly up and down the beam climbing and then once we reached a certain height we would then set off bearing in mind I wanted us to get to operating height so I had time to calculate a wind.
CB: Was the beam radio or was it a searchlight?
AN: No it was a radio.
CB: Right, and anyway you were interspersed in the stream?
AN: Oh yes, yes.
CB: So actually you didn’t go as a squadron?
AN: The ones going, the ones in our area would be from Knutford?
CB: Yeah.
AN: Wickenby would have their own system I assume.
CB: Right, okay. Now in the day time and you’re not sleeping after an op what are you doing?
AN: Well, it might be fighter affiliation.
CB: Could you just describe what fighter affiliation involved?
AN: Well fighter affiliation.
CB: How it works?
AN: It would be arranged that we would go to a certain point somewhere and a fighter would suddenly arrive and our job was to take evasive action the way we would have done if it were a German night fighter. It was just to make sure that the two gunners were on the ball and the reaction by the pilot was okay.
CB: Okay. Going back to crew and operations, the air bomber is up front doing in the run-in, how did you link with him?
AN: Well, the link with him is as we were getting near the coast I’d say to him ‘Can you give me a pin point?’ and I got the same answer every time, ‘I can’t give you a pin point but we’re dead on track.’ That was my link with him. His job before we got to the target was throwing out Window strips but you see the thing is that, as I said to you, we were told ‘A crew is a team.’ Now think of the composition of our crew. Pilot a Geordie, engineer Lancashire, bomb aimer Birmingham, I’m from London, wireless operator from Wales, mid upper gunner from Lancashire, special operator from Norfolk, rear gunner from Canada, there’s a mixture for you, but we clicked as a team in the same way that if we go back that when the squadron association was formed in 1977 for about two or three years we were unique we had eight crew members at the reunion, as time went on some of them didn’t make it but at the moment we still have five out of eight.
CB: Um. Your special ops man was Ted Manners?
AN: Ted Manners yes.
CB: After the war he could meet with you could he and tell you what he was doing? Or did you not get into that conversation?
AN: I met Ted in northern Italy when he was an intelligence officer.
CB: Still in the RAF, he was?
AN: Still in the RAF, yes.
CB: Right.
AN: I met Rusty at Cranwell in 1951 when he had taken some Canadian cadets to the graduation at Cranwell when Princess Elizabeth was the, the⸻
CB: Reviewing?
AN: Reviewing officer.
CB: Yes.
AN: Talking of that incidentally who is coming on the 2nd of October to bless the?
CB: Can I come back to that in a mo?
AN: Yeah.
CB: Yes, thank you, thank you. Now on the, there are some things that are less palatable to discuss but they were, they were the reality of life and it still is today in a different way but with aircrew there was a contentious different approach perhaps and that’s the sexually transmitted diseases challenge, how did you see that?
AN: I, I would say it would depend on the individual. I mean on the book about our crew they talk about Norman Westby, our bomb aimer, being taken to Grimsby by some of our crew where he met Luscious Lil [chuckling]. But, but, but we, apart from the nights when we went drinking to a degree we went our own ways. I mean if you weren’t going to the pub it was the case you got the bus into Louth you could go to the pictures, come out of the pictures, get your fish ‘n’ chips and get the bus back.
CB: Um. I was thinking of other crews and just in the RAF in general because you, it’s the sort of thing that isn’t a secret so.
AN: Well see once again we didn’t mix with other crews.
CB: No?
AN: We were our own little environment.
CB: Right, and I think that’s the point, yeah.
AN: But you see I mean the thing is that, that we have got this, I have got this connection with the rest of the crew. I, after the war I flew with many crews.
CB: Yeah.
AN: With many units but I never went to the associations, to other squadron’s associations meetings, it’s only 101. I spent the least time on 101 but it was the time when we were fighting for our lives.
CB: Um.
AN: And I think it’s a different attitude in the same way as I say that Rusty never once queried a heading. Now I had a case where I was flying with a flight sergeant and I was what’s known as the wing navigator, I was an examiner, and I was flying in the Middle East and I gave him an alteration of heading and he queried it. When eventually the beacon came up and we were dead ahead. Did he apologise? Not bloody likely, and that’s the difference. I mean I don’t know what was going through Rusty’s mind, he may have told you when I gave him an alteration, we had the joke in that I would tell him off for being one degree off, because if you’re going at sixty miles an hour every sixty miles you’re one mile off for a degree, but I mean this was it, it was a joke. Certain things we treated as a joke.
CB: Just going to pause there for a moment.
AN: Yes sure.
CB: Thank you.
AN: Now can I offer you⸻
CB: We’re on again now and just going to recap on one point which was the raid in France on the tank training school so what was the background to that then Jumbo?
AN: Well, the school was in two parts, the accommodation and the technical side. I can’t remember which was which but 5 Group went in first and we were told to orbit until we got permission to bomb and while this was going on aircraft were being shot down while they were orbiting, and Rusty said ‘Oh we’re not having any more of this’ and he moved away from the orbiting until we got permission to bomb, then we went in. But we had this flash and the tail went up in the air, the nose went down, what it was I don’t know but it put us into a steep dive and as far as I recall it was Rusty and the engineer were pulling at the control column to get the aircraft back on an even keel.
CB: Um.
AN: As far as I can recall.
CB: Um.
AN: Because the thing is things were going on but you see the great thing with our crew, Rusty maintained that only people who needed to talk on the intercom talked, and if for example we were being attacked then anybody else talking shuts up. On the bombing run Norman’s in charge.
CB: Um.
AN: And this seemed to work very well, I mean most of the time our intercom was quiet, now compare that with the intercom on the American aircraft.
CB: Um, V17?
AN: Yeah, on the film.
CB: Memphis Belle?
AN: Memphis Belle. The noise on that intercom, the yakking going on.
CB: Um.
AN: I mean you can only listen to one person and that didn’t happen in the Memphis Belle at all.
CB: Um. Now part of the challenge with the raid you’ve just talked about was interference, radio interference so what was that?
AN: Well it was an American forces network, dance music, which seemed to be on the same frequency. I don’t know the technicalities of it at all, how it happened, why it happened, but this was the case that er, and it’s responsible. I mean we lost four or five crews on that which is a lot.
CB: Um.
AN: Not as bad as Nuremberg but still enough.
CB: Um. Was the high attrition rate due to the fact that the Germans were able to lock onto your special ops operator?
AN: Well, well, all I know is what I’ve read is the fact that the Germans developed a new system in that they had pockets where the fighters would patrol and they covered certain areas and that way they cut down the amount of fuel that was being used and so I think to a large degree the ABC became superfluous.
CB: Okay.
AN: Only an opinion.
CB: Yeah. Now what about Scarecrow?
AN: Scarecrow, well you see once again, Scarecrow was a form of flak. I mean in fact on the Mailly one I put in my logbook ‘a scarecrow up the flare shoot.’ I don’t know.
CB: Because the notion is, or was, that Scarecrow was actually a spoof to overcome the fact that the RAF could do nothing about the upward firing guns in the night fighters.
AN: Well do you know?
CB: Causing blow-up.
AN: We never knew about the upward firing guns.
CB: Oh really.
AN: And I mean I read about it somewhere and I said to Rusty ‘Did you know about it?’ and he said ‘No’. So we were flying in blissful ignorance.
CB: Um, ‘cause the notion was that the explosion wasn’t a special type of shell called Scarecrow but was the explosion as a result of the Schrage Musik.
AN: You wouldn’t be able to tell unless you were close to the explosion.
CB: Quite.
AN: Because I mean, the thing is that it was, the flak was going on all around you.
CB: Yeah.
AN: I mean, the thing is that, I remember on one trip we did we went to Aachen two nights running. The first night we did at normal altitude, the second night we descended and dropped the bombs in the descent as I recall and our special said afterwards that he heard the Germans giving our height just as we passed it, so the stuff was going off above us not below us. But that’s only what I was told at the time.
CB: Yeah sure. Now after the war, the war comes, you finish your tour, you then go to instruction. What were you instructing on then?
AN: Well it was navigating, either self-navigation equipment or DR, dead reckoning navigation or flying as a screen with them.
CB: In what type of aeroplane?
AN: Well it was a Wellington.
CB: So this is OTU?
AN: At the OTU at Wymeswold. I went back to Wymeswold.
CB: Um.
AN: And as I say Wymeswold was taken over by Transport Command and I suddenly found myself navigating Dakotas.
CB: Oh right. So when did that start?
AN: Well that would be have been at the end of, at the end of, probably about the end of ’44.
CB: Right.
AN: Then at the end of the war I went overseas on ground appointments and then I came back and eventually I came back onto Transport Command again.
CB: What did you do overseas?
AN: I was a briefing officer or an adjutant. I was an adjutant at Treviso, unit adjutant Treviso, station adjutant at Udine and a wing adjutant at [indistinct]. Then I came home and did the staff navigation course.
CB: Right. What was the OTU number that you were at when you were training at Wymeswold?
AN: I think it was either 93 or 108.
CB: And then when you went back again same people were there were they?
AN: It had a different number then I think. That may be why I’m thinking of two numbers. Well I mean actually what happened was I was there at Wymeswold some people were posted out, new people posted in and I had to do the course that a trainee would do, because it was my first time I learnt about trigonometry.
CB: Which was important for Dakotas?
AN: [Laughter] Well it’s like the same thing that people say you’ve got to be a mathematician to be a navigator, that’s a load of rubbish. As long as you can get two and two makes four.
CB: What was the ACU number at Blyton?
AN: Dear me, now you’re asking something.
CB: Doesn’t matter. Okay so then after the war and you’ve finished your adjt job, what happened then as a sequence until when you gave up flying?
AN: Oh no, I didn’t give up. No, I came back from Austria and then I then went onto a reserve centre, teaching reservists’ navigation and then I went onto Hastings and did a few years at Hastings, then I spent a spell as an examiner of navigators, and then, that included tour in Singapore, then I came home from Singapore, um let me think, oh I did more examining and then after that I went to training command for a spell and then I went out to Borneo with the army, I was at the brigade headquarters. And I came home from that and I was on Britannia’s. After Britannia’s I was station navigation officer at Manby and then I went onto training radar navigators at Lindholme and then at Scampton.
CB: And those two were Vulcans or did you do Victors as well?
AN: No, no I did Vulcans because we were at a Vulcan station. But before then I did the navy, the navy, the Buccaneers.
CB: And why nav radar rather than the navigator?
AN: Well because the, the navigators used nav radar and it was a case that, it’s difficult to explain, if you can imagine that you’re flying along and you’ve got a hill coming towards you, you can get the, you can see that as a hill, but as you get closer to it the picture changes, and I don’t know what instruction they had because what happened was that we would take off in the Hastings with the radar navigator at the back with an instructor and they, the trainee, he would do the navigating but we were the safety crew, and I mean it was very interesting flying at five hundred feet.
CB: In a Hastings?
AN: In a Hastings. [Laughs]. And of course while we were doing that we also had a spell where we used to go round the, fly round the, oil-rigs to make sure they were okay. We then relieved the Nimrods periodically to do the Cold War patrols, so it was very interesting one way and another.
CB: Yeah. In the V Bombers there are three people at the back, so one’s the navigator, the other’s the nav radar and the third one’s the AEO?
AN: Yes.
CB: So how was the division of labour organised?
AN: I don’t know because I never flew in, I never flew in the Vulcan. The Vulcan chap flew with us because we had the equipment.
CB: So it’s purely dealing with the radar aspects of navigation?
AN: Yes, yes.
CB: Because he was also the air bomber?
AN: Yes.
CB: So then you give up doing that, then what?
AN: Well that was when I retired from the RAF in 1977.
CB: Aged 55? Close? Then what did you do? You did your time off?
AN: I played golf for six months.
CB: And how did you then get into a new career?
AN: Well I saw, well when before I retired from the RAF I went on a course and became associate member of the Institute of Administrative Management. I also took the Civil Service entrance exam and after six months of playing golf and getting bored I saw an advertisement in the paper that they were looking for people, civil servants. So I applied and I spent ten years, most of it at Kirton Lindsay.
CB: Oh right. On things we can’t talk about?
AN: Oh no, no. This was the Environment Ministry but we looked after military and public buildings and married quarters. And then after that when that, they then moved me from Kirton Lindsay to Scampton back where I used to be.
CB: And then you retired?
AN: I retired yes completely.
CB: Okay good, thank you very much. [Pause]. So how did, you were shut away in your office as you said how did you feel about the effect of what you were doing with your bombing, the effect on the ground?
AN: Well I mean we were told, no we were given bits of information about trips we’d done, about whether it was a success or not, um but to me bombing in Germany we were bombing the enemy. I was a Londoner, I lost relatives, not close relatives but I lost relatives. As far as I was concerned I, I had no feelings really about the poor Germans, to me at that time the Germans were our enemy. Now as far as I’m concerned that I could meet someone today and he’s a German, so what the war’s over. I mean the price has been paid and this is the way I think it should be but I mean I didn’t have any feelings about poor Germans at all because it’s no different, we were doing the same as two armies fighting each other. This was, we were one army and the civilians were the other army. Unfortunately reading books since the war a lot of the people who got lost achieved nothing, their lives were wasted.
CB: Um, um.
AN: In case of, as in the Nuremberg raid, I mean as Rusty would say ‘On the Nuremberg raid, we lost more people than the whole of the Battle of Britain’.
CB: We did, yeah.
AN: And I’m afraid I for one, I mean they did a wonderful job in the Battle of Britain, but I for one feel it’s about time we had our turn. I mean every time an aircraft was lost it was seven or eight people.
CB: Yeah, absolutely.
AN: But then that’s life.
CB: You’d given up operations by the, towards the end of the war so did the Dresden raid, were you aware of that?
AN: Well as far as I’m concerned the result of the Dresden raid made me have second thoughts about Winston Churchill because I feel that he did the dirty on us, that on what I’ve read about the Dresden raid it was asked for by the Russians because the troops were passing through Dresden. That is what I have read other people say it’s a lie but to me it was spite in particular that Bomber Harris didn’t get the decoration that the other service chiefs got, and that was small minded I feel.
CB: Um.
AN: But once again Dresden was in the war area. It was unfortunate.
CB: As was Chemnitz down the road? Okay thank you very much.
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Interview with a navigator from 101 Squadron
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Chris Brockbank
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2015-09-07
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Sound
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AAn00202-150907
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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eng
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
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01:00:24 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
He was born in London and worked for some time as a clerk until joined up the Royal Air Force. He did not like the idea of serving in the Army or in the Navy but - as a Londoner - he was keen to take part in the war having experienced the Blitz. He trained in America as pilot, but failed and re-mustered as a navigator at Portage la Prairie, west of Winnipeg (Manitoba, Canada) where he learned astro navigation. Back in England, he crewed up RAF Wymeswold, then trained on Lancasters at RAF Blyton before being posted to 101 Squadron. They were joined by an additional crew member who spoke German and could disrupt night fighters radio communication. During his first operation he saw the target with all bomb flashes and exclaimed: 'bloody hell' - he never left his post to see the effects of a bombing until his last trip. One of his tasks was to note every aircraft shot down, as communicated by the pilot: these pieces of intelligence were then combined as to ascertain where the aircraft were lost. He remembered how they survived a mid-air collision, but the other crew did not; and another incident in which they lost an engine and his pilot, had to decide whether or not they should go on. Retells how the Germans salvaged Gee equipment from crashed aircraft and were able to jam it; the last reliable Gee signal was picked up near the French coast. He recollects that a flight engineer couldn’t cope with pressure when they lost the engine: he panicked and laid on the floor for the whole time. They had to replace him with another one. He ascribed survival to both camaraderie and sheer luck, which includes mascots. He had a little doll inside his battledress, and their Canadian rear gunner used to bring two beer bottles so that he could ‘bomb’ the target himself. One time, since he did not have the beer bottles, the station commander himself went back to the mess so that he could have his beer bottles with him, and he was happy that he could bomb Germany. He said that some reacted in different ways to operations: even if the opertions took a heavy toll on them, this did not automatically equate to lack of moral fibre. Their flight engineer wasn’t a case of that, if he was, he would have had his stripes torn off his uniform while being marched away. He himself, the German speaker special operator, and the wireless operator felt less stressed, being busy all the time inside the aircraft. On the contrary, the rest of the crew could see the operation unfold in front of their eyes. He mentioned an operation to Nuremberg in which they lost a quarter of the squadron. They lost the most experienced crews, who were at their twenty-ninth or thirtieth trip, because of friendly fire. He recollects a corporal serving as ground crew: he was very close to him and to the rest of the crew. He never wanted to be promoted as this would have meant being separated from ‘his’ aircraft. Losses were so high that he could not afford the luxury of befriending other crews. He stressed that he was ‘an individual only when he was attending briefings’, then he became part of his crew. While not on operational flights he took part in fighter affiliation exercises in which they simulate combat situations. He points out the sense of belonging despite individual differences: the pilot a ‘Geordie’, the engineer from Lancashire, the bomb aimer from Birmingham, he himself from London, the wireless operator from Wales, the mid upper gunner from Lancashire, the special operator from Norfolk and the rear gunner from Canada. He did not consider himself a hero, but merely did his job in an impersonal way - bombing Germany was bombing the enemy. Despite having lost relatives during the Blitz, he did not have hatred: that was war. In a total war, the distinction between civilians and combatants fades. After the war, he realised how many people achieved nothing and wasted their lives.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Leicestershire
England--Lincolnshire
Scotland--Perth and Kinross
England--London
Canada
Manitoba
Manitoba--Portage la Prairie
Germany
Germany--Nuremberg
France
France--Mailly-le-Camp
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Adalberto Di Corato
Carolyn Emery
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
101 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
briefing
C-47
coping mechanism
flight engineer
Gee
ground crew
ground personnel
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
mid-air collision
military ethos
navigator
Operational Training Unit
perception of bombing war
pilot
RAF Blyton
RAF Wymeswold
Scarecrow
shot down
superstition
training
Wellington
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/302/11158/PLambAM1509.2.jpg
31ffd0ebb2c172a89ffe42acd1b2e422
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/302/11158/ALambA170912.1.mp3
4eceb1fe534b4e8d1104247955ad9646
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Lamb, Alexander
Alexander McPherson Lamb
Alexander M Lamb
Alexander Lamb
A M Lamb
A Lamb
Description
An account of the resource
11 items. An oral history interview with Alexander McPherson Lamb (b. 1925, 1827673 Royal Air Force), his decorations, album and photographs. He flew operations as an air gunner with 15 Squadron.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Alexander Lamb and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-25
2017-08-16
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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Lamb
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AL: Start when you want of course.
JS: Yeah.
[pause]
AL: That’s quite incredible. The modern. I’m not, I was never dragged into the twenty first century unfortunately.
JS: Ok. Right. So, if I can just start. This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Jim Sheach. The interviewee is Alistair Lamb. The interview is taking place at Alistair’s home [buzz] on the 12th of September 2017. Alistair, thanks for agreeing to be interviewed. Can you tell me a little about your life before the war?
AL: Well, I was born in the house I live in just now. I went to the local school. I left the school at fourteen as we all did in those days. I became a boy messenger in the War Department. The war of course was on and it was a case of just delivering correspondence around the various army units or army offices in the area. I was always interested in aircraft. My father died in ’41. My mother and I were still here at that time. As I say I was born in this house. Then I got a clerical position in the Civil Service. In the War Department. And then I decided I would have to do something. I didn’t want the army although my father was a regular army man. I went and volunteered for air crew. At least I went for an aircrew interview anyway and I was accepted which with all the usual rigmarole in Edinburgh up at, where was it now? I forget now. In Edinburgh where you had your RAF medical and all the rest of it and, ‘We’ll send for you.’ And shortly after that I was sent for and that’s where I joined the RAF. That would be when, I’m not, I’m not sure of the date, sort of thing. I think it would be sometime 1944 I think it would be I joined up. I can ascertain the details. And from then on it was a case of progression. I just went down there. I volunteered for aircrew. As you know you had to be a volunteer to be aircrew anyway. I didn’t think I was clever enough to be a pilot so I volunteered to be an air gunner. And that’s what I started off and finished up as an air gunner.
JS: Why did you, what, what took you to, to volunteering to be aircrew rather than something else?
AL: Well, I was mad keen on aeroplanes. Always had been. I used to build model aircraft as a young lad. And I didn’t want the army for some strange reason. I wanted to fly. So that’s why I volunteered for aircrew.
JS: So which, which squadron were you in?
AL: 15. It was a peacetime squadron. It had been a pre-war peacetime squadron. When I first started off I went to London to Aircrew Reception Centre at St John’s Cricket Ground. St John’s Wood. We stayed in St John’s Cricket Ground. Never been fussed in my life but some of the lads were so elated to be able to get into Lord’s. We were there about a fortnight to three weeks. We went from there to RAF Bridgnorth to do initial RAF training. Bridgnorth. Did our basic ground training at RAF station at Bridgnorth. If you passed the various tests then what you had you were then selected. You were then said, ‘Right. You’ll be aircrew and as an air gunner.’ Came home on leave and went back to RAF Stormy Down in Wales where I did my initial gunnery training. Stormy Down in Wales. I think I was four weeks, five. Three weeks. I can’t remember. You’ll see in my logbook. We left there and went to, we got our wings there. Our half wing there and our tapes. I came home on leave and I was posted then to 14 OTU Market Harborough for flying Wellingtons and to crew up. I don’t know if, do you know about the crewing position do you? There was no compunction of who you flew with. A very strange thing. The first time, when you went to what was called an Operational Training Unit you were all mixtures maxtures and you were given a fortnight to get together and at the end of the fortnight you did some ground training. Basic ground training. You were air crew by this time. You did some basic ground training and at the end of a fortnight you were sent in to a huge hangar. You were asked to crew up. You’d met most of the people that you crewed up with. Of course, all the usual rigmarole try and get a warrant officer pilot because he’s got a lot of flying hours and this sort of thing, you know. All these stories they were going about. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. The first chap I met at OTU was a chap from Edinburgh. Jock Bathgate, who was a gunner. So we crewed up straight away Jock and I. He was more, he went about with the wireless op. And that was the three of us went together. I didn’t do much in those days with them. They crewed up then and we went into a huge hangar at the end and the chief flying instructor stood up and said, ‘Are you all crewed up?’ We were all crewed up. ‘Right. That’s how you’ll start your training.’ We, and we were unfortunate in as much as that we had two navigators, one after the other who failed and didn’t pass out. They didn’t, they’d actually became navigators but that was as far as they went. They failed their OTU. They just couldn’t cope. I don’t remember all the story. And we kept piling hours up in Wellingtons and thought we’ll end up in the Far East if this goes on [laughs] And we then eventually had a skipper who was a warrant officer as I said and he was posted away so we were left without a pilot. So we were left without. And at that time this chap arrived. A sergeant from the French Air Force, Jack Darlow who had been, that’s another story but it doesn’t matter. He had been in the French Air Force and the usual way the wheels work what’s this chap with an English name doing in the French Air Force? He was re-mustered and we got him as a pilot and that’s how we more or less settled down after that. We lost two navigators while Jack was there. Just couldn’t cope. And then we crewed up and flew as a crew and flew in Wellingtons at OTU, 14 OTU Market Harborough. We passed out from there and then various leaves and what not we then went to [pause] where was it? 16, I can’t. 15? Heavy Conversion Unit anyway. And we were one of the few crews that were on Stirlings at the Conversion Unit. We went on to Stirlings in the Conversion Unit. We’d had, I think twenty one hours or something. I can’t remember. You need to ascertain from my logbook, on Stirlings which I liked very much actually. We went from there on to Lancs. I can’t remember the, you’ll get it in my logbook there. Then we crewed up and went on Lancs and that’s where we did our training on Lancs. We finished off there. We were at Wigsley. We had one or two scares at Wigsley. We were, intruders were coming across by that time. We were never affected much. They strafed the ‘drome once or twice at night. We then went from there. We were posted to 15 Squadron at Mildenhall in Suffolk. I think we went there, in March ’45 I think we’d be by that time. March ’45. And that’s where I finished up from Mildenhall in Suffolk and I stayed at Mildenhall and stayed with 15 Squadron. After a while we moved to Wyton and I still stayed with them. And I finished up, in ’47 it would be. Still had been at 15 Squadron all the time. The crews all broke up of course as you understand. The war finished and crews were getting broken up and sent over and things changed in the Air Force quite a bit then.
JS: So did you have a choice to stay on longer if crews were getting broken up and demobbed or —
AL: Some people were. I could if I’d wanted. I was an air gunnery instructor by this time. I could have stayed on. But I had a job in the Civil Service to come back to. My mother was herself at home and I thought well in four years time there’ll not be any air gunners and unless I could stay on flying I wasn’t going to stay in the air force. And I decided then when my demob group came to come out. A big drawback. A big drawback, you know. A big difference.
JS: Yeah. How did you get on with your crew?
AL: Very much indeed. They were a great crew. Very. I kept up with most of them for years after the war. The navi, I was the best man at the navigator’s wedding. I used to go to Edinburgh to visit the mid-upper. My skipper’s been across here with his family. We’re Just away this year to see most of his family. I’ve been out to Australia to meet him. The bomb aimer I never kept up with very much. Although we were in the same crew and that. The wireless operator, we kept very much with him. The rest of the crew more or less we went about together. Just, you either, you lose, you do lose contact. You did you know. I didn’t care much for them the wireless operator so I didn’t. He, he was brought into the crew by the other gunner actually, you know, ‘We’ll fly with you,’ sort of style. If there’s a lot of that doesn’t interest you just edit it out or take it out.
JS: No. Fine. Is there, is there a memorable operation you could talk about?
AL: Oh. I’m no hero. I think 15 Squadron did the last, Bomber Command did the last thousand bomber raid. We didn’t know at the time but there was, I’ve got it in my book, nine hundred aircraft I think was involved. That was the last thousand bomber raid, I think of the war. Most memorable would be supply dropping to the Dutch. We did three trips supply dropping to the Dutch. That’s one of the pictures up there. I think that’s about all really. The usual sort of run of the mill operational sorties. Nothing I could remember that was anything different from anything else, you know.
JS: So, so what happened on the, the Dutch supply one?
AL: Well, I don’t know if the history is known very well but evidently the Germans became very nasty and said, right, we’re going to do this and they cut off all the food supplies. The Dutch were actually starving. This would be in April. April. The end of April ’45. And the RAF said, ‘Well, we’ll supply you.’ The Americans did I think. They called it Chowhound or something. We called it Operation Manna. Food from heaven. And we did three trips dropping food supplies to the Dutch and the Germans were told that we were coming anyway and be it on their head if anything happened. We were never fired upon. I don’t know. Some crews said they were fired upon but we were certainly never fired upon. We were down to fifty feet most of the time dropping the supplies. I can tell you from my logbook. I think we did three. We did Valkyrie. I can’t remember the names. There were three pre stations we went to drop food supplies to the Dutch. After that we brought liberated prisoners of war back. Flew them home too. And then the war ended and 15, being a peacetime squadron we weren’t broken up. We stayed as a squadron. The crews all changed of course. If I’m boring you to tears stop me please. Then we said, oh we did the drop trials after the war. We got 617 aircraft with the twenty two thousand pounders. We did drop the trials with them. And then we had 617 aircraft up until I was demobbed. That’s no front turret, no top turret and the bomb bays all cut away. You’ll see pictures in my book over there. Then the crews broke up. Demob came along. You all had a demob group as you know. They asked people to stay on. I think I stayed on a little longer because I was gunnery leader by that time although I wasn’t commissioned. I was a warrant officer on the squadron. And then we flew with anybody more or less after that. A lot of pay, officers wanted to stay back on and they came back in again and the crews all mixed up and it was a different, a different attitude toward life at all altogether you know. You never knew. You didn’t really fly. I flew with Squadron Leader Baker double DSO double DFC. He had been a CO of, I forget the [unclear] of a squadron down south and he stayed on. Tubby Baker. I got on well with Tubby. He was a great guy. With different navigators. With different people in the crew. We’d only one gunner of course. We only had one tail one. We only had the tail turret at that time. And that was more or less just we did a lot of local flying. A lot of flying after the war. Did a lot of local flying. We did drop trials. We did all the drop trials on the U-boat pens. Shipping strikes after the war to find out what damage the bombs and things were doing. So it was all just a matter of just we were flying mostly every day.
JS: So, that was, that was live dropping you were doing on —
AL: Yeah.
JS: On old U-boat pens.
AL: That’s correct. We were dropping dummy four thousand pounders and I can’t remember, I can’t remember, I don’t know I think we dropped — I can’t remember, not twenty two thousand, but they were filled with sand to see what damage they would do. I can try to remember. They did, we did all the drop trials off ships. There was a ship moored in Portsmouth area and we bombed the ship with five hundred pounders and thousand pounders filled with sand. The idea being that they didn’t know at that particular time if an aircraft flying at fifteen thousand feet dropping a hundred pound, or a thousand pound bomb going into a ship what damage it would do. So we dropped these bombs until we actually hit the ship and then we went then, the Navy went aboard and put the equivalent amount of charge where that bomb had landed. Someone should have put where it landed and exploded it from there so they could tell an aircraft flying at fifteen thousand feet dropping a thousand pound bomb on a ship would do X amount of damage. I mean they knew this but this was all actual practice for them, you know, thing for them. So we did quite a bit of that. Dropping, [pause] U-boat pens we were dropping the ten thousand pounders and twelve thousand pounders on the U-boat pens but they weren’t filled. They were filled with sand. They, to see what penetration they would do. And that’s about, really all I can remember of that.
JS: So instead of dropping real bombs you actually dropped something the equivalent weight.
AL: That’s right.
JS: And then you put the charge where they ended up.
AL: Yeah. In the ship.
JS: So it was in effect the same thing.
AL: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
JS: But rather than —
AL: Basically, I can’t remember the full details. As you can imagine it was a long time ago. I think that was basically the idea. We never actually got, we never got the result of what happened. You know what I mean? You’re taxing my memory now.
JS: No. No. You’re doing, no you’re doing really good. You’re doing really good. Don’t worry about that.
AL: I don’t want to line shoot or anything. It’s very difficult because you can’t line shoot people that are in the forces. They know right away what you’re on about. No. No. No. No.
JS: So —
AL: I was fortunate I did a lot of that. As I said to you I was very fortunate to be able to do all that.
JS: Yeah. Yeah. So having flown Wellingtons, Stirlings.
AL: Stirlings.
JS: And Lancasters.
AL: And Lincolns.
JS: And Lincolns.
AL: For our crimes [laughs] they were a heap of junk.
JS: What were the, what were the plusses and minuses between them all?
AL: Oh, I think without a doubt the Lanc was the best aeroplane. There’s no doubt about that. But I liked a Stirling. I used to claim extra flying time because [laughs] [unclear] kids because we were airborne before everybody else. The only thing that brought it home to ourself is, it’s an aside, I don’t know if it’s worthwhile recording this but anyway. You’re up, by the time I started flying on ops there were so many aircraft that you more or less had your own aeroplane. So I mean you flew in the one aeroplane, your own aeroplane most of the time. Other people used it but you always, nearly always flew your own aircraft. And ours was Z-Zebra. You were always told there would be ops on. Not where you were going. You were told you were flying tomorrow. That was it. You was told that. And when we went out to detail I said to skipper, ‘Why are we not in our own aeroplane?’ I said, ‘I’ve been out here with the nav, with the wireless op, with the other gunner cleaning the Perspex.’ We used to, we used to clean our own Perspex. You did it where you went. You know. Anyway, we got to know the ground crew very well. I said, ‘Why are we not in our own aircraft? We should be in Zebra.’ Which was our aircraft. ‘Oh, that’s alright. Don’t worry. I’ll, I’ll tell the ground. I’ll tell them. I will.’ When we went out it was a new crew was flying in Willie. And we said, ‘No. No. We’ll go,’ so when the WAAF dropped us, we were, we were in buses to the aircraft. He said, ‘We’ll just walk across the road,’ he said, ‘And you go to Willie.’ So we went in our own aeroplane. And in those days you flew in tight formations when you got airborne. So the take-offs were fairly tight together so you could keep the flying times the same and you all formated up. You couldn’t taxi Mildenhall on the grass with a bomb load because it was boggy ground. You had to stay on the peri track. So we were in our own aircraft — Z -Zebra, and we took off more or less three together down the runway. And as we took down the runway you used to put the turret on the beam. The story was so it was in case the guns would fire. That was the story. Anyway, put the turret on the beam and as we got airborne it was all very quick and there was not much talking down and we were so busy up front you didn’t talk very much unless [unclear]. I saw Willie feather an engine. And as we climbed away of course we lost track of what was happening we found away, but there was Mosquitoes, I think, I may be wrong. I can’t remember. I think they was, they were dropping four thousand pounder markers. I can’t remember. I maybe thought, maybe I’ve got confused. Anyway, as we pulled away there was this ginormous explosion and as we got airborne, as we were forming up there was an aircraft, and Willie was missing from our three. Thought no more about it. Just that was something had happened. That must be due to the fact, it doesn’t matter anyway. And what we discovered when we came back of course we were logged to fly in Willie. The ground crew were, ‘Christ, Willie’s been shot down. Willie had blown up on take-off. I don’t know the whole story. There was rumours and rumours and rumours. But as far as I can remember they lost an engine on take-off on Willie. Now, with three engines and a full bomb load and fuel you could get airborne. You could get airborne. There’s no doubt about that if you had enough power to get airborne. But I think somebody said they feathered another engine. I don’t know. I can’t honestly remember the details at the time but they went in, in near Barton Wood I think they went in. But there was a village quite near. They blew up. The aircraft blew up and they were all killed. That’s the only sort of thing that brings it home to you. You remember it could have happened to you. It might not have happened to us, I don’t know. But at that, that, that’s what, that’s the only sort of real thing I really you know. Didn’t talk much about it at the time.
JS: Yeah.
AL: I must admit. It’s not really great but you were just asking me so I’m telling you. It’s not worth recording things like that, you know.
JS: I’ve heard stories about difficulties with the Perspex and the turrets and being able to see through it and whatever and stories about the people took the Perspex out of the turrets as well.
AL: We had moved the turret. We had the Perspex taken out of the tail turret. We had the Perspex taken out of the tail turret. At the back. At the front. The whole panel. That all came out. It wasn’t much difference to the coldness anyway. We still had the side Perspex in. Somewhere else you see that a dot on the Perspex could be an aeroplane. You didn’t know so you had to try and keep the thing down you know. That’s why you’d get the, the Perspex cleaning kit. You were usually were out cleaning. It definitely, it varied. That wasn’t part of your duties but if you weren’t flying you went out and did that, you know. If you weren’t flying you see you went back to the crew’s centre and just wait to see what was happening next. It’s difficult to really try and remember clearly. You know.
JS: No, that’s, no. That’s fine.
AL: It’s a long long time ago you’ve got to say.
JS: That’s fine. You mentioned that you, that you got on well with the ground crew.
AL: Aye. Aye.
JS: So was that the same ground, you said if it was your crew and it was your aeroplane.
AL: Aye.
JS: Was that in effect the same ground crew that you saw.
AL: Yeah. Well, of course there might be two people or three people share an aircraft. I don’t remember that. But I know we knew the ground crew quite well. Aye. Aye. Aye. With some, most of, most of the ground crew were flight sergeants and sergeants were peacetime regulars. Not them all but a lot of them were. We, our flight sergeant was a, had been a peacetime regular anyway, you know. And I don’t know what he was but that’s what he was. And we knew the ground crew quite well. Chatted away to them. We knew them. They were very good.
[pause]
JS: So when it came up to, you said you stayed on after hostilities ended.
AL: Aye.
JS: So do you want to tell me a wee bit about what brought you to leaving the RAF then and just what you, what you did after the war?
AL: Well, I left the RAF because I had a job to come home to in the Civil Service. Although I wasn’t established by that time. And also the fact that my mother was herself at home. There seemed to be, there was talk about decanting at that time. I think they were trying to, people had a big house, asked you to go in to a smaller. I can’t remember. This was a sort of thing in the back of my mind. Is that still being recorded? No. No. This was still in the back of my mind. Anyway, I decided to come out. A big drop in wages. A big drop completely. I was a warrant officer by that time. I was on, what was I on? Twelve and six a day, I think. All the different wages you see. Pilots, navigators and bomb aimers as warrant officers they would be on twenty one bob a day. Gunners were poorly paid. We were on, I would be on twelve. I was on twelve and six a day at that time. Anyway, came out and went back to Civil Service. The War Department. And you were told more or less you’ll have to sit the Civil Service exam if you want to stay in the Civil Service. And I wasn’t very bright at school. I mean I was an average person. I wasn’t an academic and I had to sit the Civil Service exam at Stirling Castle [laughs] A whole crowd of us went there. And a lot of [unclear] out. It was the time of all the trouble out in India too. You know about that was ’46 ’47 when India were all breaking up. One of the questions was, “Write all you know about India.” The Indian conflict. And I said to this guy, coming to the car I said, ‘How did you get on?’ ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘All I know about India was Bengal matches and Bengal tigers.’ Well, you see, I mean [laughs] that was all. Anyway, believe it or not I passed the Civil Service exam. And at that time it was a general exam. You weren’t sitting for any particular thing. And I was posted to Social Security. What was it called in those days? Ministry of Pensions and National Insurance I think it was called and being, and being in that as a, when I came out of the Air Force as a non-established civil servant. I was, it was the War Department. When I went in I joined in the War Department. When I went in, ‘You’d better transfer over because the War Department is shutting down.’ I went into what they called the Department of Pensions and National Insurance. And I was there as a junior, as a clerk by at that time and when I passed the Civil Service exam I went back in to that but they were posting people all over and in those days they weren’t very kind to you. You’re posted to so and so. If you don’t want to go you’ll just have to pack it in. So I was posted to Elgin. My mother was at home herself and I thought well this is not much good at all. How can I manage to keep a house going? One thing. Anyway, to cut a long story short I went to Elgin and that was my first established post in the Civil Service was Elgin. And, and then I was able to get a compassionate posting or a transfer posting nearer to home. And the nearest I could get was Alloa and I went to Alloa. And I was in Alloa for ten years. And then a promotion. I was fortunate enough to get Stirling. I came back to Stirling and sat, went on interview boards of course by that time and I was lucky enough to get to stay in Stirling and promotion came along in Stirling. One chap I knew he went to [pause ] I forget where he went to. Grangemouth. I can’t remember. And I was lucky enough to have his post as an EO in Stirling. And I stayed in Stirling until, until I came out which was quite fortunate.
JS: That’s good. That’s good. You, when you, after the war how, how had you felt as a Bomber Command veteran you were treated? What was the feeling towards Bomber Command when you came out at the end of the war?
AL: I think it was alright. I think they were quite pleased to know you’d been an air gunner and all the rest of it. And of course there was the usual sorry about air gunners lasted two days at the time. That was a great rumour, you know. I think everyone was quite ok, I think. Aye. I don’t, I don’t think there was no, no. Everybody was sort of talking at that time about being in the forces and I’d been in the forces. You met everybody — Army, Navy, Air Force you know and you mingled with your work colleagues, two or three work colleagues what had been in the forces with me as well you see. So no. I think you settled in not too bad. It took a while to settle in, you see. You got a little money. I couldn’t afford a car, or a bike or anything. A push bike was about as much as you could afford. You know. It was good to be home of course. That was the point. My mother, being a widow of course you know. And a very — this shouldn’t be recording us. No. I hope not [laughs]
JS: Yeah. We’re still going.
AL: Oh, well.
JS: Shall I stop?
AL: Stop it. I’ll tell you some other things.
JS: That’s fine. Just, just hang on a second.
AL: To fill you in for your own background information.
JS: Let me just stop this.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Alexander Lamb. Two
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James Sheach
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-09-12
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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
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ALambA170912, PLambAM1509
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Pending review
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00:28:58 audio recording
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eng
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
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Alexander Lamb left school in Edinburgh and became a messenger for the War Department. He then took a clerical post with the Department before reaching the age to volunteer for the RAF. He trained as an air gunner and was posted to RAF Mildenhall before moving with the squadron to RAF Wyton. Their aircraft was Z-Zebra and one day he heard that they were to fly in W-Willie. He protested and wanted to fly in their usual aircraft. They did fly in Z-Zebra and on that operation W-Willie crashed on take-off.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Suffolk
14 OTU
15 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
crash
crewing up
ground crew
Lancaster
Lincoln
military ethos
military service conditions
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Operational Training Unit
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Market Harborough
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stormy Down
RAF Wigsley
RAF Wyton
Stirling
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/588/8857/AHubermanA160329.1.mp3
b5727226db7314e09558768a459abf06
Dublin Core
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Title
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Huberman, Alfred
A Huberman
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Huberman, A
Description
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Two items. An oral history interview with Alfred Huberman DFC (1923 - 2023, 1671008 Royal Air Force) and a photograph. He completed 31 operations as a rear gunner on 576 Squadron. He subsequently completed other operations on a second tour with the Pathfinder force at the end of the war.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Alfred Huberman and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Date
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2016-03-29
2016-04-11
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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AS: Ok. So I think we’re ready to start. If I could put the recording machine there and that on there. So this is Andrew Sadler interviewing Alfred Huberman at his home in Hampstead in London on the 29th of March 2016 for the Bomber Command Digital Archive. Thank you, Alfred, for allowing me to come to your home to interview you.
AH: It’s a pleasure.
AS: Can I start by asking you how you came to be in the Royal Air Force?
AH: Well, my father was in the army in the First World War and he didn’t want me to go in the army and we had friends who felt the same way. They, they could only think of the war as trench warfare and bayonet fighting and he thought, he didn’t mind me at all going in the RAF actually. He was quite pleased ‘cause they could only think of the army you know as trench warfare and bayonets you know. That’s how the old timers used to talk. So I volunteered to go in the air force.
AS: And how were you selected?
AH: We went before a committee. People who, you know, examined you and why you wanted to go in and explain your reasons why you wanted to volunteer for Bomber Command.
AS: Before this time can you tell me about your background? Where did you live?
AH: Lived in Forest Gate. You know that’s not far from Mile End, you know. A bit further down near Upton Park and Forest Gate and I wanted to get in the war and get into action and I thought [unclear] because my mum and dad said I won’t go in the army. I wanted to go in the air force anyway and I volunteered in the air force when I was eighteen.
AS: So you started when you were eighteen.
AH: I went in. Yes.
AS: Can you tell me about your training?
AH: Yes. I first started training as a wireless operator air gunner. Started off in Blackpool and towards the end of ‘41 and I really, coming towards the end of it I really didn’t like being a wireless operator and I thought I’m not going to go through this, I don’t like this. I deliberately failed and re-mustered to go straight AG which they did, you know. The sent me for training as an air gunner.
[pause]
AH: Training was really tough. All kinds of things. You had to go on route marches. They made the training deliberately tough because it was tough being an air gunner and you’ve got to be tough mentally and physically to take it. That’s what the trainers all thought and the air force knew that and the quick, it quickly got sorted out, the good and the bad. You know, you could tell the guys who couldn’t make it. You know you felt a great deal of pride in being able to pass through ‘cause it was tough, physically and mentally, the training.
AS: Were there many who didn’t pass?
AH: Yeah. Yes.
AS: Where did you do the -?
AH: I’ll tell you this one thing that does seem funny. We thought it was funny at the time but quite a few rejected were those chaps who came from the Highlands of Scotland. No one could understand what they were talking, the way they spoke. So they couldn’t be correct, you know to serve on a plane. You couldn’t hear what they were talking about and there was quite a number of them who got knocked out for that but the course was so tough the weak ones were soon sorted out who weren’t, weren’t the right type for it.
AS: Where did you do your gunner training?
AH: In Bridgnorth. But you know being keen on being an air gunner I enjoyed it. The training was tough but it was, it was good.
AS: What did you do as part of your training?
AH: Well it does seem strange. We did quite a few fifteen mile, fifteen mile route marches which sorts out the weak from the strong and the weak ones did drop out and couldn’t take the fifteen miles. It got sorted out because it was a tough procedure to get through it because the corporals in charge were real tough guys and made you go, took you through the hard parts of the woods on the training.
AS: Did you join the RAF straight from school or did you work in between?
AH: I wasn’t, yeah I worked in between. I went to art school for a while in the fashion industry and I was also training at St Martin’s Art School. That’s why all these paintings that you see around are all mine.
AS: Yeah.
AH: And how can I follow on that one? I was keen to get in, to go on operations. The war was on and I wanted to get in the action.
AS: Presumably you were in East London and the bombing had started of East London.
AH: Yeah. I was in there during the bombing. We got bombed out. That’s what made me, oh that’s, I’m glad you reminded me. That’s, that’s what made me really keen to get at the Germans. We got bombed out in 1940. We went up, I had to go out and live with relatives in Leeds quite a number of months as well.
AS: How long did your training last?
AH: Well total training as air gunner? [pause] You don’t include being at OTU with that. Just solely training as air gunner. Oh God I think it was, I can’t think correctly but I think it was about six months.
AS: And then where were you posted?
AH: We passed out at the number 1 Air Gunnery Training School was at Bridgend. I passed out from there. You know, we had to do flying training there, you know, as an air gunner, you had, we trained on Ansons at gunnery school. Flying at Bridgend and it was, the training was really tough but it was nevertheless enjoyable. The comradeship was great. It all started from there. Air crew comradeship. Flying in Ansons. Shooting at drogues. We had to do, there was plenty of physical training as well. They made sure you were fit. A lot of physical training. Tough physical training every day. They kept us at it in air gunnery training. Training, you know. ‘Cause you really had to be fit. Their attitude was absolutely correct. One hundred percent correct. You had to be fit because you know, they knew you were going on trips from six to ten, eleven hours and at the time it was strenuous and you had to be really strong and fit especially sitting in the back where it was cold.
AS: What about after you’d finished your training?
AH: We then went to Operational Training Unit and to get sorted out into crews and you mixed and you talked with pilots, navigators and everything and in the mess all mixing together and you got sorted out. The first crew we got sorted out with we didn’t get on with one another. Broken up and then got sorted, got re-sorted again with another, six other chaps who found one another, talking together and we crewed up and they were a great crew, my crew were, every one of them. Super guy, the pilot especially. He was, he was a marvellous pilot and all the rest of my crew were. Each one of us. We were like brothers and he kept, the pilot, Ron Ireland he really kept his eye on us that we didn’t drink too much and one outstanding thing when we went to our first operational station, we went into the mess and of course you meet other guys that you knew during training and they came up to you and the first words they said to you, ‘Alf, whatever you do I’ll give you one bit of advice. Don’t worry or look about losses. Dismiss it from your mind because if you start worrying about losses,’ he said, ‘You can’t do a good job.’ And that was outstanding that. How they all told, told the newcomers at that point. I think it’s worth mentioning that.
AS: Where were you stationed to start with?
AH: What, operationally? Elsham Wold. Near Scunthorpe. And it was a great station. The comradeship was fantastic. The CO.
[pause]
AH: I’ll show you this.
[pause]
AH: It was Wing Commander Gareth Clayton. Later Air Marshall Sir Gareth Clayton and he unveiled a painting I gave to the, presented to the, and accepted by the Royal Air Force Museum. This is after the war.
AS: Oh gosh.
AH: The CO was a marvellous chap. He was very authoritative.
AS: And how many sorties did you do from there?
AH: Thirty one.
AS: Can you tell me, tell me about, about how you were organised and how the, each mission happened?
AH: The tour, you had to do thirty operations and then you were stood down for at least six months. After you’d done thirty operations you were automatically stood down. And the comradeship between the rest of the crew was really great. It had to be. The pilot was a strict disciplinarian. He’d make sure that we all behaved. Didn’t get drunk at nights, kept fit, which we did. And we all kept together and we became close, close friends. You know, every one of us knew each one’s life depended on the other one. Every one played their part. The pilot, the navigator, the bomb aimer, the flight engineer and the two air gunners, and the WOp/AG.
AS: Can you tell me about a typical mission? What it was like?
AH: Well you did have some kind of fear of certain operations because some operations were more dangerous than, than others and you had this fear and trepidation. Particularly of the Ruhr or Happy Valley as we used to call it and which was really tough because it was so heavily defended, the Ruhr. You couldn’t help flying over other targets, other cities which was heavily defended. Every, every one in the Ruhr, every city in the Ruhr was heavily heavily defended and they were all close to one another and when you went to bomb you passed over other cities and you were fired upon from beginning to end. I remember one operation dramatically we were going to bomb Gelsenkirchen which is just outside Stettin, next door, and very very heavily defended and I looked out the turret and I saw another aircraft was gliding slowly towards us and I said to the pilot, ‘Quick, dive. There’s another plane gliding towards us to crash. Dive quickly,’ and he dived and the aircraft passed over us and the pilot said, ‘Alf,’ he said, ‘You’ve saved the lives of all the crew.’ He said, ‘If there’d have been a hole in the hatch and I put, and I could have put my arm through,’ he said, ‘I would have touched the other plane that we just missed.’ Because a lot of aircraft were lost through crashes at night you know. Not always, not easy to see. Very dark and cloudy. Many losses were caused by other planes, our planes crashing into our, into our own planes.
AS: What, what was it like being a gunner? I understood it was one of the most dangerous positions.
AH: Well it was a dangerous position but one felt really proud of being a gunner and wherever you went in England you were admired as you walked along the street. If you went into a pub, I don’t think I ever bought a pint of beer for myself. I walked into a pub, someone came running up to me and said, ‘Hey, let me buy you a drink,’ and this was like that with all air gunners. Treated like this when they went, even walking down the road. Being nodded at and smiled at. Admired. Yeah, you felt very proud to be an air gunner. We did have the toughest job because it was cold. I mean one of my worst experiences, I was going to tell you at the beginning was we were at OTU and they started worrying now about German fighters coming over England and shooting down planes at night who were in training. So this particular night they gave us a plan to go up past, straight past the Orkneys and up towards Iceland to keep away from German night fighters and what happened this particular day they said, ‘It’s going to be very very cold there and we have to take out, for the first time, the back panel of glass on the rear turret to give the air gunner clearer vision,’ on the Wellingtons and the Lancasters that were coming along but the electronic suit had just been invented which was God’s gift to air gunners. It was a fantastic thing. You had an electric suit. Wires right into the gloves on your hand and it really kept you warm but at this moment there wasn’t enough electric suits to go around. They gave it to the operational ones first. They didn’t have enough to go in Training Command yet. They took out the panel of the rear turret and they told us that night, ‘Double your socks, pullovers, get yourself really warm because it’s going to be cold.’ So I did that and as we were going over past the Orkneys it’s now getting really cold and I’m starting to freeze and one thing we were taught as air gunners if you get too cold and you start freezing you must tell the pilot and I was becoming so cold the water on my eyes was turning to ice. I said, ‘Skipper,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry to report this,’ I said, ‘But I must tell you I’m freezing to death.’ I said, ‘The water on my eyes, I’m losing my sight, it’s turning to ice and I’m just freezing.’ So the pilot said, ‘Oh my God,’ he said, ‘It’s a hundred and six degrees below zero.’ And then the navigator pipes up, he said, ‘Oh my God,’ he said, ‘I’ve made a mistake. We’ve gone fifty miles north. We’re over Iceland.’ And just to try a sidetrack at that moment I saw the aurora borealis. We all did. The pilot said, ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’m going to turn round, go back and dive.’ He turned the aircraft out, around and dived thirteen thousand feet and the force of inertia went right through my body. It brought me round and in no time I would have been frozen to death. And when we got back to base we all reported in. Three other crews had gone on the same trip as us and three air gunners had had their big toe operated, amputated. It was so cold that night. So they didn’t send anyone up that north again. So far up. That was one of my worst experiences. I was going to tell you beforehand, you know, on operations. Before I went on operation I nearly lost my life.
AS: What planes did you fly in?
AH: That was a Wellington. Trained in a Wellington initially and then we changed over to Lancasters and then I did all my operations on Lancasters then.
AS: You didn’t do any operations in Wellingtons.
AH: No. They were being phased out. You know, the Halifax and the, the Halifax and the Lancaster took over.
AS: Did you fly in any Halifaxes?
HB: Just once. I can’t remember where or when but just once but much preferred the Lancaster. The Lancaster was definitely a more superior plane.
AS: In what way?
AH: Technically it was faster, it was more manoeuvrable than the Halifax. I did go in a Halifax, did a trip, did training on it and didn’t like it that much. Felt much more comfortable in a Lancaster. Everyone on the crew did. Well, it was proved anyway you know. The Lancaster was the [emphasis] bomber. Successful.
AS: So you did, did you do all of your missions from Scunthorpe?
AH: On my first tour yes.
AS: Oh.
AH: Yes. We got our our toughest mission was Mimoyecques. Have you heard of that? Well this was the site on the English, on the French coast and the English Channel. The CA, we weren’t given technically what the, they said it’s a very very important German base in France. They got, they wouldn’t describe exactly what it was there. He said ‘but it’s very secretive’. He spoke in words going around the operation. Being indiscreet about it and we had to go in at ten thousand feet which is pretty low you know. We’d never gone in before at that height to bomb. He said ‘because the bombing’, he said, ‘must be very very accurate’ and as it turned out it was one of the most successful, important raids of the whole war. It was the site of, it was going to be the secret site of the V3 which was never used because we destroyed it and forty five were lost on that night and Leonard Cheshire was the master bomber on that raid and it was going to be the V3. It was sixty, it was going to fire sixty rounds. Each one was. Hitler apparently had ordered this to be built and be done. It would fire in one go sixty missiles to London, that would land in London in one go. They would fire sixty missiles from the base at Mimoyecques and we had to go in at ten thousand feet because the bombing had to be very accurate for it, apparently and forty five were lost on that raid which was horrendous and because we had to go in at ten thousand feet we were an easy target. We were hit badly by flak and one of the engines caught fire. The pilot doused the fire and flying back once, he said, the flight engineer said all the brakes had gone. The pilot, the turret wouldn’t turn and we had no brakes so the pilot asked each one of us in turn should we land on the sea just on the, by the coast and get out of the plane that way and we all said, each one said, ‘No. Let’s try and get back to base.’ Well we got back to the base but we had no brakes on landing so what happened, the pilot landed the plane, he couldn’t brake, he now cut the other engine in the starboard port engine, the starboard engine had been shot, he cut the engine on the same side, on the starboard side and the, we spun round and round and round and came to a stop and just hit a tree and we all got out but the aircraft could never be used again. We were all lucky to get out. The pilot had done a miraculous job to land a plane with no, to get us all out with no brakes. Yeah, you couldn’t do an operation without something going wrong and tough.
AS: So you did thirty one trips.
HB: Yes.
AS: For your tour.
HB: Yes. You were supposed to do two. You’re supposed to do thirty and then you’re stood down, then whilst I was there on the station earlier on when we were a rookie crew you had to stand by. You didn’t go on the operations. If any personnel on one of the planes couldn’t go that night you’d take his, you’d take his place and after we’d done about six operations we stood by that night and then the pilot said, we had, he said, ‘ Alf,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry to tell you this,’ he said, ‘But you’ll have to go. The air gunner’s been taken ill. He can’t go. You’ll have to take his place.’ So ok I went in his place. It was a French target. The longest one, French target I’d ever been on, it was down almost on the, to the coast and as we got over the coast the fog was something terrible. There was fog from over twenty thousand feet high to the ground and we got nearer so we were all tuned in, could hear what the master bomber was saying and he said, ‘Well chaps,’ he said, ‘We’ll get, try and get to the target, see, maybe the fog will clear.’ Well when we nearly got there the fog hadn’t cleared and the Pathfinders were going around and around, down to three thousand feet and it hadn’t cleared and he said we’d have to cancel the raid and return home. ‘Go back. Make your way back. Drop your bombs in the sea,’ because you can’t land with bombs in your aircraft, which we did. It was a nightmare of an operation. And when I got back all my crew were all waiting for me on the briefing. I said, ‘What are you all doing there? Why are you here?’ They said, ‘We couldn’t go to sleep in our beds while you were out there. We had to wait for you to see you come back,’ and they all patted me on the shoulders you know, shook hands and what a night that was. Never saw anything of the ground. Nightmare flying through the bloody fog. Fog nearly choked us. And then the pilot come to do the thirtieth operation and the pilot said to me, ‘Alf,’ he said, ‘You don’t have to come on this, this one ‘cause it’s your thirty operations. The CO’s told me that if you don’t want to come you can stand down.’ I said, ‘Oh no. All for one, one for all.’ I said, ‘I’ve been through all the lot together I’m still going to go with you with this one, so this will be my thirty first. So the pilot said, ‘Ok. Fine.’ We went and the target was one of the worst in Germany. It’s called Braunschweig, better known to us as Brunswick. Thirty miles just south of Berlin and when we got there, as we nearly got there, I saw an unidentified aircraft. I reported to the pilot an unidentified aircraft. We’d just bombed the target. An unidentified aircraft on the port side. I said, ‘I’m not sure what it is. Whether it’s enemy or ours.’ I said, ‘Well take no chances then. Prepare to corkscrew port.’ So I said, ‘I’m not sure about it. Let’s corkscrew port,’ and he did and we did a dive, went into a dive thirteen thousand feet or more. Just past the target and we flew back over Germany at five thousand feet all the way back to England. We got through. So it was quite a last night. Horrendous target.
AS: So when you, once you’d done your thirty one, what would, what did you do when you stood down for six months?
HB: They sent me to, you could have, they gave you a load of choices and I thought well I’d like to go, maybe go on a radar station on the coast and they did. They sent me to a radar station and they said you know you’ll see action in the planes there. Just sit and you know, just take it easy there. Have a, have a good rest. Myself and the flight engineer both volunteered to go and do the same thing so we both went together to the station and we were treated like lords on this radar station on the south coast. And then I missed, I certainly missed the operational, I certainly missed not being with air crew and I wanted, war was still on and it was, it was ok but we wanted to get back in to the action. We sadly missed all the air crew and the life on the squadron so I volunteered to go back which I did in February 1945 and I volunteered to go in the Pathfinder force. On 83 squadron at Wyton. And although I was operational again I was glad to be with all the air crew again and the operations weren’t as tough. Just did seven but what was really nasty the last couple were on the operation called Manna which was dropping food supplies to the Dutch. The Dutch were starving. I don’t know if you knew about that. They really hadn’t got enough food. We started dropping food at three thousand feet to the Dutch people who were starving who were tremendously, we found after how grateful they were and the German bastards even though the war had just finished but by a few days were still firing at us and shooting us down at three thousand feet dropping food to the Dutch. And a few days after the German gunners you know were still firing and shooting down our bombers. The bastards.
AS: Can you tell, tell me a bit about being in the Pathfinders?
HB: Yeah it was, you know you went in first but it was towards the end of the war. It wasn’t as bad as the early part like my first tour but I was proud to be with them because they did do a tough job and after the war I knew Bennett, knew Bennett very well. They were wonderful people. He was the commander in chief of the Pathfinder force and he was a super chap and a few years after the war I started up, I was instrumental with some others in forming the Air Gunner’s Association. It started about seven sort of years after the war because no association had been formed. We started out and we became very very active and I and others were instrumental in bringing Bomber Harris out of the cold. I had, and went to meet him and he was a most wonderful chap and he really loved his air gunners. He was at the reunions and he was always the chief guest of honour. And I’ll recall for you the story I never tire of telling. This story after the war had finished I’ll recall for you a name that by and large is forgotten now but his name was Albert Speer. Does that name mean anything to you?
AS: Oh yes. I’ve read his, I read his, his book, “Inside the Third Reich.”
HB: Yeah.
AS: And, and several books about him.
HB: Oh that’s interesting. Well he was the only German Nazi, leading Nazi who repented and he was the only one who wasn’t executed and after the war was over he got in touch with Bomber Harris and they told stories to one another about, you know the war efforts and became very friendly. During one of our reunions when Harris was there I had to stand up I’ll stand up, ‘I’d like to recall for you chaps Albert Speer as you all know, who you knew was the head of ammunitions, factories and armaments from the beginning of the war to the end’ and I had to say in front of Bomber Harris here that you will recall, I told all the audience that when Albert Speer spoke to him, Albert Speer said to Harris, ‘if it hadn’t have been for Bomber Command Germany would have won the war.’ And Harris stood up and said, ‘Ha.’ he said, ‘Right,’ he says, ‘Who knew better than him? He was our best customer.’ He’s right.
[pause]
HB: Where would you like me to continue?
AS: Please. When you were in the Pathfinders where were you stationed then?
HB: Wyton. RAF Wyton.
AS: What planes were you going up in at that point?
HB: Lancasters.
AS: Still in Lancasters.
HB: Yeah. No, I wasn’t a fighter pilot.
AS: No. And you were still working as a gunner.
HB: Oh yeah. Once a gunner always a gunner. Yes. And I’m proud to say that I also was instrumental with others, particularly Sir Michael Beetham, Marshall of the Royal Air Force in founding the air gunners, also going to get the Bomber Command Association started. I’ve been on the committee of the Bomber Command Association since day one and been vice chairman for a while.
AS: When, when the end of the war came, can you tell me about that? How did you greet the news that the war had come to an end?
HB: We were delighted, you know, we were happy to be victorious. The war, we all cheered it in the mess and clapped hands, you know, when it was announced and –
[pause]
HB: There was one incident, one nasty incident that I will recall. Just before Christmas 1945, after the end of the war, six months after the war, they thought it was a good idea instead of bringing such a long dragging trip flying the troops home from, it would be better to fly the, quicker to fly the troops home from Germany than, sort of quicker to fly the troops home that were coming back from Singapore or in Italy flying the troops home from Italy quicker than sending them back by boat. So that Christmas week they said you’ll go to, fly to Naples, fill it up with air crew from Italy and fly them back to England. It will save all that drag. So we did, we started, we flew from London to Naples which was a long trip. An eleven hour trip. When we got there, went into the mess, I meet the best friend I ever knew training as an air gunner. He, when I’d gone to Bomber Command, when I was posted he was posted to the Italian campaign and we were so pleased to see one other I can’t tell you. We clutched one another fantastically and he said, ‘Alf,’ he said, ‘And your crew. I’ll tell you what you must do while you’re here in Naples. The thing you mustn’t miss’ He said, ‘You must you must go and see the ruins of Pompeii.’ He says, ‘It’s easy to get there. It’s only five miles away and all day long there’s RAF transport and vans passing from the base here past the entrance to the ruins of Pompeii and,’ I told that, he said, ‘You must get all your crew to go there with you. Yeah. Just get a guard, pay one of the guards of the, who will take you all around Pompeii. Give him a good price and he’ll show you everything that’s there.’ And the rest of the crew said oh that would be marvellous. Pulled, stick on an RAF plane, on an RAF van. We all got in it. He dropped us at Pompeii and we got out and one of the guides, not a guard, a guide I meant and we paid the guy to take us around and we followed him and he pointed out, he spoke perfect English, all the interesting things in Pompeii and then we go downstairs in to the basement and there’s an artist working with his easel there copying all the paintings, the masterpieces on the wall and naturally being artistic I started talking to him and he spoke perfect English and he was explaining everything, what this meant and what he was doing and when I got out and went upstairs I couldn’t see any of the crew, I couldn’t see a person. So I started walking around and now I’m a bit lost and it’s a big place the ruins, in the ruins. I can’t see one person and I started walking along looking and suddenly two little boys about between fourteen and sixteen came up to me and said, ‘Hey Joe, you gotta the money.’ I said, ‘Get away.’ And they said, ‘Hey Joe you gotta the money. Give us the money.’ I said, ‘No. Get away.’ And I can’t find the crew and suddenly from out of nowhere another fifteen, twenty kids started all coming up to me and started tugging at me, pulling at me, ‘Hey Joe you gotta the money.’ I said, ‘No. Get away,’ and I started running to try and get away from them and they started running after me and still there was no one around. And I’m now getting worried. They started tugging me. Pulling me. Then suddenly they started screaming out [parapachi?]. That’s like the Italian word for police and suddenly they all left and ran away into the woods there and suddenly two men with, fully armed with machine guns across their shoulders come up to me and said, ‘ah’, they spoke English, they told me, ‘We’ve saved you,’ he said, ‘They would have killed you for the money. They would have taken every bit of your clothing off.’ Because they were short of money, you know in Naples and all bloody gangsters and God knows, and the mafia there. He said, ‘They would have killed you for the money and have taken a knife to you.’ Although they were only kids, he said ‘they’re really tough ones. ‘We’ll get you back to your crew, the rest of your men, you’ll be safe. Don’t worry anymore.’ And I was, I was nearly assassinated there.
AS: Gosh.
HB: After the war.
AS: When were you demobbed?
HB: 1946. Early ’46.
AS: What did you do in the RAF between the end of the war and when you were demobbed? Obviously fetching troops back was one of them.
HB: Yeah. One of them. They had all kinds of jobs for us. I mean one of the first things we did was to fly the POWs home from Belgium and that was quite a, quite something to talk to the chaps who were POWs and we were all naturally asking them how they were treated and they all said, terribly. And they were all asking me about what it was like for us afterwards and explained to them and one was a squadron leader. I’ll never forget. He had a DFC. When we landed in England he got out. He was the first one to get out, oh and he wanted to sit in the turret during the flight back because he, he said he was shot down in 1940. You know he wasn’t used to, he didn’t know what a Lancaster was. So I let him sit in the Lancaster all, sit in the turret all the way back to England. He got out, started kissing the ground and they all kissed the ground. They all followed him. The, all the prisoners thanking, you know that they were back in England. I wonder what it was for them. It was quite an experience watching them do that, you know. It’s so emotional.
AS: After you were demobbed what did you do then? How did you settle back in to civilian life?
HB: Well the first few months were very very difficult. Incidentally, I do say this. I never told my mum and dad that I was on operations. I told them I was in training all the time and I told all the family, you know I was operations, brothers and sisters, not to mention a word to them because you know they were reading every night, every day forty, fifty, thirty, sixty lost and my father said to me, he says, ‘You must be the lousiest air gunner in the air force,’ he says, ‘You’re always in training.’ So I said, ‘Well it takes a long time,’ and then of course when I finished and I told them and you know he shook his head at me, ‘Oh yeah,’ see, ‘You weren’t a lousy air gunner.’ No. I thought, save them. Why let them go through the agony of reading about the losses every night and knowing it could have been me, me on it and you know parents did have a tough time with their children on ops.
AS: So what did you do when you came home?
HB: I went to St Martin’s Art School to study art and fashion and then [pause] after about five years, six years I got married and then formed my own fashion company designing women’s clothes, coats.
AS: You said you found it difficult when you came home. In what way?
HB: The first six months. It was very difficult to reconcile. You missed the comradeship of your friends and you know rationing was still going on and things were still tough after the war being a civilian. The government I must say was helpful. They did support me in training in the six months I studied at St Martins.
AS: So you, so you studied for six months and then, and then did you start your fashion business then or did you -?
HB: Oh no. No. I went to work.
AS: You went to work.
HB: Someone else had [unclear] it didn’t take me long to be successful. It was strange, the first six months, it really was. To settle down with mum and dad again and my two brothers.
[pause]
HB: Is there anything else you’d like?
AS: Yes.
HB: Question?
AS: When you were, when you were on the base and you were doing operations, how long was it between the different operations? Was there a long time or were they in quick succession?
HB: Sometimes you’d go two nights running which I reckoned, off the record, that that was Harris’ big, one big mistake he made. We should never have been allowed to do, to go on two consecutive, two night’s trips, come back because you, when you came back three or 4 o’clock in the morning you didn’t get a good night’s sleep. They’d wake you up the next day at 8 o’clock to tell you you’d be on operations that night. And you weren’t exactly fit. You were a bit tired. It was a struggle to force yourself but you had to do it. You know, it was an order. You had to go and I think that’s the biggest mistake that Harris made. It’s never been mentioned, that. Going two nights’ consecutive trips was a real struggle. The second one.
AS: When you were, when you were between operations how did you, what did you do? Did you have any social life?
HB: What? Do you mean when I wasn’t on operations? What? Do you mean being on leave?
AS: Well or at the station but waiting for the next one.
HB: Yeah there was the comradeship was very, very strong between the crews and the other crews. You, it was, you know you made it part of your life and there was a pleasant side of it, pleasant side of it in sitting together and chatting with one another.
AS: Did you go out at all?
HB: Yeah. We used to go into the pub at Scunthorpe. Never allowed, he warned us not to drink more than a pint maximum. He was right. You shouldn’t get your head and drink too much.
AS: This was your pilot.
HB: Yes. Or even in the mess when you weren’t on ops not to drink. He was very strict. He made sure we didn’t.
AS: And were they all like that?
HB: Yes. Well he was very strongly. My pilot.
AS: What was your accommodation like in the mess?
HB: Very communal. We always all used to chat about the operations. What they were like and coming back, how tough. Did you see this and that? Talk about the target. And the comradeship was really strong. Really strong. That’s what I missed when I went to the rest for six months you know and that was cushy. I missed the, I missed the life. It got into your blood. The comradeship of your friends. You’d be with them.
AS: You were telling me, you told me earlier about going to the Saracen’s Head in Lincoln.
HB: Yeah.
AS: Can you tell me about, about that?
HB: It was, it was a pleasure to go in to the Saracen’s Head because you met comrades you’d been in training with, now they were on different stations to you now. You met old friends and the comradeship. It was all full of air crew, the Saracen’s Head. Every, so many air crew in there, in there, all chatting and talking to one another. It was, the atmosphere was fantastic. Never before and after was there a place to go into like that. The atmosphere was Bomber Command, you know. Have you heard from so and so and seen so and so. Talk about the different raids.
AS: Did you go there very often?
HB: Did we go there?
AS: Very often?
HB: When we had a stand by, a stand down. Where? At the Saracen’s Head? You always went in there a lot. Up in Scunthorpe it wasn’t, we went in the Saracen’s Head but I look back with a great deal of pride I served in Bomber Command. I mean it was really tough at times, you know, the losses were fifty five thousand killed out of a hundred thousand. We took the biggest loss pro rata of any other force during the war and we still have that. All my best friends are ex bomber chaps. We all stuck to one another closely. You can’t find it with other people like you can with a, with a comrade. Mind you, in the army you know they had the same thing. My dad, he used to stand on street corners with others from the First World War all talking and chatting to one another in groups of three or four.
AS: Well thank you very much. It’s been, it’s been fascinating listening to your story.
HB: I hope you have. Oh what about a cup of tea?
AS: I’d love a cup of tea. Thank you very much.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Alfred Huberman
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Andrew Sadler
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-03-29
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AHubermanA160329
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.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Format
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01:10:46 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Alfred Huberman volunteered for the RAF when he was eighteen and trained as an air gunner. He describes the training and emphasises how physically hard it was. He flew 31 operations from RAF Elsham Wolds in Lancasters. These included operations over the Ruhr and the bombing of the V-3 weapon site at Mimoyecques. After he completed his tour he was stationed at a radar station but missed the camaraderie of his crew so volunteered for further active operational duties and served with the Pathfinder force at RAF Wyton. He completed a further 7 flights for Operations Manna and Exodus. After the war he was very active in forming the Air Gunner's Association and also served on the committee of the Bomber Command Association.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1944
1945
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
France
Germany
Great Britain
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Lincolnshire
France--Mimoyecques
Wales--Bridgend
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Carolyn Emery
576 Squadron
83 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
bombing of the Mimoyecques V-3 site (6 July 1944)
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
crewing up
fear
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Lancaster
Master Bomber
military ethos
military service conditions
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Pathfinders
physical training
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Elsham Wolds
RAF Wyton
training
V-3
V-weapon
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/564/8832/PEmlynJonesA1601.1.jpg
5a87ab19fbe21121173bd90fd1d7fd8e
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/564/8832/AEmlynJonesA161012.1.mp3
bc8126645f0b2316e1d629a80b2452f6
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
Emlyn-Jones, Alun
A Emlyn-Jones
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archvie
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
EmlynJones, A
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Alun Emlyn-Jones (Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 51 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-12
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Anne Roberts, the interviewee is Alun Emlyn-Jones. The interview is taking place at Mr Emlyn-Jones’s home in Cardiff, in Wales on the 12th of October 2016.
AR: Thank you Alun for agreeing to talk to me today.
AEJ: My pleasure.
AR: Also present at the interview is Julie Emlyn-Jones, Alun’s wife.
AEJ: That’s right.
AR: So Alun, could you tell me something about your early life?
AEJ: My early life? Well I was brought up in Cardiff, my parents - I was one of two children, my sister was six years older than me and I was the second one and I spent all my early life here really. Then at the age of ten I was sent away to school, I was banished to England for my education. I was very unhappy at school, it was a very difficult time for me, it was just emotional. I was a home boy, I wanted to stay at home I didn’t really want to go but I went to Summer Fields in Oxford to start with and that’s in my book under the title ‘Nightmare’ [laughing] and then I went on to Charterhouse, which was easier. And then, heaven knows what might have happened, I might have gone on to university and so on I suppose, but as a matter of fact I don’t think I was all that scholastically brilliant because I wasn’t working as much as I should have, but the war came to make my decision for me. So I was able then, my parents let me come home waiting for whatever should happen. When it came to, as you know if you volunteered, even if for a short while before you would have been called up you got the privilege of putting down preferences of where you would go, and I must say I wasn’t directed by anything more noble than the fact that I didn’t really want to slog through muddy trenches, so I decided on, you had to put one for each service. So I put my priority as aircrew in Bomber Command, my second one was the submarines and my one for the Army was in tanks, so the idea was that I was going to be carried wherever I was going [laughter] and in due course I was given my first choice and I went to Penarth, I’ve skipped a lot of my youth I’m afraid, went to Penarth to start training there. I’ve skipped a lot, you want to know more about my youth of course.
AR: No, whatever you want to tell us, it’s fine. So your training was in Penarth?
AEJ: We started our initial training, well we started, we met in Penarth before we were sent out to our stations, you know. We went to various places, all over the place. I spent a lot of time training in South Africa, went out on a troop ship, it took six weeks out and six weeks back, incredible, and did my training in a place called East London in South Africa and then came back in due course.
AR: And what did the training entail Alun?
AEJ: Well I suppose we did a lot of flying, Ansons and aircraft like that and then we graduated I think to Whitleys and it was on Whitleys that I was flying with my first crew at the conversion unit. At that point, at the conversion unit we moved to Halifax, the Halifax which we were going to fly during operations. And that’s what we did, so we flew in the Halifax on a regular basis from RAF Rufforth on the flat plain of York and then one day, my crew, well I had my appendix out, that was a very important thing for me. I had an appendix attack. I was able to get home, or it happened somewhere where I could be at home and I had my appendix attack and I had my appendix out in a local nursing home in Cardiff. I wrote to my skipper Stanley Bright ‘I do worry about one thing’ I said, ‘because this has caused me to leave you now and you may not be able to wait for me’. He said ‘don’t worry a bit, the weather’s clamped, we’re doing very little flying, you’re going to be back in a few weeks and that’ll be fine’ And that was the last I heard of him, from him. They were flying from Rufforth on one of their training trips, conversion trips while I had my appendix, they had taken off but they were In, I think, 10/10ths cloud and they were doing simply something like, a simple exercise, I think something like circuits and bumps, you know landing, taking off, landing, taking off, all that sort of thing and I think they got slightly off track in this dense cloud and didn’t realise, because we didn’t have the sophistication with radar that they have now and didn’t realise that the hill, called Garrowby Hill was between them and the ground and they flew into the hill. They killed a passing truck driver and the plane hit the road near Cot Nab Farm, top of Garrowby Hill and disintegrated in the fields and they were all killed. So suddenly I was left, an odd bod with no crew and ah, had to wait to see what would happen. But of course that caused quite a lot of delay in when I started flying and so on as you can see from my logbook, and eventually I was adopted by a crew whose bomb aimer had been taken, borrowed by another crew, and when he was borrowed he was killed. So they ended up as a crew without a bomb aimer and I was a bomb aimer without a crew and they asked me if I would like to join them which of course I was, I was delighted to because that period of just hanging about, just going wandering about the station, not belonging to anybody was a very difficult time, a very, very difficult time. What I couldn’t understand was the attitude of the, I don’t know who he was, one of the senior officers. I couldn’t understand his sort of antagonism to me. He just interviewed me and wanted to know what I was doing and things like that, and then he said ‘get out’. I couldn’t understand that but later, I think I saw that he had been unaware of me not being killed at the time and included me in the list of those who had died that day and I think that he was feeling guilty about that and took it out on me. There was no other reason, I had no personal contact with him that otherwise could have caused that but that made me feel even more isolated really and I just wandered round very lonely and hopeless for quite a while until my new crew adopted me.
AR: And then you flew a number of missions?
AEJ: Well first of all we had a lovely pilot, he was a great guy, Danny and he’d done 13 ops and crashed with a full bomb load. He broke his back and he’d nevertheless come back to flying again and he adopted us and I had great admiration for him, I think we all did. But I of course, as a bomb aimer it was only over the target that I was in charge really and the rest of the time I did odd jobs. I was assistant pilot, I was assistant navigator and all the bits and pieces that went with it, you know helping the wireless operator and anything they could find for an odd job man really. I used to sit next to Danny on take off and as he pulled the heavy aircraft off the ground he would come out in an absolute sweat and I knew he was in pain. After he’d done six or seven ops or whatever it was, one day we were actually out on the dispersal point waiting to take off and he called us together and he said ‘it’s no good I can’t fly, my back is playing up so badly I’ll kill us all’. And I just said to him, because I thought it would be true, ‘don’t worry Danny they’ll understand’. Well they didn’t. The Wing Commander came out in his Hillman and he treated Danny as though Danny was a traitor of some sort. It was dreadful. He said ‘King get into my car’ and then he turned to us and he said ‘I’m sorry your pilot is LMF - lacking in moral fibre’. I thought that was terribly cruel and we asked if we could have an interview with the Wing Commander, which he granted and I was the spokesman and I went in on behalf of the others, with them, and said ‘we want you to know sir that we have great admiration for Flying Officer King and I told him about his broken back, he ought to have known that from the records, and how he’d carried on despite that and how I could see how much pain it gave him when pulling the aircraft back and that in the end he decided that to save us all, he wouldn’t fly. He said ‘your comments are noted gentlemen’ and that was that. Danny was banished from the airfield and we never saw him again.
AR: How did that make you feel, you and your other crew members?
AEJ: Oh very badly about that, very badly. Then my third pilot came into it and took us over and we went on eventually and completed our tour. Well actually they did the full 30 ops and because I had missed one, the one they were on, actually the first one that I’d missed was the Nuremberg trip where we lost more aircraft than any other raid. Because I’d missed that I was officially granted my tour on 29 ops, that was that. That was how that ended and then I got on to Transport Command and so on and I was [emphasis] going to be posted to Japan and that really frightened me. I’d heard such awful stories about prisoners of war in Japan and I thought that was going to be dreadful and I said to then Wing Commander, I don’t know if it was the same one or not, ‘I wonder if I could have a training job of some sort for a while?’. He said ‘you ought to be honoured to be chosen for Japan’. I could have done without the honour. Anyway, the awful thing, but nevertheless, it saved my bacon, what was it, the atom bomb? Yes the atom bomb, because of that the war became over, the war with Japan finished and thankfully for me, I was saved the task of going out there. Then I went on to Transport Command and did various things and I flew quite a lot really but that was the end of my active [unclear]
AR: Where were you in the transport corps Alun?
AEJ: I can’t remember but I’ve got it in my logbook which is there. Yes I’ll have to look it up.
AR: After the war finished, what did you do then?
AEJ: Well, I had been, before the war, before I got called up, working with a little firm called Copy [unclear] Ltd at Treforest Trading Estate, near here, where we made carbon paper and typewriter ribbons. Before the war, as a young man I was pressing green buttons to make a machine go, red buttons to stop it, and things like that and when I came back they said ‘you’d better go in the sales department’, so I spent a lot of time writing sales letters. Which suited me because I like writing so that suited me very well. What was I going to say now, I’ve forgotten.
AR: Well you were talking to me about after the war. Tell me when you did all the work to create a memorial to your crew at Garrowby Hill.
AEJ: Yes, that’s the memorial there. We go up every year. Julie was able to take the service, bless her, as a, what is it for your church, you are a?
JEJ: That’s not part of it.
AEJ: I wanted to say it.
JEJ: I’m an elder.
AEJ: That’s it - I can’t remember things. She’s an elder at the church, so she is able to take the service, which she does wonderfully and we have, very often, and we’re hoping for the same number this time, about 40 people gathered on the hilltop for that occasion. So we do that every year on Armistice Sunday.
AR: And it was you who got the memorial put up?
AEJ: We did, we arranged that, or I did I suppose, well we both did, didn’t we? Yes we both did. We arranged it. We got very friendly with the people who did it, they did a lovely job as you will see. We’ve got the aircraft on the top and it’s a beautiful memorial. They come every time, the people who made it and I think he’s very proud of it and we’re very proud of what he did, it was a great job. That’s what we do every Armistice Sunday. We’ve done, how many? Huge number. A very big number anyway of these, for years and years and years.
AR: And you still keep in touch with - ?
AEJ: It was the seventieth we stopped at, no that was something else wasn’t it?
JEJ: Yes.
AR: And you’ve kept in touch until recently with your old colleagues from the war?
AEJ: I suppose I haven’t really. I’ve lost contact now.
AR: Alan can you tell me about going up to see the memorial and how you feel about Bomber Command being recognised now?
AEJ: Oh very thrilled, very thrilled, yes. Of course we had a lot of fighter boys here and they turned the tables really at that vital moment, but all the boys at St Athans were in fact killed. Every one that we knew, we knew well. My sister was a very attractive girl, and very vivacious, and she had a circle of friends wherever we went and she knew a lot of the pilots. We used to go and stay locally at Porthcawl at the Seabank Hotel and a lot of the pilots from Battle of Britain were there and they all died, sadly. But I think I’m wrong about not having any contact with my crew but my memory, it’s been shot to pieces. [pause] Nobby, Wilf, Geoff Taverner, yes. My bombing leader, Geoff Taverner, he lives in Newport so although we didn’t fly together, he was the bombing leader for my 51 Squadron and I see him quite regularly. He got the DFC actually. And I, incidentally, have just been awarded the medal Chevalier de la Legion D’honneur because quite a lot of my trips were in support of the French and a friend of mine over there, [unclear] Thomas, he said ‘you really ought to apply for the Chevalier Award because I’m sure, knowing your record that you would qualify’. And I did and I was. And Geoff as well, Geoff Taverner. We had a very moving occasion in Cardiff for that. It was rather lovely and the family were able to be there and it was fantastic really.
AR: Congratulations, that’s wonderful.
AEJ: It’s a nice title to have. It’s a wonderful medal, very, very handsome.
AR: That’s lovely to hear. So after the war Alun, life continued and you were working in Cardiff?
AEJ: That’s right and then I got to feel that, it was pure chance really. I wanted to help the people. Because there was a tendency to have a drink problem in my family, on my mother’s side, one of my uncles had a problem and my sister and I both inherited it. And I thought, when I heard about this job, an organisation was being formed in Cardiff, the Council on Alcoholism, if I could get in on that I would be able to help others as well as myself. I applied. My sister, however continued to drink although she was married and she had two children and a loyal husband and she didn’t mean to do these things but she couldn’t stop, you know. She was wonderfully talented, a very gifted and bright girl who drove cars at great speed. She was a tremendous character but she couldn’t quite come to terms with this and I was worried about her and it was because of her, as much as anything, that I thought if I join, if I get in on this job, I’ll learn enough to help her properly and she died the very day I was appointed. But I was appointed, and having put my shoulder to the wheel, as it were, I thought that’s what I’ll continue to do and it became my life’s work. I built up a hostel for people with the problem in Cardiff, Dyfrig House and then moved on and did Emlyn House in Newport. And then we moved on, out into the nearby valleys and did a third one, the Brynnal [?] and then my daughters, two of my four daughters, decided that this was for them so they came in, Rhoda and Lucy and played their very significant role and Lucy became the Director of the Gwent Alcohol Project and Rhoda was in charge of the Community Alcohol and Drugs Team and so we made it a family business [laughter] .
AR: That’s wonderful.
AEJ: I think over the years we were able to help quite a lot of people. The hostel in Cardiff for example, Dyfrig House, we had a Day Centre and a workshop, we had crafts that people could make and all sorts of things as well as having accommodation and support, so there was a lot happening.
AR: Wonderful. Is there anything else Alun you can remember about your - going back to the RAF, your time in Bomber Command, anything else you would like to tell us about what it was like to fly on the Halifaxes?
AEJ: Well I liked the Halifax. The Halifax of course was overshadowed a bit by the Lancaster, in the same way really as the Spitfire outshone the Hurricane. The Hurricane did a very fine job nevertheless and the same applied to the Halifax. It was eclipsed by the glamour of the Lancaster. But I liked it, on a practical basis it had much more room inside so you could move around more easily. Also, which I think is a very important point, it was easier to bail out of [laughter] . It was a good sturdy workhorse and I got very fond of it yes. It just didn’t get the glamour and people always think of Lancasters, they don’t think of Halifaxes. Of course before that, there was the Stirling, after the two-engined ones. I didn’t fly in those, I think I got one trip once but not an operational trip and of course before that we were on Whitleys. We were flying Whitleys. Yes I liked the Halifax very much indeed. I enjoyed flying actually. I mean compared with my friends who are in civilian airlines who drew thousands and thousands and thousands of hours, the whole war I think my total was seven hundred and fifty but seven hundred and fifty hours we packed a lot of stuff into it. I find it such a privilege really to work with crews like that. We became great friends, that’s the thing, it wasn’t just that we were working together, we became great friends. You know we went out together as well and met socially when we could. Oh it was tremendous comradeship. I deem myself very fortunate indeed to have had that opportunity and of course to have survived because the expectation of life was only six weeks, and so to have survived was extraordinary good fortune. We were losing boys all the time. You know, ‘so and so bought it’ that was the expression, ‘so and so bought it’ so you know one of the people we knew well hadn’t come back, they had crashed or been shot down. I mean on one daylight (sortie) I remember seeing lots of aircraft going down. Later, this particular man, lives in Cardiff so I see him quite often because I’ve got a group called 51 Squadron and Friends. The group meets quite regularly and I saw this aircraft just below me, being shot down and it turned out to be his so I was able to tell him I’d actually seen him shot down. He was then captured by the Germans but they treated him with respect. Another of my friends who was shot down in the First War was put into Pfaffenwald which was dreadful and he had a dreadful time there but then the Luftwaffe itself said ‘you shouldn’t have this man there, he should be in a proper prison, so he was transferred, that surely saved his life although he died young in the end, but that was a separate matter. But er, yes there was great comradeship. I’ve rambled on enough I think.
AR: Not at all, it’s been fascinating.
AEJ: Thank you so much.
AR: No thank you, thank you Alun very much for giving us the time.
AEJ: It’s was my pleasure. I just wonder how many things I’ve missed out.
AR: Alun we’re going to carry on now. Can you tell me a little bit about your nickname?
AEJ: Actually of course so many of my compatriots from Wales were called Taffy and I suppose I would have been but in fact Grem fitted in very well and I got called Grem all the way through my Air Force career. That’s because it’s short for Gremlin and Gremlin was the little creature who used to disturb our instruments in the aircraft, imaginary one I need hardly say [laughter] . It was short for that and it also rhymes with my name Emlyn, Alun Emlyn. So for those two reasons I got called Grem and enjoyed that nickname and I’m still called Grem by some people. Geoff Taverner my colleague and one time bombing leader from Newport, he still calls me Grem for example, so it’s very nice to have that.
AR: And animals played an important part for you.
AEJ: Yes, well when we were stationed at one place I picked up a goat, a little goat. He was a dear little thing and he used to live in my billet and used to greet me with licking my face at night and things like that but then he got bigger and bigger and bigger and I had to think of something to do with him so we asked a local farmer if he, no we didn’t, we found a spot at a water tower in the village and he would have shelter and he was on a long lead and we had him there for quite a while and then one time he got away from his lead and went all round the village eating the tops off people’s plants. That became rather unpopular so I gave him to the local farmer on the strict [emphasis] understanding he would be used for breeding and not be killed. So I hope that’s what happened, I hope he had a happy life. Then we had our dog, Jimmy, I picked Jimmy up somehow and Jimmy sort of lived constantly with us and was a great guy. I can’t remember what happened to Jimmy in the end.
AR: Did Jimmy wait for you when you came back from - ?
AEJ: Yes Jimmy used to be there. Wherever we’d been and wherever he’d been in the meantime , he was always waiting on the tarmac when we got back and he lived in my billet with me. So we had a bit of a menagerie really. I can’t remember what happened to Jimmy, pity we can’t ask [laughter]. So there we are and of course when we searched for the spot to put the memorial for the first crew at Garrowby Hill, a lot of research went into that. We had a local archivist, he worked very hard at it all. We met a girl, a woman then, as a girl she’d been stationed in that area where the crash took place and through personal contact we were able to be sure [emphasis] that where we put the memorial was exactly where the crash took place, so that was very helpful. But the trouble is Anne now, for me is that my memory is shot to pieces and I can’t remember clearly. I can’t , even though a few moments ago I had it clearly in my mind I can’t remember everything that I was told unless I wrote it down.
AR: Thank you Alun, what you’ve been able to tell us has been marvellous.
AEJ: Well you’ve been very kind and I’ve know it’s not been adequate.
AR: It’s been wonderful and it will be a great addition to the archive. Thank you very much.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Alun Emlyn-Jones
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Anne Roberts
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-12
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AEmlynJonesA161012, PEmlynJonesA1601
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.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Format
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00:34:11 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Alun Emlyn-Jones (known as Grem among his RAF colleagues) was raised in Cardiff and attended boarding schools in Oxfordshire. He worked manufacturing office supplies when he volunteered to serve in Bomber Command, hoping to avoid being called up to the infantry. Alun trained in Penarth and in East London, South Africa, and then worked as a bomb aimer.
Alun talks of flying on the Anson and Whitley, and of being assigned to a Halifax crew. He describes a training flight accident at Garrowby Hill, Yorkshire in which his crewmates were killed. Alun, who was hospitalised at the time, was not on board the aircraft. He recalls his loneliness at being without a crew, and the unexplained animosity towards him from a senior officer. He talks of joining another aircrew and of adaptability being a part of the role of the bomb aimer, before reflecting on his feelings about the unjust dismissal of the crew’s pilot for lack of moral fibre.
Alun recalls his transfer to RAF Transport Command in 1945 and talks of organising the erection of a memorial to his crew at Garrowby Hill. He mentions his pride at the memorial, and his attendance at annual commemorations there for many years. He goes on to reflect on his preference for the Halifax over other aircraft, his enjoyment of flying, and on the great friendship and comradeship among aircrews, describing a closeness which continued after the war. He also mentions his affection for the animals that he kept in his billet during the war.
Alun relates that he first returned to his pre-war job after the war, but later joined the Welsh Council on Alcoholism to help others and in support of his sister, whom he describes affectionately.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1955
Contributor
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Leah Warriner-Wood
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Oxfordshire
Wales
Wales--Vale of Glamorgan
Wales--Porthcawl
Wales--Newport
South Africa
South Africa--East London
Germany
Germany--Nuremberg
Japan
England--Yorkshire
Wales--Penarth
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending revision of OH transcription
51 Squadron
aircrew
animal
Anson
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
gremlin
Halifax
Hurricane
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
memorial
military ethos
military service conditions
pilot
radar
RAF Rufforth
RAF St Athan
Spitfire
Stirling
training
Whitley
York
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/670/10074/AAn00509-160424.2.mp3
fe81d86e5f5d2df68e20807b16ed3ea9
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
An00509
Description
An account of the resource
Nine items. Collection concerns a Flight Sergeant (1924 - 2018) who flew operations as a navigator and wished to remain anonymous. Contains an oral history interview as well as two biographical books and photographs. The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
This item has been redacted in order to protect the privacy of third parties.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-24
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
An00509
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
GC: This is an interview being conducted on behalf of International Bomber Command
RW: Sorry?
GC: Centre Digital Archive. My name’s Gemma Clapton. The interviewee today is [omitted]. Also present is his wife [omitted]. This is taking place at Aldham in Essex near Colchester on the 25th of April 2016. I’d like to thank you very much for talking to us. Tell me, can you tell us a little bit about your life before the war please?
RW: Sorry. A little bit about what?
GC: Your life before the war.
RW: My life before the war [laughs] I was a school boy. I was in public school, boarding school in [unclear] Hertfordshire.
GC: What, what was it like at public school back then?
RW: What was it like? Well it was very rigid and very strict. We had rules but if we broke the rules, well we were punished. It was a simple as that and if we were caught. Most of us were very good at avoiding being caught when we were breaking the rules [laughs] but we did break the rules and we did get away with most of it but when we were caught we were either severely punished and restricted or we got canes. We got the, the, the cane but it hurt most [laughs]
GC: So you was born in 1924?
RW: Yes.
GC: You said your father was an army major in —
RW: In, in the British Army.
GC: Oh brilliant.
RW: The Royal Army Core, you know. He was a surgeon, he was an MD and a surgeon. In other words an MD and an FRCS, Federal of the Royal College of Surgeons. In other words he was fully qualified right across the board with medicine. He could handle anything. As an MD he had the, the same rights as any doctor anywhere and as a surgeon he had all the rights of surgeon, that were contained within the concept of surgery.
JW: And he served at the front in the First World War didn’t he darling?
RW: Sorry?
JW: He served at the front in the First World War?
RW: He served actually, he was three hundred metres behind the front trenches.
JW: Yes.
RW: So that he could carry out emergency operations on people who had just been hit by a bullet or shell a few minutes before they could rush in with a stretcher three hundred yards to the, the trenches where he had his surgery. That was in the World War One.
JW: But why was he then posted to Berlin?
RW: Because he’d had to speak German and French fluently.
JW: And what did he have to do in Berlin?
RW: What did he have to do?
JW: Yes.
RW: Well he was, first of all he was a qualified surgeon as a fellow of the Royal College of Surgery and there were so many severely wounded soldiers in the army that he spent most of his time operating on badly wounded soldiers.
JW: Yes, but I seem to remember you telling me also that he was doing research into war gases.
RW: Yes, he, at the same time as he was doing this job, after he’d finished doing that job he was asked to join a special group of doctors in the military services to do research on war gases and so he because he spoke fluent French as well as fluent English, obviously, he was working very closely with the allied French medical core.
JW: But based in Berlin. So that is why you were actually born in Berlin.
RW: That’s right.
JW: Weren’t you? Yes.
GC: Do you remember much about your life in Berlin?
RW: [laughs] I remember when I was born as if it was yesterday [laughs] to be honest I was four years old when I left Berlin, so my memory of Berlin has been carted around in a wheel chair, or baby carriage or being held by the hand while I was taken to a park. Took to play in the park and the most advanced weaponry I had was a scooter [laughs]
GC: Your, your dad was a surgeon?
RW: Yes.
GC: Did you think about following him?
RW: He was a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons. He was an FRCS and an MD. He was fully qualified in all branches of medicine.
JW: And I seem to remember darling, you did tell me you had thought about following him and becoming a doctor yourself.
RW: Sorry?
JW: You had thought of following your doc— your father and becoming a doctor yourself.
RW: Well I did but then World War Two interfered with that.
JW: Yes.
RW: So I took the quick route. To do my bit in the war by volunteering to, to fly as a pilot for the RAF instead.
GC: So tell us about when you decided to join up for World War Two.
RW: Well I decided to sign up the day France fell, because I was in France when war broke out and I went — my first school was in France in Paris. I, I didn’t’ got to school until I was six. And from the age of six till the age of ten I thought I was a frog. I only spoke French and I only went to a French school.
GC: Um.
JW: Many of your relatives were in France weren’t they? Your grandmother?
RW: Oh my grandmother was —
JW: Yes.
RW: My grandmother married the managing director of the, err [pause]
JW: The Zurich wasn’t it?
RW: The Zurich Insurance Company.
GC: So what again, what, you said you joined up when France fell. Why the RAF?
RW: Sorry?
GC: Why the RAF?
RW: Because I, I wasn’t very keen, I was walking about in mud in the trenches like they did in World War One, this had four years in trenches which wasn’t exactly much fun so I decided to create my own fun and I volunteered to be a fighter pilot. But they failed me on my eye sight as a fighter pilot because I couldn’t land a fighter plane well enough to be trusted with it in the dark at night time. And of course a lot of our fighting was done at night time against the Luftwaffe.
JW: And I think darling you said that you ruled out the navy as a possibility because you were inclined to be seasick weren’t you?
RW: Yes, I, I wasn’t a good sailor I am now but I wasn’t then. A very good sailor and so one way or the other I had to get into the air. So when I was failed as a pilot because I landed, instead of landing from one foot to eighteen inches above the ground I would land twenty feet above the ground [laughs] which was a bit of a big drop. You know, twenty feet was like [unclear] so it was quite a big drop. So I couldn’t judge because at that point the altimeter wasn’t very reliable so you couldn’t, you couldn’t rely on the altimeter you had to rely on your own eye sight so that, that’s why, so they decided I, I, I was too good an airman to throw away but I had to do something other than flying a plane itself. So they said it looks as though you good enough to be a navigator but not got lost so I said try me and so they did and they said yes you’ll make a good navigator so we’ll put you through the course. So that’s what they did. I ended up being a navigator on Wellingtons and then on Lancasters.
GC: Can you tell us a little bit about training to be a navigator. What would they go through with you?
RW: Training to be a navigator [laughs] well it was very simple. To try to be a navigator you had to understand a) map reading, b) the meaning of airspeed on a, on a mobile, like an aircraft and so understand the importance of maintaining the right altitude and the right temperature. When you understood all these things they would then let, let you loose with a trained crew and you would then have to fly a, a bomber under wartime conditions over enemy territory and if you survived that then you became a bomber navigator which is what I became.
GC: Oh. So you, you’ve trained to be navigator. Explain about picking a crew or being picked by a crew?
RW: Sorry?
GC: Explain about being picked by a crew. How they picked you for a crew?
RW: Being flexed?
GC: Picked.
JW: How were you selected?
RW: You mean chosen?
GC: Yes, sorry.
RW: Oh. How come?
GC: How did they select you?
RW: Well, err [laughs] you, whilst you were picked as an aircrew they then tell you you’re gonna be a pilot, you’re gonna be a navigator, you’re gonna be this or your gonna be that. And what they did they selected you for aircrew and then we, when you, you always flew the same for six months of training for flying duties and then you were segregated into those who had more time for flying for taking off and landing. Those who had more talent for surviving at night and bringing the aircraft home safely as navigators and air gunners or bomb aimers whatever, or flight engineers. You were selected for the thing you were best trained for. So I was best trained to be a member of the, what you might call the inner circle. They were the inner circle were two pilots and, err, a navigator or bomb aimer but they were, without those four people you were no good as a bomber crew and then in addition we had flight engineers, and air gunners and bomb aimers and all that sort of thing. So we, we, normally there were seven of us and the two most important people were the pilot and the navigator obviously, because one without the other in no bloody good [laughs] you have to be able to take off and get to where you’re supposed to be and back again you see. So that’s what I did, I became a navigator. I could fly but I couldn’t land the bomber at night accurately enough to be trusted with a four engine, four Rolls Royce engines and a big heavy bomber about forty tons of bomber so they said what we’ll do because of your eyesight isn’t good enough to land safely at night we’ll have to make you a navigator instead cause you then don’t actually have to land the aircraft you only have to get the aircraft back over the airfield and then the pilot takes over once we’re over the airfield and he has to worry about the landing so that’s what happened so I became a navigator. And my job was to get us off the ground to the target safely and back and back to our own airfield so that we, the rest of the crew could take over and land the aircraft safely at our own home base. That’s in a nutshell what we did.
GC: Can you, can you remember any of your crew or crews?
RW: [laughs] oh god. Well the trouble is with the crews we didn’t go by surnames we went by, you know, sort of nicknames like Taffy or sort of a Johnny.
JW: But was it Pat darling?
RW: Sorry?
JW: Did you tell me Pat Howlett was a pilot?
RW: Sorry?
JW: Pat, Pat Howlett was that the name of your pilot at one time? Pat?
RW: Cat?
JW: No Pat.
RW: Pack?
JW: Pat Howlett. Was that the name of your pilot?
RW: How, how do you spell that?
JW: P, A, T, Pat.
RW: P, A, T?
JW: Yes Pat.
RW: Pat?
JW: Yes.
RW: Well that’s that was his nickname.
JW: Right, right.
RW: His real name was Patrick I think.
JW: Yes sure.
RW: But we all called him Pat.
JW: Yes.
GC: But were they, were they all English or were they from —
RW: No we had some, we had a New Zealander. We had a, a, I think it was a Dutchman and we had —
JW: What about Taffy? What nationality was Taffy?
RW: Taffy?
JW: Yes.
RW: Oh Taffy was a — died in the world [unclear]
JW: He was.
RW: But most of us were British subjects. But we came from all over the empire. We could have a navigator from New Zealand, a bomb aimer from Australia, a pilot from Leigh-on-Sea. Oh what ever, you know. But overall we all had to speak and understand English fluently that was the main thing. As long as you could understand and speak English fluently you were all ok. So we were then sent abroad we had to cross the Atlantic twice during the height of the Nuremburg war where one in two, one in three of our ships were being sunk by the Luftwaffe or by the U boats so I was, we were lucky because one in two were sunk at sea before they ever got back fully trained.
GC: Um. So you went across to Canada?
RW: I went across to America and then from America I was posted to Canada.
GC: What was Canada like?
RW: Wonderful. There were no bombs being dropped at Canada but we were completely in a peaceful country in Canada during the war because the [unclear] was hard to reach for the Luftwaffe they couldn’t reach us because they didn’t have the aircraft with the range they needed to be able to bomb us in Canada, so that was very lucky. And if by chance one foolish German pilot decided to risk everything to bomb Ottawa or Montreal or Toronto he never got there because as soon as he crossed the line [laughs] he was shot down by dozens of us waiting for him.
GC: So you’ve done, you’ve been — how long were you in Canada for?
RW: To do our training?
GC: Yes.
RW: Well just under a year and the reason for that was there were a big demand for pilots and navigators and so on and they couldn’t get us all through as quickly as they wanted to because they didn’t have the training facilities to get the numbers out as fast they needed them so they had to send some of us to Canada for training some of us through Alaska some of us to Florida some of us to Mexico I think it was. So, and some of us to New Zealand and some of us to Australia. So the training programme was very widely spread so I started out in England and then went out on to Canada and then to America and then back to England and then I finally started to fly on the wartime conditions once I had been posted back to England to a bomber squadron you see.
GC: Where was you first — when you came back to England, where were you first posted?
RW: When I first came back to England?
GC: Yes.
RW: Oh, don’t forget, they, they, they didn’t give us the names of towns or villages because we weren’t supposed to know where we were but we obviously had to find out in due course. But we in, in our case we had a huge number of training grounds, airfields in and around the London area because of course the main target for the Luftwaffe was always London wasn’t it?
GC: Um.
RW: And of course our, also our ports like Liverpool, South Hampton, things like that we had to defend those places as well so we were trained to resist the German bombers and to do our own thing to defend ourselves and also to bring up a squadrons of our own bombers that would give back to the Germans what they gave to us.
JW: Can I just interrupt for a minute to answer Gemma’s question about where you were posted because I’ve just looked up in your book darling.
RW: Oh.
JW: And when you came back to this country after training in Canada, firstly you had some leave didn’t you so you went to your family?
RW: That right.
JW: But after that you were posted to AFU, Advanced Flying Unit.
RW: That’s right.
JW: Located near Wolverhampton.
RW: That is correct.
JW: And it went by you see the unlikely name of Halfpenny Green [laughs]
RW: Yes, that’s right. Good thing I wrote, I wrote it all down.
JW: And you were flying Avro Ansons weren’t you initially?
RW: Avro Ansons is correct. Yes. Twin engines. They were designed as front line twin engine bombers but of course by the time the war had been on for about a year these Avro Ansons which had been designed in the early thirties were completely outdated, too slow and didn’t carry enough bomb load so they were converted to training programmes only and not, they were no longer were used as bombers because they were too vulnerable to German fighters so we, we did all our training on actual bombing, so called bombing raids on the, the Avro Ansons and luckily we survived but half the Avro Ansons that I ever flew never finished the war they were shot down long before the end.
GC: Can you remember your first operation over Europe.
RW: Over Europe.
GC: Over Europe.
RW: I suppose I can, if I think about it. You see operations were quite different in every respect from flying and learning to fly over your own friendly territory so by the time we were being sent with the real bombs to bomb targets on the continent this was the real war, it was a completely different thing from what we’d actually been trained to do [laughs] because what we’d been trained to do was do the actual bombing but not to do anything beyond defending ourselves but when, when we were actually on raids things suddenly happened in front of you which you hadn’t predicted or thought would happen, you know. You’d be flying with your wing man on the starboard side and your wing man on your port side and suddenly we’d find ourselves surrounded by everyone or another, Messerschmitt, night fighters, Charlie on the right would disappear in one big explosion and the other one would disappear in flames over there somewhere and you’d be left all by yourself. That was what, what happened all the time or what could happen all the time. Luckily I survived all of that and I was one of these people who the almighty decided to spare simply because half, fifty percent of bomber command were killed in action. One in two, people like me were killed. I survived the whole, all of the war and never even got a scratch, you know. And I, I got shot up, you know, I mean our aeroplane got shot up, big chunks of our aeroplane landed on navigators lap and things like that but basically the, the Wellingtons and the Lancaster that I flew in were very solidly built aircraft and they held together very well. They didn’t fall apart so obviously that helped us to get home again even if we couldn’t reach our own airfield. As soon as we crossed the line, the coast line and knew we were over friendly territory we’d bail out so we would land safely on our own home territory whilst the aircraft would be headed out to sea where it could crash into the sea without doing any harm to anybody. But, because there were certain things you could do with an aircraft even though it was badly shot up but there were certain things you could not do because it would be silly to crash to land and probably blow up because you couldn’t switch off all the petrol and, and all the engines if you were, were learning to, landing in an emergency we learnt all of that and of course all of that made you very vulnerable as well because you might be streaming petrol after the starboard engine tracers and so all the enemy fighter had to do was to put one, one bullet into that particularly vulnerable engine tank and the whole thing would go vroom and blow up.
GC: So was you actually injured at anytime?
RW: Well it depends what you mean by injured [laughs] if you mean was a I sent to hospital for any length of time to recover from my injuries the answer is no. But if I, if you mean injuries being injuries well I had all kinds of fragments that were flying about from fuselage when the Luftwaffe were attacking us with all their guns. We’d have a big chunks of metal, about this big, flying about inside the aircraft which could do you a lot of damage if they hit you. Especially if they hit you in the face. Luckily I didn’t get any injuries like that but I did get very close to losing an eye or having half my face blown off because I could hear the shell fragments come shoo straight past my cheek and land in, on the aircraft, you know, so —
JW: And there was an occasion darling wasn’t there when your boots caught fire?
RW: Yes [laughs] I had one raid where I was over, I think I was over, over either the Isle of Man or one such island which belonged to us officially and I was flying over that particular part of the territory when I was attacked, our, our aircraft was attacked and we had big chunks of our aircraft blown away and suddenly to my left, on the port side, I was next to where the main, the main wing the main spar joined the fuselage, suddenly I saw where there should have been a piece of solid metal to make sure the wing stayed up there was a great big hole about this big. Right there where the wing had joined the fuselage which meant to me at any moment the other, the two engines that we still had running on the port side, because we had four engines on the Lanc, could drop off and in which case I’d have to try and get out of the aircraft pretty quickly if I wanted to survive. So that was quite a tricky situation.
JW: But a fragment arrived, arrived near to your feet didn’t it darling?
RW: That’s right, yes.
JW: And created a fire?
RW: Created what?
JW: A fire?
RW: Yes that’s right.
JW: So your boots were catching fire.
RW: Yes my boots were on fire and I didn’t even realise it until my feet got so hot and I saw this red glowing ambers all round my boots and it turned out that my, the, the soles had been set on fire by the, oh, incendiary bullets which were coming from the fighters, the enemy fighters and several of these incendiary bullets, similar to the ones we use on them, you know, so we knew what damage they could do, set fire to our fuselage and as I say there were flames underneath my navigators table. So you know I could’ve been dead that same night, luckily the bomb aimer came along with enough fire hose left to put the fire out underneath my table so instead of that spreading right across the fuselage we were able to extinguish it at the source. But we were, these were things you took in your stride. You didn’t worry about them if you worried about them whether they happened to you but the rest of the time you got on with the job because you didn’t have time to worry [laughs] about what could happen. You had to concern yourself with what did happen.
GC: You also said earlier about bailing out. When did you bail out? Can you remember?
RW: Bail out?
GC: Yes.
RW: When? Well we, we had to do all kinds of bailing out. We had the, the real thing when one of our aircraft was on fire and there was no way that we were going to be able to extinguish the flames before they reached the fuel tanks so the skipper said, announced that we had to bail out. Which is what we did, but that was the only time I can remember where we actually were in real danger of blowing up but we had chunks of this thing blowing off our tail or wings or you know because shrapnel which was exploding all the way around you has a very powerful way of damaging your aircraft because a, a, a chunk of red hot metal this big hitting the tip of your wing could take the whole top of the wing off, in which case you go into a spiral and find yourself heading for the ground. So these things happen all the time and we were taught how to overcome them and also taught at which point we should abandon the aircraft if it was all beyond hope. Luckily although we had big chunks taken off every aeroplane I ever flew through enemy territory, none of them were fatal or caused us to blow up but we got very, very close to it. We, we had one, one shell which blew a hole about this big only about two inches away from the main fuel tank, you know. So it’s the luck of the draw.
GC: Can you remember any of your ops over Europe though?
RW: There were about — No you ask any navigator and I’m sure they’ll give you a similar, similar answer because all ops [background talking] were dangerous, right. Secondly you knew, you knew that there would be aerial defences of anti aircraft aimed at you with a view to shooting you down, right. You also knew that any fighter at night was definitely recognised whether it was a twin engine British night fighter or a twin engine German night fighter and so on. So you had to be on the defensive every minute that you were flying at night over enemy territory. So there were all kinds of things that you had to be conscious but you couldn’t find the time to worry about it because if you did that you would never get home you’d be lost because you, your pilot would force through or alter course so many times. I would give him a course to fly, right and within minute we would be attacked by a night fighter or another and we had to do this and navigate all through the sky to get away from him and that’s how we don’t bother with that. We were probably about seventy miles away from where we started getting away and you know you had to start all over again to establish where you were and start your job as navigator all the way back to where you left off and it was very difficult to do that.
JW: I seem to remember darling you saying to me that you never had time to feel afraid because you were working none stop.
RW: Absolutely, absolutely correct. If you stopped to worry you were a gonna, you know.
JW: And your ops I seem to remember you told me you were involved in things like windows.
RW: That right, windows is some of our a form of plastic fragments, lots of little bits which we used to drop over enemy territory as we approached the enemy defences we would drop this window that we had which would completely upset the radar of the enemy so it was quite a useful thing to have. They did the same to us.
JW: Were you involved in mines as well? Laying mines as well at all, or not?
RW: Mines?
JW: Yes.
RW: We had a few, very few of them but we had a few mine [unclear] traps especially up in, in Scandinavia and they approached us to Scandinavia and also they approached us to Holland and Belgium. We dropped a lot of mines and things like that.
JW: I seem to remember you telling me also you were involved in diversionary raids.
RW: Oh yes. That was another standard practice. In order to fool the enemy we would head off in the direction of a very obvious target and then at the last minute we would be told to alter course and to starboard or port and then go somewhere completely different, by which time the enemy defences were completely put off because they didn’t know where you were going you know. Things like that.
JW: But the main task force then had a clear run to their intended destination and target didn’t they?
RW: Well yes.
JW: Because you diverted the enemy.
RW: Yes that’s right.
JW: Away from that target.
GC: Can you remember anywhere you did bomb?
RW: Can I what?
GC: Can you remember anywhere that you did actually bomb?
RW: Actually bomb? Oh gosh [bleep] territory things like that. So it would be very awkward sometimes for us to send to the Germans to attack safely the enemy planes over your territory because you can never be one hundred percent sure that the plane you hit was actually one of the enemies. Rather sad.
GC: Yes.
RW: Especially at night when you can’t see the markings.
GC: So did you get scared?
RW: Did I get scared?
GC: Yes.
RW: That’s a difficult question that. I think you, you could get scared on the way there as you realise what it was that you were going to face. But the moment you were in action you forgot about being scared, wondering what to do was to make sure that you controlled your aircraft sufficiently to get you home again and that you took all the evasive action you could to avoid being hit and that was your main aim at that point. And also to drop your bombs before you and your aircraft blew up because somebody had put some shells into your bombs. So it was very much a hit and miss sort of career. Once you were airborne you could be shot down just as easily by a mistaken air gunner on your side or mistaken air gunner on the French side or whatever. It was very difficult at night time with the sky lit up with searchlights doing this and explosive bombers or anti aircraft going boom boom all over the place to tell whether you were among friends or enemy, you know. Very hard.
GC: So how do you feel about it now? Seventy years later.
RW: Well, you have to bear in mind that now the planes and weaponry used are quite different. In those days we had, we were cruising at about a hundred and forty miles an hour in the air today a bomber would be cruising at five hundred and fifty, six hundred miles an hour, much harder to bring down and attack because of the differential in speed. Because assuming that you, that you could zero in on the end of the aircraft your best bet these days would be to send up the fighters that had the speed, and the range to reach and attack and shoot down these particular aircraft because anti aircraft now is so much more sophisticated than it was during the war but by the same token it’s very hard when anything is moving so fast in the sky. Very hard to determine which is the enemy and which is the friendly one. You understand? And often we, we shoot down planes or missiles that we shouldn’t have shot down because as I say were ours but these things happen in war and there’s not much you can do about it.
GC: So what did you do once the war was over?
RW: Said “thank God” [laughs] you know. We survived. That’s the important thing we could go out and have a few pints and five or six, seven pints of beer and get slowly sloshed to celebrate the fact that we were still, were alive and still standing on our feet. Mind you after seven pints of beer you might easily drop dead anyway [laughs].
GC: Well I think that can conclude our interview. I would like to say thank you very much to Ron, thank you very much to Jill.
JW: It’s a pleasure.
GC: And it’s been an honour and a pleasure.
RW: Oh dear, oh dear, I didn’t realise that this was all, I’d forgotten all about you were supposed to be writing it all down or taking notes, but if, if you want me to elaborate on anyone particular point which we could do because of the way I structured the whole interview just, just ask me the question and I’ll see if I can answer.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with an anonymous interviewee (An00509)
Creator
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Gemma Clapton
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-04-24
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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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AAn00509-160424
Format
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00:43:08 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
The interviewee was born in Berlin in 1924, his father being a British Army surgeon who was posted there to treat badly wounded soldiers. He went to school in France then attended boarding school in Hertfordshire. He volunteered for the Royal Air Force to become a fighter pilot but failed the medical on eyesight. Offered to be a navigator, he was sent for training in the United States and Canada. Upon returning to England he was posted to RAF Halfpenny Green advanced flying unit, and then to RAF Cosford. He trained in Ansons, then crewed up with Pilot Patrick Howlett and ended up being a navigator on Wellingtons and Lancasters carrying out operations to the Netherlands and Belgium. He discusses flying training, anti-aircraft fire, military life and ethos, aircraft damage, aircraft identification, bombing techniques, diversionary operations, using Window, mine laying, dropping incendiaries and their effects.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Staffordshire
France
Netherlands
Belgium
Germany
Germany--Berlin
United States
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
crewing up
incendiary device
Lancaster
military ethos
military service conditions
mine laying
navigator
RAF Cosford
RAF Halfpenny Green
training
Wellington
Window
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/671/10077/AAn01137-170710.1.mp3
5891ad598147a2d8741af4ff73476bab
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
An01137
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with an anonymous member of Bomber Command ground personnel. He served as an electrician at RAF Topcliffe and RAF Dishforth.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-10
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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An01137
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
SC: So, if I do the introduction. I’m with Mr [redacted] sorry [redacted] I’ve got that — I’ve got that wrong right from the beginning.
Other: That’s a good start that is.
SC: I do apologise. That’s —
Other: Don’t worry.
SC: It was, it was wrong on the email that I got. But —
Anon: Oh.
SC: So we’ve corrected that. I’m here at your home at [redacted] and it is the 10th of July, I think today at 10am. And you were a of member of, you were a ground crew electrician.
Anon: Yes.
SC: I believe. So, if you want to start with your earliest memories of contact.
Anon: Well, my first contact with Bomber Command was when I was in the Air Training Corps at Scarborough. I, I was 313 Squadron. I was in that from the beginning of it and, in 1941, I think. And we went on a week’s camp to Driffield. RAF Driffield. And there were two squadrons there. If I remember rightly there was Blenheims, Bristol Blenheims and Handley Page Hampdens. And they, whilst we were there in May it was the first thousand bomber raid. I think it was on Cologne. And that was the first one that Harris put out as more or less I would have said a PR —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Exercise. But as far as I know they all came back. And whilst we were there also, that was with Bomber Command. But also it was the first time I went in the air. That was in an Airspeed Oxford. A trainer.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And that was interesting from the point of view we flew over Scarborough which was my home town. And the pilot quickly came back from the sea because there was a convoy there. He said to us after, he said, ‘I came back inland quickly because,’ he said, ‘They start shooting at anything these days.’ [laughs] So, and that was the first introduction into the Air Force proper. And then at seventeen and a half I tried to get into the Fleet Air Arm as a pilot but I’m only five foot two now. I don’t think I was much less than that then. The first thing they do is sit you on the floor with your back to the wall and there’s a white line. If your feet don’t reach that white line then my chances of being a pilot were [pause] Anyway, they offered me to come in as a telegraphist air gunner or an observer. No. They said, ‘What are you going to do?’ This is a lieutenant commander. He played up with me because I was trying to shuffle [laughs] to get my feet to reach the white line. But yeah, I said, ‘Oh. I’ll try the Air Force.’ And I went to Hull, to the centre there. Recruiting Centre. And a flight sergeant interviewed me. He says, ‘Well, you’ll never make pilot. You’re far too small.’ He says, ‘But I see you’re an apprentice electrician.’ He says, ‘Well, you’re in a reserved occupation.’ I said, ‘Yes. But I’ve got permission to break my apprenticeship and join up as long as it’s aircrew or submarines.’ He says, ‘Well,’ he says, ‘Come in as aircrew. But you’re an apprentice electrician,’ he says, ‘Why don’t you come in as an electrician and then re-muster when you’re tall enough and become a pilot.’
SC: Yeah.
Anon: So, I didn’t take any talking into it. That’s what happened. Well, I never was tall enough. I’m still only five foot two [laughs] Anyway, the outcome was that I went to Hull and then got a railway ticket from there down to Cardington on my eighteenth birthday actually. Handy because they wouldn’t let me in before then. And I got my King’s Shilling I think it was then and fitted out. Kitted out. And then went to Blackpool for six weeks square bashing and, well you learned to use a rifle and throw a grenade and that sort of thing.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And didn’t have to be taught drill although I had to do it. And get your hair cut several times.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But went from, after six weeks there went to RAF Henlow which was in two halves as an operational station there and a training centre for electricians. And I was there for four and a half months and then you get a weeks’ leave. But before you go on leave you’re given a form to fill in. ‘If,’ that’s a big word, ‘If you had the choice where would you wish to serve?’ So I put three months at RAF Driffield then anywhere overseas. Well [laughs] I never got out of Yorkshire. I went to RAF Topcliffe which was used by the Royal Canadian Air Force. 424 Squadron. And that was on Wellingtons which, rather amusing in a way because at the training school at Henlow the sergeant who took us for bomb gear, he says, ‘Well, I’m supposed to have three days on Wellingtons but,’ he says, ‘You’ll never see one.’ So, he says, ‘All I’ll tell you is it’s an unusual connection. Unusual things for connecting to the bomb release.’ So there was five, a five pin plug. He says, ‘And I’ll tell you something now so that you’ll never forget the rotation. The order of connecting it,’ he says. From the lip, the little pin thing that sticks up. ‘Going clockwise,’ he says, ‘It’s red, yellow, blue, green, white or white green. But,’ he says, ‘I’ll tell you how you’ll never forget it’, he says, ‘Now, I’ve have to modify this because we’ve got WRNS coming err WAAFs coming through,’ he says, ‘But it’s — Rub Your Belly With Grease.’ [laughs] You can still, even now, seventy, well seventy odd years isn’t it? More than that now. You just don’t forget.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But that was just amusing in a way.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Because you’d got to Wellingtons and that was all there was for 424 Squadron and you’d never been taught anything about them so you’re there with [laughs] they’ve given you a manual and you’re having to read from it —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: As you worked. But they moved then [pause] well, we went to Linton on Ouse and then back again to [pause] Linton on Ouse back to —
SC: You’ve got Skipton is the next one.
Anon: No.
SC: Oh sorry. Back. Yeah.
Anon: I’ve got to read from this thing. ATC, Blackpool, Henlow, Topcliffe, Linton Ouse. It was Skipton on Swale but that didn’t come in that order.
SC: Right.
Anon: My memories. Although I’ve got all the places I was stationed at I haven’t got them in the right order.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Went back, and still on Wellingtons. And then 424 were going to be posted to North Africa and this was in ’43. And we went, we were kitted out with a whole new squadron of Wellingtons in tropical paintwork.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Very light sandy colour. And we worked for, well I worked for thirty two hours without any break.
SC: Gosh.
Anon: Except for meals. Bringing the aircraft which were brand new up to scratch and that was when the first Gee was put in. That was the electronic stuff. Although we, the electricians only put the supply there.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But the machine itself, the screen was covered up in a shroud so as we’d no idea what it was we were putting in the supply there for.
SC: Right. Yeah.
Anon: For — but anyway the outcome was that we were — got all those done. Then they sent us to — it was Dishforth where that was done.
SC: Right.
Anon: And then they sent us up to Catterick airfield where they kitted us out for Africa. We got all the gear and gave us the injections. Then decided that the English ground crew weren’t going.
SC: Ah.
Anon: So [laughs] then, I think I went to Skipton on Swale I think it was. And it was Halifaxes. No. Tholthorpe.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Halifaxes. 425 Squadron. French Canadians. And it, they were Halifaxes and they weren’t very — how can I put it? They weren’t electrically well fit out.
SC: Right.
Anon: It struck me afterwards that the electrical stuff was an afterthought. See —
SC: Gosh.
Anon: The difference between that and the Lancasters that come on later was where you’ve got the main panel all the conduits coming in, in the Halifax there was one screw connection in front of another one. So if you wanted the back one you had to undo the front one to get to it. Umpteen wires in these air conduits. Plastic things. But in the Lancaster they were staggered so that you could do the one you wanted.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: A nightmare as an electrician on the Halifaxes. A pleasure on Lancasters.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But then, oh I finished up in that squadron, 425 maintaining the link flight simulator thing. Nothing like the simulators of today but they actually got in it. A little laid out thing like an aircraft cockpit. And it was operated by pneumatics and electric and on the port side of the [pause] Just down the side there was a lever you could operate to regulate the turbulence.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And you could nearly make yourself sick. [laughs]
SC: Gosh.
Anon: I know. But you used to have fun with that. It wasn’t used much by the pilots funnily enough. That was the French Canadians. So it was a sort of a lazy time that. A bit on the boring side. But posted then back to Linton on Ouse where I think it was 426 Squadron then and they were Lancasters and they were lovely aircraft to work on. Seven miles of wiring I believe and used to, for the DI, Daily Inspections there used to be two electricians and one went around the outside while the other one was inside operating the switches to put the various things on.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: The landing lights. The wing lights and the tail lights that you going around seeing if they work. And then the chap that’s outside gets in and does the rear turret. Checking the gun solenoids and the lighting. And the, the lighting on the gun sight.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But also the one outside checks the micro switches on the landing gear.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And the chap up in the cockpit makes sure that the lights, the green or red lights operate as they should.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And the [pause] there was a plug for an external accumulator. Trolley acc as they are called. But you only used that for when they’re trying the engines out. Now, the engine fitters were the bane of our lives because if you weren’t around they would sneakily run the engines up without having put the trolley acc in and they were running your internal batteries down.
SC: Right.
Anon: So, if [pause] if the battery was flat when you came to do an inspection you had to change the batteries.
SC: Oh.
Anon: And that was a heavy job. You had to trail to the battery room. Get a transport. That wasn’t always easy either. Sometimes you had to push them on a trolley all the way back to the aircraft.
SC: All the way back.
Anon: Another thing about the aircraft which might sound amusing now but if you’d any soldering to do there was nothing like electric soldering irons of course.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: You had what they called a mox iron, M O X, and it was a white tablet. Quite a large one that burned like fury. And it had, well to me a whacking big soldering iron, the old one with the wooden handle.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And a big chunk of copper at the end of it.
SC: At the end of it.
Anon: And you put that over the flame you’d got but you had to be fifty yards away from the aircraft. And you had to run like made after it got to the heat. When the flames died down it run like mad. You got a hot iron and get in to the Lancaster and run up to the fuselage to get to where the batteries are because the lugs occasionally needed replacing. But that was — oh, I’d better say where I’ve been. That’s the easiest way I think. We got to Henlow, Topcliffe, Linton on Ouse, Skipton on Swale, Sutton on Forest, Tholthorpe, Dishforth, Catterick, Linton on Ouse again, Lindholme. Ah, this was when I finished at the Canadians but whilst I was with the Canadians the discipline was far slacker than in the RAF. Whilst I was at East Moor the, occasionally they had what they called a backers up course for ground crew. It was [pause] well earlier on when the RAF regiment weren’t as prominent. The, you’re doing the protection of the airfield really but you’re taught how to use a rifle again and bayonet and what was it? Throw a grenade.
SC: Throw a grenade. Yeah.
Anon: That sort of thing.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And unarmed combat.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And really infantry work. And you had this to do for a week which we all detested. We were supposed to be craftsmen. Anyway, the outcome was that whilst the last day of our week a Halifax unfortunately crashed in our area. And I have the impression that whichever the area it crashed in the nearest airfield had the job of guarding the wreck that crashed. And unfortunately, although all the crew except the pilot got out the pilot stayed in and he was burned. And horrible really. But the backing up course that week was only about, if I remember rightly about eight or ten of you. You were given the job of guarding the crash.
SC: Yes.
Anon: And you were fitted you up with sandwiches and food for the night sort of thing and a bell tent and some slept but there was always one on guard. When it came to my turn it was the middle of the night and and then it was bitterly cold. And I got inside the back end of the Halifax to get out of the cold. While I’m in there I heard something moving. And so I got out and still listened and still could hear walking. So, ‘Halt. Who goes there?’ Frightened to death [laughs] The rifle and — and got no reply. ‘Halt and be recognised.’ Mooooo moooo [laughs] A cow in the next field. But but that only lasted, you had to stay there until they cleared the crash and we were there a few days actually. And, but you get seventy two hours leave after that weeks’ training.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: I’m all togged up, best blues and just walking towards the main gate when from the office, SWO’s office, the SWO, Station Warrant Officer that is —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Shouts, ‘Airman.’ Beckoned to me of course. Says, ‘I want you as an escort.’ ‘I’m going on leave, sir.’ ‘Not until you’ve been on this.’
SC: An escort.
Anon: And it was escort for a couple of Canadian airmen that had been caught in Thirsk with their caps off. And the Redcaps, RAF police had caught them and reported them. And anyway that’s, ‘Escort and accused, quick march. Caps off.’ And you’re there in front of the Wing Co. And this is the Wing Co who I said how good he was. He, ‘Read the charge out, SWO.’ And this, ‘Whilst on active duty,’ and the date and so on, ‘The airmen seen without their caps on going from the Red Lion to the Black Bull at Thirsk.’ ‘Anything to say?’ — CO. ‘No sir, but actually we were going from the Black Bull to the Red Lion.’ ‘Case dismissed. Incorrect evidence’. You should have seen that station warrant officer’s face. He was an RAF — a lot of the admin staff were RAF. I missed my train but [laughs] it was worth it to see his face.
SC: It was worth it. Yeah.
Anon: But that’s just amusing. But that was with 426 if I remember rightly. 432 that, aye. Thurlby I think his name was. Wing co. But he used to have parties in the mess for the morale and that. Thought the world of him, everybody. But then I went back finally whilst I was with the RAF, RCAF. Went back to Linton on Ouse and 432 were there with Lancasters. And one of my old friends was an air gunner. Flight sergeant air gunner, Freddie Frith and I was talking to him the night before he took off and of course we’d been pals back in Scarborough and lived in the same street actually. And —
SC: Gosh.
Anon: Played football and cricket and that sort of thing as lads. And he never came back. And he was the one I was telling you about. That unknown grave. And he’s at Runnymede. The Memorial there. But went then, went back to the RAF proper. Talk about bringing you down to earth. You had to have your buttons cleaned and really be professional I suppose.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But it was very relaxed on the Canadian side. But back there and this wasn’t an operational squadron. The first time I hadn’t been on an operational squadron and it was [pause] well to us it was stricter than the rest had been on the ops. But we, I was there almost a year and there you had the job of, well apart from looking after Lancasters you did the battery charging. And they also had the airfield runway lights to keep and check and for that you had to have transport. Well, one day it was my turn to do this. We did it in turns and when I went for transport the one that was available they says, ‘Have you got a licence?’ I says. ‘Only one for civvy street. I haven’t had one—’ ‘Oh, well if you’ve one for civvy street you must be able to drive.’ He says, ‘That’s the only car available,’ and it was the CO’s Humber.
SC: Oh gosh.
Anon: I’d never been in a posh car like that before. And I got it on the runway up to ninety miles an hour [laughs]
SC: Wow.
Anon: I really, really enjoyed that but —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Then of course you had to go back slowly to make sure all the lights were on.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: On the — but that was [pause] that was by 1945 now. And I may be right [pause] yes it would be. Anyway, the oh the other thing we had to do which I mentioned earlier to you was at Metheringham we had a lighthouse to let planes know where they were. Those that had lost their way and didn’t know where they were. This flashing talked from the parent station which was Lindholme, by telephone. It told to put the aerial lighthouse on and it flashed two Morse letters which the aircrew all recognised as where it was. A bit like a lighthouse at sea flashing.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Certain letters. But that was an amusing that was. Being young and silly in those days. It was the middle of summer this time I’m thinking of. We used to go out before the, well the aircraft weren’t going out really ‘til dark time so during the day we went into the nearby town. I can’t think of the name of it now. It wouldn’t be Scunthorpe would it? Anyway, and on a pushbike.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Which I’d biked from the airfield on and I finished up that night with my bike on top of a haystack. Stuck. So [laughs] Young and silly. But when the phone went you had to get out there and get that flashing light going. That shows. And there’s a motor mechanic, a corporal general duties chap in charge of you and yourself, an electrician and you had a caravan. And it was a change from being on the airfield.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And the farmer or his wife used to keep you well fed as well.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But that was the end of the RAF. I was at Lindholme which is now a prison. Raise a few eyebrows when you say, ‘Oh, I’ve been in Lindholme.’ [laughs] But anyway, I was there when VE day came. And shortly after that there was a notice went up asking for volunteers for the Fleet Air Arm for going out to see the Japs off.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: That finished my RAF lot. But I did volunteer for the Fleet Air Arm and went there as an electrician. Well, for two minutes at, I think it was RAF Warrington but it was a mixed camp. Half the camp was Air Force, the other half Navy and you were kitted out when you got to the other side of the camp. You were, for two minutes — a minute to twelve and a minute after twelve you were a civilian. You’d been discharged from the Air Force.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But hadn’t been accepted into the Navy. And then you, you were kitted out on the Naval side. And they’d pipe in the morning dress of the day. And but number, you were given [number 9?] now, I forget. But they — nobody had a clue how to dress. You stood on your beds trying to look out these Nissen hut’s window to see what other people were wearing.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But from there you went to transit camp which was at the HMS Daedalus II. Daedalus III rather. The shore base. And you just got kitted there waiting to go somewhere but they get all sorts of things. And don’t let anybody tell them Nelson’s dead. He’s not.
SC: Right.
Anon: The air force, went and got at Melksham. This was an RAF base but it was Navy training for American electric switches which are different to our RAF wiring. We had two wire system. They had one wire and earth. And what, you were given the month on that. But two weeks of that were trying to learn what all the initials were because everything’s done by initials in the Navy.
SC: Right.
Anon: We were always in trouble with the master at arms for various things. Two of us, I was one of them walking across what we called the parade ground and somebody bawled out to us, and we were, ‘At the double,’ because we had started walking towards him. It turned out he was the master at arms and he wanted to know why we were walking across the quarter deck instead of doubling. And this is the sort of thing.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And I think the Navy was about fifty years behind the Air Force but it was still enjoyable. But whilst I was on that course they dropped the atom bombs and they didn’t know what to do with us. They — I finished up instead of hoping to have got overseas as my original intention had always been was, I was posted up to Scotland. To Royal Naval Air Station Dunino. And I was on Fairey Barracudas.
SC: Gosh.
Anon: Which were torpedo bombers and they’re like toys compared to Lancasters.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But all we were doing was getting them up to front line state to be flown down to — I think it was Speke in Lancaster. Lancashire. Where they were dumped. Scrapped.
SC: Right.
Anon: But they wouldn’t let us, them go if there was anything wrong at all.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But, I don’t think [pause] I hope I haven’t wasted your time.
SC: No. Gosh, no. No. It’s been a fascinating journey.
Other: That was the first time I’ve heard it.
Anon: The very first time.
Other: Thank you.
SC: Oh gosh.
Anon: The very first time I realised how ignorant I was, was I was still eighteen. First time on night duty at Topcliffe. Wellingtons. And you were underneath the Wellington because you’ve got trolley acc lead plugged in.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And they start the engines up. They start the port, port one up first and flames shoot out of the exhaust.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: I’d never seen one at night. I saw flames and I shouted up through the hatch, which is the hatch where they went in up the ladder. Baled out at height. I shouted, ‘You’re on fire.’ It wasn’t on fire at all just the [laughs] Fortunately because of the engine noise he couldn’t hear me so —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But you learn as you go along.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: In that case. And how on earth we won the war.
Other: You must be dry after all that. You’ve got it. Would you like some pineapple juice?
SC: I’d love. Yes, please.
Anon: But I — no, I enjoyed it.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And I’ll be honest here. I’d have stayed in the Navy. In the Fleet Air Arm. But my mother was a widow.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: My father died when I was twelve and I went back more or less to support her but —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: But on the demob leave that’s when I met Jean.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And we’ve been married just over seventy years now.
SC: Oh gosh. Congratulations.
Anon: Thank you.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Commiserations I think you said [laughs]
SC: You said that. Not me [laughs] Thank you very much.
Other: Right.
Anon: I don’t think I’ve been much use to you. What I’ve said.
SC: Oh, it has been. It has been a tremendous valuable story. I’ll switch this off now.
Anon: The worst thing I think I had to do was change an alternator in the middle of the night. Well, I say it was the middle of the night. It was pitch dark.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And it was snowing. And it was out on the airfield. It wasn’t in the hangar. And I stood on the engine stand there. Your fingers, you could hardly feel them.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And you’d wires to connect.
SC: Yeah.
Anon: And bolts to, well the fitters I suppose were supposed to do that but you weren’t going to get a fitter out of the Nissen hut to come and —
SC: Yeah.
Anon: Do something you could do yourself. Put the nuts and bolts to hold it in place. But —
SC: It must have been really difficult.
Anon: But I managed to go through the lot and never get charged.
SC: That’s good. That’s an achievement.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with an anonymous interviewee (An01137)
Creator
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Steve Cooke
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-07-10
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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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AAn01137-170710
Format
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00:38:15 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal Navy
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
Description
An account of the resource
Anon, from Scarborough was keen to join the Fleet Air Arm as a pilot. Disappointed that he didn’t meet the height requirement he joined the RAF and began training as an electrician. His aim was to travel abroad with the service but to his disappointment he never left Yorkshire. His first posting was with 424 Squadron. The squadron was kitted out to transfer to North Africa and although they prepared the aircraft for the journey the British ground crew didn’t make the move and he was posted to 425 Squadron. Among his duties other than the electrical work was to provide guard duty for crash sites and he was also called on as an escort to airmen who were accused of misdemeanours. On the squadron he met a childhood friend from Scarborough who was an air gunner. He was killed on operations. He volunteered to transfer to the Fleet Air Arm and joined that service until he was demobbed.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Carolyn Emery
Temporal Coverage
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1941
1943
1945
424 Squadron
425 Squadron
426 Squadron
432 Squadron
ground personnel
Halifax
Lancaster
memorial
military discipline
military ethos
military service conditions
RAF Dishforth
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Skipton on Swale
RAF Tholthorpe
RAF Topcliffe
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1163/11722/ATompsonA160125.2.mp3
3d7af9f302b744370c9112ad7ec336f6
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
Tompson, Anthony
A Tompson
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Anthony Tompson DFC ( - 2019, 1382325, 138477 Royal Air Force).
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-01-25
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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Tompson, A
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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NM: So, it’s, it’s Monday the 25th of January. My name is Nigel Moore. I’m with Flight Lieutenant Anthony Thompson DFC in his house in [deleted] in Hertfordshire and it’s 11 o’clock. So, would you like to start by telling us a little bit about your background, your childhood, your growing up before you joined the RAF?
AT: Well, I went to a secondary school and county school and took matric. And because I was more practical then theory and academic, I intended to look for an apprenticeship. And because I’d been interested in things electrical I joined the Post Office, Engineering Department. Sorry about my voice. I’m recovering from a bit of sickness. And I joined the Post Office and was with them for three or four years as an apprentice and I learned quite a lot. I learned about life for one thing and quite a lot about electricity. I went to in night school and day time study. And this was all immediately pre-war. Pre-war. And when war broke out or just before, the RAF were appealing for young men to come forward and volunteer for flight training. The idea appealed to me so with a bit of bending of the truth I managed to get in and was accepted for flight training. After the usual ground courses, I got sent over to Canada to learn to fly on a Tiger Moth. That went alright and I was eventually posted. Passed out and posted to another unit at Calgary in Alberta, where we were flying Airspeed Oxfords. And this was a much more sophisticated aeroplane and it was a bit beyond my abilities and I had trouble landing it. I was unable to judge height and I either landed six feet above the ground, so to speak, or six feet under it. Seldom on it. And I then, after a week or two of this the chief flying instructor took me on one side and kindly suggested perhaps this wasn’t the best profession for me, the best occupation for me and I’d like to think about something else. I could either drop the idea of aircrew altogether and look around for a ground job or I could carry on in a different aircraft, a different aircrew — I’m sorry. A different aircrew capacity. And after looking at the pros and cons we decided that navigation was something I could do quite well. So I was transferred to the Central Navigation School in Manitoba and did the course there which was run, just six months long. And I passed out fifth of about thirty students. I did quite well there and I loved it. And so I became what in those days was just called, sorry about my voice, in those days it was just called a navigator. These days I think it would have been [unclear] navigator or some other such thing. Anyway, from Canada I came back to the UK and did a few refresher courses. Mainly to relate what I’d learned at the environment of Canada to the rather different environment in Britain and went through to an OTU or Operational Training Unit where I joined a pilot and a gunner to form the nucleus of an aircrew. And we went on from there as a trio. Did quite well and went to a Conversion Unit where we picked up another four crew members. There we were, seven strong. A seven strong crew waiting for a posting which was eventually to a squadron in Suffolk at a place called Tuddenham. Which before the war had been a little village. A rural village. Mainly agricultural land. Grain growing country. And we joined this unit flying Stirling aircraft. The Stirling is one of the world’s forgotten aeroplanes. Designed immediately pre-war by Short’s. Short Armament of Belfast and, as I say drawing on their experience of designing the Empire Flying Boats, Catfoss and so on. The Stirling was built to the same standards of a flying boat and the characteristics of a flying duck. Had lots of room. Bitterly cold in the air. But there were some better low level performance than at height. They never really took off as one of the mass bombers that it was hoped but it was ideal for intruder work. And having formed this crew we went through one of the courses together and eventually passed out as an operational crew and were posted to 90 Squadron at, as I said, Tuddenham in Suffolk. And there we took part in various operations bombing strategic targets like railway junctions and things like marshalling yards and specific buildings. And later we got involved with the French underground, the Maquis and we were involved in supplying them. Dropping arms and ammunition to them in various locations. In view of the Stirling’s range and ability, in our case it was the foothills of the Alps and down near Lyon. We’d fly down there at low level to avoid detection as much as possible and to make air attack difficult and somewhere about a thousand feet or less. It was a strain on the two pilots and fairly, fairly easy for me because there were lots of opportunities for map reading. And we’d go down to the location which could be a clearing in a forest or a particular farm yard. Something of that kind. And we exchanged light signals with the people on the ground and having established identities we’d do a bombing. A bombing run and drop cylindrical containers of the required arms down by parachute. And there’s some lovely photographs of these things drifting down in the back of the, in the wake of the aircraft. Catching in the slipstream. Canopies opening. And down below they had the reception committee waiting and they were usually led by a British army officer. And these would be, these containers were would be collected and hidden and the parachute silk disposed of through domestic channels. And then we’d go back and wait for the next one. These were flights of about seven or eight hours. Rather tiring. We had two nights off afterwards. Two days and nights during which we could rest and recover and recreate as they say. So, we’d have a few beers in the mess and generally get ready for next time. That went on until just at the end of the war. But before then I’d finished my tour. A tour was thirty trips. I did those and then at the end of that time I went on to pass on what I’d gained in the way of knowledge and experience to people coming behind and became an instructor. That lasted for about six months. It was utterly boring. And I volunteered and was eventually managed to get out. Was posted to a Mosquito, to a Mosquito squadron of 8 Group. The Pathfinder group. And I was based at Wyton. Excuse me. In Huntingdonshire. And there we took part in [pause] nurse [pause] Sorry there was a pause for a slurp of water. On the squadron at Wyton I was part of what was known as the Light Night Striking Force. Light being reference to the weight of bombs you could carry. And I remember our first trip. We went to, had a crew of two, pilot and navigator and we went into briefing and expecting to be given an easy trip for the first, first time. Point of fact the target was Berlin which was rather, rather a shock. And that went off quite well. We found the abilities, the flying abilities of the Mosquito were more than a match for the enemy defences. And the worst thing you really could get was being latched on to by radar and tracked by night fighters. But we had enough speed to outfly them. A wonderful aeroplane. They were held together by glue. The wooden wonder. The wooden wonder it was called. And I finished the war on, did a second tour, thus completed a second tour on Mosquitoes and that was the end of our career really. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in. The peacetime RAF were going to be, was going to be very different from the carefree, happy family environment of Bomber Command. And, excuse me, I decided to take my demob and to come out which I did. And then it was a question of making a living. And I got accepted for a job with British European Airways as it was then. And they had a contract with the Post Office, the British Post Office, to deliver mail to the remote locations in the Hebrides and the Scottish islands. And this involved a certain amount of navigation and I was accepted as the unit’s navigator. Navigator. I did a number of flights in helicopters delivering mail. Firstly, in East Anglia to practice and work out techniques. Then up in Scotland, around the islands. It was great fun. And there would be a reception committee. A postal van and a dour Scot in a Post Office uniform waiting to exchange mail. And this went on until, this went on for some months till suddenly the contract ended and it was not renewed. So after that I was again out of work and I joined, I saw an advertisement for somebody with roughly the qualifications I had to join de Havilland’s. Which I did. I applied and got the job. And this was in their guided weapons division. And I got into the world of rockets and things like that. Alright. Do you want to go on?
NM: Keep going. Yeah.
AT: And this was largely working with the Ministry of Supply to develop things like the Firestreak. The air to air missile. Finished up with Blue Streak which was Britain’s intercontinental, sorry about my voice, intercontinental ballistic missile. That involved a number, a number of trips to Australia. To Woomera. And I suppose that lasted for a year one way or the other. Eventually, eventually the time for retirement. Not something that really seemed to occur in RAF life but in civilian life it did. And after a period in London behind a desk, which I did not enjoy, I took retirement. And here I am. Reminiscing. Rambling on in a failing voice. I’m sorry about that. But over to you.
NM: Can I take you back to your time in 90 Squadron and Stirlings?
AT: Stirlings. Yes.
NM: You were doing mine laying, bombing, you were supplying the Resistance?
AT: Yes.
NM: Tell us about the, some mine laying trips and also the time that you were sort of ambushed with your Resistance supply dropping.
AT: Well yes. We, the mine laying trips were individual efforts. You went out as a single aircraft with an area to be mined. And because the Stirling had a considerable capacity, endurance, we really got the long trips. So, one of our favourite areas was the Eastern Mediterranean and across the Bay of Biscay to the estuary of the Garonne River which leads down to Bordeaux. The enemy was getting in supplies by sea via these routes and the British War Cabinet wanted it stopped. So we went around laying mines across the area and the enemy spent time trying to get rid of them. And there was a sort of a battle that went on. We laid more mines. They’d get rid of those. It occupied their, their forces and their strength and probably formed a useful diversion which was exploited by our side. Anyway, they were long trips and for a lot of the way, navigationally speaking they were boring trips. We set out with a forty five minute crossing. Crossing of the sea with nothing to see except stars and astro navigation. You felt sometimes you’d made the wrong choice. You’d like something more exciting. But we worked quite successfully at this and in due course became one of the senior crews on the squadron and carried on with this sort of work. You had a general scope of mine laying and Maquis supplying. Supplying the French and attacking a few strategic targets in between. And that’s how life went. The days were quite pleasant down in the agricultural area of Suffolk. If you weren’t flying you’d go down to the village for the evening. Drop into the local. And they were always very generous and looked after the Air Force and we’d have a few beers and a singsong with them. In the morning was a 9 o’clock briefing and then you walked up to your aeroplane. To your individual Stirling. Like luxury, 3 Group was. You had your own aircraft. You didn’t take one from the pool. And you’d fly your Stirling for an hour testing all the equipment. An air test it was called. You would fire the guns. Drop practice bombs on a range. Check all the radio equipment and make sure it was in first class order when you got back or reported defects to be put right during the afternoon. And then at about 5 o’clock you’d have an aircrew meal of something sustaining and then go off to the briefing. Had the final operational briefing and then straight out to the aeroplane and off. Come back, hopefully, some hours later. And there was always a member, it was rather like a family on the squadron and you sort of took interest in each other. And one of the questions they always got was, ‘Who’s not made it yet?’ ‘Who’s not made it back yet?’ Not so much what we have experienced and managed to overcome but how were other people getting on. And you could sometimes find an aircraft was lost and our last, last thoughts were people, you were friends. People you’d had a few drinks with a night or two before. Where were they? What were they doing? And life on the squadron was very much like that. And occasionally we had a virtual stand-down where you had a week’s notice that there would be no operations on a particular night and you planned for a party. You could invite the local big wigs in with their wives and have a formal dinner dance or you could forget about that and just let events take their course when things got a bit riotous. And that’s roughly what life was like. There were the afternoons. And when we had the morning air test and then lunch the afternoon was free until proper briefing time. We got on our bicycles, the rear gunner and I. He was much older than any of us. He was a country man. He was born in the, in Surrey and raised on a farm and joined the Brigade of Guards as a job. In the Blues and Royals. And he had a self-discipline, a self-discipline engendered by his experience in the army which more or less rubbed off on the rest of us and I’m sure improved our efficiency. Anyway, we’d go out in the country on our bicycles and sit down at the edge of a cornfield and just listen to the sounds of what was going on and just reminisce and chat and relax. That’s a great, a great foil for the activities that may be on the coming night. Anyway, I ramble on. Is there anything more I can tell you?
NM: Tell me about the operation with the Resistance supply that seemed to go wrong.
AT: Oh, the Resistance supply was planned that you would go to this point that was [pause] I’ll start again. The Resistance group was liaised, possibly, possibly led by a British Army officer who was seconded to them. Usually from the Royal Artillery. And they would, he would mastermind the operation and give information back to Britain by radio. Giving us information about what we, what we needed to know regarding dropping in a certain dropping area. The times, recognition signals and anything else of that nature. And on the basis of that information we planned the operation and organized the times, organized the aeroplane and fly off on the schedule we’d worked out. And fly, for security we’d fly at low level. Usually below a thousand feet. Map reading our way across Europe. And the crew we got to, with practice we got the crew very good at reporting what they could see. And I sat back with large scale maps of the area trying to correlate the information they were giving with the details on the map and that way we worked a good system. We could find our way around Europe pretty well. And having got down to the rough area we’d do a wide circuit flashing the recognised, the agreed recognition signal. And from the ground we’d get the matching signal back. The counterpart. When we were happy with each other’s identity they’d light a flare path. A long line of flares with a cross piece and this would give us a wind direction and the line they wished us to drop on. Then we’d do a straightforward bombing run on that. At the appropriate moment release the containers. The rear gunner would report they’d gone, He’d count the parachutes and say that eight containers had gone. We knew how many we were carrying so we knew there were no hang-ups. And that was it pretty well. When they’d all gone we could do another circuit and they would flash back a thanks signal and we’d wish them luck and fly back home. Long trips. Boring in some parts. But always susceptible. By this time the enemy knew we were, what we were doing. They knew roughly, they knew roughly where we were and they’d have night fighters up. Night fighters up on our route back. So there was a certain amount of activity on the aircraft keeping an eye open for them. So we got back to Britain, we’d flash again the recognition signal as you approached the British coast and the British defences would pass you on. Acknowledge your signal. Then you’d get in touch with base. And after that it was just a question of flying back to base and landing. Then it was debriefing. We had a truck waiting for the crew. For us. Hand the aircraft over to the ground, to the flight sergeant in charge of the ground crew. Any defect, any problem, any damage report to him. He’d get it sorted out. We’d get on board the truck, go down to intelligence and answer their questions. Tell them what we’d discovered. What we saw. This would go into a pool of information coming back from various aircraft in various bases that night and generally build up a picture of what was going on, on the other side for the operation, the operational command. Then off for an aircrew meal and to bed.
[recording paused]
AT: Eventually she got disenchanted with this and went in for nursing instead and was on the theatre team of the hospital. The Dunstable Hospital. So she’s kept an interest in us, Francis and me ever since this trouble started and we helped her. So that’s why she’s around.
NM: Ok. Can I take you back to the, there was one incident in the, when you were dropping supplies to the Resistance that seemed to go wrong?
AT: Occasionally units of the French units, the Resistance units were infiltrated by traitors and could be, could be taken over and used by Germans. By the enemy. And it happened to us once. We carried on with our normal routine and the answers came back very, very swiftly and pat. And we began to feel, to get that feeling that something wasn’t quite right. And you couldn’t do anything about it except be doubly alert and sure enough when we were doing our bombing, our run to drop the containers with the aircraft flaps out we were going along, barely airborne, as low as we could we had a great attack from the ground. As I say the height we flew precluded air attack or fighter attack but left us vulnerable to the ground and they had, they attacked with all sorts of gunfire. And we were, there were a few minor injuries. Bits of shrapnel flying around. The aircraft had some damage. And we got out as soon as we could and got home and lucky to get there I suppose. But that was the sort of excitement that one had on those in those days. You just used your training and your initiative to pick up on those things and cope with the situation. Over to you.
NM: There was another occasion when you were attacked and lost part of your wing and had to resort to astro navigation to get back was it? Can you tell us about that trip?
AT: Navigation. What was the navigation?
NM: You were, you were attacked and lost part of a wing and you carried on with the operation and had to get back using astro navigation.
AT: That’s right.
NM: Tell us. Tell us a bit about that trip.
AT: Well the aircraft was controllable. The performance was debased but we managed to get, to keep it airborne. We, the pilot and the co-pilot. And the flight engineer was happy with the situation. And we had to rely always on an alternative. We couldn’t quite follow the route home that we’d planned from landmark to landmark. So we had to use astro navigation which meant flying steadily for two minutes I think it was. The sextant taking our star shots with us, or a number of star shots with the sextant. Now, the sextant worked with a chamber inside it which contained a liquid which under pressure with a capsule was pressurised, could be pressurized by taking a screw out a screw and this caused a bubble to form. And the idea was it had bubbles like a spirit level. Had to be kept in by moving a sextant and it kept in the middle of this chamber. And this was illuminated dimly as a light coloured ring. And your, the image of the star you were using appeared in the, within that frame according to the way you were holding the sextant and directing it. And you worked the, altered the positions, the latitude of the aircraft until the image appeared in the centre of the bubble. Then you carried on gradually coming back. Anyway, it was a tedious business and it went on for two minutes and that’s a very long time when you’re holding a sextant. Trying to balance. And at the end you had a set of readings which, with which you went in the air almanac which was really a list of readings that should be obtained if you are where you hope to be. Various places along, along the route. And you plotted. Your reading could be converted into what was called a position line. A bearing along, somewhere along which you were at the time and you’d reduce it to that. Plot that on the chart and then try and find another. Another position line. Either from a different star or from ground observation which would intersect the first as closely as possible to a right angle. You get a sharp cross. And that was your position at that time. Astro navigation was a tedious business and not popular but it was there and it couldn’t be interfered with so something you fell back on. And on this occasion we managed to fall back on it. And I can’t remember the details now but no doubt we got information which was sufficient. Sufficient for the purpose because here I am.
NM: So how was the aircraft damaged on that occasion? Was it ground fire? Flak? Or was it a night fighter?
AT: I think it was ground fire. I don’t recall it very clearly. I think it was ground fire. Flying at low level it wasn’t, it wasn’t difficult for the enemy to work out the direction you were, in which you were flying and to alert gun positions further along that route. And with four radial engines, seven hundred and fifty horsepower each blasting out the exhaust they could very quickly latch on to hearing you and plot you and pick you up. And at low level they’d got a chance of hitting you.
NM: There was another occasion you had a double engine failure on take-off with a crash landing.
AT: That’s right. That was on a Stirling. That was something that could happen and [pause] I think Colin was the pilot. Sergeant pilot. He was very quick. He and the flight engineer recognised this and alerted everybody to the situation. We all got in the crash positions where if the aircraft crumbled around us we’d all stand a chance of surviving. I know mine was back in, in between the spars. The Stirling wing was a massive girder which passed from one wing tip through the fuselage to the other wing tip and there were two four and a half girders with about four or five feet between them and my crash position was in between the two. I remember scrambling down there, lodging myself in firmly. And as for the Stirling’s nose the bomb aiming panel was cut out from the other side of the nose which left it like a scoop. And as the aircraft hit the ground this scoop was bringing up stones and soil and so on. Piling back into the fuselage. I looked at this and wondered if it was going to, whether it would stop before I had to get out or whether I’d have to cope with that as well. Fortunately it stopped but that was another interesting thing. They found afterwards there was a design fault somewhere in the system which caused the engine failure. I’m casting my eye around. Somewhere around this room maybe, or this [unclear] is my logbook.
NM: We can, we can look at that after.
AT: I’m sorry?
NM: We can look at that afterwards.
AT: Yes. I was wondering if it contained any details. Never mind.
NM: We can pick that up. Yeah. Now, you, you took part in an operation on, on D-Day.
AT: Sorry?
NM: You took part in an operation on D-Day itself, didn’t you?
AT: Yes. It was obvious from general events that D-Day was coming and we had one or two practices. And then the whole environment on the squadron changed. Everybody was kept on camp. Nobody could go off into the local town and nobody went off on leave. We were kept. Locked down as it were. And you had an aircrew meal which usually contained an egg in some form. This took place early in the afternoon I remember. At the usual time. And it was obvious to us what was going to happen. Anybody with any intelligence knew we’d been waiting for this and this was it. And we were told to report to the briefing room ready to go. Complete in flying clothing. All equipment. Which was unusual. Usual that we changed clothing after briefing but not on this occasion which added to our certainty that this was it. And from briefing we got on to enter the crew bus. Straight out to the aircraft. No stopping. No diversions. No possibility of informational leaks from one place to another. Service police were around and watching. And straight into the aircraft. And then it was normal procedure. And we flew, according to instructions, at low level. Down across the UK. I think we got to [pause] I’m not sure if it was Beachy Head. Somewhere on the, some location on the south coast. And they took off across, took off from the aircraft. Set course across the channel and there was quite a battle. I remember I saw quite a lot of activity down below and we were dropping supplies to the army. We got to the dropping zone. Went through, went through the motions. Dropped the containers and got out again as fast as we could. We got back to the UK, landed at base. Again, heavy security and a very truncated debriefing. Normally that went on for some time to get as much information as possible about enemy dispositions and movements on the other side. On this occasion there was none of that. A question of — you’re back, anything vital to report? Ok. Back to bed. You may be wanted. Straight to bed. And ready to be called out maybe an hour later depending on how things went. Fortunately we weren’t called and in the morning of course on the news was all of the invasion. The invasion is on. And the, the [public knew?] about as much as we did. What you do, the policy of the security is what you don’t know you can’t reveal. So we weren’t told anymore officially than we had to know. Yeah. There afterwards a question of operational requirements. Dropping further supplies if necessary. A bit of strategic bombing if it was needed. Knock out that rail junction or a road junction in advance of the army.
NM: And part of your drops on D-Day.
AT: Sorry?
NM: Part of the drops you did on D-Day itself were a lot of Window and also the Rupert dummies.
AT: That’s right. Thank you for reminding me now. Yes. Ruperts were fun. They were about five feet high I suppose. Cut out of a figure with a parachute and fireworks were verey cartridges that went off on landing. Pressure switch. And simulated the sort of signal that you would expect from an assembly rallying point. And the dummies going down, they attracted enemy fire. I can’t remember much else about them. I know we had one in the briefing room and it was used as a demonstration model of what was going to happen. Yes. Ruperts. I don’t know why they were called Rupert. Presumably it’s the designer or somebody high up had that name. And D-Day was quite striking. You could see the landing craft making their way across The Channel and it wasn’t, wasn’t terribly smooth. We thought of all those seasick soldiers who would have to carry on. And we were at low level. I can’t, I don’t remember now about the ground operations on the beaches. I think we were in advance of that. I think we were preparing for it but didn’t actually see it. But the, the sight of those landing craft was quite something. We’d seem them before on practice runs. Usually off the, somewhere off Weymouth. That area. I recognised the vessel but they were having a very rough time. I gather there was a chance the whole operation would be postponed because of bad weather but that would have been an enormous thing. An enormous task to undertake. I think they decided to, obviously they decided to go. Anyway, we felt we were safe and snug in our aircraft and thankful we weren’t down below. And straight back to base afterwards after having done what we had to do. Straight back to base by the shortest route. Refuel. Reload. And get to my debriefing. Get to bed in case you were wanted again. In case things on the ground over there took a turn for the worse and we were needed to urgently resupply. So, get what rest you can. Which we did. But we were not called. Things went as required, I think.
[pause]
NM: So that was the end of your first tour.
AT: Well yes.
NM: How did you adapt to becoming an instructor after the operational side of life?
AT: To begin with you were hesitant. As I am now. Which wasn’t very impressive. But eventually you got used to it. You got the patter. You knew the syllabus you were trying to follow. You knew how to liaise with people. You went through each student you were allocated. Three or four students to look after. And you went through their practice flights in fine detail. See where they had made a mistake or a wrong decision and you go through with them after like a tutor. You were a tutor. And we’d get used to that after a few episodes and I didn’t enjoy it very much. It was nice I suppose knowing that you would go back to a comfortable bed. Wouldn’t be roused in the middle of the night to go and do an air sea rescue. That was another feature. If somebody ditched, went down in The Channel, efforts were made to get them back. Firstly, I think it sounds a bit callous but I think firstly to prevent them falling into enemy hands and being interrogated by all the devious means the enemy was using. Drugs mainly. And [pause] what led me into this? Yeah. So this was one of the features of going to bed and getting as much rest as you could because it was one of the things you could get called out for. We were one night, somewhere up on the North Sea and we never found anything. We were given a box, an area to cover. When you covered it you’d have a brief look again and then come back. It appears to me as something I get right.
[recording paused]
NM: So, after six months instructing you joined Mosquito 162 [sic] Squadron.
AT: That’s right.
NM: Led by Ivor Broom.
AT: That’s right.
NM: Tell me about life on that squadron.
AT: Well, that was quite a different environment. First of all, on a Stirling squadron if you were lucky you had to wait for an, wait for an aircraft. You weren’t allocated your own aircraft until one became available. And this might be several, several weeks away. But I turned up at 163 and they said, ‘Right. Your aircraft is R for Roger. Go and have a look at it and meet the ground staff,’ which was rather a shock. I didn’t expect anything as fast as that but in 8 Group things moved quickly. Partly because it was led by a dynamic New Zealander and this group philosophy sort of filtered down to the squadrons. And yeah, we took our first flight in the aircraft and I remember, I remember that they too, the navigator was the bomb aimer as well in the Mosquito. You had to leave your seat and go and lie down prone beside the pilot. This meant that the oxygen pipe had to be long enough to put out a supply in the new position. It had to be fairly long. And I remember that during the practice, during the operation, the first operation it wasn’t long enough. There was no way it could get down there. It was one thing we failed to check during the air test. It was a warning — never assume anything. Check. Always check everything for yourself. And, yeah I remember the thrill of that first Berlin. That was always the big one. The Mosquito wasn’t so big. It could go high up. Beyond, beyond a lot of the ground defences. Most of them. And the horror of going down to the nose, finding the oxygen pipe wasn’t long enough at twenty five thousand feet. So I took two or three deep breaths, I remember. Filled my lungs with oxygen as far as I could and went down and did the bombing run. That was a salutary lesson. Never assume that things will be what you expect them to be. And [pause] I was trying to think if there was anything else. Anything else notable on that trip. I haven’t read my notes. Was there anything you want to mention?
NM: There was another one of these trips you were attacked by a night fighter.
AT: Oh yes. This happened suddenly. Without warning obviously and I was sitting around. The pilot was very, very good. Very skilled. And he took evasive action and I had to tell him which way to turn and what action to take. I was sitting in my usual position with my head screwed around so I could see backwards. You could see lines of tracer bullets from an enemy passing by. Get an idea where he was and transferred this information into suggestions to the pilot that he might fly at this location or dive or climb or take some manoeuvre to throw the enemy off. And this seemed to work. All of these ideas you practised during the daily air test. Every day do an air test during the morning with the Mosquitoes up in The Wash. Over the sea. This voice is ridiculous.
[pause]
[recording paused]
AT: Ok. Over to you again.
NM: So, in total you went to Berlin twelve times.
AT: Twelve times, that’s right.
NM: What about other targets?
AT: Well yes, usually of tactical importance. Railway crossings, railway junctions, road junctions. I think we went to one or two docks. Ports. Oh, by this time the invasion was on. There was a question of disrupting enemy communications and their ability to move materials and men in numbers around north west, North Western Europe.
NM: Were there any particular operations that stand out in your second tour?
[pause]
AT: This distance in time it’s hard to remember.
NM: So, in 1945 you were awarded the DFC.
AT: Yes.
NM: How did you feel about that?
AT: I was chuffed of course. Very pleased. Not sure I really deserved it but the CO seemed to think so. Of course it cost me a lot of money in beer. In beer in the mess that night. And a trip to the Palace to receive it. It would have been the king but the king was ill with lung cancer and it was [unclear]and the thing about it that sticks in my mind is quite stupid. He was wearing white knitted gloves. Machine knitted. He shook hands with everybody but he was wearing white gloves. And we of course had none. And I thought, why? I recognise the importance but why does he have to wear gloves at all? It can’t be that we would contaminate him in some way. Anyway, perhaps its protocol. And it was stolen later. It was silver. Made of silver of course and at this time there was an interest in silver as an important resource for the country. And people were trotting off to the jewellers with the silver cutlery or silver tankards and things. And about this time the house that we owned in Harpenden was intruded, burgled. And my logbook went. And the DFC, and a few other bits and pieces. The logbook turned up later on a bookstall. I remember Toc H, the charity. They ran a Saturday morning bookstall in Harpenden outside the George Hotel. And one of our friends was passing by one day and he had a habit of stopping to see what there was there and he saw this unusual book. Had a look. Saw whose it was. Recognised it as mine and he bought it. That’s how I got it back. But I never saw, never saw the DFC again. For ceremonial purposes I got a replica which I still have and when it was necessary to wear the full medal I wore the replica [pause] and nobody knew.
[Telephone ringing. Recording paused]
NM: So, did you stay in touch with the RAF after the war in terms of squadron reunions or Associations?
AT: I have been, yes. I joined the local branch of the Royal Air Force Association. I joined the Royal Air Force, I joined the Association as a life member. Attached to the local branch I obviously knew that it had disbanded some years later. Well I’m now attached to a head office role and I get the magazine. “Air Mail” they call it. And notices of events. Some of which I go to. But I think one or two old colleagues are still around. We’re of an age now when we’re dropping off one by one. Falling off the perch as we used to say. And I don’t know of any of my crew that are left. Mosquito pilot’s gone. I know all of the Stirling crew are gone. Canadians are gone. The rear gunner’s gone. I don’t know how I’m carrying on really. I don’t know how. I’ve been well looked after I guess. Anyway, the Royal Air Force Association was open to all ranks and the local branch was a bit of a, a bit of a disappointment. They held its meetings in the function room of the local pub and that was a recipe for disaster. It became a, really what they used to call a boozy evening. Didn’t achieve very much. The Association as such. It still organises a number of interesting events. Some of which include Runnymede where there’s a memorial. But gradually memories are going. Individuals are going. Individually, I see it as an organisation which will eventually join forces with the British Legion and any celebrations will be in November. And I think it is going to come. At the moment we stagger on from event to event. A new Bomber Command Memorial. The Spire. A new enthusiasm. I’ve not been to see it. I probably won’t go now. I found it sensible to give up motoring when I had my little troubles. I realised that in any accident I was involved in which would include the police they’d look at my medical records and say, ‘Oh yes sir, I see sir. Yes sir. Quite so’ And I’d get the blame whether I was guilty as it were or not. So rather than go through that and the tedium of insurance compensation which costs a lot I decided to give up. And what I saved in tax, fuel and so on pays for taxis as we need them. And my family are very good. They’re all motorists so I’ve only to say I want to go to so and so and I have two or three offers. So we manage quite well without. But what led into that?
NM: When you look back on your time in Bomber Command.
AT: Yeah.
NM: What are your main reflections?
AT: In wartime of course it was one big happy family really. Matter of fact it’s comradeship. Interest and concern really for other people. Joe Bloggs. Did Joe Bloggs get back? And the sadness if the answer was no and you would sit back and get a bit reflective. What happened to them all? It was like there was sort of a cosy feeling when you went in the mess. Everybody was like a brother. On the operational side everything that was, could be done to safeguard the crews was done. It was rather, there was no great glaring gap. No great, sort of, why didn’t they do this or do that? And I think Bomber Command was good one to be in. It didn’t have the charisma of Fighter Command or the sheer boredom of Coastal Command.
NM: And how do you think Bomber Command has been recognised since the war?
AT: Well we’ve now got the Spire. And Runnymede. But it wasn’t very much after the war. We had the odd reunion. Gradually in time, you get individuals went and [unclear] the impetus was lost. It wasn’t till this last few years we got the Memorial at Runnymede that people have taken a new interest. It became a way of life really. In Fighter Command you were available and could be called on at very short notice. At Bomber Command it was more quietly planning. You had a routine.
[recording paused]
AT: There were times when you’ve been on leave. Maybe had ten days leave and days eight, nine and ten you wondered what to do with yourself. People, chaps you knew in civilian life were away in the forces somewhere. It got very boring. Relatives loved having you around. You had to consider that. But generally speaking you felt more at home in the Air Force than you did at home. [unclear] but it’s all different now I guess.
[recording paused]
AT: Various jobs after the war. I think the pilot, Colin, went back to, I think he was a marine draughtsman. He went back to that. Ronald, Ron the rear gunner, the ex-guardsman, went back to training police horses. The bomb aimer, a Canadian, went back home. Took a degree at the University at Guelph in Ontario and became a, he started breeding horses, [unclear] horses. Sadly he died. I went to stay with him once at a rackety farm. Farm life. And we had a wild week in Ontario. People are not so confined to activities over there or in Australia with the use of a gun. Over here it’s something that immediately attracts attention. The police want to know if you’ve got one but out there nobody seemed to bother.
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 Anthony Tompson
Creator
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Nigel Moore
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-01-25
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.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ATompsonA160125
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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01:16:04 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Anthony Tompson worked as an engineer for the Post Office before he volunteered for the Air Force. While training as a pilot in Canada it was discovered he had a difficulty with perception and he trained instead as a navigator. On return to the Great Britain he was posted to 90 Squadron at RAF Tuddenham. Here the crew undertook a number of operations including several drops to Resistance groups in France. He describes one occasion when the Resistance group had been infiltrated and they came under attack from ground fire. After his tour he became an instructor but wanted to return to the excitement of operational flying. He was posted to 163 Squadron at RAF Wyton flying Mosquitos. Expecting that their first operation with the new squadron might be a gentle one he was rather surprised to find his first operation with the new squadron was to Berlin. He took part in the last Bomber Command operation of WW2 on 2nd May 1945.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
France
Germany
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Suffolk
Germany--Berlin
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-06-05
1944-06-06
1945
163 Squadron
8 Group
90 Squadron
air sea rescue
aircrew
bombing
crash
Distinguished Flying Cross
military ethos
mine laying
Mosquito
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Normandy deception operations (5/6 June 1944)
Pathfinders
RAF Tuddenham
RAF Wyton
Resistance
Stirling
take-off crash
Tiger Moth
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/231/3604/PSpencerAHG1701.1.jpg
65cd99eb9fc28251abf8fb8fadf3114d
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/231/3604/ASpencerAHG170227.1.mp3
6b18db56623f80f8bd93869166ae985a
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
Spencer, Arthur
Arthur Humphrey George Spencer
Arthur H G Spencer
A H G Spencer
A Spencer
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history with Flight Lieutenant Arthur Humphrey George Spencer (b. 1921, 1311996 and 145359 Royal Air Force), a memoir and an essay. Arthur Spencer trained in the United States and flew two tours of operations as a navigator with 97 Squadron at RAF Woodhall spa and RAF Bourn. He later became 205 Group's Navigation Officer. He flew with British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC) after the war.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Arthur Spencer and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-02
2017-02-27
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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Spencer, AHG
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
PL: My name’s Pam Locker and I’m in the home of Mr Arthur Humphrey George Spencer *********** on the 27th of February 2017 at 10 o’clock. And if I could just start off by saying a very enormous thank-you on behalf of the Bomber Command Digital Archive for agreeing to talk to us and to share your memories. So if I could start by — Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about your family and how you first became involved with Bomber Command.
AS: Ok, well, I was born in Salisbury, Wilts, but my parents must have moved to Southampton before my memory begins and I was brought up in Southampton. I enjoyed school. I went to a very large Boys’ Grammar School and I was in my first year in the Sixth Form at the time of the Munich crisis and there was obviously going to be a war and as I finished school, the war broke out. In fact the first year of the war was during my last year at school. Obviously the Air Force were recruiting madly at the time of the Battle of Britain and I had grown up on the literature of the First World War. Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen and that sort of thing and realised that warfare in the trenches was pretty horrible. Richard Aldington wrote a very good novel called “Death of a Hero” which I still think is one of the best novels ever written and, so I volunteered for the Air Force and after the usual waiting around period, I found myself in the Air Force. Initially as a, an under training pilot but I didn’t make the grade as a pilot, although I got more than half way through the course. I was very late washing out as the Americans called it. I was in Florida. And so I re-mustered as a navigator and was sent back to Florida, to the United States Naval Air Station Pensacola, to undergo a navigation course. I never failed to be horrified at the inadequacy of the practical training on that course. If I’d had been at an RAF or RCAF Navigation School, I’d have had about a hundred and fifty hours in the air, undertaking navigation exercises. At Pensacola, I had less than thirty hours of flying. All of it over the Gulf of Mexico and never once experienced navigating an aircraft. The American naval way of doing things was to send up about eight people together and two of them would practice taking sun shots with a sextant, two of them would practice using the drift meter, two of them would be firing guns and two of them doing something else which I’ve forgotten, but completely inadequate. However, the theoretical side of the course, the classroom side, was excellent. It was run by an American naval officer, navigator, assisted occasionally by the RAF liaison officer and I did have a very, very good theoretical background. We were told, towards the end of the course, that the top six to, in the final examination, would ferry an aircraft home, so my first flight as a navigator was ferrying a Ventura across the Atlantic. We went to — the top six went to Dorval and then flew, after crewing up with a very experienced American civil pilot and an equally experienced wireless operator and a second pilot, who was, like ourselves, had just finished his course. We were allocated a Ventura. Little two-engined aircraft which we had to deliver to Prestwick. We, all the aircraft being ferried across at that time flew to Gander in Newfoundland and then these little aircraft had to wait for a tail wing component to get across the Atlantic. Now I was stuck there with another navigator who’d been an acquaintance at Pensacola, but not a particular friend, but because we were stuck there for a fortnight together waiting for a tail wing, we became very good friends and by co-incidence, he was sent to the same squadron as myself and when he retired from a very senior position in industry, he came to live in Somerset and so we remained lifelong friends. And, he died a couple of years ago. His family were good enough to ask me to make the eulogy at his funeral and his wife is now in a nursing home near Taunton. We try and see her every third week because her son lives in Australia and her daughter lives in Germany so we are the local contact. His name is George Brantingham and I mention this because he plays a fairly important part in a later stage of the story. Anyway, we got across the Atlantic successfully and after further training, I got to Bomber Command Operational Training Unit at Upper Heyford. Number 16 OTU. And one of the most important things you do at Operational Training Unit is to crew up into a crew. And in the literature, you find horrific stories of people being put into a hanger, twenty pilots, twenty navigators, twenty wireless operators and so on and being told, ‘Sort yourselves out.’ And I read this sort of thing time and time again. It was much more civilised fortunately at Upper Heyford. We were told that the course would be four weeks ground school and then the pilots would go off to a satellite airfield to learn to fly Wellingtons and then they’d come back and we would spend the last six weeks of the course flying cross-countrys and so on together. And we’d only been there two or three days when George, my friend, George Brantingham said to me, ‘I’ve got myself a pilot.’ Well I hadn’t really thought about it at that stage but I said, ‘You were quick off the mark, George. Who is it?’ And he told me it was a Sergeant Tracy, a larger than life American who’d gone north over the border to join the RCAF. And so at the next opportunity, I contacted George and said, ‘I hear you’ve got yourself a navigator. Can you recommend a pilot to me?’ And he thought for a minute and he said, ‘Well I reckon young Jimmy Munro is about the best pilot on our course.’ At the earliest opportunity, I found Jimmy. A very fresh-faced eighteen year old Canadian and I said, ‘Have you got a navigator yet?’ ‘No.’ ‘What about taking me on?’ ‘Ok that’s fine.’ And that conversation is probably why I’m here today. If I’d had a different pilot I might well not have been. But he was, as Bill Tracy had said, an incredibly good pilot. He’d grown up on the Ottawa River in a little hamlet called Fitzroy Harbour and part of his boyhood was canoeing on the Ottawa River and he handled a Lancaster just as well as he handled a canoe. And so we got through our OTU successfully. Went to Swinderby, just outside of Lincoln, to convert to Lancasters and so to 97 Squadron, fairly late in December, before Christmas, but fairly late in December 1942. Can I stop there a minute?
AS: Talk about —
PL: Re-starting, re-starting recording with Mr Spencer.
AS: Right, well, 97 Squadron in fact didn’t unleash us against the enemy right away. They gave us quite a bit more training before they decided to let us fly Lancasters, one of their precious Lancasters, on Operations. 97 by the way, was one of the very first squadrons to be equipped with Lancasters and part of their history was the daylight Augsburg raid of 1942. And some of the crew who took part in that raid were still at Woodhall Spa when we joined the squadron. Our first Operation, like all first Operations was mine-laying down on the Gironde estuary, near Bordeaux, and then we set about operating mainly to the Ruhr, Hamburg, Nuremberg, Munich, Wilhelmshaven. All in my Log Book. And the incident I want to talk about a little bit, is on the 19th of March 1943, when I flew with one of the Dambusters. Co-incidentally, he was also Munro but whereas my pilot was Sergeant Munro, this was Flight Lieutenant Les Munro, which is a name you may possibly have come across before now. Well, the three crews went from our squadron to join 617, but they started intensive low-level flying training before they left, before they left Woodhall Spa. And on one of these occasions, Flight Lieutenant Munro’s navigator was quite badly gashed across the forehead in what we would now call, nowadays call a bird strike. Now these three crews weren’t screened, was the word which we used for Operations, they were still taking part in Operations, and he was scheduled to go on Operations, but he didn’t have a navigator. Jock Rumbles, his navigator was too badly injured to go, so I was allocated to him. And that morning I flew an air test with him. You nearly always did an air test before you flew Operations at night. Twenty-five minutes. But Operations were cancelled before we even got to briefing. So although I flew with him, I didn’t operate with him. At the time I was very glad not to, because it was regarded as a bit dicey operating away from your own crew. You were very much a Unit as a crew but in retrospect it would be nice to be able to say I’d flown an Operation with one of the Dambusters. But I didn’t think that at the time, I was glad not to go. Well we continued flying, building up Operations ‘till we moved down to Bourn in April 1943 to join Pathfinder Force. We had another intensive period of training. Normally when crews joined the Pathfinder Force they went to Upwood, the Pathfinder Training School, but because we moved as a squadron, the Unit’s instructors came to us and we did a lot of intensive training. I remember Bennett. He was frequently with the squadron. He was the AOC at Pathfinder Force, of course. And one of the things he said was, ‘Of course the really important people in the crew are the navigators and bomb aimers. The pilots are only the chauffeurs to get them there.’ Which was very good for our morale, of course, as navigators. And by the time we’d finished our Pathfinder Training, it was May. Nights were very, very short indeed. And so virtually all our early Pathfinder Operations were to the Ruhr and the Ruhr took about three hours, three and half, four hours. Anywhere else in Germany took much longer. You couldn’t get there and back under cover of darkness. So we went to the Ruhr. Can we stop a second again there?
PL: Of course.
PL: Re-starting the tape.
AS: Pathfinder Force had been formed sometime fairly early in 1942. It happened after all Bomber Command had been equipped with cameras which took automatic photos when bombs were released. And when these early pictures were analysed, it was found that something like five percent of the aircraft dropped their bombs within three miles of the target, or something like that. Some infinitely small number of bombs were getting anywhere near the target and one of the measures adopted was to form Pathfinder Force which was then equipped with the, what was then the state of the art radar operation and all the other new instruments that were coming in and our job was to go in and either light up a target or more frequently mark it with bombs which were called target indicators which would burst barometrically at three thousand feet over the target because frequently the target couldn’t be seen once bombs started going down with so much smoke and dust coming up. But these target indicators hung on a parachute at about three thousand feet but they only lasted six minutes so they had to be backed-up fairly frequently. And the main Force coming along behind would bomb on the target indicator, not worry about finding an actual building or railway yard or docks or something like that to — Anyway, as I say, our early Operations in Pathfinder Force were all the Ruhr because the nights were so short. And we expected to be going to the Ruhr on the 16th of June. We’d done an air test in the morning and a bit naughtily we’d been shooting up a train just outside of Cambridge, diving at it, flying alongside it and the passengers were obviously enjoying it, they were waving back to us enthusiastically and the engine-driver was obviously enjoying it too, because he leaned out of his cabin and gave us a sign. [laughs] And er, but when it got a bit close into Cambridge, we decided we’d better go home, so we flew back to base. And when we got back to base, there was the Flight Commander’s van waiting in dispersal and we thought, ‘Oh dear. We’re in trouble,’ because we were flying quite low enough for people to see our identification letters, ‘OF-J Johnny’, and there must have been some senior officer on board, we thought, who’d got on the phone, the blower we would have called it then, as soon as he got into Cambridge and complained about these young idiots who were risking their lives in an expensive aircraft. However the Flight Commander was not there for that reason. The Flight — Jimmy opened the window and the Flight Commander called up, ‘Jimmy. You’re to take a week’s kit and fly up to Scampton after lunch.’ ‘Ok. What for?’ ‘I don’t know. You’ll get all the gen when you get there.’ So we weren’t in trouble. We found, when we got back to the mess, that four crews were going to Scampton. Now Scampton of course was the home of the Dambusters. So our attitude was, a little bit ambivalent. On the one hand, what a compliment to be one of only four crews in Pathfinder Force to be selected to take part in some special Operation. On the other hand, were we really awfully keen to be, take part in some Operation with a squadron which had only done one Operation, but on it, had lost about forty-five percent of it’s aircraft. [laughs] So, as I say, our thoughts were a bit ambivalent but there was nothing we could do about it. So we packed our kit after lunch and flew up to Scampton and when we got there, we were eventually four aircraft as I say. I’ll name the four captains. Jimmy, now a Pilot Officer, Pilot Officer Jones, Pilot Officer Munro, Pilot Officer Jones, who’d been one of the other crews that joined 97 from Swinderby in, at Christmas and two older pilots who were just coming back to 97 for a second tour. Because 97, a two-flight squadron at Bourn, at Woodhall Spa, had grown to a three-flight squadron at Bourn, so a lot of new crews coming in. So four crews were taken along to a briefing room and there, an elderly captain, a Group Captain, told us why we were there. When I say elderly, he was about thirty-five. But, er. [laughs] You know, we were all in our teens and young twenties so he seemed elderly. I’ve researched him since, and actually and I’ve found he was thirty-four at the time. [laughs] Anyway, he told us that we would be assisting Five Group, they were, of course based all round Lincoln, on a special Operation which would take place in the near future and we would be lighting the target and marking it for the aircraft of Five Group who would provide the main Force. Ok. Where? Well he either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell us when. ‘It’ll be in the next few nights, because you need a full moon to reach a pin-point target.’ And he also told us that for the next couple of nights, we would be practising over Wainfleet Sands which was a bombing range on the Wash. And that we weren’t allowed to go into Lincoln, which seemed a pity, but, still, we were confined to camp. Well after a couple of nights practising over Wainfleet Sands, we — going back a little bit, we were told as the Pathfinder crews, we had to decide the plan of attack. And what we decided was that two aircraft, ours and Pilot Officer Jones would go in first and lay a line of flares either side of the target and the other two would come along and mark it behind us. Aft er a couple of days practice, we went to briefing, and I think it was the only time I ever went for a morning briefing, and we were told where the target was, and it was the old airship shed at Friedrichshafen on Lake Constance. And they were manufacturing there some new radar devices which would no doubt improve the defences of the Ruhr and it would be in our own interest to make sure that this attack was well-carried out. But that if it didn’t occur in the next few nights, it wouldn’t take place at all because it needed good weather and a full moon. And then at the end of the briefing, almost off-handedly, we were told, ‘Well. Friedrichshafen is much too far into Germany for you to get there and back under cover of darkness so you’ll fly straight on over the Mediterranean to Algiers. Algiers and Tunisia of course having recently, having been taken by Operation Torch, the attack on the west side of Africa. Mainly French and American but it had given us airfields in North Africa which we could use. And after briefing, we could go to stores and draw some tropical kit. Which we did. None of us of course had badges of rank on this basic tropical kit which caused one or two problems when we were in Algiers, but I’ll come to that later. Well the afternoon was a lovely afternoon and we thought, ‘Ok.’ But we kept in touch with the Met Office and they got increasingly pessimistic as the afternoon went on and very close they said, ‘No. It’s not going to happen tonight.’ So we wasted our time the next day and the Met Office were becoming more optimistic and it looked as though we would go and apparently a Met Flight, Meteorological Flight, a Spitfire, went out over southern Germany and reported that the weather was good, so Operations were on. So we loaded up our kit and we took off that night at twenty to ten. That was Double British Summer Time of course and as we took off from Scampton, which incidentally was an all grass airfield. There were no runways there which surprised us that the Dambusters had been operating from an air— and of course we had a terrifically heavy load, over two thousand two hundred gallons of petrol in order to do the long flight to Algiers, so it was quite a struggle getting the thing into the air but we all got into the air and as we looked round, there were aircraft coming up from all the other Lincolnshire airfields and we set off and flew to Reading which was the first turning point. And from Reading to Selsey Bill, down on the south coast and we got there too early to cross over to France. We would have arrived in daylight and fighters patrolling the south coast came up and flew around us and waggled their wings at us which we took to mean they were wishing us good luck. And as darkness began to fall, one or two more adventurous spirits certainly set course earlier than I intended to let my pilot go but I’d done my calculations very carefully and we would get to the French coast at darkness, not into daylight. I had no wish to be over the French coast in daylight. We crossed the French coast at a little seaside town called Cabourg and I thought perhaps I’m the only person of the, what, five hundred airmen above Cabourg who’s been there before because at one stage of my education, about the third year of Grammar School, the Headmaster had said to my parents, ‘He’s doing very well in most subjects but his French is not very wonderful.’ And that was an understatement. And he recommended an exchange with a French boy and the school being right on the French coast, along the south coast, many exchanges took place every year, of course, and I was lucky enough to go three times to the same little town in Normandy, and the nearest seaside town was Cabourg, so I was taken to Cabourg quite a lot as a fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year old. Anyway we crossed at Cabourg and the Germans fired off light flak at us but light flak burns out at about twelve or thirteen thousand feet and we were up at about twenty thousand so we sneered at it a little bit and put our noses down to, as we’d been ordered to do, to go quickly through the fighter battle on the French coast and the next turning point was Orléans. Very badly blacked-out and then we turned east towards Switzerland and the weather deteriorated a bit but I’d got a drift on and an occasional light and I was pretty certain that whatever the weather, we’d see the Rhine, because even at that far from the mouth of the Rhine, it’s still a very big river. And just about as, on the ETA, Estimated Time of Arrival I’d given the pilot, he and the bomb aimer shouted, simultaneously, ‘Rhine coming up.’ And there was Basle. Basle of course is part of Switzerland. We shouldn’t have been over Switzerland but we briefed to go over Switzerland, so there we were. And we flew along the, roughly along the border between Switzerland and Germany to a point on the south side of the lake. The south side of the lake being in Switzerland and we were to orbit a little headland on the south side of the lake and then we had worked out it would take three minutes to cross the lake and three minutes before Zed, the time at which the Operation was due to begin, we set out and made our way across the lake. As we crossed the lake, the bomb aimer looking down vertically, was able to say, ‘Crossing the coast now.’ And I then counted down twelve seconds and after twelve seconds, start releasing our flares. Well, I couldn’t do any more then and I stood up in the astrodome and looked out and watched the flares bursting underneath us and when the fourth flare went, and there was no sign of other flares, they were on our left-hand side, I thought, ‘Oh goodness, have I committed some dreadful boob?’ Because there was terrific responsibility, of course, upon me and the navigator of the other aircraft. But as our fourth flare went down, a line of steerers [?] started appearing about half a mile away on the left-hand side, on our port side, and there was this enormous aircraft hangar clearly illuminated between the two lines of flares. And we were going to drop twelve flares initially and we continued and as we dropped our last flare, and I still couldn’t tell you which happened first, but two things happened, a green target indicator had burst right over the roof of the factory and we were coned in searchlights. Now, coned in searchlights is not a very nice experience I can assure you. We had been coned three or four times before and it seems to take an eternity to get out of this cone, if you’re lucky enough to get out of it. So, eventually we, Jimmy twisted and turned and twisted and turned but we couldn’t seem to shake it off and he turned about and put the nose right down and we dived out over the lake and shook them off. And we were supposed to go back to the lake after we’d finished our first, but we didn’t expect to go back to it like — that method, but there we were circling over the lake and after a few minutes, the Master of Ceremonies as he was called, master bomber, the Group Captain, had called for us to go in and lay a second line of flares and again we were coned but we got out of the cone fairly quickly that time and we had a couple of bombs, the small bombs we were carrying, we dropped those and back out over the lake and after about twenty minutes, the Master of Ceremonies declared that the raid was over and we should make our way to Algiers. He reminded us that we were very close to the Alps so that we should climb hard through the Alps and, ‘See you in Algiers.’ So we climbed hard through the Alps and, which was a lovely experience, I mean, you may well have crossed the Alps in a modern airliner at thirty thousand feet with the lights on, as I have, and looked down and thought, ‘Well. There are the Alps.’ But when you’re only just above the top and there’s no light in the aircraft and the full moon is shining, absolutely lovely. Wonderful experience. I shall remember all my life. We crossed the Italian coast somewhere close to Genoa and then we got down low, down to the sea, to keep beneath the Italian radar in Sardinia or Corsica and made for Algiers. When we got to Algiers, there was a terrific fog and we thought, ‘Well, the sixty aircraft are going to be directed out to sea and the crews are all going to be baled out,’ because you couldn’t see a thing and people were calling up, ‘I’ve only ten minutes petrol left.’ And there were no modern aids there of course. But there was an American flying control officer with enormous initiative and he got on the end of the runway in a jeep and fired Very cartridges up through the mist. And I shall always remember what he shouted, ‘The first man to make home base wins.’ [laughs] A baseball expression I assume. And the sixty aircraft landed with — one of them, there was a dead bomb aimer on board, who’d been hit by flak over the target, one from Woodhall Spa actually with the squadron that had been formed there when we left. And so we had a couple of days in Algiers. A lot of sunshine. Eating some of the fruit that we hadn’t seen for years in England and then on the way back we bombed Spetzia which was a bit of an anti-climax really because the, only two of the Pathfinder aircraft were serviceable. Two of them had to stay and come home more slowly. Ten of the main Force aircraft had been damaged over the target so we dropped our bombs fairly quickly on Spetzia and back to Scampton. It was an anti-climax really after the — and there we are. We flew back to Bourn that evening after sleeping for the day and Bennett was there to meet us, the AOC, and he was absolutely livid. Relations between him and Cochran were notoriously bad. Cochran was the AOC of the Group, Five Group. And he said, ‘It’s nonsense using four aircraft. If one had been shot down or — you should have used twenty.’ And he felt that the Pathfinders had only been used so that they could be blamed if something went wrong. He was not a happy man. And there we are. That was Operation Bellicose. The raid on — The first shuttle service operation. It was thought at the time that it might be followed by quite a few more but it wasn’t because of the difficulty of serving Lancasters in Algiers. You would have needed a whole force of ground crew out there to — So it wasn’t a one-off, it did happen, I think once more, with a very small group of aircraft but didn’t become a habit. Can we stop there again?
PL: Re-starting tape.
AS: The attack on Spezia, on return from Friedrichshafen, was in fact our thirtieth operation which is the end of a tour. And we expected to go off on our three weeks’ Leave. In Pathfinder Force the arrangements were for a tour of operations were a bit different from those in the rest of Bomber Command. In the main Force, you did thirty operations, then you were given a rest which was said to be at least six months. You were probably an instructor at an OTU and then you could go back for a second tour of twenty operations. But in Pathfinder Force, they didn’t see the point in dispersing a crew after thirty operations. Having got an experienced crew together, hopefully a successful crew together, why not keep them together. So after thirty operations, you got three weeks’ Leave and then you came back and did another fifteen. Not twenty. And to recompense you for going straight through, this was then reckoned to be two tours. Anyway we got back from Spetzia, our thirtieth operation, confidently expecting to go on Leave the next day but the pressure was on and the flight commander, Wing Commander Alabaster said, ‘You’ll have to do two more operations before you can go on Leave.’ So we did two more operations. Both to Cologne. And then we drew our railway warrants and ration cards and went off on three weeks’ glorious Leave and got back in time for the Battle of Hamburg. The first raid on, of the big raids on Hamburg had already taken place while we were still on Leave, on the last night of our Leave. And I’d have liked to have been on that one because as you may know, that was the first night that Window was used. These metallic strips that people dropped. Well they were still very effective when we went the next night and the next night. But I’d have liked to have been able to say I was on the first Windows Operation, but I wasn’t. I was on the second. So at the Battle of Hamburg, and a trip to the Ruhr as well, and then — I’ve lost my place in my Log Book but I shall find it in a moment. [a short pause as he turns pages] It was pretty obvious to us that after Hamburg, Butch Harris, the AOC of Bomber Command, would be looking at Berlin as his next main target. And we got to the middle of August, and you could usually get some idea of targets from the bomb load and the petrol load which was published first thing in the morning on the list of crew, the Order of Battle as it was called. And it looked, for all the world, as though it was a suitable bomb and petrol load for Berlin. And we were a bit astounded because it was full moon and at that time, flying far over Germany in the full moon was not very healthy. The German Fighter Force was becoming increasingly skilful and morale dropped a little bit in the squadron at the thought of going to Berlin in the night of the full moon. But there again, there was nothing we could do about it so we went to briefing and there was a red line — at the end of the briefing room there was a great map across the end wall of course, and there was a red tape attached to the map, going well on the way towards Berlin, but not to Berlin itself. And we were eventually told that the target was Peenemünde. No one had ever heard of Peenemünde of course. So briefing continued and we were told that this was a very important German radar research station. Not a word about rockets of course. And we went through all the usual briefing, the Met Officer, the navigation officer on the route, the bombing leader on the bomb load, the signals officer on the signals to be used, so on and — intelligent officer on defences. But there were a number of additional things. We were told that there would be an attack by seven or eight Mosquitoes on Berlin, which would hopefully keep the Fighter Force away from us. We were told that there would be a massive number of night fighters operating over Germany that night. We were told that we’d be dropping our bombs and target indicators not from twenty thousand feet as we usually did but from eight thousand feet and that there would be a master bomber. And this was the first time a master bomber was being used on a really big Operation. Obviously Guy Gibson kept in touch with his nineteen aircraft on the Dams raid and on that Friedrichshafen raid, we had a master bomber, but it was only sixty aircraft. And this was the first time that a really large force of nearly six hundred aircraft had a master bomber who circled the target and explained to the main force, which were the most accurately placed target indicators to aim for. And also, told when the aiming point was to be changed because the aiming point for the first wave, and we were in the first wave, was the dwelling quarters of the scientists and technicians working at Peenemünde and the second wave was the attack on the factory and the third wave was the attack on the experimental station. So we had our briefing and went and had an operational meal and drew parachutes and escape kit and got dressed and out to the aircraft and a chap with the ground crew as usual and we took off at twenty fifty. Ten to nine. Which was Double British Summer Time, so it was still light when we crossed the coast at Southwold. And out across the North Sea. Again, a lovely night. You know the navigator of course worked behind a black-out curtain over his maps and charts but I couldn’t resist popping out frequently to have a look at the sun and the moon as it came up, shimmering on the sea, silver, and there was hardly any wind and it was absolutely beautiful. And there we were going off to deliver bombs to people. It took about an hour and ten minutes to cross the North Sea and as we approached the Danish coast, there was some activity over on our starboard side and searchlights and flak and the searchlights coned an aircraft and eventually the flak got very close and the aircraft burst into flame and flaming bits started dropping into the sea. And I sometimes give lectures on this to groups like Probus and so on and I always say that I ought really to have felt enormous sympathy for that crew and I probably did but foremost in my mind was the thought, ‘What a rotten bit of navigation.’ Because if they were ahead of us, there must have been another Pathfinder crew. In fact there were other Pathfinder crews and yet their navigator had allowed them to wander over Flensburg, the northern-most town in Germany which was very heavily defended. And they’d paid the price for it. However there was nothing we could do about it so we continued on our way. It took about twelve minutes to cross Denmark and then down over the Baltic Sea. Masses of islands of course. Hundreds of islands, so navigation was a very simple matter. As we got close to Peenemünde, I’d given the bomb aimer and the pilot the ETA and there was a shout from the bomb aimer, ‘There’s a smoke screen ahead.’ And so there was. I’d popped out and had a look and there was a smoke screen over, as we thought, right over the target. And so it was. But a smoke screen blows in line and when you’re like my four fingers, and when you’re looking at it from a distance you can’t see, but as you get increasingly over the top, you can see down, so as we got nearer to the target, we could in fact see the target.
PL: So there were gaps in the smoke screen where you could see down.
AS: Yes, yes. Oh yes, yes. They weren’t — The smoke containers which sent the smoke up were spaced across. They couldn’t have them absolutely close together so there were gaps between these lines of smoke, the wind blew the smoke across, but — So there were some TIs already down. The —
PL: TIs?
AS: The master bomber informed us which were the most accurately placed, so we place our TIs and our bomb, one four thousand pounder there. Hopefully over the living quarters of the scientists and technicians. And there was no defences whatsoever. It was probably the easiest trip we did. And on over the target to take our photo. You had to stay straight and level for twenty-five seconds once your bombs had gone so that the photo could be taken. And then we turned away. We didn’t fly exactly back on the same route because of course we’d have been flying on to the incoming aircraft but just south and once again, out over Denmark I made sure that my pilot stayed well clear of Flensburg. Back across the North Sea, dropped down to — we’d climbed after bombing at eight thousand feet. Back down to where we could take off our oxygen masks and have a cup of coffee and the radio officer had got some light music on the wireless and we had our sandwiches and so back to Bourn. And 97 Squadron had sent eighteen aircraft. One of them had returned early with engine trouble, the other seventeen got back. Not a scratch on them. And so, went to the parachute section first thing to — after a word with the ground crew while we were waiting for transport. Get rid of parachute, back to de-briefing and we were all fairly delighted it looked as if it had been a successful Operation. But one of the things we’d been told at briefing, which I should have said before, the very last thing was that it was essential that this Operation should be successful and if it were not successful, we should have to go again the next night and the next night irrespective of casualties. Now, the first night, you can rely on surprise but if you had to go a second or third time, you couldn’t. So that did concentrate the mind a little bit. So, and so to bed. Operational meal, traditional eggs and bacon and so to bed. Now I’ve always been an early waker-up. Quarter past six this morning. Quarter past six virtually every morning. And I was an early waker-up during the war and even if we were not back ‘till three or four o’clock in the morning. Most of the squadron would sleep through ‘till lunchtime. I never once missed my breakfast. I wouldn’t say I was first up in the morning but I was always in the Mess by nine o’clock. I’d get up about eight and have a shower, because you always felt dirty after a night out in a bomber. They were pretty dirty smelly things, these big bombers. And I would go to breakfast and then I would normally sort of spend the morning hanging around waiting for the crew, the rest of the crew to come round. I’d write up my Log Book, I’d catch up with my correspondence, I’d try the crossword in one of the posh papers and I might practice my snooker skills ‘cause there was no one else in the billiard room. And so on. But that morning, I didn’t do any of those things, I walked up to the Intelligence library to have a look at the photographs, to see how successful, with the thought of that threat still hanging over us. And when I got there, I knew of course from what I’d seen the night before, that it was likely to be successful. And so it proved to be but what absolutely astounded me was that we’d lost over forty aircraft. But I didn’t — Apart from the chap that we’d seen chopped out over Flensburg, we didn’t see any sign of any defences. But what had happened of course, that these German fighters had been circling over Berlin and then the attack was on Peenemünde. It’s only about twenty minutes flying from Berlin to Peenemünde, so those fighters which still had enough petrol and many didn’t, many had to land and refuel, but some of them were able to fly up to Peenemünde and they got in the third wave. And the third wave lost about twenty percent of their aircraft. One in five. The second wave was somewhere in between the two. I think they lost about eight or nine percent of their aircraft, but not as bad as the third wave. So Bomber Command did lose a lot of aircraft that night. And, but at least it was successful. We didn’t have to go again. And that was our fortieth Operation, so we had five more to do to finish our tour. It really was Berlin the next two but by that time, the full moon had gone and we did a couple over to Berlin and we went to, I think, to Nuremberg and once to the Ruhr. And then our last trip was coming up. We did our forty-fourth trip on the 31st of August. Our last trip was coming up and we were briefed to go on the 1st of September to Berlin but Operations were cancelled and the same happened on the 2nd we were briefed to go to Berlin and Operations were cancelled. Now the corporal in charge of our ground crew, a young married man, and the ground crew of course, used to work outside in appalling conditions, not in a warm hangar but out at dispersal. And, they, this corporal was due to go on Leave when we got back on the 2nd after our final Operation, but it was cancelled on the 1st, he wouldn’t go on Leave. When it happened again on the 2nd he wouldn’t go on Leave. He insisted on staying until we had completed our forty-fifth Operation. Well, on September the 3rd, that morning, the invasion of the mainland of Italy started. And we thought, ‘Oh. It would be a nice cushy trip to Milan or Turin for our final Operation,’ because they were really a long way but they were fairly cushy targets. The Italian defences weren’t very wonderful. And. But it wasn’t. We didn’t know of course, but apparently an agreement had already been made with the Italian government that the Italians would surrender and we would stop bombing their major cities. It was Berlin again, by a long route back over Sweden again. Over neutral territory. And we got back and that was our forty-fifth Operation. And most of us decided that, that was enough, but unfortunately Jimmy and two of the gunners stayed with him and it wasn’t. And so there we are. That’s the end of my life in Bomber Command.
PL: That is absolutely wonderful. Thank you very much indeed. Can I just ask you a couple of other things?
AS: Um hum.
PL: The first. So what did you do, so after the war, what did you go on to do then, after you left Bomber Command?
AS: Well, as I said, Bomber Command was equipped with the state of the art radar. And just after I finished Operations, and I mention the fact that Africa had now been cleared of the Germans, and if one listened to the news during ’42, ’43, you heard about a Bomber Force from the Middle East attacking Tobruk, and Benghazi, and it was pretty obvious that when airfields became available, these aircraft would move over to Italy. And, an advert, it wasn’t phrased as an advert, a notice appeared in Daily Routine Orders, asking for someone to instruct in this state of the art radar overseas. Now it didn’t state where overseas, but one didn’t need to be a genius to realise it was going to be the Mediterranean theatre and that these aircraft — so I thought, ‘Well that sounds interesting.’ And I’d only recently been Commissioned. I was a Pilot Officer and it was advertised as a Flight Lieutenant vacancy so I thought, ‘Well, have ago at this.’ And I applied and after the usual air force delay, I found I was accepted and I went home to Southampton on a week’s Embarkation Leave and when I got back, the squadron were kind enough to divert an aircraft, ‘cause I had to go to Blackpool which was the Embarkation Centre, they diverted across country to take me up to Blackpool, which would have saved a nasty train journey. And, I, eventually, we were kitted out for overseas there and had various inoculations and so on, after about a fortnight in Blackpool, up to Liverpool early one morning to get aboard a troop ship which went a long way out into the Atlantic to avoid the — ‘cause the Germans were still in France of course and they had aircraft operating from the south of France against convoys, but we didn’t see any sign of them and back into the Mediterranean and we docked in Algiers and I was in a transit camp there for two or three days and then down to Tunis which was Headquarters of the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces. And there, a Wing Commander looked after me and told me what I was going to do. And apart from the six Wellington squadrons they had, they had one Liberator squadron which was a South African squadron and a Halifax squadron and the Halifax squadron was going to be equipped with the same sort of apparatus that we had in Pathfinder Force and act as what they were going to call a Target Marking Force once they’d got across to Italy. Now that squadron was still in, in the desert, so after spending Christmas at, at Tunis, the Wing Commander and a mate of his, they found out that my French was pretty good so they took me down to Bône market, hoping to get some turkeys for Christmas, for the Mess. But, at the government’s expense, we flew this aircraft down to Bône but went to the market but there were no turkeys. We found a bag of fresh carrots. And I suppose fresh vegetables were something of a relief to people who were living on rations. And we took those back. They were gratefully accepted. And I remember on Christmas Day, I went for a swim in the Mediterranean with a WAAF officer. It was pretty cold, but we wanted to say we’d swum on Christmas Day and we also went and found the amphitheatre at Carthage which is very close to Tunis and I knew a little bit about the Punic wars and so on. So we went and explored Carthage, the amphitheatre at Carthage. And a few days after Christmas, before the New Year, I went down to join this Halifax squadron in the desert, at El Adem, just outside of Tobruk and they were merely sort of kicking their heels really because, waiting to go across to Italy. They would occasionally operate against Crete port installations where the Germans were still in Occupation of Crete. But they weren’t doing very much and I couldn’t do very much with them at that stage, ‘cause they didn’t have any equipment of course. I talked to them, but not very much. Eventually the ground crew all went off, back to the Delta, to go by ship across to Italy and we were left for a week. More or less living on our own devices with no ground crew and the CO, the Wing Commander didn’t have a crew so I was crewed up with him as a navigator and flew across to Italy and the night before we went, we even took the tents down and slept under the wing of the Halifax for the night and the Khamsin was blowing at the time so there was sand everywhere and during that week, a dirty old Arab who used to appear on a donkey which was much too small for him, and he’d have a bucket of eggs, tiny little eggs, but he would barter a half a dozen eggs for a cupful of sugar, so at least you could get a few eggs to fry. And. Anyway we flew over to Italy. All the airfields literally were around Foggia, that area which — [pause as he turns pages] This area around here, it’s, in fact, you’ve got the Apennines running up the middle and a few airfields there but there’s a lot of hills that side of Italy, of course but there were masses of airfields round there and we flew to one of those called Celone and eventually the squadron was equipped with the apparatus so that I got on with my work but eventually I was posted away from the squadron, back to the Group Headquarters because my responsibilities were to the whole Group, not to that squadron. And I decided that having read my Siegfried Sassoon about ‘scarlet Majors at the Base’ ‘And when the war was done, and the youth stone dead, he’d toddle safely home and die - in bed’ and you know, the Hotspur’s criticism of a staff officer assented popinjay in Henry 1V and I decided I ought to do a few Operations. Bennett had insisted on his Staff Operations operating occasionally. In fact on one night, two staff officers turned up and went with the same crew. Much to my surprise. And they went with a pilot with whom I’d done a training exercise once and frankly I wouldn’t have wanted to fly with him on Operations and neither of them came back. The whole crew went missing. Anyway, I felt as staff officer, I would set a good example by going occasionally. And a very interesting Op came up. I used to go to the meeting of the — air staff meeting every morning and there was a guard’s officer there who was responsible for liaison with the Resistance. And he came one morning and said that the Resistance in southern France were going to mount an attack on a German airfield and they would welcome a diversion by an attack on the airfield that night and I thought, ‘That sounds interesting. So. I’ll go along.’ And I went along with this Target Marking Force and dropped flares over this and there were obviously things happening on the ground and this was just before the invasion, so, as a result of that, the French gave me a Légion d’Honneur. [laughs] Which I’ll come back to in a moment. And I did two more with the Target Marking Force and two more in the Wellingtons because the Wellingtons increasingly were, as the Germans withdrew, were being used for supply-dropping over Yugoslavia and so I did a daylight with the Wellingtons over Yugoslavia, dropping supplies to what appeared to be a crowd of bandits in the hills above Sarajevo, who waved enthusiastically to us as the parachutes dropped down. And then a night one, dropped on a big cross, up in the hills behind Trieste and so that was quite interesting really. And eventually after about a year, the air force decided my, I’d done enough, that people were now fully trained and so they sent me home and I thought they’d forgotten about me. They sent me on Leave when I got home. I was on Leave for about five or six weeks. And of course the air force never really forget about you. I eventually got a telegraph to report to such and such a Wing Commander at Astral House, London and I went up and he said, ‘Well what do you want to do now?’ Which surprised me a bit because in the forces, they usually tell you what you’re going to do. [laughs] You know, I must have looked a bit perplexed, so he said, ‘How do you fancy going to Transport Command?’ And I said, ‘Alright. It’s a flying job?’ ‘Yes.’ So I went to Transport Command and flew Dakotas from Croydon to the continental capitals of liberated Europe. And during the Transport Command Training, one had been given the opportunity to get a Civil Air Navigator’s Licence. You had to get a certain percentage of the exams and you had to take an extra paper in Civil Aviation in the war but I did that and got mine. So just after Christmas ’46, there was an advert, again not really an advert, a notice in DRO saying that BOAC were again recruiting navigators. Anyone interested give their name to the Adjunct So I thought, ‘Well this is a good opportunity.’ And so I went off to BOAC. Everyone — there were an enormous number of people of course joining BOAC from the air force at the time and we all came to Whitchurch, just outside of Bristol to their Civil Training School and after a few weeks there, I was, a month, six weeks, I was posted to the flying boats at Poole Harbour. So I could live at home in Southampton and flying to Singapore and back. To Singapore and back took eighteen days for the crew in those days. Took five days for the passengers. No, three days to Singapore and five days to Australia. It was a different world. I sometimes, again, lecture to groups like Probus and Rotary about it because Civil Aviation was so different in those days. So there we are. End of story. Any questions? [laughs]
PL: Many, many questions. So, so then once, so that’s, that’s basically what you did then, you were in Civil, Civil Aviation for a few years.
AS: For eighteen months, yes.
PL: For eighteen months. And then — So how did you get into teaching?
AS: Well, I — in fact I had a place at Southampton University before the war and I didn’t take it up, but I went to a Training College because I wanted to get through fairly quickly. And the Training College in Winchester was giving a shortened course of eighteen months so I didn’t do what they called the Emergency Teacher’s Certificate of a year, but I did eighteen months and I was then qualified a teacher. And the school where I did my final Teaching Practice, the Head offered me a job. So. Which was just outside of Southampton and so I was with him for about seven years and then I came to a more senior post in Bristol. Bristol was one the earliest Authorities to go Comprehensive and then I got a Deputy Headship at the Thornbury. Which is ten miles north of Bristol. Quaint old town. And quite a long time as Deputy Head and I was, someone hinted to me that I ought to apply for this new school at Weston-Super-Mare and —
PL: Which is called —
AS: Priory School. You may have passed it.
PL: And that was a ground-breaking new school.
AS: Oh yeah. You may have passed it, if you came round the Bay, when you turned off the motorway, did you turn right by the Magistrates Court?
PL: I can’t remember.
AS: Almost immediately — or did you come right through — no, you didn’t come right through—
PL: I hugged the — I went on a windy road hugging the, the coast.
AS: Around the coast? Well, you almost certainly passed Priory School. Did you pass Sainsbury’s?
PL: Yes.
AS: Well it’s opposite Sainsbury’s. That’s Priory School, where they’ve just acquired two and a half million pounds to build a new science block and who have they invited to open it? [laughs] And what are they going to call it? The Spencer Science Centre. And the teachers who were trying to teach me science in the 1930s would turn in their graves at the thought of a science centre being named after me.
PL: Well, congratulations. What an accolade.
AS: Well, it’s rather nice isn’t it.
PL: It is. And your — ‘cause I think this is important as part of your story to include. So your school and your experience was used as a case study by the Open University.
AS: Yes. Shall I get the book and show you?
PL: I would love to see the book. Wait one minute though.
AS: Yes.
PL: I just want to, just to sort of wrap up the interview. There’s two questions I want to ask you. The first is, how your family fared during the war. I was interested to hear you say that they were based in Southampton.
AS: Yes.
PL: So did they — everybody stayed in Southampton did they, because —
AS: Yes. I think — The bombing raids on Southampton occurred just after I had left to join the Air Force. Well, there were several daylight raids but the night raids, the big night raids were just after. And after the first one, my father who was working there, continued there but he sent my mother up to Salisbury where we had — which is where I was born. Where we still had relatives. So she was there only during the first one. By the time I was coming home on Leave of course, they were both back in Southampton because the bombing raids were over. One of the things I noticed with my father, who was not a particularly demonstrative person, did come down to the station and see me off each time I went back from Leave and I’ve thought about that quite lot since then.
PL: Very touching.
AS: I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I was a spoilt only child. [laughs]
PL: They must have been incredibly proud of you. So my last question, which is a question that we’re asked to ask all of our veterans and our volunteers who speak to us is, your feelings about how Bomber Command were treated after the war. Would you like to make any comments about it.
AS: I was a bit surprised that when most of the Great War leaders were made Peers, Harris was not made a Peer. It didn’t worry me a great deal that there wasn’t a memorial. After all, a memorial is only a piece of stone or something with a list of names on. Part of the past. You know that was my only surprise really, that Harris was, didn’t receive the accolade that the other war leaders, Montgomery and so on received. But, Dresden of course, was held against Bomber Command but there was a lot of industry going on in Dresden. There’s a book by an academic at Exeter University, about Dresden, I think it’s out on loan to someone at the moment, but there’s a lot in there about all the industries going on at Dresden at the time. There we are.
PL: Well is there anything else, before we finish, that you’d like to record? About any of your experiences.
AS: No. I probably forgot one or two things on the way through but — [laughs]
PL: I’m sure it doesn’t matter. Well, I’d just like to say again a huge thank-you. That was an absolutely fascinating interview. Thank you very much indeed.
AS: Tell my wife that when she comes. [laughs]
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Arthur Spencer
Type
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Sound
Conforms To
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Pending review
Identifier
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ASpencerAHG170227
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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
Creator
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Pam Locker
Date
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2017-02-27
Format
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01:11:54 audio recording
Language
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eng
Description
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Arthur Spencer joined the Royal Air Force after leaving school. He began pilot training in Florida but then re-mustered as a navigator and trained in Pensacola. He completed two tours of operations as a navigator with 97 Squadron at RAF Woodhall Spa and RAF Bourn. He later became 205 Group's Navigation Officer. He describes dropping target indicators and Window. He was based in Algiers for some time and describes life there. He was awarded the Légion d’Honneur for providing air support for the Resistance in Italy. After the war, he worked for BOAC and then as a teacher.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Algeria
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
United States
Algeria--Algiers
England--Lincolnshire
Florida--Miami
Florida--Pensacola
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Bosnia and Herzegovina--Sarajevo
Italy--Trieste
North Africa
Florida
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Contributor
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Cathy Brearley
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
16 OTU
97 Squadron
aircrew
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
C-47
crewing up
ground crew
Master Bomber
military ethos
mine laying
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Pathfinders
RAF Bourn
RAF Scampton
RAF Swinderby
RAF Upper Heyford
RAF Wainfleet
RAF Woodhall Spa
Resistance
searchlight
target indicator
training
Ventura
Wellington
Window