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25
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1450/43606/MKeelingGW2217141-151002-01.2.pdf
115d4634cc8af3733d01291792ddaae8
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
Keeling, George
G W Keeling
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-10-02
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Keeling, GW
Description
An account of the resource
One item. The collection concerns George W Keeling and contains 'The Short History of 640 Squadron’, including photographs records and newspaper clippings.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by George Keeling 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
A short history of 640 Squadron
Description
An account of the resource
A number of stories, recollections and events remembered by George who was part of the ground crew on the squadron. It also includes press coverage and a programme from an amateur dramatics production Georg appeared in post war.
There is also a copy of the Operational Order for Operation Chastise by 617 Squadron. There are also crew lists, and a copy of the squadron 540 for the operation.
It also has the pages from Flight Sergeant Stalley's Log book for the period July to October 1944. He was the rear gunner on Flight Lieutenant Melrose's crew on No 9 Squadron at Bardney. During this period the squadron attacked the Tirpitz twice, once from Archangel.
There is also the Memories and Reflections of the German civil engineer that was in charge of the rebuilding of the dams damaged in the Dams Operation.
There are two newspaper cuttings from 2005 regarding the military burial of a 640 Squadron crew that had been shot down on the 24 March 1944. One was from The Daily Telegraph from 2 September 2005. There is also a letter George wrote to the Times giving some background to the story.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
George Keeling
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-01-07
1945-04-07
1944-03-24
2005-09-02
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Memoir
Text. Personal research
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
57 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MKeelingGW2217141-151002-01
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
4 Group
617 Squadron
640 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing of Cologne (30/31 May 1942)
bombing of the Creil/St Leu d’Esserent V-1 storage areas (4/5 July 1944)
bouncing bomb
debriefing
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
entertainment
final resting place
flight engineer
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
love and romance
memorial
navigator
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
nose art
operations room
pilot
RAF Leconfield
RAF Lissett
superstition
tactical support for Normandy troops
Tirpitz
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1912/36005/MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370001.1.jpg
c0d2006f067c2ad88882888e37e97a03
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1912/36005/MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370002.1.jpg
701e5a6a04b09c153a26bb3df0044712
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Hayhurst, Jose Margaret
J M Hayhurst
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
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
Hayhurst, JM
Description
An account of the resource
108 items. The collection concerns Sergeant Jose Margaret Hayhurst (2073102 Royal Air Force) and contains decorations, uniform, documents and photographs. She served as a radar operator in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Andrew Whitehouse and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[photograph]
BRITISH GUNNER
[page break]
[photograph]
[emblem] ENGLAND – A small village lay tucked away in the fold of a valley just below the high, windswept, bleak plateau where a Lancaster bomber station was situated. Housewives were busy in the kitchen preparing food, and the men had left their ploughing to come in for the noon-day meal. In the lichen-covered Gothic church, the minister's wife was arranging decorations, and placing on the altar freshly cut chrysanthemums that had managed to escape the north winds, and were still blooming in December.
The placidness of the village life was in sharp contrast to the bustling activity at the airfield. It seemed as remote from war as any hamlet could possibly be, although the provident farmers, living so close to an obvious military target, had wisely provided themselves with shelter trenches at the edge of each ploughed field.
Nevertheless, the name of this quiet, lovely village had spread far. By borrowing it, the bomber station had made it one to strike terror into the heart of the Nazi High Command.
At the airfield, V-for-Victor's crew lounged around B Flight office waiting to see if operations were on. They kept looking up into the sky as if trying to guess what the weather was going to be like. Some of the men chuckled. "Papa Harris is so set on writing off the Big City that he hardly even notices the weather," one of them said. "The last time there were kites stooging around all over the place. The met boobed that one."
It was a strange new language. What the airman was saying was that the last time out, the meteorological men had given a wrong steer on the weather, and the planes had been flying all over looking for the field, on the return trip. "Papa Harris" was Air Chief Marshal Harris, chief of Bomber Command.
V-for-Victor's captain came back from operations room with the news that there would be ops. That settled the discussion. You seemed to be aware, without noticing anything in particular, of a kind of tension that gripped the men; like they were pulling in their belts a notch or two to get set for the job ahead.
And with the news, everybody got busy – the aircrews, the ground crews, the mechanics, the Waafs, the cooks. The ships already had a basic bomb and fuel load on board, and the additional loads were sent out in ammunition trailers and fuel trucks. The perimeter track lost its usually deserted appearance and looked like a well-traveled [sic] highway, with trucks and trailers, buses and bicycles hurrying out to the dispersal points. It was just like the preparations at any bomber base before taking off for enemy territory – but going over the big city was something different. These men had been there before. They knew what to expect.
In the equipment room, June, the pint-sized Waaf in battledress, was an incongruous note. Over a counter as high as her chin, she flung parachutes, harnesses and Mae Wests. The crew grabbed them and lugged them out to the ships. You kept thinking they ought to be able to get somebody a little bigger for the job she was handling.
In the briefing room, the met officer gave the weather report and the forecast over enemy territory. There would be considerable cloud over the target. The men grinned. An operations officer gave a talk on the trip. The route was outlined on a large map of Germany on the front wall. It looked ominously long on the large-scale map. He pointed out where the ground defenses [dic] were supposed to be strong, and where fighter opposition might be expected. He gave the time when the various phases should be over the target. He explained where the "spoof" attacks were to be made, and the time. He told the men what kinds of flares and other markers the Pathfinders would drop. There was the usual business of routine instructions, statistics and tactics to be used. The group captain gave a pep-talk on the progress of the Battle of Berlin. And all the while, that tape marking the route stared you in the face, and seemed to grow longer and longer.
Outside, it was hazy and growing more so. But this was nothing new. The men were convinced that the weather was always at its most variable and its dampest and its haziest over their field. What could you expect? Ops would probably be scrubbed after all. Hell of a note!
In the fading light the planes were silhouetted against the sky. They looked, on the ground, slightly hunched and menacing like hawks. Seeing them there, in the half light, you would never guess how easy and graceful they are in flight. Nor would you realize, when you see them soaring off the runway, what an immense load they take up with them. It is only when you see the open bomb bay, on the ground, that you get some idea of a Lancaster's destructive power. The open bomb bay seems like a small hangar. The 4,000 pound block-buster in place looks like a kitten curled up in a large bed. It is a sobering sight.
In the evening some of the men tried to catch a few winks; most of them just sat around talking. The operational meal followed. It was only a snack, but it was the last solid food any one would get until the fresh egg and bacon breakfast which has become a ritual for the proper ending of a successful mission.
A YANK correspondent went along with the RAF Lancasters as they made two of their historic night raids on the "Big City" – and watched them drop their "blockbusters" and incendiaries on the nerve centre of Europe's evil genius. From these two trips he learned what all RAF night bombing crews have learned – that usually you either get back intact or you don't get back at all. This is the story of one of those missions over Berlin.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
British Gunner
Description
An account of the resource
A magazine article written by an American journalist about bombing operations.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England
Germany--Berlin
Germany
Great Britain
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One printed photograph and one printed sheet.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370001, MHayhurstJM2073102-170725-370002
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
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
aircrew
bombing
briefing
ground crew
ground personnel
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
home front
Lancaster
meteorological officer
operations room
Pathfinders
propaganda
target indicator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/711/17253/PBlairJJ1633.2.jpg
3459c56d46baab4075229bcff291236d
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/711/17253/PBlairJJ1608.1.jpg
3d93f1727753251c55680bf8639c08ab
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
Blair, John
John Jericho Blair
J J Blair
Description
An account of the resource
38 items. The collection concerns John Jericho Blair DFC (1919-2004). He was born in Jamaica and served in RAF from 1942-1963. He flew a tour of operations as a navigator with 102 Squadron from RAF Pocklington. The collection includes numerous photographs of him and colleagues, several photographs of Jamaica, a document detailing his life and an interview with his great nephew Mark Johnson.
The collection also contains three interviews with Caribbean veterans including John Blair recorded by Mark Johnson.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Mark Johnson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-05-09
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Blair, JJ
Access Rights
Information about who can access the resource or an indication of its security status. Access Rights may include information regarding access or restrictions based on privacy, security, or other policies.
Permission granted for commercial projects
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Flight planning
Description
An account of the resource
John Blair in Flight Lieutenant’s uniform flanked by two other RAF flight crew, on the left of the photograph a wireless operator and on the right, a pilot, they are in a room with maps on the walls, and are leaning on a table. Submitted with caption: 'John Blair briefs for a Transport Command flight, early 1960s'.
One copy of photograph has caption '..ghtplanning - John (center)'.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two copies of one b/w photograph
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PBlairJJ1608, PBlairJJ1633
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. Transport 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.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Language
A language of the resource
eng
African heritage
aircrew
operations room
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1309/18563/PWatsonC17010086.1.jpg
d3bcd924ec82b1be53feaf597058a70f
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
Watson, Clifford. Scrapbook
Description
An account of the resource
Clifford Watson's scrapbook containing photographs and documents.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Watson, C
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
Ground radio station
Description
An account of the resource
A large military radio on a table with a telephone and a direction finder.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One b/w photograph
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PWatsonC17010086
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
operations room
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1104/11563/PRoseD1601.2.jpg
271b045353133167b74a6cce195df34b
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1104/11563/ARoseD161128.1.mp3
6e5ed182dbb55a5d4e25889b20a4fcf8
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
Rose, David
D Rose
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with David Rose (Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a flight engineer with 51 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-28
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
Rose, D
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AS: Ok. We’re ready to start. This is Andrew Sadler interviewing David Rose for the Bomber Command Digital Archive at his home in London on the 28th of November 2016. Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed David. Can I start by asking you where, and where, when and where you were born?
DR: I was born in Swanage in Dorset. 24 Station Road. And my, my father was from a family of twelve. And in 1912, 1914 my father said he did not wish to kill anyone and they said, ‘Well, you’d better go in the Royal, the Royal Medical Corps.’ Which he did. He came out as a sergeant and he, he came out with ill health and, and he died young. And I believe that he died, the cause of his early death was the war. And two of his brothers Merton and Osmond both died in the First World War, and their names are on the War Memorial in Swanage overlooking the Bay. And of course, his name is not there and I think he gave adequate equal service caring for and assisting the dying. Particularly in the, in the Somme. And his discharge mentioned that he had to march from France to Essen to Cologne, a hundred miles or so, and that was one of the causes of his weak health. Yes. Swanage to Oxford.
AS: And what, when you joined the RAF why did you join the RAF?
DR: I was at school at Kingswood in Bath. I’d been at the Swanage Grammar School. I was advised to go away to school. I don’t know how my parents could afford it but I went. I went to a Methodist School in Bath. Kingswood. And in the summer holidays of 1939 we received a letter saying don’t go back to Bath. Go to Uppingham in Rutlandshire because the Admiralty are taking over the school. So I went to Uppingham where I did my last two years of schooling and when I left school I had a year to wait before I would be called up for the war. And I didn’t want to go in the army. I preferred the air force by choice and volunteered for the air force. And while I was waiting for the year before I joined up I went to a wireless college in Colwyn Bay. A friend had been and it occupied his time. And I was there and I left with a Guildhall Certificate which showed that I could be a wireless operator at sea. And while I was there I was called to RAF Padgate for them to check me out. And they sat me down and they put some blocks of wood on the table and they said, ‘Fit those together.’ And I couldn’t do it. So they said, ‘Where does the fuel go in a car?’ I said, ‘I think there’s a hole at the back.’ And, ‘What’s a two stroke engine?’ I said, ‘I’ve no idea.’ ‘Flight engineer,’ they said. ‘No,’ I said, ‘You’re not listening to me. I’ve just told you what,’ Flight engineer. So they took me on board when I joined. I joined at Lords Cricket Ground in London and from there went to Torquay for eight weeks during which time I had appendicitis. And then I went to — where was it? St Athan in South Wales, for nine months training. And then from there, when I finished training I went on to Lincolnshire. I can’t remember the name of the station first of all where I did a couple of weeks on Stirlings. And then went to Skellingthorpe and dash, I can’t even remember the squadron number. 51 and 52. And I did a tour of thirty four flights and, and then I was doing various other RAF stations and ended up in RAF Locking. And then was discharged. Yes. Locking — I’m sorry, Skellingthorpe. And there I joined a team who had already been together. I was the last one to join. Flight engineer. And the pilot was Johnny Cooksey. He was wonderful. I think he, he somehow made a tremendous team of us. And when, when we finally left the air force someone suggested we have a sort of annual meeting and he was, he didn’t wish to do that. I think he wanted to say we’ll turn our back on that period. And so we never really got together ever again. It was Lincolnshire. Skellingthorpe. The first week we did a few circuits and bumps and I, I don’t know what they call it but practice bombing. Then we did our first operation which was too La Rochelle in the south of France to bomb the submarine pens. We had armour piercing bombs and we formed up in a loose gaggle over Bridport on a wonderful sunny afternoon and headed off for the south of La Rochelle. And as we approached the target the other eleven seemed to be up ahead of us but we were dropping behind them. The crew were saying, ‘Why aren’t we with them?’ I said, ‘No. We can’t go any faster,’ and so we were a bit behind all the others. And it wasn’t until then I realised that going out with the bomb, bombs on board was heavier and we were using more fuel. Now, why I had never learned that or understood that? So, I had some faults I must say as a flight engineer. I’m not sure I was quite up to it. Anyway, we all survived. We, we, there was one flight we went on which was [pause] we generally, we generally carried about, I think twelve one thousand pound bombs but there was of course the cookie which was, I think a ten or twelve thousand pound bomb on its own which completely filled the bomb — whatever you call it. Where the bombs were. And they were very sensitive bombs. Two had exploded simply taxiing around and killed all the crew at Skellingthorpe. And it was Johnny and the navigator were the two who, and the bomb aimer I think, were the ones who went to the main briefing when they were told where they were going, we were going. And then they’d come out and tell us where we were going. And on this trip we had, as I say this cookie and on take-off Johnny and I had our hands on the throttles as we did. We held our hands together on the throttle and put them up. When we’d got the right revs we started down the runway heading towards take-off and Lincoln Cathedral in the background and just as we, wheels came off the ground two engines broke down. Just stopped. So, we quickly pulled the throttles back but we were going at some speed then and we ran off the end of the runway. And what I remember was seeing a man up ahead of us by a house just to the left of the end of the runway throw down the spade and run. We ran off the runway. Our undercarriage wheels dropped into a little stream and crashed the plane. We all leapt out and ran like mad. The rest of the squadron continued on their, on their way. And in twenty minutes we were in another plane doing circuits and bumps which I understood was because if you had an accident the quicker you’re in the air again the better. Otherwise it gets you, it gets to you, you know. You have fear of it. Now, if we’d had that cookie, if we’d had that cookie on board I don’t think I’d be here today. In fact, I’m damned sure I wouldn’t be. So, that seemed to be a great fortune. And a little end to that tale is the next night we were flying a strange aeroplane one we hadn’t flown before. And as we got on board one of the crew said to me, ‘I’ve put your can beside you place. Your position.’ I said, ‘My can?’ ‘Yes. It’s an oil can. You pee don’t you?’ And I said, ‘Well I never have done.’ It’s a long way back to the elsan right at the back of the plane so I somehow never wanted to pee in the air. Anyway, he put it there. We were going to Hamburg and we got caught up in searchlights so we did what was called a corkscrew. Throwing a plane down and across and up and across. I was rolling around on the roof but Johnny sort of threw off the searchlight and we continued on target. It must have been Hamburg’s worst night. It was dreadful. The fires. Awful. The place was just on fire. We ran in, we dropped our bombs and we turned for home. And the navigator said after a while mucho. I think he said, ‘Check your, check the petrol. I think some has got on my maps.’ I said, ‘Ok. Will do.’ I went back and checked the petrol but I knew, I knew what it was. I had had a pee in that can and it was all over his maps. He was a very fastidious man the navigator and he wasn’t a happy man, you know [laughs] Can we pause?
AS: Yes. Of course.
[recording paused]
AS: Ok. We’re starting again after a pause. Yes. Please, please carry on then David.
DR: As I say, I think Johnny, our captain somehow made a great sort of team of us. We were in Nissen huts sharing with another crew. And it was quite obvious to me that they weren’t a happy crew at all. They argued a lot. Anyway, I think Johnny’s influence was terrific as the captain. We went, of course in to Lincoln a lot. Went dancing at the some hall up near the Cathedral. And nearby, near quite near on the way in to Lincoln, somehow, for some reason I encountered one day what turned out to be an Irish family. And they were very keen to invite us in for a cup of coffee and things. And I, we later thought, I wonder why they were so friendly with us. I wonder if they were trying to find out where we were going. We of course, in the letters home we weren’t allowed to mention our flights. Occasionally my mother would sort of question. I’ve got a lot of it, about a hundred letters that I wrote during the time I was there. And clearly I was not, we were not allowed to mention our destinations. After the event even. But I think we were terribly well protected from what we were really doing. Public, the publicity about the air force trips seemed to be, have been saying we’d been to bombing in the Ruhr and mentioning the factories there. What they were doing. They never said we’re going to Hamburg to bomb the civilians but that was one of our purposes. To, to increase morale. To damage morale among the Germans and you know it was a dirty job. And I, I really, I was, I was never a member of the British Legion or the Air Force — whatever it is. I don’t think, I don’t think the war and serving in the services is something to be celebrated. They keep, this year particularly there has been an awful lot of talk of heroes and all that. And the Albert Hall Memorial Service they do where The Queen goes has become, I think, dreadful. There were families there. To all this music the families slowly walk down and the people applaud and applaud. I think grieving is a private thing. Bereavement is a private affair and should remain so. It’s like on the news. The news today has become dreadful. You think, can they get to get a clip of someone bursting into tears? It will be in there again and again and again. And I, I have great anxiety and worry about the way, the way the war is remembered. There we are. I’m getting off the subject of [ pause] what the crew was about. I remember one. One day we were at briefing. We were told we were going to, I forget, I forget quite where. We were going and we were, we were, everyone had cookies. These big huge bombs. But the station had run out so they said you’re, ‘You’ve got incendiaries.’ Now, we actually complained and said, ‘Do we really have to go with just incendiaries? There is a huge investment here. You’re sending a Lancaster bomber. You’re sending a crew of seven who you could lose.’ Fifty percent were being lost at that moment in time. And, ‘Isn’t it rather wasteful just taking incendiaries?’ ‘No, you’re going,’ they said. So, we had to go but I know there was a moment when I think, I’m not sure that we didn’t know ahead of time because we purposefully, I think we purposefully all of us went for a walk in the countryside to Mr Cook. I had to fly so didn’t miss it eventually but that was our intention. Strange thing to happen but there we are. I’m not quite sure what else to say at the moment.
AS: What, can you tell me about the, your duties as a flight engineer on the flight?
DR: My main duty as flight engineer was to keep an eye on the fuel consumption, and then cover [unclear] we’d have to switch over from one tank in the wings to another. That was the main job as we were throughout, throughout the flight. A secondary one was just, just to know all about the air frame. Just to know as much as possible about the aeroplane, so if something went wrong in the air technically I might be able to do something about it. Two weeks of our training were at the factory in Manchester where the engines were made. And flying, one of my jobs was to put out [pause] oh damn it. What did they call it? [pause] I hope, I hope, it was these strips of metalised paper.
AS: Window.
DR: Window. Thank you. We put Window out through this hole beside my position next to the pilot. I had a flap down seat. I don’t ever remember sitting on it. I stood always. Throughout the whole flight. But that was my main job. The fuel and to [pause] and that particular, what did you say it was?
AS: Window.
DR: Window. To put out the Window. Which of course was a huge quantity. As we got in to the aeroplane we always thought it was Christmas every time. Used parcels everywhere. I had to get all these. Keep going and getting more and more of these damned parcels to push out. That was the main job.
AS: Did you ever have to do any repairs while you were —
DR: No.
AS: In the air.
DR: No. I can’t remember that I did. No. Seems a menial task really. But there you go. I’m told that they started with two pilots but they really were running short. They, so they replaced the second pilot by what they changed to a flight engineer. A curious, curious job.
AS: How long was your training altogether, as a flight engineer?
DR: Nine months. That’s, that’s based at St Athan. St Athan. I’ve got a picture of the Astra. The cinema.
AS: How many sorties did you do altogether?
DR: We did thirty four. We should have done thirty but because it looked I think as though the war was coming to a, possibly to a close. They pushed us on to thirty four. And then we were having a break during which time before coming back for the second tour we [pause] well we didn’t have to start a second tour because of the end of the war. At which time I was at Locking. I was in Locking. I was at Wing, Leighton Buzzard where every Thursday I would take a group of airmen to Oxford and take them on the river in an airborne lifeboat and show them how that worked. Other curious, curious jobs. But I went to one air force station in Norfolk where I was appointed entertainments officer. And the first thing I did was to go and buy records to play in the RAF cinema there. And I, there was a drama group and I was directing a play. And I was, we were in the operations room where all those girls would push things around and I was lying on it with my head on my hand and the commanding officer came in and said — well, I was, he sent me off somewhere else. He didn’t want me there on the station behaving like that. But your question. It was a curious job flight engineer. It really was.
AS: Were you always with the same crew throughout?
DR: Yes. Throughout. Never, never changed. A couple of the crew had to fly with other, other, and then we were kept together throughout. Yeah. I’ve got the logbook of all the, all the flights. The longest flight was ten hours twenty minutes to [pause] I’ll try and find out. It was in the east end of the, east of the Baltic. I wish I could remember the name. Anyway, it was twelve hours twenty five. And we went out twenty five thousand feet over Scandinavia and then across to the target, dropped the bombs, dropped very low, came across Denmark very very low and we were told, ‘Don’t come back to Skellingthorpe. It’s fogbound. Go to Lossiemouth in Scotland,’ — where we had a great breakfast and then flew back to Skellingthorpe where they said you’ve got to go out to the same trip tonight. ‘You all missed the target. You’ve got to go again.’ So, we did another ten hour trip the next night. It was a long two days.
AS: And when you, can you tell me a bit about how you spent your time off-duty?
DR: Yeah.
AS: How you socialised.
DR: Well, we went into Lincoln. And to the theatre. The variety theatre there. And the theatre, and to the cinema there. All the time. And we had tea in, oh I forget the name of it but a well-known brand of tea places. We certainly went up to this dance hall near the Cathedral.
AS: Would that have been the Assembly Rooms?
DR: Yes. That’s right. The Assembly Rooms. Exactly.
AS: Can you tell me about the dances at the Assembly Rooms?
DR: Well, it was what dances were around in those days. The foxtrot. The slow. I was best at the slow foxtrot. Waltzes. And the band, the band, the bands were quite good. All the local girls would be there and we’d meet, we’d meet up with them. And I’m trying to think. What else did we do?
AS: There was a pub there in the High Street I think that was very –
DR: I was going to say we went to the pubs. No. I can’t remember which ones. I went, of course to the opening of that Memorial. Was it last year?
AS: Yes.
DR: Yeah. I went to that. You know, our time off as quickly as possible in time so that we spent every moment of time we could going into town. Lincoln. The city. Particular memories I have.
AS: When you, when the war finished what happened to you then?
DR: I was asked, I was asked what I was going to do before the war. Planning to do. And I said I really hadn’t planned, ‘Well, I think theatre. I want to work in the theatre. I’d like to direct, I think. Or stage management.’ So they said, ‘Well,’ get a, get a, ‘If you can get into the Guildhall School of Music And Drama we’ll pay your, pay the fees.’ And I did get in. I had to, I had an audition with the principal, Mr Lundall. He sat at a grand piano and I stood at the end and I did a poem and a scene from a play. I had to go to Bournemouth to the elocution woman to help me. And I did three years, three years there and my girlfriend immediately got a job in Preston in Lancashire. Preston. At the Royal Hippodrome. The weekly rep. I went to see her the first week she was working and they asked me to stay and do the same job as well with her. And I very quickly became, very quickly became a stage director which oversees the management. And I directed five of the plays during the eighteen months we were there. We did forty four plays every year. After that I, after that I went to [pause] we came for, we came to London to see what work there was here. And in London I got a job with my wife Valerie. I met Valerie at Preston. In the theatre. She was on stage management and acting. She was on an acting course but got the job as stage management. And we did a, we did a, I was the stage director at a late night club show at the Watergate Theatre near Charing Cross Station. And that was backed by a man from the Sadler Wells Theatre and he then asked me to join the Sadler Wells Theatre Ballet. First of all I did a tour with Kurt. Kurt. Kurt [pause] damn. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt someone. He was the father of modern dance. Modern European dance. I did a twelve week tour because they needed, his company, based in Essen needed a English person on the board to help with the tour and this international ballet company was based in Essen. We had bombed Essen. And I had the most wonderful letter from Kurt Jooss, yes — Kurt Jooss. I had a wonderful letter from Kurt Jooss when we left saying, “I’m sorry I can’t be with you at the end of the tour. I have to be back in Essen raising more finance. But I want to thank you and particularly your wife who operated a very dangerous spotlight.” An old fashioned metal thing. Quite burnt her hands. He said she was so kind and there was never any — I had a lovely letter from him and he never knew I’d bombed this. I was on the thousand bomber trip to Essen. We were about nine hundred and fifty or so. It was amazing looking ahead. Hundreds of aeroplanes in front of you. Astonishing. And of course my father had to march to Essen or near Cologne. So, Essen became a sort of, Cologne became a focal point because I was in Berlin. Yes. Two days after the war they flew us aircrew to Berlin and just to see it. Spent the night there. I was kissed by a Russian soldier in the, in the, an embassy in Berlin on both cheeks with a very rough beard. And I found only last week a little baby’ s helmet, little baby’s bonnet. A very fancy lace affair that some German woman had given me in reply, in reply to a packet of cigarettes. But we never, we never bombed Berlin thank goodness. Dangerous place to be, I think. Well, everywhere was but that particularly. Yeah.
AS: Did you spend the rest of your career in in the theatre?
DR: Yes. In the theatre and in, and in the BBC. Twenty seven years at the BBC including four years producing a series called Z Cars. And –
AS: Oh yes. I remember Z Cars very well.
DR: Yeah. And then I was asked by David Attenborough to go to Birmingham to start a new department. English Region’s Drama which I did for ten years. Which was one year from my retirement and then Jeremy Isaacs asked me if I would join the new Channel 4 as Senior Commissioning Editor. So, I went, I went there where I met my wife Karin. My third wife. And I’m a, I’ve a, I’ve got three, three of those BAFTA things up there.
AS: Oh gosh.
DR: I’m a fellow of the British Film Institute. I’m a fellow of BAFTA. I got the Gold Medal of the Royal Television Society. So I’m, and of course Channel 4. Well, I had, I had ten million a year to support twenty feature films. That was the first real, you know, opportunity for us in television to support the cinema. But I’ve got the Roberto Rossellini Award. Not me but given to the Channel at the Cannes Film Festival. Given by Bergman’s daughter. Yes. It’s been for film, television — series, film and television.
AS: Oh, well done.
DR: I’ve got several. There are lots of biogs of mine, sort of on the, on the internet. You can look me up.
AS: Oh right.
DR: I’ve got two copies of my book I can give you.
AS: Did you — it sounds as if you find it fairly straightforward to move from service to civilian life then. Is that the case?
DR: I did. Yes. I feel, I didn’t go to university. Just to Guildhall School. I think I learned on the job. I was thinking about this actually. I think it goes right back to my captain, Johnny. His attitude to things. I’m quoting in a lot of these things. A lot of these things. [pause] Well, as I say I did the job while in Birmingham because of the freedom that we had. We had. And like in London I had somehow a [pause] there was a budget. I can’t really explain this. What I’m saying, I think is I never hardly ever looked for a job. I’ve always been offered jobs. Like when I came to London and met Steven Ireland who was general manager of the Sadler Wells. He asked me. He was behind the nightclub, the club theatre that he asked me to look after at Charing Cross. And he then asked me to join Sadler Wells Theatre Ballet which was based at Sadlers Wells with the touring company. It like the Birmingham, the Royal Ballet in London and the Royal Ballet in Birmingham. Similar. It’s a touring company. And having got to, yes I was asked to, as I say by Attenborough to go to Birmingham. And I was invited by Jeremy Isaacs, out of the blue, to join Channel 5 err 4. Channel 4. Channel 4. So —
AS: After the war you say you never had any further contact with your crew.
DR: I, I, I had correspondence with Tom the bomb aimer who then died. And I went to see — I think he was Scarrett. Was he the wireless operator? I don’t know. I went to see him in Leamington. Not Leamington Spa. At a very English town in Sussex. I tried to have contact with them. Didn’t work out. We never met up. Only Scarrett.
AS: How do you think the Bomber Command were treated after the war? Do you have any views on that?
DR: Well, I think, I think the chap who ran Bomber Command, whose statue is in The Strand, isn’t it? At the end of Fleet Street. I think he got a rather bad deal from the public. The chap who ran Bomber Command.
AS: Harris.
DR: Hmmn?
AS: Harris.
DR: Yes. He had some criticism didn’t he? Which I think was unfair. He was doing his job. And a dirty job it was. He was, you know presumably selecting targets and there were, there were civilians as well as everyone else. I think, I think the air force put, put a very good face forward as a force. Better than the army, I think. Yeah. But I don’t know , I don’t know why anyone wants to, their careers to be in the services. Why do you make a career of killing people? I don’t know.
AS: Thank you very much David.
DR: Ok.
AS: That’s excellent.
DR: Right.
AS: I’ll switch off now.
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 David Rose
Creator
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Andrew Sadler
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-11-28
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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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ARoseD161128, PRoseD1601
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Pending review
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00:49:32 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
David Rose was born in Swanage, Dorset. His father had been in the Medical Corps during the First World War and suffered ill health afterwards. David believed his father had as much reason to be on the War Memorial as his two brothers who died during the conflict. David attended the local Grammar School in Swanage and then continued his education in Bath. He volunteered for the RAF and was very surprised that the RAF decided that he being a flight engineer would suit his skills. He joined a crew and was posted to 50 Squadron at RAF Skellingthorpe. After his tour of operations David became an entertainment officer. He wanted to continue this work and was accepted by the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. He went on to work for a touring company which was based in Essen and then for the BBC and eventually became Chief Commissioning Editor for Channel 4. He felt that his skipper in Bomber Command had a big influence on him right through into his peacetime life.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
50 Squadron
aircrew
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
crash
entertainment
flight engineer
incendiary device
military living conditions
military service conditions
operations room
perception of bombing war
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF St Athan
sanitation
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/529/8763/PReddishDE1709.1.jpg
4403b07c2d04be641a9404794f3f2812
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/529/8763/AReddishDE170131.1.mp3
8c96b769611544c7a968374e5bc21d65
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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Reddish, Doris
Dorris Edith Reddish
D E Reddish
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Reddish, DE
Description
An account of the resource
14 items. An oral history interview with Doris Reddish (1925 - 2017) a memoir, correspondence and photographs. She served in the Royal Observer Corps.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Doris Reddish and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
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2017-01-31
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. 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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TJ: Right this is Tina James and I’m interviewing Doris Edith Reddish. We’re at Doris’s home in —
DR: My name was Wright though before.
TJ: [redacted] Heckington. The date is the 31st of January 2017. So Doris your name is Reddish now?
DR: Yes.
TJ: What was it?
DR: Wright, Wright.
TJ: W, R, I, G, H, T?
DR: Yes, yes.
TJ: And that was your name from birth. So you were born in 1925 I see. So what about your parents did, did your father fight in the First World War?
DR: Yes, yes he was in the First World War
TJ: Did he survive?
DR: Yeah. He was in the trenches
TJ: Well he must’ve done —
DR: Yes.
TJ: If you were born in 1925 —
DR: Yes, yes. He got wounded about five times and always in October. Yes.
TJ: Really?
DR: Yes. He got bullet holes, scars all over him and then he finished up being crippled by arthritis from standing in the water all the time.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: And they said they had a pint of tea in the morning and it had to shave them and wash them and drink. And that’s how it was and he said that he’d be talking to one of his mates, those stood in the trenches, and his silence and looked down and he’d been shot dead. Killed. Yes by the side of him.
TJ: Did he talk a lot about his experiences?
DR: Not really. No, no if we just asked him, you know, a bit about it he would then but, no.
TJ: What year did he die?
DR: Um.
TJ: Roughly.
DR: It was eighty — he was eighty when he died, um.
TJ: So he was eighty. So he achieved quite a reasonable age —
DR: He was eighty when he died yes.
TJ: So maybe in the sixties was it?
DR: Um. No it was — oh ‘cause I’m — er.
TJ: So anyway never mind.
DR: I can’t — yes ‘cause he was — fortunately their family they were farmers.
TJ: Um.
DR: He had — there was eight boys in the family. And they left the eldest son each time on, for the farm and then they took three boys, the next three boys and all of them came though, yes. One of them was a stretcher bearer out in the trenches.
TJ: So I bet your dad couldn’t believe it when it was — all started to happen again.
DR: Um. Such a waste wasn’t it?
TJ: Wasn’t it? Yeah.
DR: Dreadful.
TJ: Um. So, when war broke out in 1939 what were you doing at that time?
DR: I was at school. Yes. I was at school.
TJ: In where?
DR: Sleaford High School.
TJ: So you’d have been what — about [pause] fourteen, yeah? So you were fourteen? Your school stayed open did it?
DR: Oh yes.
TJ: Being in Sleaford.
DR: Oh yes. Used to go on the bus, ten miles on the bus every day to school. Yes.
TJ: So how old were you when you left school?
DR: Pardon?
TJ: How old were you when you left school?
DR: Sixteen.
TJ: And then what did you do?
DR: I went to commercial college and then I worked at Market Rasen for Moore, Cooper and Burkett’s for a short time and then —
TJ: In the office?
DR: Yeah.
TJ: And so how did it come about that you joined the—
DR: You had to, didn’t you, it was compulsory.
TJ: Had to do something?
DR: Yes, had to do something like that yes.
TJ: Um. Did you get a choice —
DR: Yes.
TJ: Of what you did?
DR: Yes and we just, I just chose that.
TJ: What else could you have done? Do you know? Can you remember?
DR: You could’ve just gone into the army or something like that. For boys they could go down the mines. They were called Bevin boys or something like that.
TJ: They were.
DR: Um. Yes.
TJ: So, you chose, chose the observer corps, what year would that have been? About forty, forty-one?
DR: I think it was nineteen — was it forty [pause] six?
TJ: Well the war finished — were you doing it during the war?
DR: Oh well yes. That’s right isn’t it? Oh yes, er, um.
TJ: Can you remember how old you were when you started with the observer corps?
DR: Yes I was just seventeen. Nearly, nearly eighteen, yes. Because my friend and I were both —
TJ: So about forty-two then?
DR: Yes.
TJ: So it was, by then it was the Royal Observer Corps?
DR: Yes, yes. That’s right. Yes.
TJ: It was 1941 —
DR: Well it used to be, originally, apparently it was RAF OC, Royal Air Force Observer Corps and then it went to Royal Observer Corps.
TJ: Yes, 1941 I understand that was. So tell me about your training. Where was that done?
DR: That was done at St Peters Arches in Lincoln. Do you know where that is?
TJ: Yes, I think so.
DR: It’s on the corner, not far from the Stonebow.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: It used to be the fifty shilling tailors or something I think underneath it. And there used to be a guard at the bottom. We used to go up there in the lift and then after a while we left there and went to Beaumont Fee.
TJ: I know that.
DR: At Todson House. That’s where I did my commercial college training. And then latterly we went to Fiskerton and at Fiskerton it was underground.
TJ: What did your training comprise of?
DR: Aircraft recognition but we were not out on the outpost we were in the operations room. We were plotting the aircraft on a table.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: And also we had what they call an RDF board which stood up, a big metal thing with a map on.
TJ: So do you know what RDF stands for?
DR: Yes, you listen for the planes coming in over the sea and plotted them as they come over, over the coast. Yes. Onto that.
TJ: Do you know what RDF stands for?
DR: Radio? No I don’t.
TJ: No.
DR: No I don’t think we ever bothered. But you see when the aircraft were coming back home the Germans used to mix in with them.
TJ: Really?
DR: Yes, they used to come back with them. So — but from the sounds of the aircraft and things you can tell, you could tell the difference. You knew what each sound was. But with the recognition there was three different classes in that, basic, intermediate and masters. But you had to just recognise planes by just coming on at you, like that. You could only just [unclear]
TJ: Did you get a first class? Did you get a masters?
DR: No, no, no we didn’t, we just did the basic and intermediate. I think the masters was for the people more out on the posts. The outposts. Yes.
TJ: So you, you never went on an outpost?
DR: No, no, no.
TJ: Out onto the fields?
DR: No.
TJ: No.
DR: No we felt there was a bit — [laughs]
TJ: So. How did they get the reports in? Did they telephone them in?
DR: Yes. Yeah. Um, it’s funny because they would be like telling you to have your headphones on they’d be telling you these things about them and the planes were coming closer and closer and they’d be fighting. You know, there’d be one of our Spitfires and things like that and you’d be listening to it like that and all of a sudden, pop [emphasise] off. They’d shot them down. It’s how to see and things. It was really — it was fun anyway and we used to go on different shifts, off at three in the morning and the next day back on at three in the morning. It was a bit — but, em, there was some marvellous times, it was good and because of the ops room and things where we worked the aircrew boys could come in as well to, er —
TJ: Right in the middle of town?
DR: Yes, yes, yeah, but no when it was full on it was really full on.
TJ: How many people would’ve been in that room?
DR: It’s in the book. There’s photographs of them. I should think, how many would be at the table, probably twelve probably and then there used to be along with two people on the RDF board and then up above there was a tellers [?] coming in from Digby and different places. And officers sat at the top. I should think there’d be about twenty. Yes, at a time. Yes.
TJ: Various ages?
DR: Yes, oh yes, yeah, but like I say we were the, we were the two youngest of them.
TJ: You and your friend?
DR: Yes.
TJ: And what’s her name.
DR: Betty Bally.
TJ: And you said she’s still with us?
DR: No she’s dead.
TJ: Oh right. Who’s the other lady you were talking about earlier?
DR: No, no. Evelyn lives at Woodhall but another friend who was with me but her memory is not as good as mine.
TJ: Um.
DR: Yes, yes.
TJ: So did you have quiet nights of —
DR: Oh yes, yes
TJ: Lots?
DR: If they weren’t flying and if there was no ops and things it was very quiet.
TJ: Um. So what did you do whilst you weren’t —
DR: We used to play shove ha’penny [laughs] and all those sort of games like that they had and the food. Beans on toast, cheese on toast, pilchards on toast. It’s what we used to live on.
TJ: And that was provided for you was it?
DR: Oh yes, yes.
TJ: Whilst you were on duty?
DR: Yes. No they, the manager from Freeman Hardy and Willis, Sidney his name was, he was a, he was nice and things. But yes, I can remember him, but, um —
TJ: He, was he in there too was he?
DR: Yes. He was a, he was a very bit higher rank, was Sidney.
TJ: Did he manage to keep on going in the shop, in the shoe shop?
DR: Um, yes.
TJ: At the same time as –
DR: Yes, yes.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: Yes. I think several of them had part time jobs. I don’t know how they managed it though because of — had to sleep when you came off duty which was difficult with changing times all the time. But, um, no —
TJ: So where did, where were you living at that time?
DR: I was living up Cheviot Street.
TJ: Which I believe is near Monks Road?
DR: Yes, yes.
TJ: What were you in digs or —
DR: Yes, yes, yes we were in digs. Evelyn and I were together there but Betty Bally she lived at Saxilby. So she used to go home to Saxilby.
TJ: What on the bus or the train?
DR: No, no, no, her dad used to pick her up. Or often we used to cycle and I used to go home with her to Saxilby. We used to cycle to Saxilby. But then we got friendly with the full crew and they often used to come in a taxi and pick us up because they could stay in the ops room as well you see. And they would taxi and take us home like that.
TJ: That was nice.
DR: Yes, yeah. So —
TJ: So what about social life?
DR: Well what — we used to find a dance in Lincoln. Tuesday nights it was the Montana which is across the road from the Theatre at Lincoln. Wednesday night it was the Drill Hall. Thursday night it was the Astoria which was over the Burton’s clothing shop there. And, um, we used to [pause] dance, you know about three, at least three nights a week we used to go dancing and like we’d go in, if we was going on duty at eleven well we’d go to the dance till eleven. But if we came off duty at eleven we used to go. Yes.
TJ: To the dancing?
DR: Yes. It’s, it was absolutely marvellous it really was.
TJ: From the social point of view?
DR: Yes. And the work was interesting.
TJ: How good were you at aircraft recognition?
DR: Very. Yes. Very.
TJ: Did you always keep up an interest in that? After the war?
DR: Yes. Yes. I’ve always been interested in the planes. Yes. Um, propeller planes, I don’t know anything about jets and —
TJ: No.
DR: And those sorts of things
TJ: It must have been, there must have been some upsetting times though?
DR: Oh yes. Yes. Because you had various friends and you knew which aerodrome they were going from because we could see, and you’d count the planes out, plot them out and then when they came back you’d plotted that there’d be two or three missing and if you had boyfriends in the thing like I used to have to nip down to the Post Office to ring up to find out if Monty, who was my boyfriend then. Thing with — then one night he went to Berlin on the 1st of January 1944 and he didn’t come back from that. Yeah. But also we had a — at home because I lived at a bakers shop at Billinghay and dad thought it was his duty to help look after them and they had a notice up at the camp at Coningsby and Woodhall if anybody would like a meal to come. Which they did, we had lots of them, lots of them come and this particular one, Ken Ingram his name was and he was only young, he was twenty-one and on a Wednesday if I was off duty we used to go to Boston our parents, did for, to the wholesalers. And he used to want to drive to Boston and I used to want to drive to Boston so he would jump in the driver’s seat to go to Boston but I used to pull him out and I think then, I used to get in and he used to pull me out. Well he went on this raid, right tearaway, sort of little thing he wasn’t very big and of course when they got shot down he bailed out. Joined — wouldn’t be taken prisoner he joined up with the resistance and did that for a while and then the Gestapo got him and they killed him. They hung him up on the wires and his body wasn’t allowed to be cut down for two or three days. Yes. It’s — and he was an only — well he had a brother who was killed by the Japanese and then he was like that. And he had no, his mother was dead. Yes. And his father kept a hotel and he came over to visit us. Yes. After the war to tell us all about it. And it is apparently Wendy who comes, well Billy’s friend, lady friend and she got it all up on the thing and apparently they have put a, some sort of a monument for him over — yes.
TJ: In?
DR: Where it happened.
TJ: And where would that have been?
DR: I don’t think —
TJ: France?
DR: I don’t, I don’t know if he joined with the French or the Dutch resistance. Yes. No. There were lots and lots of them but. Yes. Got shot down. That was dreadful.
TJ: Was there much bombing near or in Lincoln?
DR: Oh yes, quite a bit. The worst part about it was like when the planes got home and crashed when they landed and things and that was dreadful.
TJ: I know Waddington Church was bombed.
DR: Yes.
TJ: Was there much bombing in the town itself?
DR: Yes. I know at Tattershall. Was it in Tattershall they bombed didn’t they? I know when war was declared on the Sunday they came over and dropped incendiary bombs at Billinghay.
TJ: Um. I wonder why there?
DR: I don’t know. Well it’s funny because that Lord Haw-Haw man you know who used to come on. And one Sunday lunchtime it was, at Chapel Hill, there was a pumping station and the people at the house were just having their lunch and they got the carving forks stuck in the joint and this plane came over, bombed it, the place, and killed them at the pumping station down there on that Sunday lunchtime. And then Lord Haw-Haw at night said that some, something special they’d bombed but it was just the pumping station. And dad, like I say was a baker, and one particular morning the — you can hear a German ‘cause you know the German planes when they came over, really low over the village and he had got his white apron on and he went outside to look and the thing was just coming over and went ‘tut, tut, tut, tut’. Yes.
TJ: Um. Missed him I take it?
DR: Yep. Yep. Yeah. Really low they used to come over. So we used to have our excitement.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: No and then they had a spell to go to Digby to the RAF at Digby there. And when I was there we were staying at Blankney Hall and one of the WAFs left an iron on the ironing board and I’d gone home on — for the weekend and she burnt the hall down. Blankney Hall was burnt, she burnt the hall. So that’s how I went back to Lincoln.
TJ: Um.
DR: That was sad.
TJ: Did you ever get to go up in an aeroplane?
DR: We went up once but only for just a little few minutes just — yes.
TJ: What sort of plane was it?
DR: In the Lancaster. Yeah.
TJ: And from where from? What airfield?
DR: I believe it was Skellingthorpe I think. I can’t just remember. ‘Cause we went —
TJ: There were so many of them in the area?
DR: Yes, that’s right, yes in the area.
TJ: Was that your first time flying?
DR: Yes. Never done — No. I’ve never been abroad to —
TJ: Never been in an aeroplane since?
DR: No. No, don’t want to. Never. No.
TJ: Did you enjoy that flight?
DR: Well no because it was so rough in the thing. In those Lancasters there’s no comfort or anything and yes.
TJ: So you weren’t keen to do it again?
DR: Yes.
TJ: Did you all go for a ride in the plane or —
DR: I can’t remember to be quite truthful. I can’t — I don’t know why I can’t remember more about it.
TJ: It’s alright. It’s just something I read that the people in the Royal Observer Corps were offered an opportunity if at all possible to go up in aeroplanes.
DR: Yeah. You know to think about it I can’t even think if it even got off the ground or if we just taxied on the thing. It’s funny that I can’t — I wonder why no one wanted to go in an aeroplane since. The thought of being closed in. If you could have the windows open, yes. No I’m not an air traveller. But like I say that my time in the Observer Corps was my happiest time, couldn’t help but enjoy it. It was serious but there was a lot of enjoyment.
TJ: Camaraderie?
DR: Yeah. Yes. Yes. Yeah. I often try to think about — I can remember [pause] getting in the thing but —
TJ: After that?
DR: There was sometimes, I don’t think we went in the air even. I think we just taxied.
TJ: Maybe that’s why you don’t remember it.
DR: Yes, that’s right. Yes.
TJ: Maybe if you’d gone in the air you might have stronger memories.
DR: Yes. I think I would somehow. Yes.
TJ: So you kept abreast of what was going on in the war?
DR: Oh yes. Yes.
TJ: With radio and the newspapers?
DR: Yet [pause] I don’t know why at Fiskerton I don’t really know — I think it must have been at the end more, right at the end while we moved to Fiskerton. Like I said to Evelyn about it, but she can’t, she can just remember us being there.
TJ: What, where you worked from?
DR: Yeah. Yeah. From Fiskerton at the end. Why did we move from Beaumont Fee? I just can’t think. Like I say there’s no one to check with.
TJ: Ask?
DR: That’s the point, yes. I don’t know of anyone round about here who’s left and —
TJ: You did say about what, what aircraft was first on the board in the morning.
DR: Oh yes, yes. The first aircraft on the board was from, it was a Beaufont [pause] Beaufont, Beaufont
TJ: Beaufort?
DR: Beaufort I think and it was from up at Donna Nook, up that direction.
TJ: Which air —
DR: You’ll find it in that book, all in that book. Yes.
TJ: I’ll have a little look at that. This?
DR: Yeah.
TJ: So you always got the same plane first up every day?
DR: Yes. The same one, well the weather plane it was. It used to fly out to sea and — yeah. For the weather.
TJ: For a reccy and come back?
DR: Yes. Yeah.
TJ: Beaumont, check.
DR: I can’t even remember the proper name for the thing. Beaumont fighter, yes. That um, the trouble is with, especially with the young Spitfire pilots I mean they were only young boys when they joined and they had about twelve hours tuition, I think it was, and they went and they knew that they would only be there for one or two flights and then they would be killed, it’s dreadful, isn’t it? Yeah. And to start with, in the air crew they were all the cream of the young lads that went, you know the rich peoples sons they seemed to be and — I mean in the village at Billinghay there was quite a few of them stationed in the village. You know they were probably married and got their families and that and then they wouldn’t be there many weeks and then they’d be gone because their husbands had been killed [long pause]
TJ: Did you ever visit one of the outposts where they used to —
DR: I went to Billinghay to — yes, to —
TJ: Where you used to do the spotting and the bringing in from?
DR: To look in there. Yes. But that was, that was not my cup of tea at all. No.
TJ: Did you have to climb down a ladder to get into it?
DR: Yes, yes, yeah. Up and down, yeah. Climb over a bit, yes to get in.
TJ: And what was in there?
DR: Nothing, only a table, chairs and a kettle. Yes. You see they did all that with the binoculars and things you see and — but I mean they were good I mean they knew every, the sound of every aircraft that was, that was coming. I mean well everybody got to know about the doodlebugs and while they kept going and things I mean they used to come over the village and while they were going it was OK. It was when, ‘cause the engine cut out and you knew you know to look out, yes. I mean really and truthfully I mean it should’ve been a frightening time but somehow you weren’t frightened.
TJ: That’s interesting.
DR: Yeah. I can remember you know like Sylv the air raid warden coming round blowing my dad was one, blowing the whistle for people to go and then we used to just run along the road up to the pub and into their cellar. That’s it, it was, it was an experience and really wasn’t it and — no. They were good times, enjoyable times really and sad times.
TJ: So coming towards the end of the war, presumably you knew that the end was in sight, did you or didn’t you?
DR: No. No, I don’t think we did. No. No.
TJ: What do you remember about the news breaking of the invasion? Of the Normandy landings? Did you, can you remember hearing about it?
DR: About the what?
TJ: The Normandy landings? The D-day?
DR: No. Um.
TJ: Did you read it in the paper or hear about it on the radio?
DR: I can remember that all the — we had on the Observer Corps there was part of it called the sea raids, sea rangers or something and they all went out to spotting for the, to do the spotting, yes they did.
TJ: Yeah.
DR: Yeah. Lost a lot of them got killed on that but it was essential you see for them to know to pick which was the Germans which they could do.
TJ: Yes, it was to avoid friendly fire I understand.
DR: Um.
TJ: And it worked well.
DR: Yeah.
TJ: So —
DR: Yes it was — the worst part was plotting things out and them not coming back again. That was — used to cast a cloud over everything.
TJ: So the Observer Corps actually carried on into the nineties I think.
DR: Yes.
TJ: When did you actually finish with them?
DR: Um [pause] that’s another question I asked my friend ‘cause I just couldn’t remember and nor could she said ‘I can’t remember either when we finished’. How we finished.
TJ: Can you remember VE day?
DR: Yes.
TJ: And what did you do to celebrate?
DR: Came home [laughs] yes.
TJ: To Saxilby?
DR: I think [pause]. No, I can’t remember, no.
TJ: Details no?
DR: No. I think, I can remember celebrating I think I must have been in Lincoln celebrating in the streets we did. But then how much longer did we stay on? You know, I just don’t know.
TJ: You don’t remember? No?
DR: I don’t.
TJ: You don’t know when you were demobbed?
DR: No, I can’t. I wish I could. I wish I’d kept a record of all these things but at the actual time you don’t think about it do you?
TJ: So what did you do — let’s look at it. What did you do for work after you left the Royal Observer Corps? What was the first job you had in civilian life?
DR: I just went and did my dad’s business. Just worked at home.
TJ: The bakery?
DR: Bakers, yes. The baker, confectionist, general store, yeah.
TJ: Were you a baker yourself? Or a confectioner?
DR: No. No. We had special people to do that.
TJ: Did you work in the shop during the day?
DR: Yes, yeah. Drive the vans on bread rounds. We had, you know we used to go round to all the houses then down the fens and everything. I used to drive a van.
TJ: Did you have to do a driving test in those days?
DR: No, I didn’t take a driving test. On the day I was seventeen my dad said to me ‘jump in the car and go get a licence’. So I drove to Sleaford without a licence, got a licence and drove back again.
TJ: On your own?
DR: Yes. Just went on my own because I’d been driving since I was eight years old.
TJ: On private land?
DR: Yeah. Used to go down the fens with the bread down all the fens you used to have to drive across fields to the farmhouses and things as soon as you used to get through the gates dad used to say ‘you drive’.
TJ: Can’t imagine that these days, can you?
DR: No.
TJ: You’d have been put into care [laughs]
DR: [laughs] Yes. I’ve been driving since I was eight years old.
TJ: Wow. So you’ve never, never held a driving licence?
DR: No. My brother, no my brother, he wouldn’t. No. He was three years older than me.
TJ: So you worked in the family business?
DR: Yes, until I got married.
TJ: And what year did you get married?
DR: That’s another thing I can’t even remember. I know I’ve been a widow fifty years. On the 19th of February.
TJ: When you got married would it have been the fifties, early fifties possibly?
DR: I think I was twenty-four. Was I? Twenty-four.
TJ: Yes, if you were born in twenty-five.
DR: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
TJ: Yes, about 1950 ish, forty-nine, fifty
DR: I think I was twenty-four. Was I? I don’t know.
TJ: So, what did your husband do in the war?
DR: He was, he was in the army. I didn’t know him then, yes. He was a sergeant in the — I don’t even know what regiment.
TJ: Where was he during the war? Can you remember that?
DR: I know he was abroad, I don’t know where. I know it was hot [laughs]
TJ: Africa then [laughs]
DR: Yes. Yes. It’s funny ‘cause you never talk about it you know.
TJ: Did you not?
DR: No.
TJ: Between yourselves?
DR: No. No.
TJ: Didn’t swap stories?
DR: No.
TJ: What did your husband do for work?
DR: He was a butcher.
TJ: Oh. So the butcher and the baker.
DR: Yes, that’s right, yes.
TJ: Where did you meet him?
DR: Heckington. It was in Heckington where I got married. And I had a fish shop.
TJ: Oh.
DR: A fish and chip shop. Yes.
TJ: That was your own was it?
DR: Yes. A small holding we had as well.
TJ: Did you sell wet fish?
DR: Yes.
TJ: As well as fish and chips?
DR: Fish and chips. And the shop is still there. Yes.
TJ: How much did it cost?
DR: Tuppence for the fish and a penny for the chips.
TJ: I bet they were absolutely delicious.
DR: Yes. That’s a fib anyway because they weren’t. It was — no, it was how much was it, probably was, it was only a few pence anyway. Yes. And when you think now how much it is. About six pounds for fish and chips isn’t it?
TJ: Something like that, yes.
DR: Yes. But I could buy fish then for eleven shillings a stone. Yes. And we had coal fired pans which made good fish and chips. Like all the people in the village here they said ours were the best fish and chips you could get.
TJ: What did you fry in? Dripping?
DR: Yes. Yes.
TJ: Beef dripping?
DR: Yes. Yeah. Butcher’s dripping.
TJ: Well that’s handy ‘cause your husband was the butcher.
DR: Yes. Used to get this beef dripping for, from Spalding. From the butchers up Spalding way.
TJ: I remember you telling me about Christmas Day when you were in the Royal Observer Corps.
DR: I know. That’s naughty.
TJ: Oh go on.
DR: Oh. Yes my friend and I on the Christmas Day we were on the RDF board and the officers brought us a crate of cider and we just sat there and drank this, steadily drank all this cider while we were on — but I don’t know, was there an armistice on Christmas Day? but the Germans didn’t come over did they? [laughs] So if they’d come sneaking in over the sea it would’ve been just too bad. ‘Cause we weren’t quite responsible enough to think that — yes. So we didn’t get bombed. Yes.
TJ: What about rationing? Did you, did you find that very difficult?
DR: Pardon.
TJ: Rationing of food and clothes.
DR: No not really because with being in a shop we weren’t really rationed you see were we. We could dip in — though. [pause] No we didn’t seem to be even in our digs. No we didn’t. No it wasn’t too bad at all. There’s always things that you could get. I mean you never got bananas and things like that in the wartime and I can remember with being in the shop and things that they’d probably send six tins of salmon. Well what could you do with six tins of salmon when you’ve got scores and scores of customers can you. And they always used to come in and say ‘have you got any salmon?’ and all these sorts of things but no and Monty my boyfriend, at one time, all he loved was Fry’s chocolate cream when he was went on ops. Chocolate and we used to save all our points, sweet points to keep to buy it so he could have plenty of this Fry’s chocolate, yeah. That’s what he loved when he was flying and like I say he got, he got killed. Yeah [pause] but they used to know you know those boys when they weren’t coming back.
TJ: Did they?
DR: Um.
TJ: Premonition?
DR: Yes, yeah. Yes they knew. Yes ‘cause I can remember one particular friend that I had and he had cycled down from, from Coningsby and that and I stood you know to wave, to wave to him when he went and he went up the road about six times and came back.
TJ: Um.
DR: And that and away he went and then he went out I think it was at night and he didn’t come back again. No it was very funny, but well [long pause]
TJ: That’s war for you isn’t it. Terrible. Let me just —
DR: He was my friend for several years. Even after, after the war and he was a flight lieutenant but he was gunnery leader and he used to have to take the crews out to Scherluffer[?] for practice. Yes. But he was, he got the DFM and bar and the DFC, in fact I’ve got the ribbon somewhere round about from them. Yes. And he did three full tours of ops. That’s twenty in a tour. And a few odd ones at the end. He did over sixty tours. He got shot down a couple of times, once in the sea and I think it was about a couple of days before they got picked up. Yeah. But he got through, came through it all relatively unscathed. The good part about it was when he went in the sea he got these, all these new things and I got a new pair of flying boots out of it [laughs] yes.
TJ: Did you find it hard to adjust to ordinary life —
DR: Yes. Yes
TJ: After the war.
DR: Yes. Yes it was difficult.
TJ: Tell us about how you felt.
DR: Yes. I think it was just having all your friends together and all doing the same thing.
TJ: Did you miss the sort of the friendship?
DR: Yes. Well I kept friends with Betty Bally right up to her dying. She’s been dead probably four years I think. About four years. She lost her leg and everything. It was sugar diabetes I think it was that caused that. No we just stayed friends. Like I say they called us the terrible twins because our birthdays were only about five days apart and with the young ones they used to call us babe because we were — yep.
TJ: So working in the shop out in Saxilby, was it, wasn’t as —
DR: Billinghay.
TJ: Sorry Billinghay.
DR: Yes.
TJ: So where does Saxilby come in?
DR: Betty lived at Saxilby.
TJ: That’s right, yes. Billinghay. The shop in Billinghay —
DR: Well her dad was a beekeeper. He kept bees. He was a small holder but he had bees, all these bees and I think he was head of the bee —
TJ: Keepers Association?
DR: Yes, that’s right. Yes, yeah.
TJ: So the shop in Billinghay must have all seemed a little bit ordinary mustn’t it after what you’d been doing all during the war?
DR: I didn’t think, didn’t look at it like that no.
TJ: No.
DR: Well it was like a bit strange coming back to live in the village. Yeah.
TJ: So you must’ve been proud of the contribution you were able to make —
DR: Yes.
TJ: To the war effort.
DR: I notice on the Armistice Day and things there are, that there are members of the families I think of — must be ‘cause the people, but they march right at the — with the RAF and then the Observer Corps with them aren’t they next to them when they march.
TJ: Yes, when they do the Cenotaph
DR: Yes, that’s right. Yes because I mean there was some younger people who were on there I didn’t see many old crocks [laughs].
TJ: Yeah marching it’s more of a young person’s sport isn’t it?
DR: Yes, that’s right. Although you get the old people in the wheelchairs and things don’t you at that ceremony.
TJ: Well I’m going to finish this interview here. So thank you very much for sharing your memories with us.
DR: Yes. It’s a pity you don’t read through the book there because it’s all about the Observer Corps and that.
TJ: Yes, we’ll have look at the book and perhaps we’ll copy it for the archives.
DR: Yeah, yeah.
TJ: OK. End of recording.
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 Doris Reddish
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Tina James
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-01-31
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AReddishDE170131, PReddishDE1709
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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
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Format
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00:47:42 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Doris Reddish attended Sleaford High School followed by commercial college. She worked at Moore, Cooper and Burkett’s in Market Rasen until she joined the Royal Observer Corps. She trained in Lincoln for aircraft recognition then served as a table plotter at RAF Digby, RAF Blankney Hall and RAF Fiskerton. After demobilisation she went to work in the family shop, then got married and run a fish and chip shop in Billinghay. Doris also discusses her father’s experiences in the First World War and reminisces about social life in wartime, bomb damage, and rationing.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Lincoln
England--Market Rasen
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1944
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Carolyn Emery
bombing
entertainment
home front
love and romance
military ethos
operations room
RAF Blankney Hall
RAF Digby
RAF Fiskerton
Royal Observer Corps
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/121/2446/AEadyIET160628.2.mp3
a58a49784c2c048a7529917535777d5a
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
Eady, Liz
Liz Eady
I E T Eady
Description
An account of the resource
The collection consists of one oral history interview with Aircraftswoman Second Class Idina Elizabeth Tolley Eady (2131607 Royal Air Force), her service and pay book and three photographs. Liz Eady served as a telephonist at RAF Waddington.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Liz Eady and catalogued by Terry Hancock.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Eady, IET
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-06-28
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the 28th of June 2016. I’m in Woking with Elizabeth Eady and we’re going to talk about what she was doing on the airfields in, during the war. So, Liz what are your earliest recollections of life?
IE: Do you mean life in the RAF?
CB: No at home.
IE: At home?
CB: Yes, and then leading to the RAF.
IE: Well we, we lived in a village and I was, I had a brother and a sister which – and there were also some other relations in the village. And then eventually – oh my father was, he grew tomatoes, cucumbers, he had about forty greenhouses. And then later on he was able to buy what was my grandfather’s house which had been divided into two. So, we had one half of it which was nearer to the town of Market Harborough. And we had a huge garden and we used to have lots of friends playing tennis and all that sort of thing. And then I went to a small private school, when I was what five would it be? Until I was eleven. And that was really very good. There was about ten of us altogether, boys and girls. And our classroom was in, what had been the stables of this house where the owner of the school lived. So, it was all quite sort of casual. And then, oh gosh I can’t remember. Oh, that’s right, then I had to come and I then went to – my Mother and Father thought because my, one of my Mother’s relations, their daughter had gone to Kettering High School, so that was my next place. Which really was a bit out of my depth. It was – so I did struggle for quite a while although I was very happy there because I made some very good friends. And I was keen on the sport. I represented them for tennis and all that sort. Gin, gin, it wasn’t gin [Laughs] and I was there for a little while and then my parents decided that probably it would be better if I went to boarding school. And I went to a private boarding school which was just outside Chorley Wood in Hertfordshire, was it called, Heronsgate, was the name of the village, which was run by two elderly sisters. Unfortunately, there was another girl there who had been at Kettering and she was very jealous of me if I had any friends there, so I wasn’t very happy. But I had some outdoor friends who were quite wealthy actually. But, and I used to go and stay with them sometimes at weekends because two of the children came to our school and I had to look after them, the little girl. And that was until – oh, I’ve got this wrong. That was before I went to Kettering High School. Kettering High School was my last one. Yes, they decided for some reason, I don’t know why, that they wanted me out of boarding school to be at home. Maybe because war was, you know, the way things were, it hadn’t actually started then. And I had to go home. And then I went to Kettering High School, that’s right. What did I do after that? Oh, that’s right. I very much wanted to be a dress designer. And I’d, there was, I started to go to Leicester College of Art. And it was a three-year course. And I’d got half way through when – I used to have to catch a train to Leicester, so I was having my breakfast early before anybody else to get the train. And then one day my Mother came in when I was having my breakfast and said ‘This is your last day, last week at college, you’ve got to go and get a job.’ And I thought ‘Gosh, what am I going to do?’ So, but there was no alternative. And I was just going down on the Monday morning. I thought ‘Well I must go in the town and see what, what sort of jobs there are going.’ And I happened to meet two people I knew and we got talking. And they said ‘Why don’t you come and join us? We’re at the corset factory but we’re working on parachutes and we need some more help.’ So, I thought ‘Oh, Father’ll go mad if he thinks I’m working at the corset factory, but still.’ So, I got an interview and I was working for AID, Aeronautical Inspection [department?]. And I was a leading viewer. I had five women under me. But because I wasn’t twenty-one I got half the pay. So, I was earning about two pounds fifty to their five pounds. Which was very difficult. And then my parents decided to move down to Buckinghamshire, Iver Heath. And where they had a village grocery store. And I was still at Market Harborough. But as I say I really hadn’t got enough money. I was dipping into my savings. So, I thought ‘Well I’ve got no alternative’. And I’d wanted to join the WAAF so I went home and I told them I was going home and I was going to join the WAAF. Which I did, I went for an interview at Northolt. And I got everything, they said they’d let me know. And that was about June I think, we got to September and I kept saying ‘I can’t think why I haven’t heard.’ Then it got to about October. I was doing the newspapers one morning, big headlines, ‘More women needed in the Armed Services,’ and I said to my Mother ‘Can’t understand this and I’m still waiting’ so she said ‘Oh no you won’t because your Father’s written up and said we can’t spare you.’ So big row, packed my bags and I was gone in a week. [Chuckling] And that’s when I went to, where did I go to? Oh gosh, I can’t remember. Might have been – oh Uxbridge I think it was, yes. And looking at the things, and I thought I’ll – I thought well I’d already done parachutes and so I said I’d like to go into that. But there were no vacancies for that and I really wasn’t sure. Then, I don’t know why, I just suddenly said telephonist. I thought ‘Well, it’ll give me a job after the war.’ And so I went to Harrogate first waiting for vacancy, I think I was there about a month, enjoyed Harrogate, had a wonderful time. Then they sent me to Bradford where I trained at the Bradford Telephone Exchange. And there were six of us and we were in civilian accommodation at night. And lovely lady she was, and she gave us too much food. [Laughs] I think she thought we were starving. And so really most of the mornings were taken up with our training and then we were sort of off duty quite early in the afternoon. And I discovered there was a wonderful lake up the road so we used to go and row, rowing. [Laughs] As I say there was about six of us. And there was one girl who had been a telephonist in civvie street. And anyway, we did the exam, and I had my paper and scribbled away at it. She kept going up for more paper, never seen anyone use so much paper, you know for an exam thing. I thought, ‘Well I’ve had it’ you know. And the next, well a week later when we had the, to go for the results, and the tutor said, when she came in, she said ‘I never thought I would have’ she said ‘It’s a tutor’s dream to have the perfect paper handed in’ and of course this girl was you know, it was hers.
CB: Yes.
IE: And it wasn’t, it was mine. A hundred per cent, and, first time in my life. [Laughs] And that’s when I was then sent to, I think it was Skellingthorpe. Oh no, no it wasn’t. It was Compton Bassett for training before I went onto telephonist job I think. Or did I go there first? I think I’m not sure.
CB: It’s alright.
IE: Anyway, I definitely went to Skellingthorpe. And there was already enough. I was a bit, you know, an extra bod there. And then they – I think it was the Rhodesians were at Waddington, and they were leaving to go elsewhere, so there was a vacancy for a telephonist at Waddington and nobody else was going to move, so I went. And that was wonderful. And the Rhodesians left and then we got the Australian squadron, two squadrons. 463 and 467. And I can’t remember. You’ll probably be able to tell me. I can’t remember, it wasn’t intelligence I don’t think. In the room I was in we had a switchboard there. And on the wall was the three, Waddington was the main base and then there was Skellingthorpe, Bardney and those. And then we had listed all the squadrons, what would that be?
CB: The operations board?
IE: Ah yes. But it wasn’t, was it operations? I don’t think so.
CB: It showed the availability of aircraft did it?
IE: Well, it was all listed up who was going where.
CB: Yes.
IE: And we had, quite, well they were mainly sort of Group Captains and such in there. I might tell you, when I knocked on, there was one. Oh, he loved his cups of tea. And I knocked, you know, go in salute smartly, ‘Good morning’ ‘Oh my God,’ he said ‘LACW Edey. Essence of pussy today chaps.’ I was the worst teamaker on the camp. Essence of pussy. [Laughter] He liked his tea, good and strong, plenty of sugar so his spoon stood up in the middle of it. [Chuckles] And I didn’t like tea anyway. But er, must have been operations was it?
CB: Well.
IE: No couldn’t have been.
CB: The other stations were satellites weren’t they?
IE: Waddington was the main base.
CB: Yes.
IE: And then the others were Bardney, Skellingthorpe what was the other one? Can’t think what I, what it was called now.
CB: But you were linking it all together were you?
IE: Um?
CB: You were linking the communications together?
IE: Oh yes. We were the main base, so I had a switchboard but I was also in touch with all the other, yes all the other –
CB: So, what was the task you were undertaking there?
IE: Um?
CB: What were you doing?
IE: Just on the switchboard, just answering whatever came in. And passing them onto whoever really. Just like an ordinary telephonist.
CB: Right.
IE: But mainly the calls were ones that didn’t go through the general switchboard and that.
CB: Because they were secure lines?
IE: Um. Yeah.
CB: That was the idea was it?
IE: Yeah, yes. Yes, so I did outside calls but the main ones inside were purely to the heads of the various departments. Like flying control and operations and that sort of thing.
CB: So what sort of shifts did you work?
IE: Um. Eight ‘til one, one to six. No, wait a minute, eight to one, one to six, oh yeah eight ‘til one, one to six. I’ve got it written down somewhere. Then to eleven and then eleven round ‘til eight o’clock in the morning. Is that four?
CB: Um, yeah.
IE: Yeah.
CB: So, a longer shift in the night?
IE: You had a long one at night, yes.
CB: Um.
IE: It was pretty quiet usually.
CB: Um. So, when the raids –
IE: Eleven ‘til eight.
CB: Yes.
IE: Yes.
CB: Um. How many switchboard operators, telephonists would there be on duty at any one time?
IE: In the main switchboard, they’d be three or four. I was on the main one to start with and then they transferred me to this other switchboard.
CB: All WAAF’s? No, no men on the exchange?
IE: Oh, we did yes. Yes, we did. I didn’t have one on that section, but on the main one yes, there were men. And there were you know in other stations in the group as well.
CB: So how many days did you work in a run?
IE: Yeah, there would be six days and then the seventh –
CB: Because Sunday was a working day like everything else?
IE: Oh yes, yes, yes. Yeah.
CB: So, six days on. How many off?
IE: Then there would be just the one. One whole day off as far as I remember.
CB: So, you’re on the airfield at Waddington. Where are you staying? What accommodation have you got?
IE: Oh, there were, what had been pre-war airmans’ married quarters. And that was the one in the photograph, we had a big room downstairs and then there was like the kitchen bit at the back. And upstairs, there was the main bedroom and a small room. Usually the small room was the sergeant or a corporal. And there was – it was just quite basic, you didn’t really. You went up to, you had to go out for your meals.
CB: Yes.
IE: You could, you know, boil a kettle and that sort of thing.
CB: But you ate in the Airmans’ mess?
IE: Yeah.
CB: How far away was that?
IE: Oh, only a few minutes’ walk. Yes, it wasn’t very far.
CB: ‘Cause the domestic site is near the technical site is it?
IE: Do you know I can’t remember. When I came, went down. No, ‘cause Waddington was a huge complex.
CB: Yeah.
IE: ‘Cause when you went down, and then there was like station headquarters and those. And a few, then further on were these billets like what were airmans’ married quarters, so they were away from the –
CB: They weren’t on the airfield were they?
IE: Yeah, the main headquarters.
CB: Um.
IE: And then just almost opposite us were the hangars. You know, right down the airfield.
CB: So, the airmans’ houses, were standard layout?
IE: Sorry?
CB: They were a standard layout, design?
IE: Yes. Yeah.
CB: How many WAAF’s in each one?
IE: Two, three. About six and a sergeant or corporal.
CB: Right, so.
IE: There were about three downstairs, three upstairs. Yes.
CB: So how many people to a room normally, a bedroom?
IE: Well yeah. Well the downstairs would be like, in the living quarters, that would be their sitting room but we had it as a bedroom.
CB: Yes.
IE: So, there was one there, there would be three.
CB: Right.
IE: And the same upstairs which would have been the bedroom. And then the corporal or sergeant would have a small, a small room.
CB: Um.
IE: I can’t remember what that was originally but yeah.
CB: So, you went to the Airmans’ mess for food? What was the food like?
IE: It wasn’t too bad actually. Yes, it was a big, huge, great room there. Yes, it wasn’t bad.
CB: Um. So, you’re working on shifts?
IE: Yes.
CB: How did the menu accommodate that?
IE: How many?
CB: How? You were working shifts?
IE: Yeah.
CB: So, people were wanting lunch at different times of the day, how did they organise that, the food?
IE: Oh, that I don’t know. Um, I don’t ever remember being told I’d got to be on a certain shift but it was just depending on you know my job.
CB: Um.
IE: What shift I was on.
CB: But they were serving food twenty-four hours a day?
IE: More or less I think, yeah I think so.
CB: Um, right.
IE: ‘Cause I sort of vaguely remember, you know, lines of people waiting to go in.
CB: Um.
IE: But it was quite big. It was on a separate – away from where we were. We had to go to this big building.
CB: Um.
IE: I can’t remember what else there was. But it was certainly – yes of course there would be. There was the Airmans’ Mess which we were in and then there would be an Officers’ Mess and um.
CB: A Sergeants’ Mess?
IE: I’m just trying to think, were we just WAAF in there? No, I think, I think it was a general mess.
CB: Yeah. What about the NAAFI?
IE: Never, never really went. There was NAAFI but I never really went to that. Don’t remember it anyway.
CB: So, when you’re working on shift?
IE: Yeah.
CB: Then how were you fed? Were you given a break or did you take food with you to eat during the shift?
IE: Well, we could take stuff with us. Yes, that would be more, rather than – no well part of our mealtime came out while we were on the shift wouldn’t it? Yeah.
CB: So, what I meant –
IE: So, you’d go for about, have about half an hour’s break.
CB: Yeah.
IE: For your meal.
CB: Um.
IE: And come back.
CB: Going to the Airmans’ Mess? OK.
IE: Yeah, yeah.
CB: And how did the WAAF’s get on together in these houses?
IE: Oh fine. Yes, well certainly there, there was no problem.
CB: So, you joined the RAF in 1940 was it? Did you join in 1940 or was it earlier? Or ’42?
IE: Wrote it down.
CB: ‘Cause you were born in ’23 weren’t you?
IE: Yeah. Because I didn’t go straight away because –
CB: You joined when you were nineteen?
IE: I did write it down. Oh, it must be there.
CB: OK.
JS: There’s something on here.
IE: I think I’ve got it written down over here.
CB: I’ll just pause then for a mo’.
IE: Pardon?
CB: I’ll just pause this.
IE: 1942.
CB: So, you joined the RAF 29th of October 1942?
IE: Yeah, I was enlisted. And then I was a telephonist 13th of June 1943.
CB: Right. When you qualified?
IE: Yeah. This is absolutely disgusting.
CB: OK.
IE: Alright.
CB: So that was just after you were twenty?
IE: Yes.
CB: And at Compton Bassett.
IE: Yeah.
CB: What did they teach you there? About the RAF or what were they teaching you? How to use the system?
IE: Oh, no it was drilling that sort of thing.
CB: Um.
IE: I don’t think we learnt too well –
CB: The –
IE: We had – ‘cause every time we were – the whole camp turned out. ‘Cause we were the only WAAF’s there, and they all turned out to watch us. And you can imagine the jeering that when on. I enlisted at Acton, June 1942, but Father wrote to have me deferred and I didn’t find out until October. So, I kept wondering then I found out. I’ve put in here, ‘Big row’. And I qualified as a telephonist, oh no it doesn’t say.
CB: OK.
IE: Until 4th of May 1946.
CB: Right. When you, what were you thinking you might do in 1946. Had you?
IE: Well this was when my Father had got me out.
CB: Yes.
IE: I didn’t really get a choice, I just had to –
CB: No.
IE: I just had to go home. But then just after that, once I got home the air force, or WAAF I suppose, got me a job as an – in a factory at er. By then we were in London, Brixton I think it was, where they were making blouses and that sort of thing. And I wasn’t very happy with that. I had a, the lady that I was working with, for, was very difficult at that time. And I thought well I’ve got to do something, you know carry on. And um, what happened? Something happened. I got to the point where I thought ‘This is no good, I’m not learning anything.’ ‘Cause they did it because I’d been learning to be a dress designer you see before I joined up. And then I was, my parents had this tobacconists/confectionery shop in West Norwood and so every now and again when I was off I used to help a bit. And this lady came in, we were talking and she said ‘Why don’t you,’ she said ‘I know it’s not the same sort of thing’ she said ‘But why don’t you go and work in a department store?’ She said ‘I can – there’s a very good – I know they’re looking for somebody in Gorringes in Buckingham Palace Road.’ So, I tootled along there and I was the sixth assistant in the hosiery department. I couldn’t serve anybody until the other five had got it. And when you’re on commission you don’t get much at the end of the week in those circumstances. But I enjoyed it, worked there for about five years I think.
CB: Um. What made you leave?
IE: Oh, I got offered something I’d been dying to do. It was something new and we’d had a girl who was working for [Unclear] and she was travelling round to different shops on sales promotions. I thought, ‘I’d like to do that.’ And I’d said to her, you know, ‘If you hear of any vacancies let me know.’ And I went back after lunch one day and there were two very smartly dressed gentlemen by our counter. I thought, ’They’ve come, they must be reps come to see the buyer.’ So, I went over and spoke to them. ‘Cause by then I was an under-buyer. And I said ‘Buyers are at lunch at the moment.’ So, they said ‘Yes, we know they are, she is, ‘cause it’s you we’ve come to see.’ I [Unclear] something. They were from I & R Morley, hosiery and knitwear, and they were just starting up this putting somebody into different department stores to promote their goods. And they said ‘Would I be interested?’ I said ‘Oh yes, I certainly am.’ And so I went for an interview, oh I could have dropped when I found where I was going to work. Arding & Hobbes in Clapham Junction it was the most awful place. [Chuckles] So, anyway I was there for, that was about September to Christmas. And just before that my boss came in and said ‘They need somebody up in Glasgow for two weeks’ and that was before Christmas. ‘Are you prepared to go?’ So, I said ‘Yes, go do anything.’ Better than sticking in Arding & Hobbes. And so, they sent me up to Glasgow. Which I thoroughly enjoyed that and then I went to Edinburgh the second week. And, of course no wonder this chap had gone sick. ‘Cause I didn’t get home until about two o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day, I had to come back by train you know. And, I mean it didn’t matter. So, after Christmas when I got back they called me back to the head office and said ‘Would you like the job of sales promotions all over the UK?’ I said ‘Yes please.’ So, I went for training and that’s what I was doing in different towns. Anywhere from Cornwall, South of England to Edinburgh, Glasgow. I think that was the furthest north I went. But it was, oh I really enjoyed that.
CB: Um. How long did you do that for?
IE: Oh, about three or four years yeah.
CB: Got tired of it?
IE: What did I do after that? Do you know I can’t remember. Oh yes, the buyer that I’d worked with when I was at Gorringes, ‘phoned me up and said she’d been, now been promoted to being a group buyer. And she said ‘I need somebody in the Camberley store in the hosiery department, would I be prepared to do that?’ Well, I was looking, you know, sort of vaguely looking for something to do. So, I went along for the interview to the director in charge of Camberley. And it was a new store, belonged to the Guildford Army and Navy Stores. And anyway at my interview he said ‘You’re too, you’ve got too much experience for that job. What I need is a floor manager for the ground floor’. So, I thought ‘Well that sounds more interesting,’ so I accepted. And they were the best years of store life that I ever had, it was wonderful. So, I had all the departments of the ground floor. The staff were fantastic, the only people that I couldn’t get on with were the buyers, the heads of department. And it was some months before I realised that it was the, and it was my fault in a way, because I hadn’t warned her that I was going to be the new floor manager. And so she was undermining me all the time.
CB: No.
IE: Yeah. Fortunately, she wasn’t there all the time ‘cause she went to all the different stores in her – that she had under her wing. And I did that for about six, five – right until retirement actually.
CB: So, you enjoyed that?
IE: Yeah and um. No, no it wasn’t. I did it for several years and then I heard that one of the directors from Army and Navy were coming. He was going to be in, based in Camberley. And I knew he didn’t like me, he hadn’t got any time for me. And so, I thought ‘I’ll do something else.’ And what did I do? Oh yeah, I applied for a job, something completely different. It was just sort of office work really.
CB: In a different?
IE: Yeah.
CB: Not in retail?
IE: No, no, no. It was, oh can’t think of the name of the people. Atlas Express Carriers.
CB: Oh.
IE: So, I went just as clerical and then I ended up in charge of the staff there. I got quite a big job there. And [emphatic] I got a pension which you don’t get in the retail, in department stores.
CB: Um.
IE: So that was, that was good.
CB: So, you were managing the whole place, were you?
IE: Yeah. Um, it was good. It was very – and I stayed there until I retired.
CB: What age did you retire?
IE: Um?
CB: What age did you retire?
IE: Sixty.
CB: Right.
IE: Yeah, you had to.
CB: Yeah, right. We’ll take a little break there.
IE: Yeah, OK.
CB: So, picking up on the story again now. We were talking about being at Waddington.
IE: Yes.
CB: And linking in with the other airfields at Skellingthorpe and Bardney.
IE: Yes.
CB: And you’re tying together the communications that are on the camp rather than outside.
IE: Yes.
CB: You’re talking to people on the ‘phone. To what extent were you dealing with other people on the station?
IE: Well really not a lot unless you went to a dance or that sort of thing. Or down at the local pub.
CB: Right.
IE: You know, but other than that because, you were in this sort of office with a switchboard and you didn’t really see anybody else much. But this one particular time there was an Australian. I think I’d met him at dance. And coming, I think when they were over the target, something like that. There was an aircraft, the aircraft, another aircraft had dropped their incendiaries. And it had, they’d hit Bill, I’ll call him Bill, hit Bill’s aircraft –
CB: Which was flying underneath?
IE: Bill’s aircraft which was flying below.
CB: Yes.
IE: And hit the, oh what was it? Anyway, one of the crew and badly injured him in his head and that and he died before they could get him back to England.
CB: Um.
IE: And I was on duty when they came back and Bill came into the switchboard, into the telephone exchange to tell me, you know, what had happened. He was in a real state. He just sat there, and, sort of trying to collect himself, until I’d finished duty and then we went and sat outside whilst he was talking about. And it was, you know, very sad ‘cause there was nothing they could do. If it had been a German it would have been different.
CB: Yes.
IE: But it wasn’t. It was one of ours. Yeah.
CB: And the crew is the family.
IE: Um?
CB: The crew is the family.
IE: Yes, of course, yes.
CB: So, it’s a very intense relationship.
IE: Yes.
CB: Um.
IE: Yeah, he was a nice chap. ‘Cause they had to go on and then ‘cause they were almost over the target.
CB: Was it? Do you know if the ‘plane was hit in other areas or just in that particular?
IE: No, just in that particular one. ‘Cause he managed to get it back.
CB: Um.
IE: Back to Waddington.
CB: You mentioned the activities, the social activities, where were those held on the station?
IE: Ah, in the dining, in the dining hall.
CB: Of the Airmans’ Mess?
IE: We had dances and that sort of thing.
CB: Yes.
IE: Mostly there, yeah.
CB: And how often did they take place?
IE: Oh, well certainly once a month. Sometimes if we got anybody else came in we might get something. Or we’d go down, ‘cause we were so near to Lincoln anyway so quite a lot of it we would go down into Lincoln.
CB: Um. And if there were dances organised off the station where would they?
IE: Oh, in Lincoln.
CB: They would?
IE: Mostly. Or sometimes at one of the other airbases.
CB: Um.
IE: Like Skellingthorpe or Bardney or somewhere like that.
CB: And how did you get around because there was less transport in those days?
IE: [Chuckles] Hitch-hiked.
CB: Yes.
IE: I was the worst person to hitch-hike anyway. I’d leave it to the others and then I’d hop on board. I hated doing that.
CB: Did you?
IE: Sometimes they did organise transport to fetch, fetch you.
CB: Fetch you back?
IE: Um.
CB: So, on your day off, which is only one in seven.
IE: Yeah.
CB: What did you do?
IE: Well mostly go out in Lincoln or one of the other places. I, even before I joined up, I used to love exploring into other places and see how people lived and that so.
IB: So, on an airfield there are a lot more people on the ground than aircrew but did the girls tend to gravitate more in one direction or another and which one was that?
IE: I don’t think so. I don’t – not really we – I think we tended to go off, apart from when there was a dance or something. I think we tended to go off to the village and go and explore. And there was quite a lot of places to go to on the outskirts, that we used to go walking and doing.
CB: So, you started at the bottom and got to LACW, what opportunity was there for advancement above that? To SACW for instance?
IE: No, well perhaps because I didn’t really bother. You know I was quite happy doing what I was doing. And apart from that you see by then I’d got my Father on my back wanting me out.
CB: Yeah.
IE: And as soon as the war had finished, that’s right it was just – ‘cause I missed all the V celebrations. I had to go, I was home on leave. And when I got back to camp he’d already done –
CB: Done the dirty on you.
IE: Done the dirty on me and I had to go straight back home. I was furious, absolutely furious. ‘Cause I really wanted to go on, you know, and further my career in the air force.
CB: Yes.
IE: I would have liked to have done that.
CB: Um. What sort of job were you hoping for next?
IE: Well I don’t know.
CB: In the RAF.
IE: Hadn’t really thought about, got into that. But, no he’d – when I got back to camp they said ‘Don’t know what you’ve been up to, but you’ve got to go and see the WAAF CO as soon as you’re back.’ Which I did and she said ‘Your release is through, go home.’
CB: So, you got leave, how much leave did you have in a year?
IE: In a year?
CB: Yes.
IE: I think you got, was it three?
CB: Three weeks was it?
IE: Seven days.
CB: And where did you go when you were on leave?
IE: I went home mostly. I think there was only about one when I didn’t and I been invited to um – yeah, ‘cause when I was at Lincoln I had my Mother’s sister lived at Doncaster so I could go, nip up there sometimes and stay with them.
CB: Um.
IE: And also I had her other sister was married to, oh what was he? Boston, he was um, oh what did they call them? He had a shop where they stocked all the things for the boats, barges and that sort of thing.
CB: Oh right.
IE: So, I used to go there sometimes.
CB: A quartermaster type job?
IE: Yes, and there was this shop.
CB: Um.
IE: And mostly I went to Doncaster, yeah.
CB: Right.
IE: My Mother’s elder sister.
CB: So how would you travel there on the train or hitch-hiking?
IE: I wasn’t very good hitch-hiking on my own. So, if I went with, if there were other people which I –
CB: Um.
IE: But I didn’t, I wasn’t very good at it.
CB: No.
IE: Because we’d have so many free passes for – I can’t remember how many. And you could travel, have a return journey for your leave which was quite good.
CB: Now as a telephonist you’re at the hub.
IE: Um?
CB: As a telephonist you’re at the hub of the communication.
IE: Yeah.
CB: On the station. Were you alert to what was going on or did you just plug in and you couldn’t hear what was happening?
IE: Um.
CB: On the conversations.
IE: Of course, most of the time you see I was on, I wasn’t on the general switchboard.
CB: No.
IE: See I was on the ones in operations and that.
CB: Um.
IE: So, I didn’t get to know a lot of the other things. But sometimes you know we’d get together and hear various things that were going on.
CB: Um.
IE: Not a lot really. I think really ‘cause you – they were pretty busy you know.
CB: Yeah.
IE: You didn’t get much time to find out anything.
CB: No. Now the loss rate amongst aircrew.
IE: There was?
CB: The rate of loss of aircrew.
IE: Oh yes.
CB: Was very high.
EE: Yeah.
CB: What reaction was there on the ground to that situation?
IE: I don’t think, I don’t remember having – I mean you really rather took it as, you know, accepted what was happening. People were there one day and then they weren’t there anymore.
CB: Um.
IE: I think if you took it too much to heart you wouldn’t survive, which sounds a bit cruel but –
CB: It’s the reality.
IE: The aircrew were the same.
CB: Of course.
IE: You know. What was it, they’d probably come in ‘Oh by the way did you hear so-and-so bought it last night?’ And that was it. Sounds a bit hard but.
CB: Well it is the reality isn’t it of the time?
IE: Um.
CB: It’s a defensive mechanism in many ways.
EE: Yeah.
CB: Of the horror of it I suppose.
IE: Just –
CB: What about?
IE: We used to get – I used to [Unclear] after the war when we got all about Dresden and all those sort of things. And you get this backlash of how dreadful it, you know, and what were we doing and that. And I used to get cross. ‘What do you think they were doing to us for goodness sake?’ You know what about Coventry?
CB: Um.
IE: And all those other things. I mean war is horrible.
CB: Um.
IE: But, so didn’t really talk about it after.
CB: No. Some of the girls will have had relationships with the aircrew.
IE: That’s very true.
CB: So how did that work?
IE: I do remember one or two were in a right bad state because their fella had not returned. But I really think you got – because it was happening all the time, it sounds a bit hard but you just were sorry at that moment and it was a shock, and then you just had to carry on. There was nothing else you could do, not really. But I think that’s why we had so many dances and that sort of thing to take your minds off it.
CB: Yeah. So how was the music supplied at the dances?
IE: Oh, there was a small band from local bands and that sort of thing. Yeah, from Lincoln.
CB: Yeah.
IE: Or round about.
CB: What about security? How tight was that on the station?
IE: I don’t really think it was. Looking back it seemed to be pretty lax. I mean you just wandered around. I mean you couldn’t go out or come back in again. You know, there was a sentry there which would charge you for coming in and out. But I must admit you did find a gap in the hedge sometimes, nip out.
CB: Yeah, yeah.
IE: But, um –
CB: Was the airfield surrounded with barbed wire or a fence of some kind, what was it?
IE: Oh, I don’t know, I can’t remember. I think it was fences and hedges.
CB: Um.
IE: Yeah.
CB: And what about anti-aircraft guns on the airfield?
IE: Yeah, they were around. They were circling right round the thing, but they weren’t that near to us.
CB: No.
IE: No.
CB: OK. Just going to pause again. Are you OK or do you need a glass of water? Jan, anything that comes out of the conversation, that perhaps ‘cause you’ve talked to Mary a good deal.
Unknown: No I don’t think so. ‘Cause she didn’t marry did she? Did she marry? Well that has –
CB: No, no, the lady we were talking about. Her fiancé was killed three months after she met him.
IE: Oh.
CB: So that was the same. I mean that was what you said earlier.
IE: Yeah.
CB: They don’t actually get, she didn’t get over it but she put it to one side.
IE: Um.
CB: But always remembered.
IE: Um.
CB: Yes.
IE: That’s true.
CB: So that’s what I’m just wondering you see.
IE: Yes, that it true. But –
CB: Oh, wait a minute. Right, we’re just talking about relationships a bit more.
IE: Um.
CB: Yes.
IE: Yes, it is true. I did know of one or two people who their fellas had been killed.
CB: Um.
IE: And they really went to pieces. But mostly, either that or quite often they got posted elsewhere so –
CB: What to non-operational airfields?
IE: Um, yeah. Yes probably, yes to pick up. But I do remember one or two very sad cases where they, the girl had really gone to pieces. And they had to, you know, go home or they ended up in hospital.
CB: Oh really, yeah.
IE: It’s very sad.
CB: ‘Cause on the air traffic front where they’re listening in to communication, that perhaps created a bit of an extra challenge did it?
IE: Um, what do you mean?
CB: So, the girls are in air traffic.
IE: Oh yeah.
CB: And so, they’re in touch with the bombers.
IE: That’s right. And you would hear them, I know where I was working you could hear them talking.
CB: Oh, could you?
IE: Yes, yes. I wish I could remember what it was called.
CB: So, your office was in the tower, was a room in the tower was it?
IE: No, no. No, I was on the station.
CB: Yes, but on [controlled?] area, on the technical site.
IE: Yes, there was intelligence and all those. I can’t remember what they were called. As I said on one wall there was the, all the stations in our group.
CB: Yes.
IE: Like Waddington, Bardney, Skellingthorpe.
CB: Yeah. Everything was listed up.
CB: Um.
IE: And as, and the names of the crew, the names on the crew. And it was awful once or twice that there were people I knew. Like for instance, I was very friendly, we had the Bomber Command film crew unit at Waddington and I was home on leave, one – Oh it was just as I was going to, I was on my way to Waddington, I’d finished my training so I was going to Waddington. And I was in our shop and I’d got my uniform on. This lady came in and she said ‘Oh, I didn’t know you were in the WAAF.’ So, Mother said ‘She’s just finished telephone training, and she’s posted she’s going off to Lincolnshire.’ So, this lady said ‘Where are you going to?’ I said ‘Waddington.’ She said ‘Oh, my husband’s at Waddington, do make yourself known to him, he’s in the film unit.’ And of course when I get there he’s only a squadron leader. [Laughs] So I didn’t, but he found me. He came and found me on the switchboard.
CB: Yeah.
IE: And so there were three camera men. And a friend of mine who was the corporal she and I used to go out, you know down to the pub, or somewhere. And so we used to meet up with the Crown film unit at the pub at Harmston, which was down the road. Used to borrow camp bikes and cycle off down there. It was great, used to enjoy that. So, there were three camera men and then sadly I was on duty one evening and the – in the ops room, and on the board, and I saw – oh, it was the, it was that raid on Dresden and John who was from Pinewood, the film studio, he wasn’t listed to go on the Dresden raid, the other camera man was going. But he thought it was going to be an interesting raid. So, he tried to beg a lift from someone somewhere and he tried other places in the group. And he managed to get on a flight so he could go and see this raid at Dresden. There was one Lancaster lost over Dresden wasn’t there?
CB: Yes.
IE: And he was on it.
CB: Good heavens.
IE: And gosh I thought ‘What do I do?’ I can’t ‘phone his wife.
CB: Yes.
IE: I can’t do anything. That was awful.
CB: Um.
IE: I found. You couldn’t contact anybody.
CB: No.
IE: To say, you know, this awful thing had happened. It happened to me again another time. A friend of mine that I’d worked with when I was in parachutes before I’d joined up. And she married aircrew at Market Harborough. And she said to him. Oh, he was then posted, I don’t know where it was, I can’t remember. Somewhere near Waddington and he was posted. And so she told him to come and look me up. And he rang me up so I met him in Lincoln, we went and had a cup of tea. A week later he was missing. It was just like that.
CB: Um.
IE: And you know nothing you could do.
CB: No.
IE: You couldn’t ‘phone up and say ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry,’ yeah. I found that difficult.
CB: Um.
IE: But the silly thing was that John in the film unit, he didn’t have to go. And he picked the wrong aircraft.
CB: Um.
IE: To go on.
CB: Extraordinary. So, what was this film unit doing most of the time?
IE: Oh, they went out on ops and would be filming wherever, you know.
CB: Um.
IE: That was mostly what they were doing.
CB: So, the WAAF’s were in quite good accommodation, but then the men had barrack blocks so they were quite comfortable as well were they?
IE: I don’t know. ‘Cause some of them, even at Waddington, some of the WAAF’s were in – I don’t know if I ever got into one of those blocks. Oh yeah, I did once somewhere. Can’t remember where it was now. Wasn’t too bad, no.
CB: No. A topic that is discussed a lot now is what is otherwise called battle fatigue. But in the war was called LMF, lacking moral fibre.
IE: Lack of moral.
CB: What do you remember about that?
IE: I remember one chap and he was in a very sad state. He was, he didn’t know what he was doing. And people were being a bit horrible about him, and said ‘Oh, he’s just putting it on.’ I don’t know whether he was or not but, but I don’t remember anything, anybody else particularly. But I think quite often they just moved them on.
CB: Um.
IE: You know.
CB: But he was aircrew was he?
IE: Mostly yeah. You couldn’t blame him could you? You know it’s pretty awful.
CB: Um.
IE: Yeah.
CB: And did you, were you aware of aircrew talking to the girls about their experiences? Or did they tend to keep it much to themselves?
IE: I think mostly they kept it to themselves, yeah. They didn’t – I mean apart from that one incident with Bill you see, because that had happened with this chap had been killed by friendly incendiaries.
CB: Yes.
IE: But he didn’t normally say. I think it was ‘cause he was so shocked he needed to talk to somebody.
CB: Um.
IE: but I wasn’t aware of. I think they probably amongst themselves rather than to us.
CB: Yes. Good, thank you very much indeed Liz. When the war ended, you went your own ways.
IE: Um.
CB: To what extent did you keep in touch with each other?
IE: Yes, well I did. There was, which one is it? Yes, the one in the middle at the back.
CB: In your picture, yes.
IE: Florence, and that’s her daughter.
CB: Oh yes.
IE: So, she’s my god-daughter.
CB: Yes.
IE: There on that little group.
CB: Um.
IE: Yes, I kept in touch with her, you know, we were good friends.
CB: Um.
IE: I’d go and stay with them right up until she died. And as I say, Trish she annoys me really in a way. She will treat me like a real old lady. [Laughter] I know I’m an old lady!
CB: You’re very sprightly.
IE: But I remember when Florence my friend, she was, oh I can’t remember where they lived, her husband died. And Trisha took me over to see her Mother in this home. And we went off into this room where she was, and there were other people there as well. And there she was sitting, with a shawl over her, and she was sitting like this. And I thought ‘That’s not my friend.’ She’s never been like that. And I was so shocked at the state that she was in. And anyway she said to Trish, ‘Would you go down to the shop round the corner’ and get me so and so, whatever. So, she went off, before that girl was out of the building off went the shawl. Mother in the kitchen buzzing around and that was a good lesson I learnt. You know it was really, it was amazing. But she does it to me. When she comes and visits, I’ve got a visit due sometime soon, and I dread it. And the first time, where was I? I wasn’t here, I was oh in another flat, further in Woking. And she came to visit me and she was helping me across the road. I was so cross. I said ‘Trisha, what do you think I do when you’re not here?’ You know?
CB: Yes.
IE: But she does you see?
CB: Yes.
IE: I’ve got a visit due soon and I really dread it. Bless her heart she’s a lovely person.
CB: Yes.
EE: But if only she’d just treat you normally.
CB: Yes.
EE: But [saying that?] but that was a good lesson to learn. That, um what happens when people sort of mother you when you’re really quite capable of carrying on.
CB: Yeah, yeah.
IE: Nobody does it to me here. [Laughs]
CB: Many of the aircrew didn’t get married in the war because they were nervous about leaving.
IE: That’s true, I believe so.
CB: Yes.
IE: Yes, yes.
CB: And were you aware of what happened afterwards, people?
IE: Not really, no I don’t.
CB: Because they married people who were clearly not in the RAF but I was.
IE: Yes.
CB: But I was interested in aspects where they had relationships.
IE: Ah, with other people.
CB: Relationships with WAAF’s and didn’t marry in the war.
IE: Yeah. I’m just trying to think if I know of anybody. Um, no. It was really only that one particular one.
CB: Um.
IE: And in that photograph I think two of them went to Australia.
CB: Did they really?
IE: And because there was quite an exodus of people going to Australia.
CB: Um. They weren’t following some of 463 and 467 Squadron?
IE: Um.
CB: Were they? They weren’t following the Australian aircrew back to Australia?
IE: Oh yes.
CB: Oh, they were?
IE: Oh, they were yes. Yeah, yes, they were. Nearly got there myself, I didn’t want to go and leave England.
CB: Did you? What was the attraction of Australia?
IE: Pardon?
CB: What was the attraction of Australia?
IE: Oh well it was my boyfriend went over there.
CB: Oh, did he?
IE: No, I made it quite clear I would never go.
CB: Oh right.
IE: Funnily enough of my sister’s children, two of them went to Australia.
CB: Did they?
IE: And one of them he did come back. He said he’d never worked so hard in all of his life. He was fruit picking, a fruit farm.
CB: Oh yes.
IE: The other one, I thought he was mad going. Because he was mad on animals and he was working at Chester Zoo. And then suddenly decides to go to Australia on this –
CB: Ten pound?
IE: Was it five years or whatever?
CB: Yeah.
IE: And I thought, I couldn’t understand that. But anyway, they arrived in Australia and he was workin up the west coast and what does he come across? A zoo. So, he got a job there in an Aussie zoo and then he came back and put in for another few years, he’s working in a zoo in Australia now.
CB: Oh really?
IE: Yeah, loving it. But the other one came back, he’s in England.
CB: Um.
IE: They were cousins, they weren’t –
CB: Final question. We’ve talked about the squadron associations, are mainly aircrew and mainly men.
IE: Yeah.
CB: So, to what extent did you feel linked to a squadron and then follow up with associations afterwards?
IE: Not, not really. I did join the WAAF Association.
CB: Um.
IE: And the trouble was that they met at Putney. And I was down here and it was such a job getting there and then crossing London.
CB: Um.
IE: Getting to there. And it was a bit boring. But I do belong to the RAF Association. I’m thoroughly disgusted with them. It’s about a year now. I used to join in everything when I was, belonged to it.
CB: Um.
IE: And we first used to meet in the town and it was, what’s his name? Pip. He’s RAF Association at Fareham. Pip, Pip something or other. And he used to be at the one here.
CB: At Woking, yeah?
IE: Yeah, Woking. And when I first joined, and I’d been doing some fundraising at the department stores I’d worked at and I managed to raise a really good sum. And he said ‘Would I do the Wings appeal?’
CB: Oh.
IE: So, I said ‘Yes, sure I would.’ Of course, I go to do it and of course I’m up against English RAF aren’t I? With all due respect to them, and nobody would help me.
CB: Really?
IE: ‘Cause I, first of all I –
CB: How strange.
IE: I said, you know, can you tell me if you’ve got any particular place you’d like to stand, you know, with your tin and the rest of it. No, they weren’t going to tell me anything. In fact, they weren’t going to co-operate with me at all.
CB: How strange.
IE: So, I thought ‘What am I going to do?’ And across the road, the house straight across the road, number twelve, a cousin of mine used to live there. And when I came, I used to during the war – I mean this was a lovely house. Oh no it was after the war. Anyway, I got, when I came to live in Woking, can’t remember how but I got friendly with them. And so, I was over there one day and I said ‘I’ve got this problem about collecting and nobody’s going to co-operate with me, where can I raise money?’ They said ‘Car wash.’ I said ‘Car wash, where am I going to do that?’ They said ‘You could do it there but people like having it done at home.’ And I don’t know where it is now, it might be there. I got photographs of these youngsters from across the road, and their friends all busy doing car washing. And I raised over two thousand pounds.
CB: Fantastic.
IE: And I never told the RAF Association what I’d been doing, doing it quietly. [Laughter]
CB: How funny.
IE: Yeah. And Pip, ‘cause in that time he’d already been sent over to Fareham.
CB: Um.
IE: But he’s still in touch, he still contacts me every now and again.
CB: Does he? Um.
IE: Yes, him and his wife, Betty.
CB: Yeah.
EE: But um the Woking RAF Association they don’t, didn’t like the WAAF at all. There were ten ex-WAAF at one time and now there’s one.
CB: Extraordinary.
IE: ‘Cause everybody got fed up with it and they just left, they didn’t.
CB: Yeah.
IE: Which is a shame really.
CB: Yes. What was the most memorable part of your RAF service?
IE: Oh gosh, well I think the days with the Australians in Waddington really were. I suppose that’s the time, and with the film unit. I think because that was the time when most things happened.
CB: Um.
IE: Really.
CB: So, did you get yourself on the film?
IE: On film? No, I ducked out. No, not that I know of anyway.
CB: No.
IE: never seen any –
CB: So, do we detect a bias here towards Australians? ‘Cause you had an Australian boyfriend.
IE: Not really, no, no. No I did, but unfortunately he also had a girlfriend in London where he went on leave.
CB: Oh.
IE: I was quite well aware of it.
CB: Oh, you were?
IE: And –
CB: Two-timer, right.
IE: Well he didn’t say and I wasn’t letting on I knew but his crew they didn’t like her.
CB: Oh right.
IE: They liked me. [Laughter]
CB: So, you didn’t swap him for an English version?
IE: No, no. Not really, I really wasn’t bothered. I, one way or another. After was it um, no, much to my Father’s disgust. I um, I got to within ten days of my, the date of my marriage and I chucked it in.
CB: Did you?
IE: It wasn’t RAF.
CB: Oh, right.
IE: It was very silly but. No, it was to do with money.
CB: Um.
IE: And it was so silly. But thank goodness I knew, I found out in time.
CB: Um.
IE: My Father wouldn’t speak to me for a long time and I never told him what, you know, exactly what had happened, so he didn’t know.
CB: No.
IE: All I got was a curt letter. ‘How very foolish, just like Aunt Lucy.’ Apparently, this was what one of his sisters did.
CB: Oh really.
IE: And that’s all I got. Sympathy, didn’t get any.
CB: Yes. So, you forged a good career instead?
IE: Yes. no, I had good friends so I was alright.
CB: Yes. Well, thanks very much Liz, it’s been fascinating.
IE: Oh well. I can’t think there’s anything else but –
CB: We’ve just been talking about the winter snow in this picture. And tell us what you had to do then.
IE: Yes.
CB: How deep was the snow?
IE: Oh, it would be up to your – more than knee deep.
CB: Yes, right up your thighs?
IE: Yes. And it would come down and we had to clear the runways. Of course, there was a mechanical thing.
CB: Yeah.
IE: But everybody that was off duty was given a spade.
CB: Oh.
IE: And shovel. Shovel the snow away.
CB: Yeah.
IE: And I found this, it was a Christmas card. I thought it was wonderful. That’s exactly what it was like.
CB: A picture of a Lancaster.
IE: Yeah.
CB: And ground crew shovelling the snow away. Yeah, so it would take some time to clear the runway ‘cause it’s long.
IE: Oh yes. Yeah, I mean there was people just shovelling, yeah.
CB: How long would it take to clear?
IE: Oh I don’t know –
CB: The runway.
IE: I mean most, part of it would be mechanical. You know, they’re have this whatever. I don’t know what it was but it would go down.
CB: Um.
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 Elizabeth Eady
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
AEadyIET160628
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
Description
An account of the resource
Before the war, Liz worked in aeronautical inspection at a factory which made parachutes. She had an interview in Northolt and enlisted in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force in October 1942. She went to Uxbridge and chose to be a telephonist. After a month in Harrogate, she was trained at the Bradford Telephone Exchange. Liz was sent to RAF Compton Bassett for further training and then on to RAF Skellingthorpe. She took up a vacancy at RAF Waddington where there were two Australian squadrons (463 and 467 Squadrons).
Liz describes her work on the switchboard, the shifts and accommodation, as well as her social life. Her highlights were the Australians at RAF Waddington and the film unit operating from there.
After pressure from her father, Liz had to leave in May 1946, and went on to have a successful and varied career.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Chris Brockbank
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-06-28
Contributor
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Dawn Studd
Cathie Hewitt
Sally Coulter
Format
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01:24:01 audio recording
Language
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eng
Type
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Sound
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
463 Squadron
467 Squadron
entertainment
ground personnel
operations room
RAF Bardney
RAF Compton Bassett
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Waddington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/845/10839/AGreenWG150911.1.mp3
ba6635496652503178b42beb5d3131ea
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
Green, Geoff
William Geoffrey Green
W G Green
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Squadron Leader Geoffrey Green DFC and bar (176170 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a rear gunner and gunnery leader with 100 and 625 Squadrons.
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
2015-09-11
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Green, WG
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AGreenWG150911
BW: Right. This is Brian Wright. I'm interviewing Squadron Leader Green at […], and it's Friday the eleventh of September, twenty fifteen, at two thirty. So, Squadron Leader Green, I understand you were a rear gunner in a Lancaster.
WG: Yes, Gunnery Leader. Yes, I was in the rear turret, yes.
BW: Could we just start with your full name and your rank at the time you were doing these operations.
WG: Yes, it's William, do you want the [pause] name, when you say name, full name.
BW: Yes please, yes.
WG: What's the word I want for the Christian, ah, Christian names you want, do you?
BW: That's right.
WG: William Geoffrey Green. That's, er, Geoffrey is G E O double F R E Y.
BW: OK. And what rank were you at the time, when you joined the squadron?
WG: I was a Sergeant.
BW: Sergeant.
WG: I passed out as a Sergeant, yes.
BW: OK. And, if you would, just describe for me, please, what your life was like prior to you joining the RAF. Where did you live, and what prompted you to join the RAF?
WG: Yes. Well, I was born in Kings Lynn, Norfolk. [pause]
BW: And how long were you living there before you joined up?
WG: I joined up when I was seventeen and a half, officially, but as far as they were concerned, I was eighteen, because you had to be eighteen then. Yes, anyway, that's right, I joined up and then from there, I went to, oh dear, it's a long time ago [pause]. Well, I was being trained, you know, in various places; OTU's.
BW: Yes
WG: Operational Training Units, and all those sorts of things. The usual, the usual drill, you know, for a new boy, if you follow me. And, er
BW: Did you come from a large family?
WG: No, I had one sister.. [pause], I had one sister, was she in the WAAF? I don't think she was. Oh, it was you in the WAAF, oh no it wasn't?
Laura: No. Mother.
WG: Oh, your mother. Yes, that's right and then, oh, I've lost my train of thought now.
BW: And what prompted you to join the RAF? There was obviously a war going on at the time. Why the RAF and not the other services?
WG: Yes there was. I had a silly though that if I didn't [pause], if I didn't join the Air Force to fly, there was no point in joining it. That was the main reason. I didn't, I had no, all my friends at home, school friends and what-not were in the Army, and I hadn't anything, hadn't any keenness to join the Army. I always, I think I always wanted to fly, until I did, and then of course, I didn't want to [laughs]. My father used to say, 'I can't understand why you want to fly'. And of course, I thought that over, and I thought, 'you're dead right’. I don't know why I wanted to fly, because as soon as I started I was, not terrified, but bordering [laughs]. No, it's a bit of a line, that. I was pleased to fly. I realised I wasn't a Navy type, and I don't suppose they would have accepted me, anyway, because they were, the people they, the people that went into the Navy who I knew were all sort of special types, they'd got something to really offer that service. Well, I had nothing at all to offer the Air Force, but I just wanted to, I just thought it would be just nice to come home on leave, and walk up and down the High Street in my uniform. [laughs]. Oh dear.
BW: And did the thought of becoming a pilot attract you, or was it something that you thought, I’d rather be in a crew?
WG: Yes, it was. I got accepted, I was accepted under the PNB scheme, which stood for Pilot, Navigator, Bomb Aimer. In other words, if you failed as a pilot, they tried to train you then as a Navigator, and if you failed at that, you were trained as a bomb aimer. And if you failed at that, you were out [laughs], so I should have got out in the first place to save all that trouble.
BW: So how did you end up, then, as a gunner? Because if you were on that scheme, and as you said, if you weren't successful in one of those categories, you were out. What then led you to be a gunner?
WG: Well, that was the last thing I could be before I was out.
BW: I see.
WG: That was the lowest form of animal life, I suppose, and if you failed at being an air gunner, well they didn't want you. You can't blame them, I suppose but fortunately, I didn't fail. I often thought I would, but I wasn't good at maths and that sort of thing, you know. I did think of, I was mustering to train as a navigator, and then I realised that I would need a higher standard of maths than I could offer, so I just had to let them sort of guide me through the Air Force, sort of thing, without volunteering for anything.
BW: And what were the tests like, that you had to sit during your training? Do you remember those?
WG: Err, well yes, there were partly navigation, but very, very junior navigation stuff. Nothing complicated, because if it was, I wouldn't have got it but -. What else was it, oh, it's a long time ago. Err, aircraft recognition, that sort of thing, signals, and that's about all, you know. And then I, and then I was transferred on to do an instructors course, and I joined an instructors team to train the lads coming in, sort of thing, you know. But it didn't last very long because I, well, oh for about, maybe about six months, because I was not really the type to train people. I was too short tempered, I suppose. If they didn't, er, if they didn't sort of pick it up the first time, I didn't want to know, and I didn't give a second chance. I had many a second chance, but I didn't, I didn’t agree with that. Oh, I don't know. So there you are.
BW: And what was life like on the base? You went through the training and the Operational Training Units, and you got to base. What was the accommodation like? What were the facilities like on the base at the time?
WG: Excellent. You mean living accommodation and food, that sort of thing? Oh yes. Yes, in those days, aircrew had, aircrew had, er, they didn't eat with the non-aircrew type, if you follow me. You didn't actually have special food, I suppose, though I don't really know, but it was jolly good food, and you were built up a bit that way. I was a bit of a weedy lad when I was young, younger, so I was built up really, I suppose.
BW: So you were well fed?
WG: Well fed, yes, oh yes.
BW: Your training and lifestyle really made a man of you in that respect
WG: Oh yes, yes, and of course, when you'd finished in the daytime, you were really on the town at night, you know. The SP's were chasing you, or you were chasing the SP's [laughs], and being rude to people, I expect. Oh dear.
BW: So where did you socialise when you went off base, where were the local towns that you would visit?
WG: Oh, Grimsby. Grimsby, er, oh dear, I should have got the log book, I could show you my log book, if you wanted to see it, if it would be any use to you, would it?
BW: If you have it, and it's not inconvenient, yes, that would help.
WG: It's in the drawer, Laura dear, would you mind. That's very kind of you. Yes, what was I talking about?
BW: Visiting Grimsby?
WG: Log book, oh I remember, yes, I'm very forgetful nowadays, you've obviously noticed.
BW: You were talking about Grimsby, and visiting towns.
WG: Oh yes, Grimsby, Grimsby, Lincoln, er. Yes, I did a tour from Grimsby, I did a tour from Grimsby at a place called Waltham. Was it? Yes, Waltham. And then I thought, 'well that's that, I've finished my flying'. But I hadn't. Instead of being transferred to instructing, I think they realised I was no good at it, because I was interviewed, instead of being, er, what did I do then? I went to, I went to, I stayed on at Grimsby instructing, for a while, and then I went to two or three other stations in Lincolnshire, instructing, you know. And not only instructing, but giving talks on what it was like, if you follow me, you know. I suppose line-shooting, you know.
BW: And was this with a view to encouraging new recruits to join the Air Force?
WG: Beg pardon?
BW: Was this with a view to encouraging new recruits to join the Air Force?
WG: It was, yes. It was going round instructing to recruits, yes. I went round to one or two stations. Bircham Newton and Finningley, all in the Lincolnshire area, you know and then I, then I was screened, as they called it, taken off, and I thought, 'well that's that, I've finished the dicey part of flying'. But of course, I hadn't. I should think it would only be about six to eight months, and I was sent back again, which rather shook me, because I thought I'd done with all that nonsense. And I thought, ' well, this is tempting suicide', but it wasn't. I completed a second tour then and then I went back on to instructing again. And what happened then? It was getting towards the end of the war, I suppose. And it's difficult trying to remember what I did then. I stayed in Lincolnshire, I know. Mainly, I was always flying anyway as well as instructing, well, with instructing, you were flying as well. The new recruits, the new aircrew people and then I suppose the war ended. Well, no, it couldn't have done because I did a second, I was going back on a third tour. Voluntary, actually. Other blokes, er, I was no good at instructing, and I was interviewed for another instructors job, but I asked to go back on a third tour, but fortunately [chuckles] the war ended. So I didn't do a third tour. That's why I'm here, I suppose.
BW: And so, you were doing the instructing in between your tours? You did your first tour, then had the instructor posts you were talking about.
WG: That's it.
BW:Then second tour.
WG: Second tour
BW: Followed by another post as instructor.
WG: Well yes, but it didn't come off, the second, the second instructing bit
BW: Right. So, just take us back, then, to that point when you met your crew. How did you join up as a crew, how did you meet and crew-up?
WG: We went to, I can't remember the station, but it, as I say, it'll be in my log book, which is out there. Oh, Laura's got it. Thank you very much. I, er, oh dear. Excuse me. Here we go. Oh, there's a five pound note there, Laura. Is it yours?
Laura: No.
WG: That's something, isn't it? I'm glad you came [laughs]. Would you like to look at this yourself?
BW: Yes, we can have a look through. I'll just put the recorder on pause while we pick out one or two points in the log books.
WG: Alright. This is 'Results of Ammunition Courses and Remarks'. That's the one, that's it. There you are, there's a good write up here [laughs], though my mother wouldn't agree, 'could have done much better had he tried harder' [laughs]. That's what the school people used to say. 'Over confident, needs watching'. One signed by a Squadron Leader, here it is, 'could have done much better had he tried harder'. 'Over confident, needs watching'. That's that bit. And then here, [paper rustling] oh dear, oh dear, here we are. Here we come to the nitty-gritty stuff. These are all the, this is Seventeen Air-gunners School, Stormy Down, Bridgend, Glamorganshire, South Wales. I was a trainee here. Here I was training on Whitley's, Defiants. Whitley's and Defiants, yes, and that was headquarters training with number 17 AGS. And then in nineteen forty three, I was on number 28 OTU, Wymeswold, Leicestershire. Er, circuits and landings, and what-not. Cross countries, landings, formation flying, air test, cross country, bombing, exercise, and all that business. What's all this? Oh, exercises, bombing exercises, circuits and landings, circuits and landings, at night, circuits and landings, cross countries, cross countries, bombing, that was all night flying. [unclear] Then I went to heavy conversion unit, Number 1656 Heavy Conversion Unit, Lindholme, Yorkshire, where I flew on Halifaxes, Lancasters. Circuits and landings, cross countries, oh dear, they were a bind.
BW: What did you think of flying in the Halifaxes and Lancasters? You'd previously flown in, say, Whitleys, how did that?
WG: Well, it was really, really nice to be on them, because it was a step up, if you follow me. Halifaxes, I didn't like Halifaxes, except that there was plenty of room down in the rear turret. You could move about a bit, you know. In fact, they seemed to me to be too big, quite honestly but they were much better, in my opinion, they were much better than the Lancaster. The Lancaster, you were a bit cooped up, you know, it was a bit difficult to move. They were hard to get into. To get into, you got in the back door and then you lifted up onto a sort of a table, a long table, then you had to get, you had to hang on with your hands at the back, and get your feet on to this table, and push yourself forward until you got to the doors of the rear turret. And then you got into the rear turret and closed your doors, and you really felt trapped in, sort of thing, but once you started flying, you, I overcame that. I don't know about others but I overcame it.
BW: Is it correct you had to leave your 'chute outside of the turret? You had to put it on the side?
WG: Yes, on the left hand side. In a clip. You couldn't, with the Lancaster, you couldn't get your, that was a snag, you couldn't get your parachute actually in with you. If you had to bale out, you had to centralise the turret, turn it to starboard, open the door, open the doors, and you really were, as you opened the doors there, you were outside in the thin air, you know. But with the, that was with the Lancaster, but with the Halifax, it was a bit different, to a point anyway, but it was all a bit, it was all a bit nerve-wracking to begin with. And then you suddenly got used to it, and you got used to people saying, 'well, you shouldn't have joined', sort of thing, you know [chuckles], which of course was very true. But too late. [laughs]. I was looking back, well it's different looking back, but at the time I used to think to myself, 'I'll be glad when this is over', but when it was over, I was rather pleased that I could think back on those days, and the people I knew. They all seemed different from the, this is, shouldn't really say it but they seemed different from your ground crew friends, you know. Different type. As if when you were being selected for flying, that they were looking for something. Which they found [laughs]. Oh dear, yes.
BW: And how did you feel being a rear gunner, when there were other gunners on board. I mean, being a tail gunner is perhaps traditionally thought of as, er, a job a lot of people wouldn't want.
WG: Very true, yes. I felt safe in the rear turret because it was, in my opinion, I think, when I got in and got the door shut in the training, I thought, well, at least if anything happens, I've only got to turn this to port or starboard, half turn, and do that, or do that, and the doors automatically opened, and you go out backwards. Once you got your parachute clipped on, you know. Er, yes. What was that question you asked me?
BW: Originally, how did you crew up, how did you meet? At the Conversion Unit.
WG: Oh yes, that's it. We went to an Operational Training Unit, and they said, 'right, you're going to, there are either seven or nine crews of you'. In other words, there were either, there were seven to a crew, so there were either forty nine of us, which was seven to a crew, oh, I forget. I can't forget how many there were in the other lot. And then we were put into, we were put into an operations room, and said, 'right, well there are seven aircrew positions amongst you, and each, each aircraft has seven men', seven different types, gunners, signallers, all that nonsense, and we were told to pick our crew. And you sort of looked round at people, and I found myself with another bloke, just stuck. Nobody seemed to want us, we were just standing there. Everybody else had got, had been picked, as a crew, you know. Which I suppose is rather fortunate, because I, that's how I met Ron Clarke, who I've kept in touch with ever since. But he's dead. He died suddenly. He and his wife died. But we, and then there were six of us who were there that, later on, on my second tour, were picked for going up to Air Ministry for being decorated. And [chuckles], yes, that's right yes, we went up to Air Ministry, and so many of us got a DSO, I got a DFC. And then, let's see, after that I was posted to Bircham Newton, I think it was, training staff, training aircrew, you know, which was a bit of a bind, so I volunteered for a third tour, but it never came off because the, it was quite obvious that the war was ending, and it did, and I didn't do a third tour. Which perhaps was a good thing. That's why I'm here, I expect [laughs].
BW: You mentioned going up to the Air Ministry to get a Distinguished Flying Cross, and they were only awarded to officers at that particular time-
WG: I beg your pardon?
BW: They were only awarded to officers at that particular time, a DFC. Do you recall what the event was that led you to be decorated?
WG: Er, oh yes. Yes. It was, there were several air, several air, several Lancasters were lost, and it was, all I could really say was, it was a very dodgy period. It was, well in my case you were frightened. Quite often. You didn't just think you were frightened, I was frightened, but you overcame that, I overcame that to the point where, I wasn't pleased to go on Op's, but I used to wake up in the morning thinking, 'well, if we're on Op's tonight, is it going to happen?' That's how it got me in the end, and I used to wonder if I would lose my life, you know. Which I didn't, of course, but there you are. And then after my first tour, as I say, I went on instructing, and I was going on for a third instruction course, but I was selected for another tour of Op's, and I took rather a dim view of that, because I thought to myself,' you could go on too long', you know. There's a limit to it. Lots of blokes, I knew several people, several blokes who were, who had done two or three tours, but it was a bit dodgy, you know. So fortunately, I went back on to instructing, went on to instructing, oh, and then I went round, then I went round to schools, in the Lincolnshire area, I suppose, in other words telling them how brave you were [laughs]. And they seemed to believe it [chuckles]. Yes. And after that I was taken off flying. I think I got a bit 'flak happy', as they called it. If you'd done too much operational flying, you were getting a bit round the bend, you know, and you were doing silly things, and taking too many risks, I suppose. And then, yes after the instructing, I suppose the war ended. I don't know when it did end.
BW: You mentioned about, er, thinking about whether you were going to be on Op's the next night, and so on, and it was popular for crews to take mascots, or lucky charms, or have certain rituals. Did you have any of those?
WG: No. I had no faith in lucky charms.
BW: Did any of the crew that you flew with have anything?
WG: Yes, they used to take things that, usually belonged to their wives. My navigator had a, what was it, oh, a little paper, not paper, a little doll about as big as that, that she'd had as a kid. And I suppose they thought, 'well, if I take this, I shan't get killed', sort of thing. That's how you thought of it in those days, you know. You thought, I half expected, I didn't think I would get through, quite honestly. I never thought I'd get through a second tour, and when I was half way through my first tour, I said, 'well, if I get through my first tour, I'm not going to volunteer for a second tour'. But I did. I volunteered to stay on [laughs].
BW: And it was usual, for pilots certainly, who had completed thirty operations to be awarded the DFC? What did you get your DFC for?
WG: No, it wasn't [pause], you're right in saying up to a point, but my skipper was awarded a DFC, but not for doing a second tour. There were, there were, I did know one or two blokes who got them for doing a second tour, but nobody ever seemed to know why. We took a dim view that you joined, you went as aircrew, and that was your job. So of course, of course, you were flying on op's, and bombing Germany and all that sort of thing, but to be decorated just for becoming aircrew, I thought was all wrong. But that was all besides the point, I suppose.
BW: And was yours awarded because you'd completed a number of operations, or was it for a single action?
WG: No, I shot down- oh dear, what did I shoot down? An ME109, I think. I've got it in here somewhere. I've got it in here somewhere. Yeah, I shot down [pause], I don't know if I'm boring you?
BW: No, no. Not at all.
WG: Kelstern to form. Oh yes, I went to Kelstern then, to help form a new squadron. 625 Squadron, with two other aircrews. And we went on another, we went on, we went on to, we formed 625 Squadron, at Kelstern there, and then I got an immediate award. I've got it here in red ink. See previous page. 'Doug Wheeler badly wounded'. He was the bomb aimer, he was badly wounded. And I went up onto the [coughs], there was a bed in the aircraft, just before you get into the pilot's area, and the navigator's, the front part, and he was badly wounded, and they took him up onto the aircrew bed, and I sat with him and [coughs], that’s right. and Warrant Officer Clarke was the pilot, and he was awarded the DFM as well, and the flight engineer was as well. The three of them were awarded the DFM, because they were all NCO's then. And that's about all there.
BW: Your bomb aimer was badly wounded, and you went up.
WG: The bomb aimer was badly wounded, that's right, yes. The bomb aimer was badly wounded, and he lost quite a lot of blood. And it was thought, not by me, but it was thought by, I think it was the bomb aimer, er, I think it was the wireless operator relieved me sitting with him, and he seemed to think that he was losing too much blood, so he couldn't last much longer. But he did, of course. And he and I left together, and I remember, I remember walking down to Grimsby railway station, and our kit was already there. We were being posted. I was going home, home on leave, and he was going home on leave, and it was on the railway station, that's right, both of us on the railway station, and we both said goodbye as our various trains, as our trains came in, and that was that. I kept in touch with him, we kept in touch with each other, but I did not see him again. I went to his home town in, I went to his home town and I met his mother, his father was dead, and I think I met his brother, who had already been accepted for aircrew, but was still a civilian. And then from there I went somewhere else instructing, so I thought, well, I couldn't keep on with this instructing business, because I was never good at it really. I was the wrong temperament. And I volunteered for a third, I volunteered for a third tour. But it was quite obvious the war was ending, and I was never called back to do a third tour. And that was that, I went on a further instruction course, and I was going to join, I was going to be transferred to the er, transferred to the American Air Force, with others but, who were stationed in Lincolnshire, but it never materialised, fortunately. I went to, oh I forget where I went then.
Laura: You went to India.
WG: Oh, I went touring. Touring round various stations, Army and Navy, no, not Navy, but Army and Air Force stations telling them what it was like on operations, sort of thing, you know. You shot a line [chuckles].
BW: Now, you mentioned on that particular instance when you were looking in your log book, that the pilot and the flight engineer were also awarded medals. The pilot got a DFC and the navigator got a DFM. Was your DFC awarded on the same raid, because they got those medals as a result of their actions over Mannheim.
WG: No, I got mine, yes, Mannheim, wasn't it, I got mine after I'd left them. I was on my second tour then. I think I'd started my third tour, quite honestly. But I don't really, it'll be in the log book here. Yes, yeah, I can't remember really.
BW: Ok, do you recall that night when you flew over Mannheim. It was a particularly notable instance, but what were your recollections?
WG: It was, sorry?
BW: It was a notable raid that night.
WG: It was indeed, yes.
BW: What were your recollections of it?
WG: Er, perhaps being more frightened than I normally was. Yes, when you're running up to, the bomb aimer, as you obviously know, was right in the front, I mean, the bomb aimer's nose was there, and there was the fresh air, there, sort of thing, you know. And when you're up the front there, I suppose I was more frightened, but it did pass off, you know. Because I thought, well, if I'm going to frightened like this, I'm going to be no good to the aircrew. They won't want me. That's when he was taken down to the bed, and I went down there with him as another member of the aircrew. Immediate award of the DFC to Warrant Officer Clarke, and the DFM to flight engineer. Warrant Officers and Officers, if they were decorated, got a DFM, and, oh yes [unclear], oh I don't remember, but it's not important.
BW: You mentioned that you'd shot down a ME109.
WG: Yes.
BW: And was that while you were over Mannheim? Or was that on a separate raid?
WG: No, it wasn't when we were over Mannheim, no. Everybody thought Mannheim was going to be a killer, sort of thing, but it wasn't, so it must have been another. No, it wasn't Mannheim. [reading]. 'Immediate award of the DFC, immediate award of the DFC.' Oh yes it was, it was Mannheim. It was Mannheim that we got it, the three of us. We were badly shot up by night-fighters. We were coned, we were coned in searchlights. The searchlights, when you're coned in a searchlight, it switches on twice, a certain searchlight. You see the searchlight in the distance, or I would see them at the back of me, being in the rear turret, creeping up at you on the back, and they would switch on and switch off, twice, and the third time when they switched on, they'd got you. And it was just like this in the turrets, daylight, you know. And of course, that's when the fighters see you and they come in to attack. But we weren't attacked, but we were coned, and it was, it was just like daylight. [Reading] 'Night-fighter, night-fighters, coned in searchlights', that's right. And, that's right, yes, that's it, we were hit there because it says here that we were, 'coned in searchlights and riddled with flak. Upon landing aircraft broke in two', oh yes, and on landing our aircraft broke it's back. And we went, I think Clarke took it into a hedge, because we were still going pretty fast down the runway, having just landed, and we went off the runway, dead ahead, and into that hedge, sort of thing. Which obviously stopped us, and nobody, no sound and nobody moved, it was just as though the whole lot of us were dead [laughs]. It wasn't until we crawled out, feeling very sorry for ourselves [laughs].
BW: And you were saying about the flak on that, on that mission, that it was accurate, and it was at the height that you were at, and it sounded like hail on the side
WG: That's it, the flak, the flak, the flak that was coming up from the ground to the fighters, was coming down onto our aircraft as well, and we could feel it. It shook, it shook the aircraft a bit. That was particularly frightening, I suppose, but only for a while. I'm convinced that, I'm convinced that many times, I never spoke about it, to see if others witnessed it, but many times I was so, so frightened to a point where I was frightened back to normality. I used to think to myself, 'Christ, I'm frightened. This is no good.' And then suddenly, it was suddenly clear, and I would be quite happy to be sitting there, waiting for it to happen. It was as simple as that, you know. You were so frightened, you would be glad to be hit, and shot down. That was the truth, I suppose. Up until then, up until then, when you knew Op's were on, and you were getting up and shaving and what not, you thought, 'well, what's going to happen, I wonder, today.' And, 'tonight', rather, and so often nothing happened. We were only attacked twice, I think. I did fifty five, I did, yes I did fifty five bombing raids on Germany, nine on Berlin, and that was pretty frightening. I was frightened going over Berlin, because they really were a crack lot, the German, the German fighters. I mean, once they'd got you in their sights you could imagine them saying to themselves, 'I've got him this time’. And they would, you see, you'd see others being shot down, of your own type. I saw quite a lot.
BW: You saw quite a lot?
WG: Well, I say quite a lot, less than a dozen, but you know, if you look across at somebody by your side, you see maybe a mile away, and then you see a ball of light on this aircraft, and it gets bigger and bigger, and then suddenly it blows, and that's frightening, you think, 'well, it could happen to me, this’. But, it didn't. But it was frightening to see somebody else, some of your own people shot down. And, I suppose, to see others, the enemy shot down, because you think, well they've all got mothers and fathers. What are they going to say when they get home, you know.
BW: Some veterans talk about it being relatively isolated in the formation, in other words, they would fly a mission and not see other aircraft, perhaps until they were over the target. Was that something you saw as well?
WG: Sorry?
BW: Some veterans say that they didn't see other aircraft in the formation until they were perhaps over the target. Do you, was that something you experienced as well, or were you aware you were in a formation all the time you were on the mission, or did you only see them over the target?
WG: No, we weren't so much together, in a heap, going over. You didn't see any of your own aircraft, seldom saw. The only time you saw other aircraft, or I saw other aircraft, was when German aircraft were firing at our aircraft, in the sky somewhere, but not actually firing at ourselves. So rightly or wrongly, I thought, 'well, thank god they're firing at them and not us’, sort of thing. You know. I didn't feel sorry for the others, I was just pleased for myself [chuckles].
BW: Were you able to pick out enemy night fighters at the time?
WG: Yes. Not so much fighters, but Heinkels. Bombers. We flew alongside, they flew alongside us, or we flew alongside them, same thing, for quite a while and you didn't open fire, I didn't at least, the other two gunners in our aircraft and myself didn't open fire, because you thought, well they're not firing at us so they haven't seen us, so if we fire at them, they're going to see the light from our shots going out, you know.
BW: The muzzle flash and the tracers.
WG: Pardon?
BW: They would see the muzzle flash and the tracers.
WG: Exactly, yes. You'd be giving your position away. And you just called up the pilot, and he would usually do a power dive, which could be quite dicey because you never knew if you really would pull out of a power dive. Especially if you'd still got your bombs on board. So the practice was for the bomb aimer to jettison his bombs, no matter where he was, where we were, but to jettison the bombs to lighten your load and increase your speed a bit, in a dive, you know. We'd been down as much as below a thousand feet, which is a bit of a bind, in a way. You get away from them, but you've got the bind of the slow climb up where they could see you, they could see your engines lit up, you know [pause], yes, they could see you more clearly then.
BW: And I believe you flew a couple of raids over Italy as well.
WG: Oh yes, that's right. Oh yes, so I did. I flew over [reading] Munich, Stuttgart, Hanover, Berlin, Berlin, Mannheim, Munich, Mannheim, er, Hamburg, Nuremberg, Milan. There you are, Milan. Peennemunde, Leverkusen, Berlin, Nuremberg. Oh yes. Did not complete operation. One of the engines was hit. It started a fire, we thought, but it didn't. And Berlin again, then Berlin, Mannheim, Munich, Mannheim. Mannheim was a bad place to bomb. They were very good there, with their night fighters. Hagen, Munich , Stuttgart, Hanover. Oh dear, so it goes on, so it goes on. Stettin, er Russelsheim, Stettin again. Oh, yes, then we went on to the V2 sights. They were in daylight, which was particularly bad. Frankfurt, Danzig, mining. mining Danzig Bay, that was a long trip, that was nine hours there and back. Westkapelle, daylight, Calais, daylight, Cap Brunet, daylight, three hours fifteen, oh dear, oh dear, Westkapelle, damn-busting, daylight. Saarbruken, Stuttgart, six hours fifty five minutes, Essen, five hours thirty, Cologne, oh dear, oh dear, I didn't know I'd done all this [chuckles].
BW: This must have been in nineteen forty four.
WG: Yes it was, November. November forty four. Gelsenkirchen, Van Ickel, that was in the Ruhr, Dortmund, er Maasberg, wherever that was, I don't know. That was on the second tour. Er, Marseilles. Yes, that's about it. The rest of it's all Transport Command stuff. Getting toward the end of the war then. And, er, and, that was it. Calcutta. Delhi and Calcutta, Delhi and Calcutta, Bangalore, Yellow Hanker.
BW: What were you flying there, in Transport Command? In India.
WG: Er, Lancasters. I was always on Lancasters. Except in training, when I was on Lancasters, and oh, what do you call the bloody things? [unclear] I've forgotten what they're called. [pause]. They're all Lancasters there. They're all Lancasters.
BW: You spent a lot of time. obviously, over the Ruhr. So your aircraft, when you were at 100 Squadron, the Phantom of the Ruhr, was appropriately named, wasn't it?
WG: Yes, yes. Sorry?
BW: I say your aircraft, the Lancaster, was called the Phantom of the Ruhr.
WG: That's right, yes.
BW: It was appropriately named, you spent so much time over it.
WG: Yes, the navigator, no, not the navigator, the bloke next to the pilot, the flight engineer, did a very good etching of the scene. What was it was called?
BW: Phantom of the Ruhr.
WG: Oh, that's right, yes. He did, he actually drew a phantom, the head, you know, of a phantom, then underneath he wrote, ' Phantom of the Ruhr'. Yes, I had a photograph of that, I don't know what happened to it. I've lost lots of things I wish I'd kept. Um. Yes [pause]. Yes, there were good and bad days, you know, good and bad days. I often thought, many times, I should never have volunteered, and then I thought, well, if I don't volunteer for flying, there's not much point in volunteering for the Air Force. And I couldn't volunteer for that, I couldn't be an Army bloke. I couldn't have been in the Army. I wouldn't have wanted to be a soldier.
BW: I have a photograph here of the nose-art of the aircraft.
WG: Oh, that's it. The engineer did that.
BW: I think this was after your time on the aircraft, it went on to fly over a hundred sorties.
WG: Yes, that's right.
BW: I think the crew pictured here, unless you recognise any of them, are from the end of the tour, because there's quite a number of –
WG: I don’t think I’ve seen this. Yes, here you are.
BW: - bomb markers on the side, there, to indicate the number of sorties.
WG: May I just show this to Laura? You can come over, it's all right. That's, our flight engineer drew that, and I stood, er, I stood, this is the front of the aircraft, as you'll appreciate and I stood beneath the aircraft here. I stood on a [slight pause], what do you have with Scotch to drink?
Laura: Tonic?
WG: Tonic. I stood on a Schweppes, an empty Schweppes tonic box and held the paint, held the point, no, the pint, held the paint up like this, while he dipped it in and drew that.
Laura: Very clever, wasn't it?
WG: Yes. He was standing about here, and I was over on this side, and, yes, well, that's nice, that. And then he would, and then I held the thing, whatever he wanted, his paint, when he painted the first half of those, they were all the bombs we dropped. And then our aircraft, we were taken off, and our aircraft went on to another crew, and that was their bit that they did.
Laura: My word.
WG: Yes. Now what was in there, oh nothing. There was something in there I was going to show you. But it's not important. Sorry about that.
BW: That's alright. There's another photograph here of your skipper, stood at the back of the aircraft, which has damage to the starboard elevator plane.
WG: That’s it.
BW: And there's your turret at the back, with a hood over it. It shows some of the damage that was received to the aircraft on that particular raid over Mannheim. The holes that the shells caused.
WG: Oh yes. That's it, yes. Oh yes. Yes, that's it. That's dear old Ron Clarke. He was a Warrant Officer then. There's his Warrant Officer's rank badge, there.
BW: Yes, on his right sleeve.
WG: Pardon.
BW: On his right sleeve.
WG: That's it, yes. And of course there're the holes in the aircraft that the flak caused, that shot up at us. And that was covered up, that was covered over for some reason or other. They were usually covered over, turrets, if they bought somebody back dead, you know. They were taken down to a special hanger for any repairs to be done, and for whoever was in the turret to be taken out, and then they'd, as a mark of respect, they covered it over. Thank you. Yes. [Pause]
BW: Do you have any other information in the log book, at all? Do you have any other photos or descriptions, that you particularly recall?
WG: Oh, I don't know [unclear[ [pause]. No, all I've got is a letter from the Under-Secretary of State for Air, presents his compliments [chuckles], and by command of the Air Council, has the honour to transmit the enclosed awards granted for service during the war of nineteen thirty nine, forty five. That was that. I don't know what this is. This is, Squadron Leader in correspondence from reserve [unclear], oh, The Council, the Air Council desires me to convey to you their warm thanks for the services you have rendered to the Royal Air Force, which they greatly appreciated. They have granted you permission to retain the rank of Flight Lieutenant under the terms of paragraph three oh two of Queens Regulations and Air Council Instructions, but this grant of rank does not confer the right to any emoluments. Your attention is drawn to the attached memorandum, and also to the enclosed extract from Queens Regulations regarding the occasion on which officers who have been permitted to retain their rank, wear uniform and the badges of that rank. So I always keep that in case. I used to, I used to go on parades when I was still in the service, um, on uniform parades, but you couldn't do that unless you'd actually got permission to actually do that. Thank you. Well, sorry about all this, this is a non-issue.
BW: That's alright. That's no problem. You mentioned that you joined as a sergeant, and at some point you've obviously been commissioned.
WG: Yes.
BW: Do you recall when and how that happened?
WG: Well, I didn't actually join as a sergeant. I joined, I joined. War was declared on the Saturday. I was in the kitchen, helping my mother with getting the food ready, and war was declared at eleven o' clock on that Saturday, and I asked mother if she could lend me some money to get a ticket to go to Lincoln to volunteer for aircrew. And she, yes she did, she gave me the money. She wasn't, and of course my father was very, well, not very annoyed. He said, 'I can't understand it’, he said, ‘why don't you wait until you're called up?' [laughs] I said, 'if I wait, if I wait until I'm called up, I've been advised that they will put you anywhere in the crew, but if you volunteer, you can more or less choose if you want to be a rear gunner, or a signaller, or navigator', though I hadn't got the brains for that, navigator. But if you volunteered, you could choose more or less where you were going to fly, but if you didn't, you were put anywhere in the aircraft, where they wanted a spare bod, I mean. A Lanc would come back with, maybe with somebody killed in a turret, so they'd whip him out and stick you in, sort of thing. Filling in space, you see, that sort of thing, so that was the reason I volunteered, so that I could volunteer – I felt very happy in the rear turret. I never felt, I don't think I felt really frightened, once I got up in the air. But waking up in the morning, knowing that that night we were going on operations, I did feel a bit dodgy, but it wore off once I got on to the squadron, sort of thing. But until then I did feel a bit, I thought, well it could happen, and that sort of thing, and what's mother going to do, you know.
BW: What was your social life like on the squadron? You mentioned, you wouldn't be on op's every night.
WG: Oh no, no, The amount of flights I did, it's in the log book. Most op's was four nights in seven, following on. You see, you go on op's, and you might be on again tonight, and you were on again tonight, and you'd say, 'well, we can't be on tomorrow night'. But of course, when you woke up you found you were on, you know, I used to, even though I was not commissioned then, we did have a batman who used to look after us and keep our buttons clean, usual thing, you know, and they would do various things for you. I've forgotten what I was going to say, never mind, it doesn't matter.
BW: And did you get time to socialise? You mentioned going out to Grimsby and places, did you socialise in the mess, the Sergeants Mess?
WG: Oh yes. If you'd got a bit of money in your pocket, you would go out of the mess, into town, where'd you'd girlfriends, and that sort of thing, you know. But if you'd, if you hadn't got money, you would stay in the mess and use the facilities there, the bar, they usually specialised in supplying you with a good bar. I mean you paid for it, you had to buy the stuff, but there was a bar in every mess, and if you hadn't got much dough you would go into the bar in the mess because you could book it. And you didn't have to pay until the end of the month, when you got your money. Until then, you had to pay for it there and then.
BW: And did you socialise really with your crew? Did you go out together, or did you socialise with your other friends, who were gunners on other aircraft?
WG: Very seldom. If I socialised with anybody, which I did, it would be with those of my rank and air-crew calling. You know, air gunners would go with air gunners, and navigators with navigators, and that sort of thing. Occasionally I would go out with Clarke, my pilot. Quite often, I suppose really. He was an extremely nice bloke. And we used to go, er, we used to go, I suppose boozing. But not to get violently drunk, you know. Because it was too expensive, anyway [chuckles]. Otherwise we would never have been sober.
BW: And I believe you liked doing crosswords, as well, is that right?
WG: I beg your pardon.
BW: I believe you like doing crosswords.
WG: Yes, I used to do a crossword in the turret coming back quite often. It was advised not to in case we were followed back, and we were seen by whoever was following us back that we weren't really, that the turret wasn't moving. So that once you got up, once you left the shores of the country, you never kept your turret still. You always went backwards and forwards, up and down. So that if you were seen by enemy aircraft, they would see that you weren't asleep, you were alert, sort of thing, you know. That was the idea.
BW: And I believe that on the way back from a raid on Mannheim, when you had actually been shot up, and the searchlights were still on you, and following you away from the target, you joked that you had enough time to finish the crossword, because there was a light in the turret.
WG: No, at night time it isn't that dark. When you're flying, when you're up in the air at night, even if you're the only aircraft in the sky, the sky's still light. Not like this, but you know, you can be seen.
[Noises off as someone knocks to come in]
BW: Yes, I'll just pause the recording here for a moment.
BW: So, we're just looking through one or two things in the log book at the moment. Would you mind if I read a couple of extracts from it? Would that be alright?
WG: Say what? To read it out? Oh yes, yes.
BW: There's, [pause] firstly there is a description here for seventeenth of August nineteen forty three, a night mission to Peenemunde, codenamed Hydra. And the description underneath, which you've indicated, reads, 'six hundred aircraft, Lancasters, dropped sixteen hundred tons of high explosives. This prevented the stockpiling of five thousand V2's, which Hitler intended to be dropped on London simultaneously, in one day’. And there's a quote in a short section from the Daily Telegraph magazine which indicates that in general, the raid, Bomber Command's raid was an outstanding success, and a shattering attack on Peenemunde research and radio location factory, Germans biggest development centre for air defences. In a message to Sir Arthur Harris, Chief of Bomber Command, the Air Minister says, 'photographs prove the outstanding success of your attack’, and goes on to say, 'the accuracy of the bombing, in spite of a smokescreen, and of fierce fighting over the target, testifies to the skill and determination of your crews, and to the effectiveness of your planning and tactical methods’. And that was dated the fifth of June nineteen forty three. So that was obviously a very well defended target, but notable because of what was achieved as a result, in hitting the V2 sights. The other description in here comes from, erm, the forth of November nineteen forty four, which I think must be your second tour.
WG: Yes, yes it was the second tour, forty three, forty four.
BW: When you went on to 625 Squadron, based at Kelstern.
WG: Yes. We formed there, I think.
BW: And, I believe it was C Flight from 100 Squadron that formed 625.
WG: That's right. Yes.
BW: The description here says that it was a raid on Bokum, and that, in brackets, a jet aircraft, ME262 confirmed, and the description goes on to say, 'awarded the DFC. This was their fastest and latest fighter, and the first to be shot down at night by Bomber Command, and confirmed’.
WG: Yes, that's right. I shot it down, yes.
BW: That's particularly notable because firstly, it was a jet aircraft, and secondly, it was at night.
WG: Yes.
BW: Do you recall how you recognised the aircraft? Did it appear to be a jet, were you able to recognise it? Or was it just another target for you?
WG: Well, when I was on then, on both tours, the only [pause] if it hadn't got four engines, which were easy to pick out, even at night, because it's not as dark as all that up there at night. But it is dark, of course, but if it hadn't got four engines, you had a go at it. Because it shouldn't have been up there, sort of thing, so it must have been an enemy. Must be an enemy. You didn't recognise it perhaps as an enemy, except that it had only got two engines. Otherwise, it would have four. Which meant it was one of your own.
BW: And who saw who first? Do you think.
WG: Well exactly, yes.
BW: Who saw who first on that occasion? Did you see him?
WG: That I can't remember. I don't, I only remember being attacked maybe a couple of times, but that was in the early part of the war [pause]. It's difficult [pause]. Yes it’s, you could pick them out, quickly. But even if you didn't, you still fired at them, because you couldn't take the risk. If you didn't fire at them and they were enemy, they fired at you, it would be too late because they might hit you. But it was better to take a chance, and sometimes a wrong chance. On occasions your own being shot down. That has happened. I don't know how it was proven, but it all comes out at, it all comes out when you come back, and you're interrogated. And you really are interrogated, I mean, you don't stand a chance, even if you want to, to shoot a line or tell a load of lies, because they'd soon find out, the way they interrogate you. They aren't aircrew themselves, they're ground crew, and really, really trained for that job of sorting out the truth from the shooting a line business.
BW: And so when you landed, how soon after landing would you be debriefed?
WG: Straight away. You'd be taken in transport straight away. You wouldn't even speak to your ground crew, be allowed to speak to your ground crew. The, er, as soon as you landed, the first people you spoke to were the ground crew, the ground crew, er, oh dear, questioning you, interrogating you [pause].
BW: And were you debriefed as a crew together? Or were you debriefed individually?
WG: You were all put in the debriefing room, and each aircrew department were briefed by their own people. And then you were together briefed as a crew. And it was there to make sure there was no line-shooting, you know. Well, I suppose it was, that's what it was done for. They could easily say, well you're telling us this story, but your mate is telling us this story. That sort of idea, you know.
BW: By line-shooting, you mean telling them something inaccurate.
WG: Telling lies. Yes, telling lies and lies that could never happen, you know. You were boosting up your bravery perhaps, I suppose. If that's the word, yes. I don't know if you could say that many of us were brave. It was just one of those things. You'd volunteered to do it and you were there, so you'd got to do it, but I don't think that I looked upon it as bravery, I looked upon it as being a bloody idiot for being there [laughs].
BW: What I'd just like to do now, is just to show you a list of the crew, and you've talked about Ron Clarke, and there's your name at the bottom, this is when you were on 100 Squadron.
WG: Oh yeah. That's right.
BW: Yeah? And there's one or two other names you've briefly mentioned. Are there any particular instances or things you would remember about each of those men that you flew with?
WG: There's Ron Clarke. I think Clarke got a second DFC, but I'm not sure. Bennett got a DFM, that's right. Flight Engineer. Sidell, Jim Sidell. Well, Jim Sidell was killed, the navigator, so he got nothing. Wheeler, the bomb aimer, didn't get anything. Easby, the wireless operator, didn't get anything. Simpson didn't get anything. And then there's myself, yes. No, that was the crew. And er, what was the question, what did you ask me?
BW: Do you remember anything other about the other members of the crew, anything else about them? What sort of chaps they were?
WG: No, we didn't. I don't remember any of us really teaming up when we weren't flying, and going out together. We used to sort of go on our todd, so if we got up to something we didn't want too many people to know [laughs]. Which was my idea, anyway. I don't know about Clarke, But no, Clarke didn't, he’d be doing something. He'd be studying, I expect. He was a studing type [unclear]. Easby's very ill now. I don't know if he's still living. I intend to phone up and speak to his wife, but-
BW: Do you know if Harry Bennett is still alive?
WG: Bennett, Bennett. Where's Bennett's name here? Bennett, yes, Flight Engineer. No I don't actually. I don't even know, I don't even know where Bennett came from.
BW: I believe he came from Preston. In Lancashire.
WG: Now that's a point, yes. Somewhere up North. Yes, he was a north country chap. The Flight Engineer. He was a good bloke. He could, if something went wrong, he would get out of his seat up front, next door to the pilot, and walk down the aircraft with his tool kit, and if anything was wrong, and he could do something there, he would stay down there and mend it, and do all that sort of thing. He was a very brave bloke [coughs].
BW: Do you recall how he got his DFM?
WG: Who?
BW: Bennett.
WG: Bennett. No, no I can't. No.
BW: There's a description that when you were over Mannheim one night, and because you were heavily hit by the flak, it severed the flying controls to the ailerons.
WG: Oh yes, so it did.
BW: And there was a lot of vibration going through the flying controls, which meant the pilot couldn't handle the aircraft properly.
WG: That's right. That's it.
BW: And the story goes that Bennett took out his penknife, and bearing in mind you were probably at five thousand feet at night over Germany and France at the time, apparently he took out his penknife and severed the starboard trim control cables.
WG: That's right, he trimmed the controls, that's right. I don't know if it was his penknife, but he did sever controls, yes, which steadied the aircraft, and it was, well everybody was, we all were scared when this, when the aircraft was really shaking, you know. And then it suddenly stopped, and after, we realised that dear old Bennett had done that. He'd gone down and put his, put his breathing apparatus thing on, and stopped the vibrating.
BW: That's quite a thing to have done.
WG: Well, yes.
BW: Firstly, to know what to do, and then to be able to see it and cut it.
WG: Yes, yes. Yes. It doesn't say anything there, but I think Bennett was decorated as well. There were, there were, there were three of us decorated to my knowledge, I think he could have been the fourth one, but I'm not really sure. But three of us were decorated, and as I say, I think he was the fourth one, but actually, getting down and stopping the vibration, which it was thought could have prevented the aircraft being flown properly [coughs] or safely. Safely was the word, not properly. Same thing.
BW: And the other description that I just wanted to read on the back of the log book that you've got here; on the tenth of January nineteen forty five there's a description in here from a Squadron Leader, which looks like a Flight Commander of 626, in relation to your proficiency and assessment says, 'this', oh.
WG: This officer?
BW: 'This officer [pause] that knows his job, which he does well, this officer that knows his job, which he does well, put up a splendid show whilst on this', I can't make out the last word, but it says underneath, 'awarded the DFC'. Does that description-
WG: Which bit? Oh, 'whilst on the squadron'. Whilst on the squadron, yes. What does it say there, then?
BW: It says, 'Our officer, that knows his job, which he does well, puts up a splendid show whilst on this squadron. Awarded DFC'.
WG: Oh, I see. Yes.
BW: That would be your second one.
WG: That's right, yes.
[Pause}
Laura: You’ve not drunk your tea, Pops.
WG: Pardon?
Laura: Your tea
WG: Pardon?
Laura: Your cup of tea?
WG: Oh yes, my cup of tea. Oh there's a cup of tea, look.
BW: From these tours, then, what happened after, towards the end.
WG: Sorry?
BW: From, after completing these two tours, or three tours, because you completed a hundred operations, didn't you?
WG: Yes, I think so. Something like that. Yeah, well two and a half tours.
BW: And what happened after that? When you, when the war ended, and you stayed in service, but you went out to India and the Far East.
WG: Oh yes, I did, yes, Yes, I went out to, I went out to Delhi, and Calcutta, and Bangalore. Erm. I wasn't instructing. I can't think what I was doing. I wasn't lecturing. Well, I was lecturing in Bangalore, but not for very long. I asked to be taken off because I wasn't any good at it. I was, you know, if the blokes you were instructing weren't sort of, didn't cotton on, I used to get bad tempered, so it was no good [long pause]. Yes, looking back, they were good days. When you're there, they're not, really. You wonder, why did I do it? [pause]
BW: And when the war ended, and you'd been in India, what then happened? You came back and you left the Air Force at some stage, did you?
WG: Yes. I came back from India. I was, where was I, I think I was in Calcutta then. Oh yes, that's what annoyed me, was that when I went out there, I flew out there and was there a fortnight, and when I came back, I didn't come back quickly in an aircraft, I came back on a boat, and that took about three to four weeks to get back to the country, which I thought was rather bad. Because they flew me out there quickly, and then it took a long time to get me back home.
BW: They wanted you out there quickly, but didn't want you back home so fast [chuckles]. And did you come home to get married, and raise a family after that?
WG: Yes, I came home and, I don't know, yes, I came home, what did I do [pause], I don't know where I met Betty. Oh, we met, yes, I was with a group of blokes somewhere, and we saw a group of WAAFs, and we teamed up with these WAAFs, and I went off with mine. I don't know what happened to the others, but I never met them again, but I went off. I forget where we went, and we stayed together for some time. She was , she was a plotter. She used to plot enemy aircraft, and that sort of thing. In Bomber Command. And, I went to Bomber Command for a while, and asked to be taken away, but until then, that was where we met each other [Pause].
BW: And when did you get married?
WG: That's a point [pause].
BW: Was it soon after the war? Or was it a few years after?
WG: No, the war was still on, I think. Is my log book here? Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. I don't know if it tells me in here. I don't know, I must, I don't know when I got married [pause and paper rustling]. 'Slightly above average', and, 'above average'. That's slightly above. No, I don't know. [More paper rustling]. What was I looking for? 'Screen, after twenty sorties, second tour.'
Laura: Pops. I think you got married on the thirteenth of April, it was a Friday, and I think it was nineteen forty five. Would it be?
WG: Oh, nineteen forty five.
Laura: I think. It was forty four or forty five, I think. Before you went to India.
WG: Oh, that's right, before I went to India, wasn't it.
Laura: Yes
WG: Yes [pause]. November forty four, Bokum. Oh yes. Oh, I don't know [pause].
BW: When you left the service, what did you go on to do then?
WG; Well I, er, before the war I joined the firm that my father was the secretary for, at Kings Lynn. A timber importing firm, Patrick and Thompson’s. And I was going out to, I was going out to India. We had a branch in India. In, where was it, Bangalore, no, not Bangalore, oh I don't remember now. And I don't quite know what I did. I didn't do what I expected to do, or what they said I was going to do and I think that the way the war was going, it was felt that soon it going to end, so it was a pretty cushy time for us all. Because we weren't, there wasn't very much to do really, and I didn't know whether to stay in or not, and I wasn't keen on going back to my father, to the firm where my father was, so I stayed in. And I was going to get, I hadn't got a permanent commission then. I was on, not a part-time commission, I forget what the word was for it, but it wasn't a regular commission, and I thought, well, if I'm going to stay in the service, I must get a regular commission, or else they can get me out any time. But with a regular commission, provided I'm playing it straight, I haven't got to bother about a job, because I'd got a job. And it was quite well paid. I was a Flight Lieutenant then. And when I went to Bangalore, I was promoted to Squadron Leader, and then when I came back, when I came back, I was demoted to my previous regular engagement commission. It wasn’t an active one. But then I decided that with how things were going, I wasn't very keen. I was getting into spots of bother, and that sort of thing. I was made a personal assistant to an Air Vice Marshall, which was a bit of a bind because you're always on duty, you know. You could suddenly be in bed, and your batman would come in, and give you a shake, and say,' the old man wants you’, and you could get up at any time of the day. Yes, at any time of the day and night. Because if you'd been flying at night, you'd be asleep during the day, and you'd have to go down to see what he wanted, and all that sort of thing. And his wife would, many times when I was in their house, she would come in and say, 'Geoffrey, just nip down to the butchers will you, and get so and so’, that sort of thing, you know. That wasn't my cup of tea, really, not what I'd joined to do [laughs]. Walking back with strings of sausages round me neck [laughs].
BW: Well, I think you've been very open, and it's been a great pleasure to listen to you, sir, and to all your experiences, so I want to thank you on behalf of the International Bomber Command Centre for doing that, and it's probably an appropriate place to leave your reminiscences, with a string of sausages round your neck [laughs]
WG: Thank you very much indeed.
BW: Thank you.
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Interview with Geoff Green
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Brian Wright
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IBCC Digital Archive
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2015-09-11
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AGreenWG150911
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01:34:43 audio recording
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eng
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Transport Command
Description
An account of the resource
William Green was born in Kings Lynn in Norfolk and joined the Royal Air Force at the outbreak of war, when he was 17 and a half, becoming a rear gunner on Lancasters and eventually rising to the rank of squadron leader. He tells about going to help form 625 Squadron at RAF Kelstern and his training for rear gunner, which included some navigation and aircraft recognition. William tells of how he was sent on an instructor course to train new recruits however he admits he did not have the temperament to do this for very long. In 1944 he was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for shooting down the first Me 262 aircraft, whilst coming home from an operation to Mannheim. It was the first confirmed shooting down of this particular aircraft and it was during a night operation. William tells about a particularly bad operation to Mannheim, when he helped with a badly injured bomb aimer, being coned by searchlights and coping with anti-aircraft fire. He also recalls a flight where the aircraft was hit and flying controls to the ailerons were severed, meaning the pilot had trouble controlling the aircraft. The flight engineer picked up a toolbox and acted on the starboard trim control cables with a penknife, allowing the pilot to land. William completed two full tours with Bomber Command, flying over 100 operations, including 55 bombing operations on Germany alone, and his aircraft was nicknamed ‘Phantom of the Ruhr’. He tells the story of how he helped with the painting of the nose art. Towards the end of war, William was in India with Transport Command, particularly in Delhi and Calcutta.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Vivienne Tincombe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Germany
Germany--Mannheim
India
India--Kolkata
India--New Delhi
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
100 Squadron
1656 HCU
28 OTU
625 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
coping mechanism
Distinguished Flying Cross
fear
flight engineer
Halifax
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Me 109
Me 262
military service conditions
nose art
Operational Training Unit
operations room
pilot
RAF Kelstern
searchlight
superstition
training
Whitley
-
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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
Johnson, Johnny
George Johnson
G L Johnson
Description
An account of the resource
Three oral history interviews with Squadron Leader George Leonard ‘Johnny’ Johnson MBE (1921 - 2022). Johnny Johnson flew operations as a bomb aimer with 97 Squadron from RAF Woodhall Spa and with 617 Squadron from RAF Scampton. On 16/17 May 1943 he took part in Operation Chastise to attack German dams with bouncing bombs. He served in the RAF until 1962 and then had a career in education. He was given an honorary doctorate by the University of Lincoln in 2017.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-01
2015-03-25
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Johnson, G
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AP: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Andrew Panton. The interviewee is George Johnny Johnson. Mr Johnson was the bomb aimer on Lancaster AJ-T that took part in the Sorpe Dam raid on the night of May the 16th 1943. In this recording Mr Johnson recounts his memories of the events leading up to the attack, the attack itself and the events following the attack.
GJJ: As part of our training we used the Derwent Dam in Derbyshire and also the Uppingham Lake in what was then Rutland. But the Derwent had its towers and we could use those for sighting with our home-made bombsight so that our base pins were in line with the towers before we dropped our practice bombs. These were the twenty five pound smoke bombs. We also used Uppingham Lake but Uppingham Lake didn’t have any towers so they put up a couple of flagpoles for us, the authorities, and we used those as sighting devices along with our three pin, three prong bombsight. And it was that that created the similar action that we would have on the night of the operation which we didn’t know at the time of course. On the Uppingham we had to fly down the lake and sixty feet was the maximum. And we were going down there, along until we came to bomb dropping. Up and down and then up and back again. I came down again, again, right along the lake until you had the same dropping point and if you were lucky or, perhaps I should say if you were accurate your bomb dropping point would be good on all occasions. The night before the raid we were summoned into a meeting room and for the majority of the crew it was the first-time meeting Barnes Wallis and he showed us a film of his development of the bouncing bomb. And we saw this being bounced across the water as it was released, initially from Wellington aircraft but ultimately from a Lancaster aircraft. One shot that he did show in the film showed one bomb that went a bit haywire and chose its own route after it had hit the water and came straight back to the beach where they were all taking film and so on. So, that of course meant they had to get out of the way a bit sharpish before it got to them. They were, of course, inert bombs they were dropping but that sort of weight in concrete can do an awful lot of damage if it hits somebody. So, there we are. That was the film that he showed us and that explained how it was going to be necessary to drop this bomb so far away from whatever the target was going to be. We didn’t know what the target was going to be and he didn’t mention dam when he talked about the, hitting the target. He just said when it hits the target it would roll down and then explode. On the Sunday afternoon, about three o’clock, all crews were called into the operations room for briefing and man what a briefing that was. Up to that time we had no idea what the target was going to be. This was the first indication. There was a model there of the Möhne Dam, there was a model of the Sorpe but apparently the model of the Eder hadn’t been completed and so it wasn’t there. A big map on the wall showing two outward bound courses and one homeward bound course. And the people there — the AOC Sir Ralph Cochrane was there, the station commander Group Captain Whitworth. Gibson of course was there. Barnes Wallis was there, and the senior armament and engineering officers and the dear old Met man whose job was made so much easier by knowing it was going to be a brilliant moonlight night and that was going to extend not only from our take off but to our target and to our coming home. So, for once he was able to give us a correct forecast of what we could expect and when we got to the target. And Barnes Wallis explained what the targets were. And how wrong we could be in our estimations. He explained the three dams that we were going to attack. The Sorpe, the Möhne and the Eder. He also explained the difference between them. The Möhne and the Eder were very similar. They had towers and they were accessible for a head- on approach. The Sorpe of course was different. It had no towers and it was so placed in the hills that it was difficult, if not quite impossible, to make a head-on attack and the only one of those three that was defended was the Möhne. Gibson carried on with the briefing and he explained how the take-offs would be arranged and which, how many crews were taking each part. We were part of five that were scheduled to attack the Sorpe Dam. The Sorpe, of course, had to be different. No towers. Different mode of attack. And our attack had to be by flying down once, the hills on one side aiming to have port engines over the dam and flying along the length of the dam. And on that run, estimating to drop the bomb in the centre of the dam. Shortly after ten o’clock we took off from Scampton. We flew low over Lincolnshire, certainly, no more than a hundred feet, out into the moonlit North Sea. A beautiful sight. Lovely moon and a perfect, quite calm sea. And we headed for the Dutch coast. As we crossed the Dutch coast we were aware, or Joe was aware that the gunners there would be well aware that this single aircraft was coming. They’d recognise the noise and had all the other aircraft over it already, the other four, over already they’d be ready for us. And so he went down. He picked up two sand dunes and went down between those two so that we avoided the flak that they would have loved to have thrown at us. At this stage, Bill Ratcliffe, in fact he had been throughout the flight coasting the engines as much as possible so that we could make up speed and make up time having taken off so late. We, in fact, arrived there about nine minutes later than the scheduled time. We carried on across Germany into the Ruhr and eventually arrived at the Sorpe Dam. Mist was beginning to gather outside but over the target it was perfectly clear. Brilliant moonlight. And as we approached we noticed that on the side, on the hills from which we were supposed to be making the attack there was a church steeple and so Joe used this as a marker. From above that he could line the aircraft up as best he could, aiming to get the port outer engine along the dam itself and then go down to height. Because we weren’t spinning the bomb we were carrying, we were going to drop an inert bomb, we were not governed by the conditions on which that bomb had to be dropped. So, the height and speed equally didn’t matter and if I wasn’t satisfied I called dummy run. In which case we went up again and came down again. If Joe wasn’t satisfied he just pulled away and left me to call dummy run and after about the seventh — sixth or seventh of these dummy runs a voice from the rear turret said, ‘Won’t somebody get that bomb out of here?’ And I realised how easy it was to become the most unpopular member of crew in double quick time. However, we pressed on, trying to get the drop exactly right. There was no point in having gone through all that training and flown low level in bright moonlight over Germany and particularly into the Ruhr area in not getting, doing the job that you had gone to do and doing it to the best of your ability. So, we went on trying. And on the tenth run, in the meantime Joe and I hadn’t said anything to each other but I’m sure we both realised that the lower we got the less forward travel that bomb would have before it hit the water and the lower we got the easier it would be to estimate the dropping point. It was pure estimation. There was no bombsighting involved at all. So, on the tenth run we were down to thirty feet. And when I said, ‘bomb gone,’ — ‘Thank Christ,’ came from the rear turret. It was a question of nose up straight away otherwise we would have been into the hills on the other side. And so I didn’t see the explosion but Dave did in the rear turret and he estimated that the tower of water went up to about a thousand feet. Well, as you can imagine sixty five, six and a half thousand pounds explosive being exploded at a depth of twenty five feet is going to displace a hell of a lot of water and it’s going to go upwards as well as outwards. So that was quite understandable. But he also said that as it came down some of the downflow came into the turret so he thought he was going to be drowned as well as knocked about by us so and so’s at the front. But he managed to get back to normal. We circled and we discovered that we had crumbled the top of the dam for a distance of about ten yards. Barnes Wallis had told us at briefing that he estimated it would need at least six bombs to crack that dam because of its construction but if we could crack it the water pressure would do the rest and judging from the amount of water in that dam I’m quite sure he was right. However, that was only the one bomb and what we couldn’t understand was that because we were late nobody else was there when we got there and nobody else appeared whilst we were there. And this, the reason for this we didn’t find out until we got back. We circled, satisfied ourselves and set a course for home and then had perhaps the most satisfying part of the whole trip. Route out took us straight over what had been the Möhne Dam. It was just like an inland sea. There was water everywhere. We knew that it had been breached by radio broadcast but water was still coming out of the dam and this must have been twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour since the breach. We also knew that the Eder had been breached. Again, by broadcast. So we had at least the satisfaction of seeing some real results for the endeavours of that particular raid. After the excitement of seeing the result of the breach of the Möhne things calmed down but not for long. For some peculiar reason and I still have no idea why we found ourselves over a railway. Not only a railway but a marshalling yard and we were, in fact, over the Hamm marshalling yards, yard. And this, of course was the centre for the distribution of all the armaments that were made in the Ruhr to the various war areas throughout Europe. Not the healthiest of places to be in May of 1943. But once again Joe goes down and again a voice from the rear turret, ‘Who needs guns? At this height all they need to do is change the points.’ However, we eventually got out of the yard. After the marshalling yards incident we set course for home. We came back on the route that we came out on and as we were crossing the Zeider Zee, Bill Ratcliffe opened up the taps, paid in the speed so we could get out and away as soon as possible. So perhaps this is what he did and as we crossed the coast one of the gunners on the ground got a sight on us but Dave Rodger in the rear turret replied promptly with his guns and that was the last we heard of the attack. As we crossed the North Sea, eventually we could see the welcoming sight of the Lincolnshire coast and so we were able to head over for our home base at Scampton. I’m not quite sure that we went, that we went via the cathedral. I don’t recall actually having seen it but it wasn’t unusual to head for the cathedral when you crossed the coast so that you knew when you were actually almost home. We could always see the cathedral by the red light on the top and that was a welcoming light and told us we were close to home. And so we got back to Scampton. Now, Scampton was still a grass airfield and so all landings were a bit lumpy but ours was more than a bit lumpy it was really bumpy and we were starboard wing low. And the flight engineer, looking out of the Perspex said, ‘We’ve got a burst tyre skipper.’ And so we were, we taxied around to take off to the dispersal and the aircraft went off for inspection. And when the inspection team came back the leader said, ‘You guys ought to think yourselves very lucky.’ He didn’t use ‘very’ but never mind, that will describe it. He said, ‘That shot that you felt and heard went through the starboard undercarriage nacelle, burst a tyre enroute. It then went through the wing and ultimately landed in the roof just above the navigator’s head.’ How lucky. But once again we’d got away with it. Thank you, Lady Luck. That had been our night. After debriefing we began to realise that there seemed to be an awful lot of people that hadn’t come back. And it came, transpired that of the nineteen that took off, sixteen had taken part in the actual raiding since three had had to come back for various reasons. Of those sixteen, eight did not come back. Three of the crews escaped but were taken prisoner and the rest were killed. Fifty three aircrew of our squadron were killed on that one operation one night and we lost eight aircraft. That was a devastating reaction and we heard that in the operations room, when the final news was known, Barnes Wallis actually cried and said, ‘I have killed all those young men. I’ll never do anything like that again.’ But Wing Commander Gibson managed to say to him, ‘No Barnes. You didn’t kill those young men. Without you that raid could never have taken place anyway.’ He said, ‘But whenever we take off on any of these raids, we know there is a chance that we won’t be coming back and those people probably went off with that thought in mind.’ Of the nineteen aircraft that took off three had to return early, five were lost before the attacks and eleven made attacks on the dam. Of those eleven one was lost during the attack, two were lost after the attacks and eight aircraft returned from making attacks on the dams. In total fifty three aircrew were killed, three were taken prisoner and eight aircraft were lost.
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/.
Identifier
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AJohnsonG150325
PJohnsonGL1703
Title
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Interview with Johnny Johnson. One
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
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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00:19:33 audio recording
Conforms To
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Pending review
Creator
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Andrew Panton
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-03-25
Description
An account of the resource
George ‘Johnny’ Johnson was the bomb aimer in Lancaster AJ-T flown by Joe McCarthy during operation Chastise 16th of May 194. He discusses the attack on the dams and the events before and after the attack. He describes training over the Derwent Dam and Uppingham Lake. He describes the challenges of the Sorpe Dam in contrast to the Möhne and Eder dams. He describes the tensions of getting the bombing run correct and the nervous words of the rear gunner. Flying home they flew over the Möhne dam and they were able to witness the devastation of the aftermath of the attack. They also flew over the Hamm marshalling yards and again Johnny describes the nervous details of that event. Johnny refers to the realisation of the heavy losses of the operation and how Barnes Wallis actually wept when he heard how many crews had been lost.
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.
Germany
Great Britain
England--Derbyshire
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Hamm (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Sorpe Dam
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-05-16
1943-05-17
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
617 Squadron
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
bouncing bomb
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
Lancaster
operations room
RAF Scampton
training
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
-
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47f6fef0f79c70bd4f5a5abf59f715a2
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
Johnson, Johnny
George Johnson
G L Johnson
Description
An account of the resource
Three oral history interviews with Squadron Leader George Leonard ‘Johnny’ Johnson MBE (1921 - 2022). Johnny Johnson flew operations as a bomb aimer with 97 Squadron from RAF Woodhall Spa and with 617 Squadron from RAF Scampton. On 16/17 May 1943 he took part in Operation Chastise to attack German dams with bouncing bombs. He served in the RAF until 1962 and then had a career in education. He was given an honorary doctorate by the University of Lincoln in 2017.
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
2017-08-01
2015-03-25
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Johnson, G
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DE: Right. So, a little introduction and we’ll get cracking. So, this is an interview for the IBCC with Johnny Johnson. It’s the 1st of August 2017. We’re in Bristol. My name is Dan Ellin. Also in the room is Professor Heather Hughes, Alex Pesaro and John Sexton. Right.
HH: Thank you so much for agreeing to be interviewed today. What we’d like to do, if possible, is to start off talking about your earliest memories of a childhood on a farm in Lincolnshire from 1921.
JJ: Fine. As you say, a farm in Lincolnshire. I was born in a small village called Hameringham, near Horncastle and, as such became a Lincolnshire Yellowbelly which, I gather, was so called because of all the frogs in the fens area of the county. However, I had the misfortune for my mother to die before, a fortnight before my third birthday. And the only time I can remember seeing her was in her hospital bed when we were waiting at the bottom of the stairs to go up and to see her. And my father was talking to somebody else, a stranger to me at the bottom of the stairs so I went over and joined them. I was the youngest of six children and when my father told this other individual who I was his response was, ‘What another?’ To which my father said, ‘Yes. He was a mistake.’ I remember quite clearly my father saying that, even at that young age and I’m sure that is how he treated me from then on. He was, of course, a cut throat razor shaver and the razor sharpener, the strop, hung on the back of the kitchen door. If ever that strop came down and he wasn’t shaving I knew where it was headed. That was my shoulders, my back or wherever it landed. If I was out, on one occasion even, sorry, I had to go to the local elementary school in the next village, in Winthorpe. And had to walk down there and there came a time when we left Hameringham and moved over to the borders of Nottinghamshire to a small village of Langford just outside of Newark. And [pause] sorry, I’m thinking. The lady that we had as a housekeeper at Hameringham was a lovely lady, Mrs Smith. But she couldn’t move with us when we moved. And so my father advertised for a housekeeper in the local press and a, I’m going to say female, I wouldn’t describe her otherwise, that answered had two twin daughters. She came over with the daughters as a housekeeper and before long she became the second Mrs Johnson. They never [emphasis] agreed at any time and there came a time when I heard her say to him, ‘I’ll knife you one of these days.’ That really upset me. And why, I didn’t know why I did, I used to go and sleep with my father just in case she tried it sometime overnight. ‘Cause, when they had their rows she went in to the girls’ bedroom. My bed. My bed was on the landing. Living in the other half of the farmhouse. And so that was the way it went and it just went worse until eventually I was sent off to another farming uncle in Thorpe. Thorpe on the Hill and whilst I was away they separated. She went away and when I got back she was no longer there. That meant, amongst other things, that I came responsible, became responsible for looking after the house. So much so that all the cooking that I could do and so on.
HH: Were you the only child still living at home at that stage?
JJ: At that stage, yes but it went to the time when my sister, who was seven years older than me, had virtually been my surrogate mother to start with and she was in service with a family in the next, our next village, Winthorpe. They were moving and downloading at the same time so she came to look after her father and I have to say he treated her in much the same way as he treated me. Not by beatings of course but by the demands that he made. A daughter was to look after her father the way he wanted it done. When he wanted it done. And that was the way it had to go. So, yeah, I was at, as I say, to a local elementary school in Winthorpe and the head teacher heard about Lord Wandsworth’s Agricultural College in Hampshire, Long Sutton in Hampshire, bequeathed by Lord Wandsworth for the children of agricultural families that had lost one or both parents, and she applied on my behalf. And I had an interview and was accepted but my father said, ‘No. When he’s fourteen he goes out and gets a job and brings some money into the house.’ Head teacher wasn’t at all happy about that and in that village we still had a squire and she went to see the squire’s wife and told her the story. And the squire’s wife went to see my father and told him his fortune in no uncertain terms. How he was ruining my life, particularly of a better education and a much better chance of a decent living afterwards. And so, he said, ‘I suppose I’ll let him go then.’ Reluctantly. And it wasn’t because he felt he needed to but because he knew that if he refused and the squire’s wife went back and talked to the squire about it his job would be on the rocks without any trouble at all. And so, we got away with it and I went off to Lord Wandsworth’s College. What a place to go to. The first time I’d been away from home travelling from Newark to London. Met there by the secretary from the school and taken on to a train ride to Hampshire and then by coach to the college. In the junior school of course to start me I was eleven at that stage and the first time being means so many different boys from all parts of the world and not knowing really anything about anything.
HH: Did you speak strong Lincolnshire dialect at that time?
JJ: I did in those days, indeed I did. I did know and even though I also left so young when I left I still remember some of the dialect the local people used to use. And the one thing that sticks in mind is that when they met they didn’t say, ‘Hello. How are you? How are you doing?’ It was always, ‘How do my duck?’ and probably, ‘How do me duck? Are you alreet?’ That was the usual thing.
DE: It still is in some places.
JJ: At that stage the local people referred to our nearest town not as Horncastle but ‘Oncastle. I don’t know whether they still do. They may do. And it is the sort of thing which has stuck in my mind over the times and that I find too, useful these days in certain circumstances to introduce my talk, to whoever, particularly with school children which I do quite a lot of recently. But the sort of thing which I started there. Lord Wandsworth’s Agricultural College was a mix in that it was academic and it was also vocational. Those who could cope went through the academic side and the rest went through the — we had a large farm there and a good large garden. A big orchard. There was plenty of scope for vocational training. I managed to get through the school certificate. I say managed to get. In that you may remember you had to take eight subjects. You were allowed one failure but you had to get credits in at least one other subject for a pass. Then other things went on beyond that. I managed to scrape through and when we went back after the results had come out, back after the school holidays. Met by the headmaster who said, ‘Congratulations. How did you manage it?’ I said, ‘With difficulty sir.’ That was that. And I had, at that stage, ambition to be a vet but to do the vet’s course you had to have the, what was the word? Matriculation exam as well and you had to have a far better pass in the school certificate than I had got, in other words, to do that. So, I had to have a rethink. And I thought about being the park superintendent of a large London park. They’d got a very good garden section there. And I didn’t want anything to do with the farm. I’d had too much of that anyway. And so I went into the horticultural side and I learned quite a lot about horticulture in that time including, on one occasion, washing out the greenhouses with a nicotine solution. A very neat, tiny solution and my bottle, or my bucket, ran out and I went to get some more and as I mixed it I inhaled some of the nicotine. Oh, was I ever sick. Straight back to the hospital and in to the school hospital. And the orderly we had there -- next morning gave me a right telling off because he’d had to sit with me all night. He wasn’t sure whether I was going to live or not. So, I got my own back on him in that way but that was that. That was just a small incident in that. And so, I very much enjoyed the work in the gardens, the orchard and particularly in the greenhouses. And then as a job came up in the local park in Basingstoke and so I was interviewed for that and got it. And so I started my working life as a trainee assistant parks keeper and I was doing that. Whilst I was doing that I was billeted with a family in Basingstoke and one of the sons had his own Alsatian and my sister had always bred Alsatians. That was her real life and so I took Fred with me on holiday on one occasion and of course he took his dog. He and Lena, my sister, got to know each other and they got to know each other very well and it got to the stage where she said to my father they were thinking of getting married. And he said, ‘If you get married I shall kill myself.’ I said, ‘For goodness sake Lena he’s far too fond of life to do something like that.’ She said, ‘I know but if he did I would never be able to forgive myself.’ And that ruined her life completely. She never looked at another man after that.
HH: What happened to her? Did she stay at home with your dad?
JJ: Oh yes. Oh yes. Yes. And she had got a job of her own in that during the war she was part of the ARP system. I’m not quite sure what she did. But she also became the village post lady and she cycled around on her bike delivering the mail to various places. And she kept that job for the whole of her working life apart from looking after him in his misery as well. From Langford the farmer himself died and his wife and son took over and eventually, during that time, my father got Scarlet Fever and was off work for up to six weeks and by the end of that or just before the end of that the wife said she was very sorry they couldn’t wait any longer. They’d have to appoint somebody else. So he had to get out and find more accommodation elsewhere and we went just up the road to the village of Collingham and we lived in Collingham from then onwards. Believe it or not in a place called Chapel House. It was a converted chapel but that was where we went for a while. And shortly after that, I don’t know how, my father became associated but he did, with a lady and her mother in another street in the village of Collingham. And eventually the mother died but the daughter then from selling the bungalow that they lived in used that money to help purchase the new house my father and sister had got and joined them there. And then again for some reason which I never found out she suddenly wasn’t there anymore. She left and that was it. And so there we were. A nice house. It was a nice house. It was semi-detached but four bedrooms and had every convenience. No, it didn’t [laughs] it didn’t have any conveniences. Gas central, gas lighting. No electricity. No hot water apart from the boiler attached to the fire and that was it. And so that was where we lived for some time. And then I was, having been at Basingstoke for almost a year, the war had started before I joined there. I thought I ought to be getting in to this. And basically, I don’t know why, but it was a personal hatred of Hitler and the terrible damage that he had done to this country in that time and I needed to do something. I needed to do my share about it. So, I volunteered for the air force in the June. But I didn’t want to be a pilot. I didn’t think I had the aptitude or the coordination to be able to do it properly. And I wanted to go on the bomber side and I knew that the bomber pilot was responsible not only for flying the aircraft but for the safety of the crew as a whole and I thought maybe I was a bit young for that anyway. So I didn’t want to be a pilot but the selection committee thought differently and they recommended me for pilot training.
HH: Can I ask why you wanted to be on the bomber side?
JJ: I think — to get my own back on Hitler. That was the only way I could put it at that stage. Eighteen years old. That sort of thought was prominent in my mind and then I had to wait. This was in the November 1940 and I volunteered in June but got through the interviews but then the medical came. I had a hernia. So they said, ‘Go back and get that fixed and come back in six months’ time.’ So off I went. Had the operation. I thought maybe I could live out that six months but the letter came very shortly telling me to report back to Cardington in November of that year. And I thought I’d go through the same procedure again but no. ‘You’re in son. Go and get your uniform.’ That’s it. And so I was in. Went through the usual recruit training and I had no idea of getting any aircrew training coming up. My first appointment was Harlaxton in the Grantham area which was a flying school there. And they were flying [pause] oh dear [pause] battledresses? Battle? No. what did they call them? Anyway, pretty — the only, I suppose, modernish aircraft.
DE: Battles.
JJ: That’s it. That we had at that time and my job was to sit in the flight office and take hourly weather reports and phone it through to the Met Office so they could construct their forecast. Boring as hell. And then added to guard duties probably in the evening and night. And we had a satellite station across the way and I can’t remember the name of it but we used to have to go over there on guard duties. And one thing I remember about that place is that one night, sitting there after having done my two hours, sitting in the hut and one of the bed frames was propped up against the wall and I looked around and I saw a rat behind it. I quickly put, fixed my bayonet. End of rat and that was it. At least I made use of my bayonet on one occasion. But there we go. And then eventually down to Babbacombe for the Aircrew Receiving Centre and the start of the aircrew training. And that was where, in the first place if I can put it — I met my doom. We were billeted in hotels and my roommate and I were walking out on the street one evening and these two young ladies were walking towards us. I was the shy, retiring one but for some unknown reason said, ‘Are you going our way?’ And this voice said, ‘That depends on which your way is.’ That was Gwyn and that was our meeting and that was how it started. Quite an amazing sound that was. But then the aircrew training came along. I was posted down to Newquay to ITW and during that time Gwyn decided to join the WAAF and she became a telephone watcher in the — telephone operator in the WAAF. And we went from ITW to up north to wait for a ship to take us either to America or to Rhodesia for pilot training. I was going to America and there, there were two training systems. We had our own British flying training schools and the rest were organised by the American — American Army Air Corps. And of course at that stage America had no thought of being in the war at all. And I could not take the American Army Air Corps but I got one of their stations. Nice posting. Arcadia in Florida. But I could not stand their petty discipline. First thing. When you made your bed you had to fold the top blanket and the bottom at exactly forty five degrees and the inspecting officer would go around with a protractor and make sure it was forty five degrees and if it wasn’t — stripped off and you did it again. And their marching. That really got up my nose. So sloppy it didn’t mean a thing. However, we carried on. Fortunately, the instructors were civilians. Very pleasant people. And believe it or not I managed to solo but my landings weren’t what they might have been. And so he said, ‘I’m sorry,’ one day, ‘I’m sorry old son. I don’t think you’re going to make it.’ I said, ‘Don’t be sorry. Neither do I.’ So that was that. About ten of us washed out pilots were then posted, again on the American Army Air Corps to Maxwell Field in Montgomery. And we weren’t supposed to talk going to breakfast so we sang, “Colonel Bogey.” I don’t know if you know that but if you do you shouldn’t maybe but that was how we went into breakfast. On our last day — our senior bod was a flight sergeant gunner who’d been hoping to be accepted and made it He said, ‘Let’s show these so and so’s how to march.’ And so we fell in, RAF style, outside the dining room and we marched back to the billet a hundred and sixty paces a minute with arms swinging forward and backwards, waist high — and the looks we got as we went along. At least we felt we’d left our mark on Maxwell Field and that was that. Gave us that much satisfaction. It was, anyway, back to Canada and wait for a troop ship to bring us home. I joined in November of 1940. I landed back in this country in January 1942 no nearer to fighting that war that I’d joined for than I had been when I joined. So it was the shortest course and it was gunnery. So I did the gunnery course. I managed to get through that but instead of being posted to an OTU like other aircrew where you mixed up, formed your crews and then went off for further training I was posted straight out to 97 Squadron at Woodhall as a spare gunner. Which meant I had to fly with anyone who hadn’t got a mid-upper or a rear gunner for that night’s operation. Quite an inauguration in to operational flying but we managed to get by but at that stage 97 had just been re-equipped with Lancasters and they were looking for the seventh member of crew. The bomb aimer. And they were training them at a local station. And since it made a difference between seven and six and twelve and six a day I thought I’d have a go at that and so I re-trained as a bomb aimer. And then came back to the squadron as a spare bomber aimer and after I’d done about ten trips all around I was told I was joining this crew with an American pilot. My immediate thought was — Oh my God. Americans again. Then I met Joe McCarthy, at that stage a flight lieutenant. Six foot three and breadth to go with the height. Big in size, big in personality but one we discovered, to our great confidence, big in pilot ability. Absolute. I never thought that Joe wouldn’t bring me back from any trip. And my goodness, he didn’t. But that was, I think, maybe it might have been something to do with my barely five foot seven looking up at his six foot three we just seemed to gel and we became the best of friends. On duty he was the pilot. I was the bomb aimer. We had our jobs and that was it.
HH: You had quite an international crew, didn’t you?
JJ: We did indeed. We had the navigator and the rear gunner were both Canadians. The flight engineer was, although in the RAF at that stage had been to America as a child. His parents had emigrated and then his mother and his grandmother brought him back later in life but he had nationalised, nationalised Canadian business whilst with the family whilst he was out there. That left just three of us. The American pilot of course. English. The wireless operator was the daddy of the crew. He was thirty. And then the mid-upper gunner was just a year my senior. And that was the three of us. However, we got on very well as a crew. I think, I have to say the attitude of the majority of the Bomber Command crews who, most of which were volunteers anyway was they’d volunteered to do what they could about this war and to do the job, whichever their job was, to the best of their ability and I’m sure the majority of them did that all the time. From my point of view, on the normal bombing raids where initially you was in the dark, out of moon you saw nothing until you got to the target area and you saw all the guns that you’d got to go through before you came home. But once you started the bombing run my concentration was on the bomb sight and the marker or whatever the target was and it stayed just on that line. What was going on outside didn’t mean a thing to me. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t see it and I just got on with the job that I was supposed to do. And then when bombs gone we had to fly straight and level so that the camera could take a picture of where our bombs had dropped. So, there was no point in saying we dropped somewhere near the target if we’d lobbed the bombs off before we got there or somewhere near because they’d have been shown up on the camera. However, that was it. After that it was nose up and home as fast as —
HH: Did you ever have any idea how dangerous it all was for the aircrew?
JJ: No. I sometimes think. No, I’ll put it this way. I’m asked occasionally, ‘Were you ever frightened?’ And I said, well from that description I give of arriving at the target. Certainly for the first time anyone who wasn’t a bit apprehensive was either devoid of emotion or was a stranger to the truth. One of the early television programmes I did the director asked me that question and I gave him the same answer. He said, ‘In other words they were bloody liars.’ I said, ‘Well if that’s the way you want to put it.’ When they produced that television programme that’s the only part of that conversation that was put in and I rang him up and said, ‘Look, what are my ex-comrades going to think of that young whipper snapper referring to them all as bloody cowards.’ He said, ‘Johnny that’s television. There’s a sensational bit. Sorry but that’s the way it goes.’ And they also did the American version and that opened up with my picture and that statement straight away. I felt a bit hard about that but there we are. That’s television. You’re subject to whatever they want to produce in the end. However, we managed to get by and we got to the stage where we were very close to the end of our first tour. In those days you did — a first tour was thirty trips and at the end of that thirty trips you got a week’s leave and then you went on to either a ground tour or a non-operational flying tour. Well, having anticipated this, this leave, this week’s leave, my fiancé and I arranged to get married on the 3rd of April. In the meantime, Wing Commander Gibson rang Joe and asked him would he consider joining a special squadron that he was forming for one special trip. And Joe said, ‘I’ll have to ask the crew,’ which he did and we agreed to go with him. I wrote, or told Gwyn [down in Devon?] about this reorganisation and the answer I got was, ‘If you’re not there on the 3rd of April, don’t bother.’ I thought aye aye, the first mandate’s been issued. And there we go. So that was how we came to be part member of what was known then as Squadron X and we moved over to Scampton. Again, a date I will always remember – March the 27th – and the first thing we heard was — no leave. Oh God, there goes my wedding. Again, Joe in his inimitable style took us up to Gibson’s office as a crew and said, ‘We’ve just finished our first tour. We’re entitled to a week’s leave. My bomb aimer’s supposed to be getting married on the 3rd of April and he’s going to get married on the 3rd of April.’ Oh my God. A flight lieutenant talking to the wing commander like that. But what I didn’t know was that Joe had done some training with one of Gibson’s training units and so Gibson knew something about him and had, obviously, enough confidence to ask him would he join that crew. Incidentally, the fact that Gibson selected all the crews is not right. He selected his one or two people that he knew of, notably from 106 Squadron which he commanded before he moved over and the rest were appointed by the wing commanders on each squadron. 5 Group was the group. In that Group were asked to recommend on or two experienced pilots from crews for this exercise and that’s how the crews were selected basically. So we got our leave. I got my wedding. Just. Basically we got, on the morning of the wedding, a choir boy came around to the house on the morning of the wedding with a message from the vicar which said because Gwyn was only eighteen at that stage. A lady at that time under the age of twenty one had to have both parents’ permission to get married and her father was in North Africa with the army. Fortunately, nan was able to find a letter in which he had agreed to the wedding taking place so we got away with it again and that was it and we got our wedding eventually. And there we are. And I would add, at this stage, that lasted for sixty two and a half years. So, I have a lot to be thankful for in that. However, we got our leave and then we had the experience of joining 617 Squadron as it was now called. One thing that surprised us again was the experience of the majority of the crews. Many of them having completed their first tour. Some on their second tour and just a few who were not that experienced but recommended by their wing commanders. We were told by Gibson that we would not be told what the target was. He didn’t know and neither would we know until much later but it was a special operation and again was going to, it had been said that it would make a difference to the war effort and training would be low level. It was great. Having done bombing operations at ten, twelve, fifteen thousand feet in the dark and certainly above cloud and then being able to fly down. A hundred feet was the prescribed height but very seldom was that achieved. It was usually just a little bit below that and lying in the front I had the best, the best seat as it were. Lying down in the front of the aircraft just seeing the ground whizzing past was so exhilarating, it was quite tremendous. I don’t know — you may know Sutton Bridge in Lincolnshire. I believe so-called because the road bridge crosses a canal on the way in to the town but as you fly up from the south the electric cables also cross the canal and the practice, not briefed, but undertaken each time we came across that town was to go underneath the cables and up over the bridge. Wonderful. It really was. Absolutely first class. One of the residents here could tell me that she had an aunt who lived in Sutton Bridge at that time and she said the whole of the population were scared stiff about all these low flying aircraft that were going about. That’s war dear. You know, that’s one of those things. Anyway, that was one of the things. Bomb aimers had to make their own bomb sights and it consisted of a triangle of plywood with a peg in each angle but the distance between the base pins had to be specific and the distance from the apex had to be specific. On the bombing range they arranged two poles. Again, specific distances apart and the idea on a bombing practice was that the bomb aimer would hold a single pin to his eye and direct the pilot until the two base pins were in line with the poles. Drop the bombs. Practice bombs I hasten to add. And that was that. If you got it right — fine. If you didn’t you did it again and again and again until you got it right. And then we also used some of the reservoirs in this country. Notably Derwent Water in Derbyshire and we used the towers there as the marking points and a marker in the reservoir itself showed roughly where the bombs should drop. And I sometimes wonder how the Sheffield people felt about what was happening to their drinking water being mutilated by practice bombs being dropped but we never heard any comments about it so that was that. In the meantime the special aircraft had arrived. Lancasters, yes. But no mid-upper turret. The bomb doors appeared to be absolutely sealed and these two legs sticking down either side, one either side of the fuselage just behind the nose and one of them had a bevelled wheel on the, at the end of it. And then the bomb arrived. Just like a large glorified dustbin but at least it gave us the indication as to what those legs were for. Quite obviously that is how the bomb was going to be carried. Latched in to those legs. We went on various cross countries and I never understood, oh, sorry — we had no navigation aids so navigation was done by map reading and dead reckoning. Navigator and bomb aimer each had a map. The navigator would tell me what he expected me to see. If I saw it that was fine. If I didn’t I could pick out something else conspicuous and he could, if necessary alter his course accordingly. And that was how we got around. What I could never understand was how you were supposed to map read over the North Sea because one of the turning points was over the North Sea. You had to guarantee that the point you left this coast was the right one. That your dead reckoning out to the point and back again was accurate and you hit our coast in the right place coming back. Fortunately, we seemed to make it fairly regularly and got away with it and that was that. And having gone through all that we then moved on to what was a twilight situation where the front of the aircraft — the cabin and the whole of the front were covered in blue sheeting and the pilot and the bomb aimer wore night given, sorry night vision glasses. So it created quite the twilight situation and we went through the same exercise again and it was on one of those, on our North Sea leg that I saw a dinghy in the water and two characters in it waving like mad. So, Joe told the wireless operator to wireless base with our position and the sighting of the dinghy. And a couple of days later we got a signal from the CO of, I think, a Beaufighter squadron or something similar thanking us for reporting that dinghy. The crew had had to ditch and as soon as their report was received the sea craft, safety craft went out and picked them up and got them back home so we had done something useful. And that was that. And then it was just night flying. Except it had to be night flying in brilliant moonlight and we went through the same procedures with the night flying as we had through the rest of the flying. And then Gibson thought we were ready to go but it didn’t really depend on him. And so I have to say at this stage we still didn’t know what the target was going to be. On the Saturday night we met in the ops room as a squadron. Met Barnes Wallis for the first time to really meet him and he explained to us through film how he’d developed what was referred to as the bouncing bomb. Told us something about the bomb as well. It weighed nine thousand pounds of which six and a half thousand was explosive contained inside it, fused with two depth fuses which were set to explode at a depth of twenty five feet of water but it rotated backwards at five hundred revs a minute. It had to be dropped from exactly sixty feet at a ground speed of two hundred knots. All these things were achieved. For instance, the sixty foot mark was achieved by the boffins at Farnborough calculating the angles at which two lights in the starboard side of the fuselage had to be set so that when they converged that was exactly sixty feet. So, it became more of a crew exercise where the navigator, through the Perspex was watching the lights indicating up or down. The flight engineer was watching the speed and adjusting or asking the pilot to adjust and the bomb aimer was giving corrections to get the bomb sight in line with the target. So, the pilot was being told by three other members of the crew how to fly the aircraft. He didn’t seem to object too much to that because it worked out. And there we go. And so that was on the, on the Saturday night and as I say Barnes Wallis had given us this indication and still couldn’t tell us what the target was but it did mean that with that bomb sight we were dropping the bomb some four hundred and twenty five yards away from the target and it would bounce along until it hit the target which immediately raised conjectures in our minds about the target being the German battleships. Particularly the Tirpitz. Because if you’re going to drop the bombs so far away you would get away before their heavy defence was going to do you much damage. However, on the Sunday all 617 Squadron aircrew in to the operations room and then we saw how wrong you could be. And there were just two models in the brief. The Möhne and the Sorpe. The Eder model hadn’t been completed so it wasn’t there. Big map on the wall showing two routes in and one route out. I think it was the highest powered briefing I ever attended. The AOC was there. The station commander, Gibson of course was there doing the briefing. Barnes Wallis was there. The senior armaments and engineering officers from the station were there. The intelligence officer was there. And the dear old Met man was there. And so Gibson did the briefing and explained that he would take off with two others in formation and they would head for the Möhne. Shortly after him six others in two threes would leave and also head for the Möhne. If, when they then got there, the Möhne hadn’t been breached, they would attack the Möhne under Gibson’s command until it was and then move over to the Eder. Five crews, of which we were one would breach the Sorpe. And of course, the Sorpe had to be different. It didn’t have any towers so there was nothing to sight on and it was so placed in the hills that a head on attack was almost impossible. And we were briefed that we had to fly down one side of the hills with the port outer engine over the dam itself. Fly along the dam until — and estimate to drop the bomb. Sorry the bomb wasn’t being rotated at all. It was an inert drop and the drop estimate to drop the bomb as nearly as possible to the centre of the dam. Pure estimation. No sighting involved. Right. Disappointment from our point of view. We weren’t going to be able to use the bombing practices particularly that we’d been practising and we had no idea of how to carry out that type of attack until we got there but that was the job we were given so that was it. We went to the messes for the pre-operational meal of the good old egg and bacon which came out regularly. Mind you the egg was in various forms, sometimes just the powered stuff or whatever. But it was always there. And there were times when one heard of the story of, in the Sergeants’ Mess one wag saying to another one, ‘Can I have your bacon if you don’t come back?’ And that was a standard phrase that was chatted around. But then out to the aircraft and then came our great shock. Q-Queen was our aircraft. Had behaved perfectly throughout training but when we started up it created a hydraulic leak on run up. Impossible to fix before take-off and there was only one reserve aircraft. It arrived at 3 o’clock that afternoon. It had been bombed up. It had been fuelled up and it had a compass swing with the bomb on board to offset the metal of the bomb against the aircraft compasses. In his anxiety to get out I won’t use the language that he did telling us to get out as quickly as possible before someone else got there and we didn’t get to go. In his anxiety he pulled his parachute and it billowed behind him as we waddled off to the reserve aircraft. And then the real next break — the compass card which had been done on that bombing up wasn’t in the aircraft. Joe had a tremendous vocabulary. I don’t think I heard him use the same word twice but he got in to the truck in a flaming temper. Back to the flights. Fortunately when you got down there the squadron adjutant was there, Humph, who said, ‘For God’s sake Joe calm down. If you don’t you’re going to make a complete pig’s ear of the whole thing.’ Right. Now that did calm him down and our flight sergeant discip, Chiefy Powell, a very efficient man had heard Joe say that he wasn’t going to bother with a parachute so chiefy went off to the flights and collected the compass card and then detoured to the parachute section and picked up another parachute. Gave Joe the compass card in the front of the truck, pushed the parachute in the back, ‘Your compass,’ sorry, ‘Your parachute sir.’ Flight sergeant to a flight lieutenant didn’t make much difference in those days but apart from that to me it illustrated the spirit of the squadron as a whole. The ground crew were right behind the aircrew all the way. It was a very solid squadron all the way through and I think that partially depicted that effort. And so, thirty minutes late we got off. Tell me if I’m talking too much here.
DE: No. You’re doing fine. It’s wonderful stuff.
JJ: Because there was no mid-upper turret the mid-upper gunner was flying in the front turret. Fortunately, they did it in stirrups so he wasn’t kicking me up the backside all the time. But as we were going along, some miles south of Hamm a goods train was chugging along at right angles to our track and Ron Batson in the front turret said, ‘Can I have a go, Joe?’ And I think almost reluctantly Joe said, ‘Well. Yes. Alright.’ So Ron opened up with his little 303s which was all we had in the front turret. What we didn’t know was that it wasn’t just a goods train, it was an armoured goods train and it replied with rather more than 303s. We knew we’d been hit. We heard it and we felt it but it didn’t seem to impede the aircraft at all so we just carried on. And then we arrived at the Sorpe. And the first thing we saw was on the hill, on the side of the hill from which we were supposed to make the approach there was a church steeple. So, Joe, because we weren’t spinning the bomb we’re not governed by any of the conditions of dropping that bomb. So we could go as low or as fast or as slow. Whatever we could. And Joe used the church as a marker. Tried to level up from that point and we started to go down. As I say we’d never practiced this type of attack before and it wasn’t easy. If I wasn’t satisfied I called, ‘dummy run,’ and we went back up again and started again. If Joe wasn’t satisfied he just pulled away and left me to call a dummy run. After about the sixth or seventh of these a voice from the rear turret said, ‘Won’t somebody get that bomb out of here.’ And I had to realise how to become the most unpopular member of the crew in double quick time but I know that both Joe and I were there to do a particular job and we were going to do that to the best of our ability. So we went down and although neither of us said anything to each other I’m sure we both realised that the lower we got the less forward travel that bomb was going to have before it hit the water. And secondly the lower we got the easier it was going to be to estimate the aiming point. On the tenth run we were down to thirty feet. When I said, ‘Bomb gone,’ ‘Thank Christ,’ came from the rear turret but in retrospect I had to see Dave’s point of view. He, as the rear gunner, was responsible for the safety of our aircraft from enemy aircraft and each time you went up you were going over the village and why not somebody there ringing the authorities and saying they’re bombing our, trying to bomb our dam at low level and they’d have had the fighters out there in no time flat and bye bye McCarthy’s crew in, equally, no time flat. So, I can understand to some degree Dave’s anxiety. Because we were so low it was nose up straight away to avoid the hills on the other side. I didn’t see the explosion but Dave did, again, in the rear turret and he estimated that the tower of water went up to about a thousand feet. Well if you’re going to explode six and a half thousand tonnes [sic] of explosive at a depth of twenty five feet it’s going to do an awful lot of damage one way, all ways, including upwards. And that of course was one thing that happened. ‘Not only that,’ said Dave from the rear turret, ‘But in the down flow some of it came in to the turret so I thought I was going to be drowned besides being knocked around by you lot up there.’ Anyway, we circled and we seemed to have cracked the surface of the dam. This was about ten yards. And that was that. Barnes Wallis had told us at briefing because of the structure of the Sorpe it was almost like a pyramid. Concrete centre and built all around with broken rock, earth, packed in tight and then concrete again on the outsides. Barnes Wallis had said, ‘If you can crack it the water pressure will do the rest.’ He thought you’d need at least six bombs to crack it. Obviously one wasn’t going to do it. And what we couldn’t understand was we had been so late taking off yet when we got there, there was no sign of anybody having been there. Nor did anyone arrive once we were there. Where they had gone we didn’t know until we got back. So then we set a course for home and I think, to me, that was the most inspiring part of the trip. Our journey home took us straight over what had been the Möhne dam and we knew from radio broadcast it had been breached and there was water everywhere. It was just like an inland sea and it was still coming out of that dam twenty minutes, half an hour, after it had been breached. It was a wonderful satisfaction for seeing, and we knew by radio broadcast the Eder had been breached too. So at least had the satisfaction of seeing some, real satisfaction of that operation and so off we went home. And then I suppose I have to take some responsibility for what happened next because we’d got off the track. We were supposed to be map, still at low level, map reading and we ended up over a railway and a railway yard but it wasn’t just a railway yard. It was the Hamm marshalling yard and that was where all the ammunitions that were made in the Ruhr were distributed to the various war areas by the transport. Sea or land and rail. Not the healthiest of places to be. Down goes Joe and then again from the rear turret, ‘Who needs guns? At this height all they need to do is change the points.’ Dave had that facility for brightening every particular situation. Joe said, ‘Right. We’re going out the way we came in. That’s it.’ So we did and we got back to Scampton and Scampton in those days was still a grass airfield and so landings were inclined to be a little more lumpy than now, than normal runway landings but ours was rather more than something lumpy and we were starboard wing low. And the flight engineer, looking out of the Perspex said, ‘We’ve got a burst tyre, skipper.’ So, he taxied around to dispersal and the chiefy engineer took the aircraft off to examine it and when he came back the first thing he did was to give us a sheer rollicking for getting his aircraft shot up in the way it was. But he explained that the shot had gone through the starboard undercarriage nacelle, burst the tyre en route, had then passed through the wing and landed in the roof, just above the navigator’s head. How lucky can you get? But we got away with it and that was that. Right. That was it. We then discovered why there seemed to be nobody else there. Les Munro, a New Zealand pilot, had been shot, shot up crossing the coast going in. Apart from other damage to the aircraft his communication system, systems, internal and external were completely destroyed and since it was obviously a communications exercise or operation there was no point him going on so he came back. We had been briefed that we were not to drop the — go back with the bomb on board and there was no explanation given but it also had, apart from the depth fuses it also had a self-destruct fuse so if we had to drop it away from the dams, if we dropped it it would explode and the Germans wouldn’t get a copy. Les landed. Couldn’t, couldn’t get rid of his bomb anyway so he had to land with it on. And they dashed out of the aircraft as soon as he was down, to get around in case. And I think the reason for that was that those in authority weren’t quite sure how that landing on the grass airfield with bumping — how the bomb would react to that. Would it drop off, explode and blow up the aircraft and crew there. So that was said. ‘Don’t bring the bomb back.’ And, as I say, Les and his crew got out pretty sharpish just in case. And then Geoff Rice had been flying low over the Zuiderzee. Again, to be drawing flak and he subsequently admitted he was foolish enough not to watch his altimeter and he got the bomb in the water. It whipped it off and the aircraft flew over the top of it. It didn’t do the aircraft any good of course. Apart from damage to the fuselage it ripped off the tail wheel but it also knocked over the Elsan inside the aircraft and the contents of the Elsan flowed in to the rear gunner’s turret. He wasn’t very happy about that either but there we go. Then he came back and landed. In fact, he was coming in to land and Les was at the same time. And since Les hadn’t been able to communicate to air traffic he had to go in as he was and the two of them were going in at the same time so Geoff had to fall off. Go around again. Eventually they both landed safely. Byers had been shot down and Barlow, I think it was Barlow, had hit the top of an electric pylon which fired the aircraft straightaway. It crashed into a field and killed the crew. But the bomb came off at the same time and it didn’t explode. And the only explanation I could think of was at that time the bomb aimer was waiting until they got nearer to the target to fuse it and that was the only thing I could think of. And there’s a picture, a German picture, I think of the mayor of the locality standing on top of the bomb [laughs] and it didn’t go off unfortunately. But there we are. But then, yes, the Germans had a copy and we know that they worked on it but fortunately, or unfortunately, Hitler decided the V1, V2 sites were much more important and they concentrated on that. So, they didn’t make a replica. But it did mean that in this country the reaction was felt that they would make a replica and attack our dams in the same way. So, all our major dams were much more heavily defended than they had been before.
DE: They wouldn’t have anything that would have carried that bomb at the time though either. Would they?
JJ: Sorry?
DE: They didn’t have any aircraft that would have carried that sort of bomb at the time either.
JJ: No. Knowing the Germans they would very quickly have modified something to do it. They were very efficient in those, that sort of thing. However, that accounted for the five. There had been six reserve aircraft who took off much later and they were briefed by radio as to which dam bombed, to head for and three of them were allocated to the Sorpe. The first one was shot down as he crossed the coast. Ken Brown, Canadian flight sergeant, was the only one who got through and as far as we know, difficult to make out but he had the same sort of attack as we did. But flight sergeant what’s his name. I can’t remember. But anyway, he was the third one and then mist was developing and he couldn’t find the Sorpe and so, getting close to daylight he thought, ‘We’d better go home.’ And so, they came home and he landed, again with his bomb on board. Fortunately, again, nothing happened. However, the next morning Gibson sent him back to the squadron that he came from for failing to carry out an operation for which he’d been briefed. It sounds hard but when you consider the money that had been spent on training, variation of the aircraft and all the equipment and so on and when the other thing you consider — the loss of crews. I think he was justified. But that was the devastating part of the whole night. Nineteen aircraft took off. Three returned for various reasons. Of the sixteen that went on only eight came back. We lost eight aircraft. Three aircrew managed to escape and were taken prisoner. The rest of the aircrews were killed. Eight aircraft. Fifty three aircraft [sic] had gone just like that. Quite a shattering end for one squadron. For one night’s operation. And although the bars were open at the messes when we got back, I didn’t drink in those days so I wasn’t concerned but I do know that those or at least I’m sure that those who were drinking was not on the success of the raid but on commiseration for all those that had gone and wouldn’t be coming back. I’m sure that feeling was far more uppermost in everybody’s minds that night. It took a lot to get over. And I suppose I went to bed and eventually I went to sleep but those hours. The Dams Raid, as far, as I was concerned had finished.
HH: Did you ever imagine then how that particular night would be possibly the most remembered night of the bombing war?
JJ: I remember and still do. It was the most remembered night of my operational career and will always be. Putting it in plain language it was the highlight of my operational career and I think those who survived would feel the same way about it. It was difficult to imagine it happening in the first place. It was equally difficult to see how much was going to be achieved. And I have an aversion for what I call retrospective historians. There are a number of them. Not a number of them a few of them after the war, claimed that the dams raid should never have taken place. It achieved nothing. It cost far too much money. It cost a lot of lives, loss of aircraft and it deviated aircraft from the general bomber offensive. I used to say as a young man if I ever met one of those people I’d hope my hands were tied behind my back because I’m not too sure what I would do with them. But I just and still would ask them two questions. ‘Were you there? Were you aware, were you personally aware of the circumstances and conditions of that time? The answer to both those questions is no so keep your bloody mouth shut.’ And that’s the way I really look at it now. Fortunately, I’ve found that the historians I have met subsequently have a much different view of the whole thing. Yes, they’ve researched it thoroughly and they’ve been as non-critical as possible in the whole thing. Rob Owen is our squadron historian. A great character, he really is. He too has recently passed his professorship and anyway he — that was the sort of thing that happened, there we are. However, after that we, yes, we had a week’s leave but beyond that we sat and waited. Re-equipped with standard aircraft. Re-equipped with a new bomb sight, the Stabilised Automatic Bomb Sight which was much more accurate than the Mark XIV that we had been using up to that time. And so we became a special target squadron rather than part of the main bombing force and so, we did attacks on ammunition factories, rail viaducts and all that sort of thing. Major structures and ammunition supplies. Firstly, in Germany and when they’d been bashed around, in to France. And during that time we had a new squadron commander. Leonard Cheshire. To my mind the finest squadron commander I served under during the whole of my operational career.
HH: Why was that?
JJ: He was a perfect gentleman to start with. I know it sounds stupid but that was part of it. I remember the first talk he had with us as a squadron. He said, ‘If you get,’ amongst other things, ‘If you get into trouble off duty I’ll do what I can to help you. If you get into trouble on duty I’ll make it a damn sight worse for you.’ So we always knew where we stood from the word go. But he was the type of man who knew exactly what he wanted to do and what it was all about. And he developed, amongst other things, his own marking technique which was ultimately adopted by 5 Group as the 5 Group marking technique. He and Micky Martin mostly did the marking. Initially using the Lancaster. And the thing that really makes Cheshire stick out — on the French targets particularly and on one French armament factory, again the name escapes me, but he, before he marked the target he made three low level flights over the factory and then marked the target and the factory was bombed and absolutely knocked around. And a short while afterwards we got a letter from what I must imagine was, we referred to as the foreman of the working party thanking him for giving, giving them the warning so that they could get out in time. Only one person was killed and that was by a piece of flying debris and that was all the others out of the way and he did this on several targets in that sort of way. The thing that really finished him operationally — he was an observer in the American aircraft that dropped the first atom bomb on Japan and he said, ‘If that’s what we’re aiming for I want nothing more to do with it.’ All that immediate devastation, life, everything anyway. ‘No. That’s not for me.’ So, he did no more operations and then ultimately when he retired he set up the Cheshire Homes in this country and overseas as well. And when I finally retired, that was a long time afterwards, I was [pause] we went back to Torquay. To Gwyn’s home. And I somehow found myself on the town council and we were opening a social services home for some of our residents and Leonard Cheshire was coming down to open it and he saw me in amongst the people there and he came over, shook hands, and mentioned me by name. I thought that must have been at least twenty years previously that we’d known each other. What a wonderful mind. What a wonderful memory. I have nothing but praise for that man in everything that he did. And he married Sue Ryder who was also a big charity worker. I think, I’m not sure but I think she was a Roman Catholic and I think he converted at that time. But yes, I’m waiting. There’s a function coming up. I’m not sure when but shortly, to celebrate, I think it’s the hundred and twenty fifth birthday of Leonard Cheshire and I’ve been invited to go along to that. I’m not sure quite where it is or when it is now but that’s up to Jenny when she, when she gets back. But it’s the sort of thing which yes, I really want to go to that because I really have so much respect for that man and that was it.
HH: But you went on, if I’m not mistaken, to complete two tours.
JJ: [unclear] I should have gone on more but in April of ‘44 Gwyn was expecting our first child and Joe knew her quite well and he pulled me aside one day and said, ‘Johnny. Gwyn must be worried stiff about whether this child is ever going to have a father or whether she’s ever going to have a husband. You’ve got to give her a break. Pack it up now.’ And he made me realise that yes, I had other responsibilities besides fighting the war. Operationally fighting a war. And with great reluctance I left the crew at that stage. They went on and did, I think, at least ten more trips but by this time Leonard Cheshire had done a hundred and the AOC Sir Ralph Cochrane called him into group headquarters and said, ‘Leonard. You’ve done more than your share. Pack it up. That’s not a request. It’s an order. And when you get back to the squadron tell McCarthy, Munro and Shannon to do the same thing.’ They were the only three original pilots that formed the squadron and that was when the crew broke up. But Joe, as an American, stayed in the Canadian air force and became a wing commander flying and went on to operational flying stations. The thing that still sticks very much in my mind. I mentioned how the friendship between us seemed to develop. After the war he and Alice, his wife, would come over for the reunions and Gwyn and I would go. We’d meet up and then we’d take ourselves off on a Friday night off to a pub or something like that and have a quiet meal on our own and talk about our families. What we had done with them, what we were doing with them, what we were expecting from them and that sort of thing. And that family chat went on right up until the time that Joe died in 1996. We had a wonderful relationship. And his son, also Joe, I still have that same sort of contact with him and his wife. And that, for me, was the outstanding part of my war. The established friendship between not only between the two of us but between our families and that was really great. It really was.
HH: It comes across very strongly in your book your dedication to your family and your commitment to your family. Where did, where did that come from?
JJ: From my childhood where I didn’t have any family relationship. When life was, to put it politely, pretty miserable until I met Gwyn’s family. A Welsh family. Her father, as I said, was in the army in North Africa but her mother was a lovely French lady. Chatter chatter chatter. Laugh. She had two brothers and a sister and their family, as such, were all the same. Always chattering with each other, chattering with each other and they got on so well together and I thought, my first reaction was, ‘My God. What have I let myself in for?’ But I soon discovered what family was all about and that’s where it established. And what it has done, in fact, has made me realise how poor my family relationship was in my younger days. My very young days. My sister and one of my sisters in law was also very friendly as far as I was concerned. They were the only two. Alena was my surrogate mother for quite some time. Only seven years older than me but she managed us both extremely well and it was the sort of thing that I find that the family I’ve got now — they’re just great. And the support I get from my immediate family, immediate family, is absolutely wonderful. I found, when Gwyn was in hospital the children came over. That’s Sue and Jenny used to come over and visit her in hospital and Morgan was over on this one occasion and we went back to the flat and I thanked him for coming down and the other two for coming to see mum, you know and I said, ‘It’s great for her and it’s certainly great for me as well.’ He said, ‘Well you know why that is don’t you dad?’ I didn’t know. He said, ‘It’s the way we were brought up.’ And my God — coming from my son. I was absolutely amazed because he and I hadn’t agreed awfully well in his teenage years. His idea of discipline and mine tended to differ a bit but we got over that and I think the real climax of our relationship has come with that book where he’s written the last bit. When I read that there were tears in my eyes. So sincere. So, so much to the point. And I loved his last sentence, ‘How a young, how a great life for a poor farming Lincolnshire lad whose only friend was a pig’ [laughs]. I thought that was a great way to finish it.
HH: Yeah. After the war you remained in the RAF.
JJ: Yeah.
HH: But you were moved around an awful lot.
JJ: Yes.
HH: And how did you cope with — how did your family and how did you cope with all of that moving?
JJ: Very well in actual fact except that it came to a point where we had to consider the children’s education. Particularly Morgan’s. Why we should be more concerned with the boy and not the girls I don’t know but there we are. And he had to go to boarding school but he went with our promise that if we ever went overseas we would take him out and take him with us. But as a family, from my point of view I’ve always got the family with me for as long, not all the time obviously but when we got an idea of a posting if we had time we would go down to the area of the posting and see if we could find accommodation down there. And when the posting came along went straight into that accommodation. If we didn’t we’d book a, book into the local hotel and Gwyn would look for accommodation whilst I was at work but we always managed to stay together as much as we could. And I used that on one occasion when I know I didn’t do myself any good at all career wise. But I’d been, I’d been on a course in Norfolk. I think they called it a senior officer’s administrative course. One of these courses where you’re taught when you’re writing official letters to leave so much margin on the left and so much on the right and the spacing of the paragraphs and so on and that is how it should be done. There was a little bit more about the course than that but that was the general gist of it and when the course was ended everybody got their postings except me. So, I said to the course commander, ‘Where am I going?’ ‘Well we’re still trying to find out.’ And eventually he came to me. He said, ‘You’re going to the twin engine bomber OTU to start with and then on to the V force OTU and then on to a V force squadron.’ I said, ‘I’m not.’ ‘What do you mean you’re not?’ I said, ‘I’ve had five moves in fifteen months. I think it’s time I spent more time with my family.’ He said, ‘Well. That’s what you’ve got. ’ Went back to my station, which was St Mawgan at that stage and had to go and see the AOC. And amongst other things he said, ‘You realise this won’t do your career any good Johnson.’ I was still a flight lieutenant at that stage. ‘I do sir. But what I do really want — to have more time with my family and I think I should have a chance to do that.’ ‘Alright. Be it on your own head.’ And I was posted then to recruit school at Bridgnorth. And people said, Good God. Tech Training Command. Recruit school. What a,’ so and so, ‘Awful posting.’ I found it didn’t work out that way at all because it was the first time I’d been associated with man management. It had always been aircrew stuff before that. I’d either been flying or an instruction point of view. And no two days were the same at recruit school. There was always something odd would happen. On one particular occasion, in the evening, a corporal came down to quarters and said, ‘Would you come back up to the squadron sir? A recruit up there is threatening to commit suicide with his bayonet.’ I went up and this laddie was sitting on the edge of his bed with his bayonet in his hand and I said, ‘Why? What’s this all about?’ He said, ‘Well, I don’t think I’m doing at all well on this course. I don’t think I should be doing it anyway. I don’t think I’m doing anybody else any good at all. I think there’s only one way to do it and that’s to end it.’ I said, ‘Just listen a minute. Why don’t you make your mind up to do this course properly? To do it to the best of your ability and then find how much better off you feel about it. Just try that and see how it goes.’ And he looked at me and he thought and I said, ‘Give me that bayonet,’ which he did and he went on to do one of the best recruits on the flight at that stage. That was the odd sort of thing that happened. Another character came in one day to ask if he could have a ‘48’ for his grandmother’s eighty third birthday party. I said, ‘For your cheek yes you can but by golly if you’re not back here on Monday sunshine you’re in dead lumber.’ But there we are. Odd sort of things that happened there.
HH: Was that instructor experience that made you consider teaching as a career post-RAF?
JJ: No. I don’t think that really came into it. Um, what made me? When I, sorry, my last tour was the worst of the whole of my career and it was back to Hemswell. In the operations room. And we were controlling the Thor guided missiles. We had four sites of Thor, the American Thor guided missiles and we were controlling those and it was a question of — I’d never been on a shift system before and this was a ghastly one. You did two days from four ‘til, sorry from eight in the morning ‘til four in the afternoon. Two days from four until midnight and then two days from midnight until eight the next morning. Your system just didn’t get used to anything and then you had what they claimed to be a sleeping day and a day off. Well, since I was living out at that stage at our home we had taken over. My sister’s home then. And we had a big garden there so my sleeping day was spent in the garden most of the time and that was it but I felt that — I know I’d got a letter then from the, I suppose it was the MOD by that time saying it was unlikely that I would get any further promotion and thank you very much. Goodbye. We’d discussed this for some time actually. Time we started to move and look for something else. But then the question was, what the hell can I do? I‘ve no qualifications for going outside but I’d done a lot of instruction in various ways in the service. That’s what made me think about the possibility of teaching and so I applied for junior teaching because I felt that if I went secondary, into a secondary modern school their idea of discipline and mine would be different. And my idea of dealing with that discipline would be different from the authorities. I’d probably be out of a job more often than I was in it. So I went for junior and that was — and I was accepted for that. On the course I did a three year course in two years as a mature student and the authorities found two teaching practices for us. We had to find our own third. When we came back from Singapore Jenny had just a year to do in her junior education and we’d heard of the [pause] private school, primary school, Highfields in Newark and we went to have a look at it, liked it and she got a place there so when I did the teacher’s course I went to see the head to see if I could do my third teaching practice there and he said, ‘Yes, surely.’ And that meant I got to know the school extremely well. I don’t think the authorities were very pleased I’d chosen a private school rather than a state school but that was just tough, that was the way it went. And when I finished the teaching practice they said, ‘If I get a vacancy would you like to come here?’ Too right I would. And so off we went and then I got my first posting to a state school. To a class of forty six C stream.
DE: Crikey.
JJ: Who didn’t want to know the first thing about anything. Except one lad I always remember. He said, ‘I don’t know nothing about reading and writing, sir. But I do know my money.’ He was a scrap merchant’s son so that was understandable. But that was the sort of thing that I — but during that year, that first year, the head from Highfields rang me and said, ‘I’ve got a vacancy coming up in September. Are you still interested?’ Was I interested? Too right I was interested [laughs] and so I had time to give notice to the LEA and moved in to the private school and that was where I learned to teach. To teach children who wanted to learn. Okay. The parents were paying for them to get that education but that was what it was all about and the teaching staff were dedicated to providing an education. It was a wonderful experience. And I went on with that for five years. But during that time I’d got a part time job on a Saturday morning at Rampton Hospital which, I don’t know if you know it, but the hospital for the bad boys. A special hospital for the bad boys and I decided to, with my previous private training, school training, to take on a horticultural class there.
HH: I’m just intrigued as to why you decided to that because it must have been quite challenging work.
JJ: I think it was another interest and it was a return to the work that I’d been doing before I joined the air force. I think that came into it as well. Mind you, yes. There were some shocks. You had to draw your keys in the morning. No. Sorry we’ll come back in a minute. But after a while the hospital decided they wanted an adult education section and they applied to the LEA. And the LEA agreed. So that was done and that was where I transferred from junior’s education to adult education. A different kind and very different in the level of the teaching.
HH: But much more difficult pupils.
JJ: No. Except that whenever they came in staff came in with them in case there was any problem. And no. They never had one as far as I was concerned but I still went on with the horticultural project as well and it was getting to the stage where they seemed to become much more interested in what they were doing. We had our own patch. We cultivated it, we grew the vegetables and passed them in to the hospital window for use and so on and I began to wonder would it be at all possible to take these people to a garden centre to see what goes on outside of a hospital garden and I discussed it with a senior nurse who told me in words of one syllable not to be so stupid. And we argued and we argued and we argued and, in the end, he said, ‘Alright. Be it on your own head,’ he said, ‘But you have to take staff with you.’ ‘I appreciate that but I hope they’ll come out of uniform,’ which they did thank God and we went off. Before we went I said to these characters, ‘Look this is a job on my head. If any of you do anything stupid on this outing I’ll have your guts for garters when you come back.’ But that was the sort of language they understood. We went off and I was amazed at how interested they were in the garden centre. In what they saw and how interested they were in the plants themselves too. We took them into a café for a cup of tea. They behaved themselves perfectly. So, we went back to Rampton and the head nurse was waiting for us when we got back there. He said, ‘Congratulations. How did, how did you manage it?’ I said, ‘With confidence.’ That was the end of that conversation and I felt that from my point of view that had been an achievement. And in the meantime my local hospital have the mental handicapped in Balderton. Not a term I’m supposed to use myself but they call them something like learning disabled or something like that. They’re still mentally handicapped as far as I’m concerned but there we are. That’s another story. But this was again a totally different type of education. It was a social education and we were taking the better of the patients and trying to build them up to be able to get them back in to the community. And we had our own classroom. I had a full time deputy and four part time teachers. Two mornings. Two for mornings. Two for afternoons. And we had a classroom, a kitchen, a bedroom all available there and we worked on through that and we had a group of, I suppose, a dozen of them and I was there for fourteen years. My last fourteen years was there and during that time after we’d carried on this social education for quite some years we managed to get three houses at various times. Two council and one private. And before me moved the patients in we went down to talk to the local people about the people that were coming to mix with them and then invited those people back up to the hospital to see them at work up there and see how they were going on. When we made the movement in so much easier for the patients and fortunately easier for the residents to accept them.
HH: What sort of mental disabilities did they have?
JJ: Good question [pause] I suppose one could only describe it as a very slowness in learning. An inability to learn in actual fact is probably the easiest way to describe it. There were variations of course. We had some Mongoloid patients there and I have to say although some of those could be very angry at times and very discouraging they were probably some of the lovingest people that were about. They seemed to love everybody. Great people then from that point of view.
HH: And you had quite a lot of success in rehousing people did you?
JJ: In those days and in that case yes we did and when I, by the time I left none of those people that we had moved into the houses had been returned to the hospital.
HH: Fantastic.
JJ: They’d all managed to stay out. Either with work — some of them got work. Others had picked up with other things looking after the house and sort of doing whatever they wanted to do.
HH: And what did you find especially satisfying about that kind of work?
JJ: The possibility of bringing some of those people back in to the community so they could learn to live in a community rather than in a hospital situation. That was the most satisfying thing about it I think.
HH: And then after that as far as I remember you retired and you moved back down to the West Country.
JJ: Torquay. Yes.
HH: But it wasn’t the end of retirement really because then you became a town councillor.
JJ: Yes [laughs]. That didn’t for last for long mind you. Three years. Then somebody else beat me to the next election. That was it but however yes, and again I don’t know if you know Torquay at all but it’s the sort of place, when I was first there was a lovely seaside place. It was much more modern when we I went to live there and when I was on the council I was on the planning. Got on to the planning committee and we used to go around to these various places where people had asked for planning permission to do something and as we went around I saw some of these buildings and I said to the people, ‘Who the hell gave permission for that to be built?’ The whole place was being destroyed by these ugly looking places that were being put up. However, they seemed to get on with it and that was it. And I was there, it was at that time that I met Leonard Cheshire again. But I’ve [pause] whilst I was at Balderton Hospital Gwyn was secretary of our village primary school and she retired in the summer and I retired at the Christmas and I said to her, ‘I’ve had twenty-two years in the service. I’ve had twenty-two years in various education. Now I want twenty-two years’ retirement.’ I rather overstepped that one unfortunately. She hasn’t. But life didn’t quite finish then. I thought it would when she died but there again the children stepped in and they said, ‘Dad, you haven’t talked about your wartime at all. Why don’t you start talking about it? It would at least give you something else to think about apart from grieving for mum all the time which we know you will be doing.’ And so, I thought about it and I tried it and it worked. Yes. It was something else to think about and I started occasional teaching talks to various groups. I didn’t volunteer but it started really when I came here to Bristol in that an individual who I just knew as an individual at that time, came to see me. Would I consider talking to their ‘41 Club? And that was Peter Wass that finally turned out to be. He then onwards introduced me to so many clubs and associations I’d never even heard of but that’s when the talking really started and the sort of thing which, on the seventieth anniversary of the dams raid, it just burst wide open and that’s when Jenny came in to her own and she took over as she said, secretary and she arranged all the meetings. The talks. The television programmes and either she put it on the calendar or told me to put it on the calendar. All I had to do was look on the calendar to see what I was supposed to be doing this week. But then came the time when I had begun to get movement, action, down further south and then Morgan, my son took over then. He lives in Surrey so he claimed to be secretary number two. Jenny said, ‘In that case I’m the PA,’ and that’s the way it stayed ever since.
DE: Why do you think you didn’t talk about it until that point?
JJ: I don’t think it was my wife’s objection anyway. I think maybe more [pause] that I didn’t think it was important at that stage to talk about it. It had happened. I’d seen all that I had to see during the war and that was it. I now had other things to think about and that was basically the only thing. I’d hate to say, I can’t see any real reason for it but that’s the only one what I can work out now that you’ve asked the question. And I think it’s more likely that having lost Gwyn I was — I had to have something else to do and that was the thing at that stage that I knew most about. My wartime experience. Why not start talking about it. Again it wasn’t my — it was the children who suggested it and by God, they were right.
HH: Well it has led to a lot of recognition for you and I would like, on behalf of the IBCC to congratulate you greatly for your MBE. On the award of your MBE. You seem, in your book, to have made a lot of mention of trying all of your life to get away from Lincolnshire and I’m very pleased that Lincolnshire beckons you back as it will be doing on the 7th of September when the university awards you an honorary doctorate. Well, well received and well deserved and I would just like to say thank you very much for talking to us this afternoon in this interview and I think we’ll stop the interview now.
DE: Okay. Right.
HH: And we will then go on to set up a short video.
DE: Okay.
HH: Thank you so much for speaking to us.
JJ: And may I say, may I say thank you to Lincoln University for making this wonderful offer. To me it means as much, if not more than the MBE in that it’s more concerned with my after-service life. The part which I live and live with and use quite often now. And I find that that has been another means of keeping me active. I spend quite a lot of time away from here but it’s time which I enjoy. I’ve come to enjoy talking to people. Meeting people and talking to them. And if I’m asked would I talk to a organisation, club or whatever — to me that means they’re interested and if they’re interested yes, I’ll talk to them. It’s a bit of a nostalgic trip for me anyway so it cuts both ways. But there’s another aspect recently, more recently and that is talking to junior schools. Now, the junior schools are teaching, outside, our junior schools are now teaching our World War Two history and I’ve been asked to talk to one or two of them and I found that the thing that amazes me is the look of interest in the children’s eyes when they come into the room. That makes it for me to start with. And when I finish talking and ask for questions the hands go up all over the place. Where the hell do I start? But to me that means they’re now learning something about why the country they’re living in is the country they’re living in and what it might have been had things gone the other way. And I think that’s a necessary part of their early education so they can complete it I think. And this is where I think the IBCC is a much more personal memorial than the Green Park one. Yes, the Green Park one is great. I take my hat off to the sculptor for the way he’s got the look in those crew people’s eyes as they’re waiting for their comrades to come back and so on but this — on operation if you’re coming back the Lincoln route when you got to the Cathedral you were home and the sighting of the IBCC in sight of Lincoln Cathedral is perfect for that and then with all those names written on the wall. Those names are there for perpetuity and all generations to come will be able to see those and think — why? How did they get here? And what did they do to get here? And their memory will still be cherished. As I say their home in name and their name will go on as long as it’s on that wall. I don’t know whether they completed it. I know they did all those of the aircrew from the Lincolnshire Bomber Command stations. I gather they were going to do the whole of the Bomber Command losses and I think that will take quite a lot of doing.
HH: The rest. You carry on.
DE: So, they’re in production at the moment. They’re making the steel walls.
JJ: Ah yeah.
DE: Yeah.
HH: They should be on site by the middle of October.
JJ: How wonderful, it really is. And I take my hat off to those people for the work they’ve done on that. It really is wonderful. And I get great pleasure in being able just to add a little bit towards whatever the construction is. That is, to me, as important a part of the charities I get as anything else.
HH: Well we do look forward to having you at the opening ceremony in April.
JJ: I hope to be there. I know I will have the April calendar blocked out [laughs].
DE: Marvellous.
HH: Thank you so much.
DE: Thank you for the interview and thank you for all the work you do for the IBCC.
JJ: And thank you again.
DE: Wonderful talking to you. Thank you.
JJ: Please give my thanks to whoever’s concerned at the university.
HH: Thank you. Well we’re going to meet again for the occasion because I am going to be introducing you in the Cathedral. So, what we will do, do you want to take a bit of a break? Have a cup of tea or something?
Dublin Core
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AJohnsonGL170801-01
Title
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Interview with Johnny Johnson. Two
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Type
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Sound
Language
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eng
Format
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01:56:39 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
George ‘Johnny’ Johnson was born in rural Lincolnshire. As a child he won a scholarship to Lord Wandsworth’s Agricultural College in Hampshire. He volunteered for the Royal Air Force at the outbreak of the Second World War and was selected for pilot training. He was sent to train in the United States. As he was so keen to get a posting, he trained instead as an air gunner. His first posting was as a spare gunner with 97 Squadron. Then he re-trained as a bomb aimer and was again posted as a spare bomb aimer until he was joined a crew in 617 Squadron to train for the Eder, Möhne and Sorpe operation, when it was still known as Squadron X. His pilot was Joe McCarthy. Their target was the Sorpe dam. That operation was the most memorable of his operational career. He also recounts his remaining years in the Royal Air Force, his second career as an educationist working with adults with severe learning needs and his subsequent role in local politics and as a public speaker.
Creator
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Dan Ellin
Heather Hughes
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-01
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Brian May
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
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Germany
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Sorpe Dam
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1942
1943
5 Group
617 Squadron
97 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bomb aimer
bombing
bouncing bomb
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
Gibson, Guy Penrose (1918-1944)
Lancaster
love and romance
memorial
operations room
RAF Scampton
RAF Woodhall Spa
sanitation
training
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/376/7301/PHouriganM1804.1.jpg
710d60d65d0d6dc0948b05c33ec1e73c
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/376/7301/AHouriganM180416.2.mp3
e72ccdc7eb2d57d68e893377766b8057
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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Hourigan, Margaret
Margaret Hourigan
M Hourigan
Description
An account of the resource
158 items. An oral history interview with Margaret Hourigan (1922 - 2023, 889775 Royal Air Force) and 156 target photographs taken by 50 and 61 Squadron aircraft during 1944. Margaret Hourigan served in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force as a plotter with Fighter Command before being posted to RAF Waddington and RAF Skellingthorpe with Bomber Command.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Margaret Hourigan and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-04-16
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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Hourigan,M
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DE: So, a quick introduction, this is an interview for the International Bomber Command Centre. My name is Dan Ellin, today I am interviewing Margaret Hourigan nee Parsons it is the 16th of April 2018, we’re at the IBCC Digital Archive, Riseholme and also present in the room is David Hourigan. So, Margaret, could you start?
MH: Start yes.
DE: Start by telling us a little about your life?
MH: Yes, my childhood. If I start, I remember 1926, I remember the Great Strike. And my father was a miner when he came back from the War, the only job he could get, he was very badly wounded in the first World War. And I remember the, standing on the front step of our little house on Lowmoor Road and a man ran in toour front door. And the police outside, was it police or a soldier? On a black horse reared up and the man ran under the horse’s legs into our house and out the back door. And I don’t know what happened but police everywhere. I think the miners were striking, maybe they were being a bit angry, I don’t know. But my Dad was a safety man and so he was down the pit so it was OK. I remember that very plainly, I think it was 1926. I would have been four. And then, my Dad was very, very ill after that he got badly burnt at work. I remember [unclear] to think he was going to die. We were too little to know that. Anyway, he didn’t die, eventually he recovered. And I can’t remember moving but we moved to another house and my Nanna and Grandpa left and they had a fish and chip shop which we took over so my Dad worked there. He also worked at the pit, he also worked as a gardener for a doctor, and he also had his own allotment. So, he repaired our shoes and cut our hair when we had no money. And we were always well fed through the Depression years but I remember terrible scenes of children with no shoes in the snow. Awful things we saw at Kirkby. And I think then the miners didn’t get any help if they were injured at work. I think they went home and had to suffer. I can’t, I know we were all very Labour, when the Daily Herald paper came out we all thought we were in heaven, and all very Labour. I’m not now [chuckles] we were then. And we used to go to, when I was a little bit older, we used to go to Hucknall Air Display. There was a little aerodrome there, and they had Tiger Moths. I used to think ‘One day, God I’d love to fly them.’ And every year we visited until I went to work and then I decided that I would join up as soon as war was declared. Oh, belonged to the Labour Party League of Youth then and we were very hostile little bunch and when Mr Chamberlain came back from Berlin waving his bit of paper we all went mad and got very angry. And the Labour Party said they were going to disband us if we didn’t shut up. One of our trips was to go to the pictures and we sat down when they played God Save the Queen or King or we walked out according to our mood. Anyway, soon as war was declared whoosh we all joined up except one poor man who was a true conscientious objector. He never did join up and he had awful struggle, but he never gave in. We were all wimps, as soon as war was declared.
DE: What happened to him do you know?
MH: I don’t know. I know he was penalised and punished and treated like dirt. I don’t know. He didn’t die because one day David answered the telephone, somebody in Canberra saying ‘Anybody from Kirkby in Ashfield?’ And David rang up and said ‘Yes, my mother is.’ So he chatted I said ‘I remember his Dad he was a conchie.’ We never heard from him again. I mean I didn’t mean to be derogatory, I thought he was a wonderful man.
DE: Um. But you, you, you joined up?
MH: We joined the WAAFs yes. And I went to stay with my Auntie Margaret. She had a shop on Highson Green at Basford in Nottingham. And early hours of the morning I trotted off to Nottingham station. I went to St Pancras, how I got across London I don’t know. I’d never been before and I went to Kingsway and there was a male clerk there and a doctor. And they talked to me all morning and then the male clerk took me to the pictures at lunchtime. You know they had those newsreel places then, and I shut my eyes the whole way through because I thought if I can’t see, if my eyes aren’t good enough, they won’t take me I was sitting there [chuckles] [unclear] a right nutcase. Anyway, took me back to Kingsway afterwards and must have had a cup of tea or something. And the doctor said ‘You’ve got a heart of a lion.’ Always remember that.
DE: Um.
And then I had a medical, went home and I think it was very early January 1940 I got the call up. Freezing cold winter. I don’t know how I got to London, I suppose I did. And went to Watford, think it was Watford. And it was freezing cold there and a dirty, dirty billet the men had been in, and nobody had been in for months, anyway it was really dirty. And the water froze in the pipes, we couldn’t have a wash. The girls had water bottles that froze in bed. I woke up the next morning and I went to the sick bay, and I was covered in big red blobs. And the doctor said ‘Haven’t ever seen flea bites before?’ I hadn’t. Anyway, they must have gone away because we started marching up and down, up and down, and round and round, got our uniforms and then I was posted to Leighton Buzzard. I found I’d been enrolled as a clerk,special duties, so I must have talked well and got a very high classification. And went to Leighton Buzzard, started plotting. And then one day they said ‘You and two other girls are posted to Bawdsey Manor.’ It’s down near Felixstowe where Watson-Watt invented the radar. [unclear] arrived late at night, remember crossing water but it actually wasn’t an island, it was just a little inlet to get across to the house. And a man rowed the boat over and somewhere I met some soldiers. I don’t know how because they said would I ask the girls at the base if they would like to come to a dance? I thought they’d all be too posh to go but they ‘Oh yes.’ So, we went to the dance with the sailors, the soldiers and it was a huge house. Lots of rooms, lots of cockroaches. And in the morning I woke up and they had kedgeree for breakfast. I’d never seen it before. I was just used to cornflakes or porridge and they had this great big thing of kedgeree. Anyway, the Indian educated girls all loved it. A lot of girls had been brought up by their families living in India, they thought it was wonderful, I didn’t. Anyway, we started on the radar and we had a green screen, like a television screen, with a green line wavering line that went across it really quickly. And echoes, a big echo would be an aeroplane, and wiggle, wiggle so many in the group. I couldn’t do it, I hated it, made me feel sick. Anyway, I persisted and the other girls just had a little green handle, they could turn it and illuminate the echo and say ‘Twelve plus’ and ‘twenty thousand feet.’ I could not do it. So, I went to the WAAF officer in the end and I said ‘I hate it, I can’t do it.’ And there was a man in the office with her. He said. And she said ‘Yes, yes.’ I couldn’t go, he thought I knew too much. Anyway, outside was the big pylons, you know?
DE: Um.
MH: And one interesting day before I left we were walking, a WAAF and I, were walking along the edge of green grass and the Channel was here in front of us. And I could see ships out at sea and big black birds flying all round it. And I thought they were big huge seagulls. And as we were walking along we saw the Coastguard. He was dancing up and down, waving his arms at us. We thought ‘Oh, he’s gone mad.’ And when we caught up with him, just as we caught up with him, a low flying German aeroplane went over. It would only be a hundred feet, we could see the pilot laughing. And he said ‘I was trying to warn you.’ Well where could we go? Nowhere to lie down and hide. Anyway, he was laughing. The German pilot must have thought it was a bit of a joke. We were both in uniform.
DE: Um
MH: Anyway, he flew inland for a little while and he came out further down the coast, we could still see him. He wasn’t laughing when he came back out. And he went back. The black birds were the first attack on a convoy.
DE: I see.
MH: So that was that. Nearly written off before I started. And then I went to Fighter Command Headquarters at Bentley Priory in the ops room there, started plotting.
DE: And what was that like?
MH: Huge, and down, down, down underground. We lived in huts opposite and I remember I Winston Churchill coming in. I remember King George coming in, looking down on the plots. And must have started bombing. I remember Dunkirk about that time. I asked, anyway I got a bit lonely, the girls were all very posh shall we say. One girl’s father signed the pound note, I know that. If you told me who it was I’d tell you that was so but I can’t remember. But I know her father was high in the Government. They all came along with their gold braid to pick their daughters up in big cars and here’s poor little me from Kirkby. I had nobody to pick me up. And I decided to have my photograph taken. So, I went along to this photographer and I had a black velvet dress I remember and I said ‘Would you take it with me smoking a cigarette?’ He said ‘Indeed I won’t!’ I thought I’d be a film star. He said ‘Indeed I won’t!’ He did a lovely ‘photo. Anyway, I asked to go to 12 Group, I went to 12 Group headquarters then in Hucknall and I stayed there all through the Battle of Britain and the night bombing. I was plotting the night Coventry was bombed and there were so many plots on the table but we couldn’t relieve each other. We used to take time off, two people standing beside each other plotting and grabbing plots off. You plotted five minutes red, five minutes yellow and five minutes blue. Then you snatched the red off and started plotting red again and they knew the time upstairs, they could tell how old the plot was. And when they were over land the Observer Corps did all the plots. Out at sea we got the plots from the radar.
DE: Um.
MH: And the men who were plotting that night from Coventry, not one of the them left their posts. All of their houses were bombed, not all badly but all stayed with us. Thought that was rather wonderful. Didn’t get much praise at all really when they talk about the war now nobody remembers the Observer Corps do they?
DE: No, my grandfather was in the Observer Corps.
MH: Was he?
DE: How did, how did it feel then seeing, watching the plots of the German aircraft coming in?
MH: We were too damn busy to bother. We wrote a poem about it. I wrote it down somewhere I know. ‘A bloody raids coming roaring in, kicking up a bloody din. Who can spot their bloody game? Bloody seven, two and four, these and bloody thousands more. Across the bloody coast they came, bloody Jones is up above , he a bloody man we’d love. No bloody smoking says the cad, enough to drive us bloody mad.’ Because we knitted or sewed or read but the men got so bored they cracked up.
DE: Um.
MH: In the end, when we started we’d be half and half. By this time, this time, they’d might be two men left who were C3, they couldn’t go anywhere else.
DE: Right.
MH: So then after all that bombing I had trouble with varicose veins and I was going to hospital, hilarious story. Going to hospital for treatment. And one day I woke up, I didn’t know, somebody knocked on the door, I’d stripped my nightgown off, standing there stark naked and a big policeman walked in the door. And I stood there [exclamation noise], and I stood there and he shut the door and went out. I still stood there. And he came in again and I hadn’t moved. And I ran. He said ‘I’d never seen anything as pretty in all my life as your little bum waddling down the hall.’ He didn’t know it was me but I went to get the bus to go and have my injections for my varicose veins and he was there and I cut him dead. He said ‘I knew then it was you.’ Otherwise he didn’t. So that was all over the camp. ‘A WAAF’s been caught in the nude.’ And it was me. He said ‘Why didn’t you put some clothes on?’ I said ‘I couldn’t think.’ Anyway, Wing Commander Woods was the CO there and he said ‘Why don’t you put in for Bomber Command, there’s a sergeant’s job going there?’ So, I did and took me to Grantham for the interview and I marched in, polished up to the hilt, [unclear]into the hall, turned round and they were sitting at the table there. Whizzed round, slipped on my bum. And I tried to carry on, I couldn’t. Anyway, we all started laughing then that was OK, we were all at ease. And I got accepted and I was posted to Swinderby and then I went to Waddington. And then 44 Squadron left Waddington, the Rhodesians. We had no squadron there we had put in concrete runways. I don’t know why they keep saying that there were squadrons there, there weren’t. They put in a concrete runway.
DE: Yeah it was closed for a while.
MH: It was closed for quite a while.
DE: We interviewed a chap who was there when they were putting the runways in.
MH: Yeah, yeah. We had Irish labourers come in. They were awful, we hated them. I damn near got raped one night. They were so drunk luckily they couldn’t catch me. But we had to walk home from Waddington. I was with an Aussie sergeant, Bill. That’s all I know. And we walked up the hill, you know you get to the top of the hill? All the nice houses were. Over the top was flat. That side’s green,this side’s airfield. And we heard these men saying ‘No, no, no you hold her, you hold him and I’ll have her. No, no, no, no, you hold him and I’ll have her.’ I thought ‘What’d they say?’ And I said to Bill ‘There going to rape me!’ and as we were passing by, I don’t know if it was an ack ack army unit but there was a five barred gate and a shed. I knew there were soldiers in there, and I put my hand on top of that gate and I cleared it. And I ran into the hut, the men were all in the ‘jamas, laughing and talking, and I said ‘Those men are going to rape me.’ And a couple of them got dressed and then Bill arrived. He said ‘I couldn’t get over the gate.’ But I cleared it. Olympic runner honestly. Anyway, they took us back to camp and that was that. But we had lots of trouble with the Irish then, always drunk, always fighting. Anyway, I trained as a watchkeeper and then sometimes I went to Bardney, sometimes I stayed I went to Skellingthorpe. The first time I was at Skellingthorpe I was under flying control, little tiny ops room. All the room was full of men. Officers, group captains everybody. And the raid was coming through on my little telephone . And I never learnt French at school and the route was coming through in French. I couldn’t do it. I know what, one was [unclear]. On one of those photos we’ve taken upstairs. I can remember that. Anyway, I struggled and did it and you know your degrees, I put in sixty three degrees and all that. And I made, I did it alright. Anyway Flight Lieutenant Williams said ‘You did a good job Maggie.’ He helped me, sorted it all out. But that was my initiation Eventually, we moved to a big ops room at the Doddington end of Skellingthorpe and had a great big table in the middle. I had a little office and Squadron Leader Quinn was at that end in his little office. He was a station navigation officer. And intelligence there in another little room. Daddy, Squadron Leader Dodd, we called him ‘Daddy Dodd’ ‘cause he was in his thirties. Daddy Williams was in his twenties and I know Daddy Quinn was twenty-nine. We thought he was old. And I worked there from then on. I remember a Lanc’ crashing at the end of the runway and blowing a great big hole and all the windows in Lincoln High Street were broken. And this air gunner was still sitting on the hole. He must have been mad, never, ever heard of him again.
DE: Um.
MH: But that was, we used to go to the end of the runway and watch the boys go. Not so much coming back ‘cause they came back early in the morning. But I’d walk round the perimeter track and they’d be lying by the aircraft on a nice summers day waiting to take off. I never dared say ‘Good luck or God bless you.’ Thought they’d think I was putting a jinx on them, but I wanted to say something, but I daren’t, never did.
DE: Um.
MH: But in the, when we went to lunch mess at lunchtime they’d all say ‘What’s the petrol like Mag?’ It worked out, you know long or short trip. Or ‘What’s the bomb load?’ they’d know if that was a big one that was a short trip. Or a little one was a long trip. And they knew I knew. I knew they knew I knew but I couldn’t say anything to them. And we had Group Captain Jefferson there who was a very, very posh gentleman. It was all ‘Do, do, do,do you think Maggie. Do you think you could?’ I can’t tell you what he said, it’s too rude. But he always sat with me at night when they were off flying and Daddy Dodd used to go to Lincoln and stay at the hotel with his wife and we had a code that I had to tell him, if somebody was coming back early or something like that. He’d ring me and say, I can’t remember what the code was but ‘Yes, come back’ or ‘No, you don’t need to.’
DE: Right.
MH: We had a great rapport. And that’s pretty well it I think. I often went to Bardney and worked there. And I remember meeting the nicest man I’ve ever met in my life. A Flight Lieutenant Dennis Irving. He was a very Catholic gentleman who went to mass, said the rosary, prayed. Everybody knew, we all knew and yet he wasn’t a bit shy about it. Was a real Christian gentleman. And the funny thing was they all had to wear civilian clothes when they went home to Ireland. I worked with a WAAF who had to go home in civvies. And yet when my husband went in Ireland he said that he had to wear civvies there were U boat men in the pubs in full uniform. They weren’t happy.
DE: No, I can imagine.
MH: Anyway, I pretty well went along like that was escorted to station dances and pictures. I remember once going to the pictures, Casablanca. We all sang ‘You must remember this.’ The whole theatre was singing and really the rapport, you can’t imagine and the friendship. It was just something.
DE: Um.
MH: Sometimes I’d go to a meal and they’d be one sergeant sitting there, I can remember him. And I thought ‘I should talk to you.’ But how do you talk to a stranger who’s looking a bit grumpy? Anyway, I thought you’re not going to come back. And he didn’t. Sometimes things happen like that. I remember being madly in love with a boy. And I was hanging around the flying control and in the end the girls said ‘For God’s sake Maggie, clear off.’ [unclear] I had to go home. Anyway, he did his tour and went back to Australia. That was that. He was killed afterwards anyway. And one day Daddy Quinn said to me ‘Maggie, I’ve got good news for you. Mentioned in dispatches.’
DE: You were mentioned in dispatches?
MH: Um.
DE: What was that for?
MH: I suppose because I was a good girl, did my work well. I lost the citation, I’ve got the box, the packet that it came in but my son that went to America took everything, I never got it back. I’ve got the envelope and I’ve got the thing it came with.
DE: Right.
MH: It said.
DE: Well we could probably look it up and find it [unclear].
MH: That’s what came with it. You can’t look it up, it’s all gone.
DE: No, we can look it up in the Gazette. It says it’s dated the first of January 1946.
MH: [Rustling of paper] What this is? That’s what the citation was with.
DE: Yes.
MH: Yes, they said you could look at the what’s its name? The magazine.
DE: The Gazette?
MH: Yes, the Gazette. It’ll be in there. That’s what we did, a plotter.
DE: Yes. So what was your job like?
MH: In the operations room?
DE: In the watch office. What was your job in the watch office?
MH: Oh the – the ‘phone would ring in the morning. We had to get to work at nine o’clock. I was always late. And the ‘phone would ring and a voice would say ‘Ops on tonight, maximum effort.’ Or they’d say ‘Nothing on tonight.’ Soon as they said ops were on I rang the group captain and I rang both wing commanders from the squadrons and then flight commanders and then the bombing leader and engineer officer, flying control, intelligence. And they all started their work then and then we had teleprinters bringing all the information later on in the war so Groupie Jefferson used to come in and read it and the route and Squadron Leader Quinn would come in. He’d plan the route from that we were going to fly. Height, target. Then I had to look up the colours of the day and they had to fire those across the coastal path the naval ship or whatever when they were coming in.
DE: Um.
MH: And eventually they’d have to announce they briefing times and would have to announce the meal times. And then I would go off duty at five, five thirty. Would go down to the runway then and watch them going. And then one time I went off in the morning and it was terribly misty like it’s been here for the last week. Very low cloud. And Jock McPherson was in the control in his little black and white van at the end of the runway firing a Very cartridge. I said ‘Can I have one?’ He gave me one, we were doing one each. And fire it and the Lancaster would come out of the mist. Over the waafery, down to the end of the runway. If it had been three foot short we would have been killed. But nobody did they all landed, bang on the runway.
DE: Wow.
MH: I think they had a bomb load on too, I think they were coming back with a bomb load.
DE: Crikey.
MH: Anyway, they were hilarious things.
DE: Ah ha.
MH: Another time we were sleeping naked outside. There was a little garden, I think it was an officer’s garden, somebody lived there. A nice little garden of roses. We used to go out then take our clothes off and a bit of low flying went on [chuckles]. Anyway that was that I think. When the invasion was on that night I went out to the toilet, about five o’clock in the morning, or six. It was just turning light. The sky was black with aircraft. Couldn’t, could not believe so many aircraft and I thought ‘I’ll remember this as long as I live.’ Which I have.
DE: Did you know what it was then when you saw?
MH: Well, I knew when I saw it what it was. I didn’t know, didn’t know it was on until then. But we had two accidents. Another time a bomb went off in the dispersal. All of the Lancs were loaded and windows again went in the High Street. But the people were lovely to us. One of the girls that, a big store, don’t know what it was. Just above the Stonebow she always gave me silk stockings. They were very hard to get.
DE: Um.
MH: Um. And then one day the war was over. And 50 and 61 just disappeared. Groupie Jefferson just disappeared and a Group Captain Forbes came. And he was a very nice man, we always thought about him. He’d come back from Japan and his wife was interned. We could never work out how that happened, not Japan, Singapore.
DE: Um.
MH: Anyway, 463 came and they were being briefed to bring the prisoners back from Europe. And I was on, I went early and WAAF said ‘’I knew you’d come early tonight when they were here.’ All the officers were in the ops room being briefed. And I saw this blonde one leaning on the table at the back. I thought ‘Oh, he looks alright.’ I can’t remember him coming up to me but he must have ‘cause I went out with him that night and I married him. (chuckles). Two months later I married him and went to Australia.
DE: OK. Well why not?
MH: Um. It’s silly. Silly, silly, silly. I didn’t know if he had a job, didn’t know if he was a layabout or what. I mean they were all handsome in uniform, I never looked further than that. Anyway he went to uni, the Government paid for them all to go to uni if they wanted to and they’d matriculated, so he did. Did an economics degree and a commerce and he worked in the Government all his life. And I got presented to the Queen Mother when she came and had a good life.
DE: So, you met him after D-Day?
MH: After the war was over.
DE: Yeah.
MH: He was on 463 Squadron.
DE: And did you marry him in the UK?
MH: Yes I did.
DE: When did you both go to Australia?
MH: He went back that Christmas. We married in October, October the 30th He went back to Australia then Christmas and I went back the next August on the Orbita.
DE: What was that like?
MH: They divided all the first-class cabins for in about six. And there was hardly any water to wash yourselves. We were taking all our clothes off and going standing in a draughty doorway it was so hot. And when we were going down Suez Canal we were passing all the British ships coming home with all the troops. And they were ‘Where are you going?’ and the Aussies were shouting ‘We’re going to Australia, we’ve got all the girls.’ And the Englishmen ‘ Have they really got all the girls?’ We felt miserable then. The Aussies were awful. When we got to Port Said the people came along the boat, beside the boat, hauling up handbags and things for us to buy.
DE: Um.
MH: And the Aussies put hoses on them.
DE: Right.
MH: I know my husband said when he arrived back in Australia all the big dignitaries came out to meet the ships coming in and cheering the boys. My husband always called them ‘The Cheer Company’, cheer you when you go and cheer you when you come back. They put the hoses on them as well. And anyway then I had a horrible time. My mother in law hated, me she was Irish and blamed me for all the stuff going on in Ireland. I’d never heard of it. We were never taught at school anything about that.
DE: Um. So where did you live in Australia?
MH: We lived in Enfield, it’s not a terribly good area really. But they lived there, my mother in law lived there with her second husband. My husband’s father came back from the first World War with a, what did he have? Military Medal, and I think he was a bit shell shocked. He cleared off and left his family and never, ever heard what happened to him again.
DE: Um.
MH: Anyway, we’ve got his medal and he got a write up on. You know you can look it up on David’s mobile and he’s got all his citation.
DE: Yes. Never, ever heard from him again. Shame wasn’t it?
DE: Um.
MH: They had lovely grandchildren. I had eight children, three sets of twins, and two single girls. David’s a twin. I’ve lost three.
DE: Oh dear.
MH: Um. Anyway, that’s that. I think that’s told you everything.
DE: If it’s OK I’ll ask a couple more questions?
MH: Yes.
DE: What did your husband do after the war in Australia?
MH: He was an, he started off as an auditor and then he worked for the Leader of the Opposition who was a Labour man. Mr O’Halloran Giles, he worked for him. And then Mr O’Halloran-Giles.
DH: Mr O’Halloran?
MH: Um? O’Halloran Giles. Mick O’Halloran that’s right. And then he died and Frank Walsh was the second one. My husband worked for him and they were elected into office but my husband couldn’t go with him the Public Service wouldn’t let him transfer to the Premier’s office. So he stayed in the Public Works Committee and he worked for them for thirty odd years.
DE: Right, OK. Did you have a job?
MH: No.
DE: No.?
MH: Too busy. I beg your pardon I did have a job when I first went to Australia. My mother in law insisted that I went to work. And I was pregnant with twins, sick as a dog, morning sickness. And I went to work at [Myle?] Emporium, which was a bit like [TJ’s?] sort of place, and they were so sorry for me they put me in bed every day. They said I was the worst saleswoman they’d ever had. How could I go from my job to that?
DE: Quite.
MH: And [Lloyd?] used to meet me at the railway station on his way home and take me home. I couldn’t face his mother. And they drank and swore and called all the English ’Pommies bastards.’ And it was after the Bodyline cricket series when Ray Larwood was there, who was born, lived near where I lived in Nottinghamshire.
DE: Um.
MH: And were all Bodyline killers. She used to go on about it. Anyway that was that, eventually they left and sold us the house and left. We could never afford to move anywhere else then ‘cause all the children went to private schools. We had some nuns opposite our house. I had a knock on the door one day and they said ‘Can David and Diane come to school?’ I thought ‘Go to school with nuns, no.’ I said ‘No, we’re moving.’ Couldn’t think of anything else to say. I thought afterwards said to my husband ‘They looked, had nice faces.’ ‘Cause he was a Catholic, I didn’t know. Anyway they knew and anyway I went and said ‘Yes, they can come.’
DE: Um.
MH: They started off. And David and Diane went to school. Sister [unclear] had about a hundred children didn’t she David? All in one room. When I went there [hissing noise] they all had their front teeth missing. ‘Mrs Hourigan’s here, Mrs Hourigan’s here.’ Anyway I heard them talking one day and teaching them saying about Jesus and Jesus was God when he came to earth. And I said ‘What’s she saying? Jesus wasn’t God.’ So I said to her ‘Don’t agree with what you’re saying.’ So she said ‘Well the mother sets the religion, if you don’t like it.’ She said ‘Have to give it up, but.’ She said ‘Before you do that go for a retreat,’ I went for a retreat at Canberra College and I fell in love with it. What they were telling me, and the singing and the hymns and the incense. I was in heaven and I converted in 1954.
DE: Right, OK.
MH: Never regretted it. And with losing three children I can tell you I needed my faith.
DE: Um.
MH: David’s my right hand man. And when I came here for this reunion I had these photographs to give all these years. I’ve rung Bomber Command time and time again in London and they took a message once and I said that bombing photos and no idea, absolutely no idea what I was saying and then it’d only be a couple of months ago I rang my daughter who lived in Dorset died and my other daughter moved into her house. And I was telling Elizabeth and she said ‘Mum I’ll fix it.’ So she rang and she got Nicky Barr, is it Nicky Barr? Who said ‘I’m thrilled, thrilled, thrilled. We’re opening the memorial.’ She said ‘I’d love your Mum to come.’ So Nicky rang Annette who’s done the Australian contingent and Annette rang me and said ‘Do you want to come with us?’ I said ‘Oh, I’d give my right arm to come with you.’ So I did. And then when we were at? We were David, where I fell in love again?
DH: Coningsby.
MH: Coningsby. I saw the Millikin name on the wall. I said ‘I knew a Millikin.’ And Wing Commander Millikin’s in 61, 619 now.
DE: Ah ha
MH: And he said ‘You knew my, that would have been my grandfather.’
DE: Wow.
MH: He hardly believed me at first but when I told him things I knew about his grandfather he knew I was genuine. And he said ‘Did my grandfather kiss you?’ I said ‘I wish he would, he didn’t, he was married.’
DE: Well.
MH: But anyway he was really happy. And he was a lovely man his grandfather was. A happy one like this one, happy and kind.
DE: Um.
MH: We had all those events, I could tell you hundreds truly, things come back to me. I’m lying in bed at night, cor. Is the lake still at Skellingthorpe?
DE: Um, I’m not sure. Skellingthorpe has changed an awful lot because –
MH: I know it’s a town, village now.
DE: It was built on virtually all of the, all of the old RAF station yeah.
MH: I know the school’s Lancaster school isn’t it?
DE: Um.
MH: Where the watch office was they said, and the waafery was in the rookery.
DE: Oh right, yes. What was the waafery like?
MH: Oh, a few huts. I had to walk across an empty block to get in have a bath. Get your clothes off. You can imagine in the middle of winter going to have a bath?
DE: Did they have plugs in the baths?
MH: No, took your own plug. We found that everywhere we travelled, it all went to Ireland, there was never a plug in the bath.
DE: So what did you do?
MH: Put a plastic bag over it.
DE: Aha.
MH: And that sucks in stops the water flowing away. There was plenty of hot water.
DE: But it was a long walk from the?
MH: Not really a long walk, a cold walk.
DE: Cold?
MH: And being an NCO I had a room at the end of the hut. So all the girls were there, open beds, but I had a little private room. And a little stove and I used to fill it with flowers, from the. What’s those flowers David?
DH: Cinerarias??
MH: No, those big bushes, rhododendrons. Rhododendrons.
DH: Rhododendrons.
MH: Yeah.
DE: OK. Did you have any trouble with the girls in the rest of the hut?
MH: Never, never, no. One girl surprised us. She was sitting knitting baby clothes and suddenly they said ‘She’s gone.’ We didn’t know. Was pregnant. She’d gone. We had, some of the English airman used to be a bit snobby. When the Aussies came and the Rhodesians they were really, and the Canadians, they were really you know, didn’t care whether you were a sergeant or what. They were officers there agreeable but some of the British. One man I met, and he used to come in the ops room. They all came in the ops room at night when ops weren’t on and I had a kettle and a toaster and the NAAFI used to send me over a big lump of butter and a lot of bread and make toast. And anybody would turn up and have a slice of toast and a cup of something. And this man used to, flight lieutenant somebody or other, used to come and have a cup of tea and toast with me and Bill. Familiar yes, ‘Maggie fa, fa, fa’ and a couple of days later I went into town and I was walking up towards the Stonebow I remember on the right hand side. Met him with this civilian woman and of course I chatted to him like I had in the ops room the night before and he just cut me as dead as dead. I thought ‘You pig.’ The next time he came for cups of tea I tell you he didn’t get it. Hung his head. I thought ‘Don’t bother coming here.’
DE: I can’t say I blame you, that’s –
MH: No, no. But I found that, and they used to call the WAAF’s ‘camp bikes’ or ‘officer’s ground sheets’ was the pet one.
DE: Do you think that was justified or?
MH: No, [emphatic] no, no, no. When I look back and think how hard the girls worked. The MTT, the girls in the mess, and the equipment. And my friend used to drive the bomb trolley and people in the office, and teleprinters, telephone exchange, intelligence, meterology. We all worked so hard and we all believed we were shortening the war.
DE: Um.
MH: I never heard anybody say anything else. And David will laugh. I meant to tell you this story about David’s friend. When they were about eighteen, they were at Uni. And the man remembers to this day, he’s a professor now. Monash University but he knows Mrs Hourigan was angry with him. He said, what was it we were talking about? Bomber Command, we talk about Bomber Command the whole time my husband and I when we got back. We lived what had happened. And we were talking. And he said ‘Oh, they all went off.’ He said ‘They thought kill a few Germans tonight.’ And thought that of Bomber Command, and I said ‘Nothing of the kind.’ And David saw him recently and he said ‘Your mother still remembers then does she?’ He said ‘Yes, she does.’ I’ll never forget, I was so upset, so angry. And when I was in hospital last year the doctor said to me ‘I’ve heard that when they woke up in the morning they threw a dart at the wall. Wherever the dart landed they said ‘That’s where we’ll bomb tonight.’ I said ‘Nothing could be further from the truth.’
DE: So do you think in Australia Bomber Command has got an odd sort of reputation?
MH: I think it, I thought it was general because here for a long time we were wanted for being war criminals weren’t we?
DE: Um. Some people think that yeah. I just wondered if you thought it was different in Australia because you know I think.
MH: I think in Australia a lot of the people thought that the Bomber Command boys had been having a good time in England and they were being bombed by the Japanese. And when they went back it was ‘Oh you’ve been having a good time overseas, we’ve been suffering the Japanese.’ In fact when the War was over the squadrons were ordered to come back to fight Japan.
DE: Um.
MH: Only lucky that the Americans dropped the atomic bomb in August or they’d all have been coming back for that.
DE: Um.
MH: But I don’t think that they understood the War ‘cause they hadn’t been in it. ‘Cause when we’re lying in bed hearing the doodle bugs going round, buzz, buzz, buzz, and then the engine stop you think ‘Oh God, where’s it going to land?’ They had none of that.
DE: Quite, no.
MH: I remember being in Nottingham one night when Nottingham was bombed and I was with my Auntie. And she was a little way out of Nottingham and remember seeing all the incendiaries in the fields. We could see the bombs going down. And one night, we used to hitch, when we were in Fighter Command, we used to hitch hike to London on our days off and one night I remember being on top of a building and mines were coming down on parachutes. How I got up there I don’t know and the men were running around. What do you call them? Air raid wardens were running around with buckets and hoses and we’re up there laughing and dancing about, the WAAF’s and me. We never were in any danger ever when we were in uniform. Except those Irish men. Never forget them. But nowhere else, we went in, we were wandering around looking for a pub we could get a drink. [unclear] some places I can tell you wouldn’t go in. We’d open the front door awful, people with black eyes and black and they’d just look up, we backed out again. I don’t know what sort of den on iniquity it was, didn’t even know where we were.
DE: Um.
MH: But we’d hitch. And when we met the Canadians we cut all our buttons off and swapped with them. We came back to Nottingham without a button on our uniform. And they went off without buttons on theirs. I’ve still got Canadian buttons on mine somewhere. Don’t know where it is, my uniform is now. Think Michael took it to America
DE: Aha.
MH: So, that’s it I think.
DE: Okey dokey
MH: Are you happy with that?
DE: I’m absolutely very, very much so. I’m just having a look to see if I’ve got any questions I wanted to ask. Just going right back to the very start when you joined the.
MH: Um. WAAF’s.
DE: Did you, did you volunteer or were you?
MH: I volunteered.
DE: Why did you choose the WAAF’s? Why did you volunteer?
MH: I liked the air force. I used to read the Biggles books when I was a little girl.
DE: Um.
MH: You know Biggles and his second pilot was Algy and his engineer was Ginger, and I lived those books. And I just wanted to join the air force, thought it was wonderful.
DE: I was just wondering how volunteering during the war sort of fitted in with your early political beliefs?
MH: Forgot all about them. Voted Liberal ever since I came out, out to Australia. No, I remember in Hucknall a man, some officer I’ve forgotten who it was, he used to pick us all up, bit of a ratbag I don’t know. And he took us, this bunch of WAAF’s up to his house, he was filling us with gin I remember that, we were all merry. And he was asking us questions about politics and we were slamming the government, slamming this and that and he couldn’t believe his good fortune. We were telling him everything that was going to happen after the war. What we were going to do, burn the place down I think and start again. And then the next night he asked us to go back to his house again, we didn’t have any gin, he had another man there. He said ‘Tell him what you told me last night.’ Of course, we were all dumb, needed a gin to get us going again. He was very disappointed. We wouldn’t be wound up.
DE: Who do you think the man was?
MH: I don’t know who he was, he was some somebody, some politician I bet you. But when my husband worked for the Labour Party I was happy with them. Then we had a man who was a bit nasty, but he was openly gay and he was a nasty man as well. Had nasty habits and my husband had to work with him. Some of the time he really didn’t like him and I sort of went a bit off the Labour Party. And then I changed my mind.
DE: OK.
MH: And I thought in Australia the unions were running the show and my daughter’s husband, married a sailor, who was in Vietnam and the waterside workers wouldn’t ship any arms or food or anything over, and that put me off.
DE: Aha. OK.
MH: And one of the men asked me the other day, on one of the interviews what I thought about when people died. I didn’t always react you know, you saw missing, missing, missing, missing, missing. I know they were all terribly upset when Dambusters went and Henry Maudsley was a man from 50 Squadron who everybody loved. Oxford Blue and very educated. Lovely young man. And when we went into the chapel in Lincoln the candlesticks and crucifix are dedicated to Henry Maudsley, supplied by his family. So yesterday we put a poppy on him on the memorial. I forgot should have done one for Guy Gibson, I couldn’t think. ‘Cause I didn’t lose anybody.
DE: You didn’t?
MH: No.
DE: No.
MH: Not personally. But it was hard, I mean you knew that they’d been shot down. You knew the worry that they were going to be shot down. And some of them you looked at them and you knew they were going to get it ‘cause they were a bit –
DE: Bit shaky?
MH: They had a twitch or. And you always thought ‘Oh they’re going to cop it.’ And they did. And the mad ones, the ones you thought ‘You’re going to die.’ They survived ‘cause they were realistic, ‘We can’t possibly live.’ So.
DE: Um. Did anyone ever talk about lack of moral fibre?
MH: One man, one man, lack of moral fibre. It was awful. Ripped everything off him, all his ensignia, in front of the whole camp. I was reading about Group Captain Cheshire yesterday on David’s mobile. I saw ‘Group Captain Cheshire – Unknown Story.’ And read about him and he said with lack of moral fibre he had to be very strict because it could taint the whole lot of them.
DE: Um.
MH: He said he was very strict with it.
DE: So did you, did you see that actually happen with people having their?
MH: It did happen. It did happen.
DE: Where was that? Can you remember?
MH: Oh, I think it was at Skellingthorpe we had one. But they got sent away quickly because they’d taint everybody else. I know my husband said when he was flying his bomb aimer said ‘I can’t press the tit, I can’t press the tit!’ My husband said ‘You’ll faffing well press the tit or you’ll go with ‘em!’
DE: Your husband was a pilot?
MH: Yeah.
DE: How many ops did he do?
MH: About fifteen. He only came at the end of the war, he was only eighteen in 1942. I was two years older than him.
DE: Um.
MH: Never let me forget it. I was a cradle snatcher. [chuckles] But they looked so old the Bomber Command men, they all had grey faces. And there hair seemed to get colourless somehow they looked. Fighter pilots always looked gay and young and laughing. I know in the Battle of Britain I bet they didn’t but otherwise they were always gay and young. But the Bomber Command pilots always looked old.
DE: Why was that do you think?
MH: I don’t, because in the morning they’d know, ‘I might die tonight.’ And friends, people all around them were dying and I think that they knew how dicey their life was. And they’d live in a hut and come home and half the beds would be empty.
DE: Um.
MH: And sometimes when they took off in the morning they’d go to Germany and come back at say midnight and they’d be an intruder in the circuit. And one time was dropping bombs on the Waddington bomb dump. We thought it was hilarious at Skellingthorpe, bombing Waddington. They had Air Commodore Hesketh, we hated him. And he was a very bossy man, all his gold braid. And we didn’t have any of that at Skelly, only had the Groupie. They didn’t go around polishing boots and looking and making a parade and all like they did at Waddington.
DE: So do you think there was a difference between the permanent stations and the wartime stations?
MH: Yeah, I reckon. Well the Aussies were very casual. I remember one raid when the war began they handed, not when war began, when the D-Day began they handed the air force over to the army. It was the silliest thing they ever did. The army would call up, ‘Come and bomb this.’ And they’d get the bombs on the ‘plane. ‘No, don’t come now, we don’t need you.’ And then ‘Come and bomb this.’ They’d all get ready again, ‘No, don’t come we don’t need you.’
DE: Um.
MH: And in the end they said ‘Either take us off or the bombs sink in the ground.’ Anyway one time they said ‘We don’t need you, stand down but don’t leave the station.’ Course all the Skellingthorpe mob stayed around but the Waddington mob all shot into Lincoln. And within half an hour they called ops on again. And the police and SP’s were racing around trying to round the Aussies out of the pubs. We were all ready but they, they were very undisciplined like that.
DE: What was Lincoln like? Did you go out in Lincoln?
MH: Oh, incredible. At night when the bombers had taken off you just heard this roar, you can’t imagine. Well we had thirty six take off at Skelly, there were thirty six at Waddington, sixteen or seventeen at Bardney and Scampton and Woodhall Spa and East Kirkby all of them. All take off, all go over. They used to meet at Beachy Head and, or Reading sometimes and amalgamate there and then start flying out to Holland. But they’d just all roar over. Massive noise.
DE: Um. And of course working where you did you knew before they did where they were going?
MH: Absolutely. And when they did the Berlin run, I think it was 1944, they went to Berlin about five nights in a row. And Nuremburg was another one, they lost about ninety ‘planes that night. None of them liked going up the Ruhr, Cologne or. Some of them, I know they had fish names for targets and we had a [unclear] ‘phone scrambled if you wanted to talk privately you pressed the scrambler.
DE: Yes.
MH: I remember Air Commodore Hesketh rang one day. I didn’t know it was him. I picked up the ‘phone, I said ‘Hello, hello, hello.’ [loudly] ‘Air Commodore Hesketh here.’ ‘Oh,[long drawn in breath] beg your pardon sir .’ ‘I want Group Captain Jefferson.’ I suppose he said to Groupie Jefferson ‘She’s a right one in there.’ He would have defended me. I know he would. But we had a lot of fun, used to laugh a lot. And I never, ever worked out the bomb load. I could not do it.
DE: OK.
MH: I had to have one cookie, one thousand pounder, twelve SPC’s of incendiaries. And each Lancaster carried that. We had thirty two, thirty six whatever and I couldn’t do maths at all. I always rang Waddington the girls and said ‘How much bomb load have we taken off?’ And she would tell me. And I had to phone 5 Group and say ‘This much has gone.’
DE: Um.
MH: Once Groupie, Daddy Quinn came in with his slide rule. ‘Just do this Mag, just do this.’ I told him not to bother me. Can’t be bothered. I couldn’t cope, my little failing.
DE: You found a cunning way of getting round it.
MH: [laughing] We had, one night we had a camp concert. I was with this sergeant sitting there and a man who did tricks. What do you call ‘em? A conjurer. And he said ‘Two come up on the stage.’ He spotted us two sergeants sitting. ‘You come up.’ I had to get up and hold ropes and get things and next thing I kept dropping mine. Everybody was cheering, it was awful. Oh dear.
DE: Was that an ENSA concert?
MH: Yeah, yeah. And once we had some old ladies come, oh they were terrible. You had to sort of play a little tea thing in the afternoon. Fancy getting a bunch of airmen and airwomen and these old, fat old ladies with a cello, a big thing, and a piano and they’re all big stout old things in [silk?] dresses. We had to sit and listen.
DE: Not the sort of entertainment that you were after?
MH: No, no. No, no, no, no. Sometimes they were pathetic. I remember when I was young one of the WAAF’s in Skellingthorpe, not Skellingthorpe, [Waddington?] and this girl was singing. A pilot was sitting there she was singing at him and he was looking at her. Oh, they were so in love and she was really singing at him. She had on a pretty dress. All WAAF’s. We were slightly envious because in Fighter Command we didn’t see a man.
DE: Right, so Bomber Command was an improvement then?
MH: Bomber Command wall to wall men. But in 5 Command and 12 Group and Bentley Priory were just headquarters and Air Commodore um, you know the man who had his big wing and was always fighting? What was his name? Oh, can’t think. Anyway 11 Group fought with 12 Group because we had Douglas Bader and he wanted the big wings and [unclear] aeroplanes taking ten minutes to get off. He said ‘it goes in formation then.’
DE: Um.
MH: You could shoot them down. And he said, he said ‘if they drop after they drop their bombs it doesn’t matter.’ And 11 Group mostly were dropping them on my airfields. Anyway I can’t think, can’t think of the name. There was um. It’s gone, gone, it’s gone. It’ll come back to me, float back to me. My mind’s like a computer [unclear]. Anyway they had a lot of arguments about that. [unclear] once Douglas Bader came into the ops room we nearly all swooned away.
DE: Really?
MH: Um, um. See somebody with wings and young.
DE: Right. Yes.
MH: Never did get posted to ops in Fighter Command. I had this poor lover. David will laugh. What was his name? [unclear] and he followed me everywhere, he was a Canadian, and I did not want him. I never went out with him and they kept saying ‘He’s at the guardroom.’ And I wouldn’t go and talk to him and if I ever met a group of Canadians they’d say ‘You’re not Maggie are you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Oh, awful person.’ And in the end I asked one of them what happened to him. Killed, he flew into a hill.
DE: Oh dear.
MH: I had to pray for him all my life.
DE: Um.
MH: I didn’t want him though. He was about six foot six, he was, and I was only little. And this great big thing standing beside me. Only a little thing. Anyway that was, would have been about 1944 I suppose.
DE: Ah.
MH: Look at it now, 2018. He’s still on my conscience. You can’t make yourself fall in love though can you?
DE: No. And for you it happened with your blonde Australian from 463 Squadron.
MH: Um. All my babies were premature. I had nobody to help me. No mother, no sister, no aunties. No sisters, nobody. [rustling of papers]There’s my MID thing, is that good enough? Defence Medal, yeah MID. Ha, ha, ha.
DE: Well unless you can think of another anecdote to tell me?
MH: No, don’t think I’ve any more.
DE: I’m sure.
MH: We used hitch hike and sit on the tanks and drive to London. Never got into any harm. Just hop in the truck and it’s ‘Hop up love.’ And take us to London and drop us down, we stayed at the Waterloo Bridge. There was a Sally Army hostel nearby, we used to stay there.
DE: This was when you were on leave?
MH: On leave or weekends off. We worked night shifts we’re on, have a couple of days off. And what were those, Lyons Corner Houses then, they had like a restaurant. And they used to wheel a big trolley full of jelly cake, sort of like layers of cream and jelly. Could have a cup of tea and a slice of cake. Like being in heaven, used to have a slice of cake and a cup of tea.
DH: What was the story of your flight down the Ruhr after the war?
MH: Oh yes, yes.
DH: Oh, OK. Tell us about.
MH: Oh yes, we did a cook’s tour after the war. And I had two flights. I had one flight with a person just flying around over Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire. And when we got back he said that he hadn’t filled his logbook in because I’d been sick on his log, which was a dirty lie and I was really angry about that. And then we did a cook’s tour down, what they call a cook’s tour, down the Ruhr when the war was over. Oh, the damage was awful. And we were going round Heliogland and the ‘plane was going like that. [chuckling]
DE: You felt a bit airsick [unclear]?
MH: I felt sick.
DE: How many people went on an aircraft trip, cook’s tour?
MH: Oh, I think a lot of people went on if they wanted to.
DE: Aha.
MH: And you were lucky enough to get someone that would take you.
DE: So where did you stand on the aircraft?
MH: I stood behind the navigator some of the time.
DE: Aha. So you could look out and?
MH: Um.
DE: Yeah.
MH: I was scared though. I was really scared.
DE: Of flying?
MH: Um. To say I’d wanted to be an airman all my life I was really frightened.
DE: Um.
MH: Once we got in the thick cloud I remember flying over Nottingham in what they called cumulus nimbus, real thick black cloud. And I thought ‘If anybody else is in the cloud with us what’s going to happen?’ But there wasn’t anybody in with us.
DE: No.
MH: And then when you’re going down, to [makes vomiting noise] I don’t mind now, I fly on all the big ones.
DE: Yeah. They’re a little bit different aren’t they?
MH: Absolutely. We flew home in the, what’s it David? sleeper. It was non-stop.
DE: The Dream Liner?
MH: Dream Liner, non-stop from Perth to London.
DE: Um.
MH: Horrible, too long.
DE: Yeah.
MH: Can you think of anything else I’ve told you David that I’ve forgotten?
DH: I just noticed you said you flew home on the Dream Liner but your home’s in Australia.
MH: Oh I forget yeah [laughs]
DH: Her heart’s still in England.
DE: Fair enough.
MH: My heart’s always been in England.
DE: Um. Well thank you very, very much for coming here and telling me these stories.
MH: Thank you. Thank you for listening.
DE: No, my pleasure.
MH: Um.
DE: I shall press stop. 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 Margaret Hourigan
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Dan Ellin
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-04-16
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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
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eng
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AHouriganM180416
Conforms To
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Pending review
Spatial Coverage
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Australia
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Format
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01:13:32 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Margaret Hourigan grew up in and around Nottingham. Despite holding Labour principles she volunteered for the WAAF’s as soon as War was declared and was called up in January 1940. She Hourigan served in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force as a plotter with Fighter Command before being posted to RAF Waddington and RAF Skellingthorpe with Bomber Command. She met and married an Australian pilot, and emigrated to Australia after the war. Margaret and her husband had eight children.
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Contributor
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Dawn Studd
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
44 Squadron
463 Squadron
50 Squadron
61 Squadron
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
control caravan
control tower
Cook’s tour
entertainment
faith
George VI, King of Great Britain (1895-1952)
ground personnel
lack of moral fibre
memorial
military ethos
military living conditions
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
operations room
perimeter track
radar
RAF Bardney
RAF Bentley Priory
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Waddington
runway
service vehicle
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/365/5764/WardM [Pesaro].jpg
d9a2d9c693790af82307dda6f15eb90a
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/365/5764/AWardM151214.2.mp3
7d77d7598db6b62a6f0d3db383dffb89
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
Ward, Mary
Mary Ward
Elsie Mary Ward
E M Ward
Mary Brown
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. Three oral history interviews with Elizabeth Mary Ward (893293, Women's Auxiliary Air Force), her dog tags, an aeroplane broach and a photograph album. Mary Ward was a cook but re-mustered and was promoted becoming a map officer. She served with Bomber Command at RAF Driffield between 1940 and 1944 before being posted to Coastal Command.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Mary ward and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-24
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. 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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Ward, EM
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is Monday the 14th of December. We’re talking with Mary Ward about her experiences and we’re in Crowthorne. So, Mary could you start off with your earliest recollections please and then just keep going from there.
MW: Earliest recollections would be in Bloxham and possibly five or six years old. I lived with my mother’s sister, her husband and her brother in a thatched cottage in Bloxham. I went to school at the C of E school in Bloxham until I was eleven and then to Banbury. I left school at fourteen and a half and worked in various jobs to do with lady’s maid for Lady Burnham, Hockley Heath and then decided to become a nursery governess. I went to the nursing home in Sutton Coldfield on recommendation and was at the time was looking after a dyslexic, what they called, a dyslexic child, a two year-old who was unable to speak, as part of my training. I moved out of the nursing home to live with that family to take care of that child and stayed there for a few years, a couple of years possibly and, and then moved on to another similar post with an older child. This was in Sutton Coldfield. On September the 3rd war broke out, 1939. And later on that year we, my friend and I decided that we would join the forces. We wrote to the RAF and were refused on the grounds that they didn’t have any particular job for someone who’d been a nursery maid really and, but we applied again in the early in January that year in 1940 and we were both accepted but unfortunately my friend decided, her parents decided, that it wasn’t for her so I went on my own to, I can’t tell you the date I just don’t remember the date but it was, it would be March 1940. I went for training at Uxbridge, three weeks training. I’ve very little recollection of that but then I was posted. My first posting was to Driffield in North Yorkshire which we didn’t have a complete uniform, there wasn’t enough to go around so we, we had to wait to be, to have a complete uniform but we did have the stockings and the shoes but we didn’t have battle dress until much later. We were, the RAF at that time had moved the civilians from their quarters and we occupied the civilian quarters RAF housing on the periphery of the air force really and we shared a house with oh perhaps four or five of us in a house. I was then general duties and was given a job in the RAF officers’ mess looking after the officers’ needs. Really, the post and anything else that they needed to know to get to, to get from one officer to another or to the group captain or whatever. It was quiet, fairly quiet. Five miles from Bridlington and very little activity until the 15th of August when we had a daylight raid. Fifteen aircraft came over at half past one in the afternoon. I was, I was just at the time helping with the lunch and helping, doing, manning the phone of course and flying control wanted to speak to the group captain immediately. I had seen the group captain not a couple of minutes before but I couldn’t see him just at that moment and I was running about trying to find him. At that particular time in the RAF you didn’t, flying control didn’t sound the siren unless the group captain had given permission and we, they desperately needed to sound the siren. These aircraft were approaching from Bridlington, five minutes flying time away possibly. To sound the siren. I ran around trying but in the end, without his permission, they did sound the siren. By that time it was too late for the officers’ mess. We were completely bombarded. Absolutely flattened. I was pushed in to the shelter by a couple of officers. Finally, we came out and I was helped out by the young Group Captain Cheshire, Pilot Officer Cheshire who had just arrived at the station a couple of days before me. And we were all very shaken. It was, it the dust and the mess that was so difficult to take in. I don’t know how much of this you want but I feel -
CB: Keep going.
MW: That it’s, it’s possibly important that you know that. Leonard Cheshire said to me, ‘Where are you going?’ I said, ‘I’m going, I’m on duty to go to the sick quarters.’ We had a roster for duties, sick quarters and he said, ‘Oh.’ I said, ‘Do you think they’ll need me up there? And he said, he looked at me and said, ‘No. I don’t think they’ll need you really. I think they’ll manage without you.’ So, we did, we split up and went, I went back to the billet and my friend who was an accountant, I said, ‘I don’t like living on the periphery here now,’ I said, ‘It’s too far out. I’ll come in to your, into the quarters with you.’ So I moved in that night. But we tended to recover quite quickly because we all went to see Bob Hope in “Riding Down to Rio” or something during the evening but the station was a complete washout. The ammunition had been all gone. The aircraft hangars had been hit, Cheshire’s aircraft had been, was not, we couldn’t, we couldn’t fly from there so the following day we moved to Pocklington. This was 102 and 78 squadron I think and 58. We moved to Pocklington and did a little flying from there but the one thing I haven’t said about, about Driffield is most of the flying at that time we were dropping leaflets in France and Germany. There were hardly any bombing being used at all. We didn’t have any did we? But during my little while at Pocklington I was asked to consider re-mustering and they were very, very short of cooks. Would I take on a cook’s course? So, reluctantly I did. I went to Melksham and that would be in the September straight into the Battle of Britain and I can’t tell you, I have to say this but I was there for four weeks, five weeks. I passed the course but I have no recollection whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. I can’t tell anyone because I don’t know anything. It was the sheer volume of aircraft, the noise night and day in the shelter in the Battle of Britain. We couldn’t, we couldn’t cope. How I passed the course I don’t know but we did. And then I was posted back to Linton on Ouse. At Linton -
Other: Mary, sorry but the nurses have come.
CB: We’re just pausing for a bit because the health visitor has come.
[Pause]
CB: We’re just talking about early stages of living in Bloxham and the lack of facilities as we know them today. So what was the house like and what were the facilities?
MW: The house was a fourteenth century thatched cottage with a stream running at the bottom with a loo situation, situated down at the bottom of the garden with two seats. The water we got from the spring in order to flush it, try and flush it down. From the, actually from the river. From the stream. Yes, we had, we had a spring in the garden from which we obtained our drinking water, always had the drinking water. You had to be, you had to go and fetch it from the, from the spring and bring it up. We had no gas, no electricity until just before the war and we had oil lamps and candles for lighting in Bloxham. Gas has never been, never come to Bloxham at all. We were too far out for that but, and, but we did keep our own hens and during the war we actually had pigs, a couple of pigs for food. The garden, we were always almost self-contained because we had so much vegetables which we, which we preserved during, during the summer for the, to carry us through the winter. Beans, potatoes, carrots, everything that could be preserved we did and we kept. So, it was really there, wasn’t, when the war came we didn’t have a great deal of difficulty in, in, in maintaining our own food. I have to say when I went on leave during, during the war we, we didn’t really go I had everything I needed really. Really good bacon, eggs and fried bread and things for breakfast which was good after the RAF food [laughs]. How much else do you want me to say?
CB: Well that was just to get an understanding of what it was like. Yes.
MW: Of what it was like.
CB: Yes.
MW: Yes.
CB: Right. So we’re now talking, we’ve talked about your training as a cook.
MW: Oh yes.
CB: At Melksham.
MW: Yes.
CB: And so you returned to Pocklington.
MW: No. I returned to Linton on Ouse.
CB: Oh Linton on Ouse.
MW: Yes.
CB: Okay.
MW: Into the sergeants’ mess.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes. In the sergeants’ mess. That would be possibly about well, August 15th. End of August, September. I was still in the sergeants’ mess for my birthday in November. So that was, but cooking in the RAF was, it, you might be interested to know that it is, it’s quite different from cooking at home or possibly in a hotel. You did, the shifts were from six until two. Eight hour shifts. And when you arrived you were, you were allocated one or the other dishes in which you were in charge of. At that time we had a civilian chef. The RAF provided, were, had quite a few civilians. I worked with two. The chef in the sergeants’ mess and later on, much later on in the map office at Shawbury, they were both civilians. The chef would say, ‘You’re allocated to do the eggs.’ If it was the morning shift do the eggs and that’s all you did. That was you were in charge of the eggs. And in order to get enough eggs for hundreds of people, of RAF, fried they would have large, very large containers and you just drop the eggs in. At least two dozen at a time in to these very large containers and you looked after those, looked after the eggs. Sometimes you were asked to make sandwiches but on the whole that was all you did. That was your job for that, for the shift, doing that. And the afternoon shift from two you were doing a meal for the evening or for tea. You would often get put on puddings. I didn’t like doing the, doing the meats so I asked used to ask the chef if I could do the puddings. So, I learnt to make pastry there and I’m quite good at pastry even now [laughs]. Yes, it was quite different. And this is the most important part of my RAF story what I’m going to tell you now so if you, if you don’t hear what I say do ask me again because this is very important but I’d been in the R --, in the sergeants’ mess a couple of months and I was used to being, being, putting up the rations for the flying aircrew. The officers’ mess and the sergeants’ mess provided rations for the flying, for flying that evening alternatively and on one occasion the chef said, ‘Will you take the, the rations for flying tonight over to the intelligence office.’ I said, ‘Yes I will go over with the, to the,’ so, I went in the afternoon to the intelligence office with the rations for that night’s flying and I went into the intelligence office and I was introduced to the squadron leader and he said, ‘Where have you come from?’ And I said, ‘From the sergeants’ mess. I’ve brought your rations for flying this evening, for the crew this evening.’ ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Well, what do you do in the sergeants’ mess?’ I said, ‘I cook’ or, ‘try to cook and, and do make sandwiches and do things like that.’ And he looked at me and he said, ‘Now, you don’t wish to do that all your RAF time do you?’ He said, ‘Will you come and work for me?’ I said, ‘I can’t do that. I’d have to re-muster.’ ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘What do you know about maps?’ I said, ‘Very little.’ He said, ‘Well you’ve been to school haven’t you?’ ‘Yes. Yes.’ He said, ‘Where is the mouth of the Danube?’ So, I thought and I said, ‘Well is it in the Black Sea?’ He said, ‘That’ll do.’ And he said, ‘Go and tell your WAAF officer I want you to report here tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.’ I protested. He said, ‘No,’ he said, ‘Please. You, I want you here tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.’ Now, you know about the establishment. You know what you have to do to re-muster. My chef made a fuss because I was being, being, being told by Ivor Jones to go to the intelligence office. He said, ‘He can’t take my staff.’ I said, ‘Well that’s what I have to do.’ The WAAF officer made a fuss because I hadn’t re-mustered but Ivor Jones was an ex-army colonel, lieutenant colonel in the Indian army retired and he was head of intelligence at Linton and his word just went really. And so I went to Gloucester on a two, a course for two days. I came back with two stripes and that was it. He said to me at the time the establishment in the intelligence office is for one map corporal. You won’t be able to get any further unless I recommend you for a commission which he did and which I refused but that is a later stage but that, and I knew from then that I would never be able to get anything further than a corporal. That didn’t worry me. And so we settled down and it’s maps. Geography was really I would say my, my best subject at school and I did get along with maps but they were hard, hard to deal with because they were all rolled up. The maps and the charts. The target maps were quite small and we didn’t have very many because we hadn’t, we hadn’t produced them like they had in Germany. I mean they were prepared and we weren’t.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Erm my duties were really, at that time, nine in the morning until five or six in the evening except for when they were flying. The flying, I had to be available for briefing in case they hadn’t, they needed extra maps and certainly for interrogation which was in the middle of the night of course. On returning. Shall I go on about that?
CB: Please go. Yes.
MW: Yes. Well it was a very emotional job. Very emotional. It meant writing up names on the blackboard and having to rub them out the next day because they hadn’t returned. This went on night after night except when it was really bad weather. The boys, the young boys came to the office for maps or for a chat. Many of them didn’t wish to go to Berlin or didn’t wish to go anywhere. Then I would make them a cup of tea, give them a cigarette and say, ‘I’ll be here when you come back’ knowing perfectly well possibly that they weren’t coming back. But on other occasions when they weren’t flying we had very happy times in York. In Betty’s Bar in York. They, they, but I have to say it was a very emotional time for me. Everybody smoked. The air was full of smoke always and –
[pause]
The other thing that we had to contend with was the bombing of the airfield. Bombing of the airfield kept continually in 1940, the end of ’42 and ‘43. Cheshire came back one night and said, ‘It’s worse here than it was in, than we’ve done, we’ve seen in Germany,’ because we’d had such bad raids. At that stage the RAF moved the WAAF off the station at night. We moved, I moved to a house at Newton on Ouse. A country house. And I had to cycle up in the middle of the night for interrogation and the other place that was requisitioned was the Beningbrough Hall, 35 Squadron took Beningbrough Hall and -
CB: Keep going.
MW: That was quite nice because we had little parties down there with the squadron and we, there’s a small village across the Ouse called Nun Monkton and we had to go across in a sort of canoe thing, a very small boat. Get someone to row you across and we had a really nice meal of egg and chips over in that, if you could find someone to pay for it for you [laughs]. Um -
CB: Just on that topic then. How much did you get paid?
MW: Um.
CB: Roughly.
MW: Not a lot.
CB: No.
MW: I’ve got a book that tells me that but I don’t remember it very well um but a corporal, I was a special duties, a map clerk special duties you see. I probably missed that and so I did get a little bit more than, than if um -
CB: Ok. So could you tell us what the role of the map clerk special duties was?
MW: The role?
CB: Ahum.
MW: Well just to look after the maps really and to help out in the intelligence office if I was needed. We did, we did have special duty men but I was the only WAAF involved in the intelligence at that time. We did have map WAAF officers and I’ll come to that at a later stage. I was, Ivor Jones recommended me for commission which I refused on the grounds that I preferred to stay where I was and I didn’t really want to be an administrative. I don’t know, I don’t, I can’t cope with admin at all really but he thought I would be able and on two occasions he did recommend me for commission but I refused on both occasions as I wanted to be able to stay there. Would you like to know a bit about what we did when we were off duty?
CB: Absolutely.
MW: The, the, we had an inspection, a kit inspection, once a month at which everything had to be laid out. I don’t know if you know about the beds but the beds we called biscuits. We had three erm like squares. I think they contained straw or something like that or that kind of thing and there was an iron frame of the bed and there were three biscuits that you, and then your sheets and your blankets and every morning before you left the hut, in my case with being shift working I didn’t, I could get away with it but every morning you had to stack those biscuits into three. Fold your blankets, fold your sheets and everything and put on that every morning. The WAAF officer went around and if they found you hadn’t done that you were in for trouble and um well we had kit inspection once a month but a lot of the time we lost something or forgotten it so while the WAAF officer was down this end we would, somebody would go around and replace it some, what was missing but those evenings turned out to be quite good really because we sat around the fire. We had these, these slow burning stoves, black stoves, this was in the Nissen hut. This, because this was later, after, you know when I was still in the, well I was at Linton for three and a half years you see but most of that time I was in a modern, in RAF quarters or in wooden huts which were a little bit better than the, than the Nissen huts but at a later stage I was in Nissen huts and they were, were not easy to, to heat you know. There was no heat.
CB: Ahum.
MW: We had to go down the road almost to go to the loo or to get a bath. We were allowed four inches of bath. There was a line all the way around the bath, four inches of water and you could, if you were lucky to get a bath. It wasn’t always easy because there wasn’t enough water to go around. But on the whole life was, it, it, I have to say it was very happy. The RAF did take on you as a person, a young person who had left their parents and they did look after you. You certainly got cautioned if you did things wrong and you certainly got, you were confined to barracks if you didn’t, if you did anything really bad. But on the whole you could get away with being a few minutes late on your pass at the guard house, in the guard room. Christmas was good. We always looked forward to Christmas because the officers’ mess always turned out and they waited on us always with the, with the food. They tried to do as much as one could with the lack of resources in those days but you usually had a fairly reasonable Christmas dinner and as I say it was good fun with the officers waiting on us. Dances. We had sergeants’ mess dances, officers’ mess dances which unless you were non-commissioned officers you weren’t allowed to go to those unless you were invited specially. And always the pictures. Always had the pictures. We were issued at Uxbridge with a mug and a knife and a fork and a spoon which we all christened our irons. You’re smiling. You know about irons don’t you?
CB: Absolutely.
MW: And if you got to the mess without your irons well you had to go back for them because they didn’t supply them. On thinking about this and I thought well it’s really quite hygienic because you’ve got, you were responsible for cleaning and looking after your irons, your mug and your irons but you weren’t expected to lose those.
CB: What was the mug made from?
MW: Hmmn?
CB: What was the mug made of?
MW: Oh is it -
CB: Was it metal?
MW: Enamel.
CB: It was enamel.
MW: Enamel. Yes.
CB: Yes.
MW: Yes, yes. White enamel.
CB: Ahum.
MW: And they did provide pyjamas, shoes. Shoes were dreadful, absolutely ruined my feet because they were so hard and everybody complained. Stockings, knickers, vests, everything. We had everything provided that you needed and in a way now one thing I hate getting dressed in the morning now because you don’t know what to put on. In the RAF you always knew what to put on because it was always that’s what you wore, you see. The washing was difficult cause we couldn’t, but we did manage to find women in the village who would do a bit of washing for us but we always took our collars to the Chinese. The Chinese had various laundries in, in York and we took, because they came back nice and stiff you see.
CB: Ahum.
MW: But what people don’t realise, I think how difficult it was then because we had two studs. One for the back. The collar was separate from the shirt you see and you had to put this collar stud in the back of your shirt and pull it around and then there’s another stud there at the front to put your, to do it up and then get your tie on after that. It wasn’t easy [laughs] but we, you get, you did get used to it. I think we enjoyed it mainly because we were young. We couldn’t, we couldn’t have done it over thirty.
CB: Ahum.
MW: No. But none of us were over thirty anyway so that didn’t really - Now, where do I go from there?
CB: Ok, so we touched briefly on the social side.
MW: Yes.
CB: So on the station -
MW: Yes, well I think-
CB: There was a cinema on the station was there?
MW: Things like when Gee came in. Yes -
CB: The navigation aid -
MW: At Linton we were the first to have Gee and I had special maps which were an absolute nightmare to look up because it was so secret at the time. We had to look after that. We were the first Halifaxes at Linton to have cameras available.
CB: This is the bombing camera.
MW: Yes. Bombing cameras. Not that easy to begin with and I did do a bit of, of the research on the photographs that came back. I have to tell you that there were very, very many that never went anywhere near the target.
CB: Absolutely, but one of the reasons for having the camera was to identify -
MW: Absolutely. Yes.
CB: That the target had actually been hit.
MW: Yes but then of course it all got better. It really did and then by ‘43 things really did hot up.
CB: Right.
MW: And we began to get control of things then. The, we had the thousand bomber raid from Linton. Every available aircraft they could pull out of anywhere went that night. Yes. Leonard Cheshire was there all the time. Most of the time actually. He, he was always good fun.
CB: Which squadron was he?
MW: Always danced with the wall flowers [laughs]. And he, yeah and very unassuming and a really charming person. I’ll tell you about when they went to, Cheshire and another went, they won, they tossed up. They wanted some pilots to go up to Canada to bring back Liberators for us to use. Cheshire won the toss up with another pilot. They went off. Quite not quite what they expected it was quite a poor boat that they went out on but they, they managed to go and get there. When they got there to Canada they hadn’t, they hadn’t the Liberators ready because they had to do, have a little bit of training so they were given some leave and he went off, they went off to New York for some leave and Cheshire met an ex-film star and they were having a really good time and this was a lady called Constance Binney and she was twenty years older than Leonard but on the spur of the moment in the few days that they were there they got married. Everybody was really, really sad when, but it obviously wasn’t going to work. It did work for a while and he, he rented, they rented a cottage in Marston Moor and then I think they had a railway carriage in Marston Moor and this was really funny because she was very glamourous and she was a lovely pianist in the mess. She used to play the piano beautifully. And very sociable of course. She, she didn’t get on too well in the, in the cottage and I had a friend who was in charge of the telephones. Telephone is downstairs from my office upstairs and we, as telephonists, could, we could always plug into a conversation. You had to pull the plug back and leave it open and you could hear what the conversation was. Now, we did. When Constance was on the phone we often used listen in to what Cheshire and Constance was, one day she was in a real state because she’d, Cheshire had shot a pheasant because he had somebody coming for supper and she said, she said she had put this thing in the oven and it was making a terrible smell. She couldn’t understand why it was making a terrible smell. Do you know? She left the innards in. But no we were very naughty. Not all the time but occasionally my friend, she would pull the plug back and listen in to the conversation. So we just um -
CB: In your office, was in the control tower was it? Or where?
MW: Yes. In, in -
CB: On the first floor?
MW: Yes, downstairs to begin with. I was in, I was always in headquarters and I was next door to the group captain to begin with. That was a small office. And then one day they moved me upstairs. The intelligence, I could take you blindfold in there now. The intelligence office was on the right-hand side, upstairs adjutant here and briefing room there. All right across the front of the building and my office was the middle one and the intelligence office was on the right-hand side so we were all together really and that made it easy for us to, for me to work when they came back.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Because they were interrogated in the briefing room and then came in to me to, I had to issue aids to escape and things like that. And get all those things back from them.
CB: So were you briefing aircrew before they left as well as debriefing them -
MW: Were they?
CB: Were you briefing aircrew before they left as well as debriefing them?
MW: No.
CB: When they returned. Or just the debrief?
MW: We, they were, the briefing was always on its own you know and then but they all went out together you know in varying, in two or three-minute intervals so that what were coming back did come back. They were, we were, they were debriefed in, in or interrogated in the briefing room. Yes.
CB: And did you sit in on all the debriefing?
MW: No I was making tea but I did do. Yes I did go in if Ivor Jones asked me go in and -
CB: Okay.
MW: And sort out anything like that.
CB: Yes.
MW: But I wasn’t always in on the interrogation.
CB: Right. So -
MW: I know I was in on the briefing because the boys used to all come up together. I went up with the maps, with the target maps one day, one evening, and I got in there, they were in there and there was a man in civilian clothing in there and I said, ‘What are you doing here?’ No civilians. It was very, very secret and hush hush and I said, ‘What are you?’ He said, ‘I’m the met officer.’ ’Cause they were still in civilian clothes in those days you see until quite late on in the war. They -
CB: Oh right.
MW: They weren’t given status to wear uniform but seeing a civilian in the briefing room when we were just about to do, to do a briefing that, and that really threw me a bit.
CB: Ok -
MW: I’ll tell you about Douglas.
CB: Douglas Bader.
MW: Douglas. June the 12th 1942. We’d been seeing each other for about two months and we had been out to York to the pictures the night before. He took-off the following day to an advance base to reconnaissance on the Bay of Biscay looking for minesweepers of course and we’d been out the night before and we’d got engaged. I didn’t have a ring then but, and I said I wouldn’t, we wouldn’t even think about marrying until the war was over. That wasn’t. Plenty of girls did but it wasn’t, it wasn’t really the right thing because they, we lost so many. Well you can say how many -
CB: Yes.
MW: We lost, it really wasn’t the right thing because he often left you with a baby or you know, as a young, a very young widow but we, we, we agreed on this and of course the following day, following evening I was on duty waiting for them to come back and he didn’t and there was that period between, which was the worse really, between when they should have been back and the waiting for them to come back. The wait. A couple of hours and they didn’t come back.
CB: Ahum.
MW: So what I did or what most of us did if we’d been on night duty we, you were just too tensed up to sleep. It was no good. You were supposed to go to sleep but you couldn’t do that. It was, we were just so tensed up with everything that we used to go into York and I quite liked riding at the time so used to go out and have a ride or get, try and get a meal or something just to try and get relaxed because I would be on duty again the next night you see possibly and -
CB: Where was he stationed?
MW: Pardon?
CB: Where was he stationed?
MW: At Linton.
CB: He was.
MW: Yes. But, at 58 squadron.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes [pause]. That was a Wellington.
CB: And what was he doing mainly?
MW: He was a navigator.
CB: Right.
MW: Observer. Yes.
CB: Right. And what happened?
MW: Well I think possibly they ran, they mistook the cloud base and ran into the cliff.
CB: Oh.
MW: And that is why, no one knew, his mother didn’t know, we didn’t know until, I didn’t know until fairly recently, eight years ago when I asked. This is, this is digressing really –
CB: That’s ok.
MW: But I, until my cousin was here and I said would you like to have a look on your internet and see if you can see this young man’s name and I gave him the number and the rank and everything and he came back to me the next morning and said, ‘That was easy.’ He said, ‘There’s only one of that name in the whole of the records.’ He said, ‘Is it Douglas Harsum and I said, ‘Yes.’ And he told me and he told me where, where, where he was and I said, ‘Well, would you like to come? Shall we go to Bilbao and look,’ and we did and we went to the cemetery. It’s wonderful. I’ve got the pictures and I’ll find them for you for the next time you come.
CB: Ahum.
MW: But it’s a beautiful cemetery and -
CB: Good.
MW: It’s, they’re all in one communal grave.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes. But it’s beautifully kept and it was being looked after by an English lady married to a Spanish, yes, Spanish man, yes. She’d been there a number of years. There’s a Book of Remembrance, there’s a small church, small C of E church and a small Catholic church. The Catholic one was very, very rarely or hardly used at all. The C of E one they always have a service on Remembrance Day and on various other days but I’ve got all the info there. It’s all written down and I did write to the WAAF magazine and they printed it actually.
CB: Excellent.
MW: What I wrote and told them about it, about that but I became, after many months of losing Douglas I kept getting letters from his mother. Would I go and see her. I couldn’t do that at that time. I was, partly I was busy and I, emotionally I wasn’t fit to see anybody but eventually I did go and she lived at Richmond and he was an only son and the last in the line of the Harsum and we became very good friends. In fact, she had lost her husband and you see, I did, I kept in touch for many years after that but it didn’t turn out quite as I expected because she got very fond of me and she wanted me to go and live with her but I was young. I wanted to get married or to have children and, and that’s, that’s what happened and I did get married.
CB: This cemetery, the cemetery, is it, because a lot of aircrew were lost in the Bay of Biscay. Does it-
MW: Yes it was mainly, mainly aircrew.
CB: Yeah.
MW: There are one or two others but as I say I’ve got that written down and I can let you -
CB: I was wondering if it’s a War Graves Commission -
MW: Yes, it is.
CB: Cemetery. It is.
MW: Yes, it is.
CB: Right.
MW: In Maidenhead.
CB: Oh I thought you meant the one in Bilbao.
MW: No. The one I got in touch with.
CB: Yes.
MW: To be able to tell me all the info.
CB: Yes.
MW: How to get there and what, you know, what to expect. And that was in -
CB: Was Maidenhead.
MW: Maidenhead, yes.
CB: Yeah.
MW: They gave me all the, Douglas’s crew which I didn’t really know that well and they were, I got all their names and everything all written down from, from, from the Maidenhead people.
CB: How long had you known him?
MW: Three months.
CB: Ahum
MW: Two months. Not long.
CB: And he -
MW: He would have been twenty one on, he was, he was killed in the June. He would have been twenty one in the August, on the 17th of August that year but that was the average age for, for aircrew.
CB: Yeah. And did you -
MW: And then of course you got these, the conscientious objectors.
CB: Yes. Tell me more about those.
MW: Tell me?
CB: More about them.
MW: Well, I don’t know very much except that they would come into my office. You see it cost quite a lot for the RAF to train a pilot or a navigator and then they would, they would go through that training and then find that, that God was, was stronger than what they could do. They couldn’t do it because of their religion but why? I would say, ‘Well, why, if you’re, why didn’t you realise that before you did the training.’ You see it was absolutely out for a, for a conscientious objector. There was no question about anything. You just went out of the RAF just like that with no, no, no reference, no pension, no nothing. It really was a very nasty, a very bad thing to happen to anybody really but they did, they would er -
CB: Who were these people? Were they any types of the crew or just particular members who had this -
MW: Were they?
CB: Were they all sorts of different crew members or -
MW: Oh yes.
CB: Or were they only pilots?
MW: Yes, no
CB: Or -
MW: They were, no they were all different kinds.
CB: Right.
MW: Different ones yeah. Rear gunners were, were it was very rare that pilots I think that would do it but the rear gunners and I don’t know if there was an occasional navigator that, that were conscientious objectors -
CB: There’s a key question here I think that emerges from the point about conscientious objectors who they called conshies.
MW: Yes.
CB: What about LMF?
MW: Hmmn?
CB: Lack of moral fibre.
MW: Absolutely. You’ve got it.
CB: So how do you differentiate between those and the conscientious objectors?
MW: You don’t.
CB: Right.
MW: No. That, that’s an awful phrase really. Isn’t it? Lack of moral conscience -
CB: Moral fibre yeah.
MW: Fibre, Yeah.
CB: What did they do to them? What did they do with them?
MW: What did they do?
CB: When they were identified as falling into this category?
MW: Well they just got in they just had interviews with senior officers and they were just chucked out of the RAF. No, you couldn’t, they couldn’t re-muster. They couldn’t do anything. But that’s what that, they went, just had to go.
CB: This is at Linton on Ouse.
MW: Yes.
CB: Did they run parades and have these people um identified on parades?
MW: On -?
CB: On parades. Did they call together airmen -
MW: Not that I know of.
CB: Ground crew.
MW: No. I don’t think so.
CB: Right.
MW: No. I think they were just turned out you see if they, I felt so very sorry for them really because if you can’t, it was really lack of moral fibre. They just could not do it, you see. They hadn’t got the nerve, you see.
CB: Was, was - sorry.
MW: You, you, you take somebody like Cheshire who did over a hundred operations, sorties including Nagasaki which happened later but that, and you and he said was he ever frightened, nervous about going on any? But of course he was as he said after doing sixty operations you were still nervous about the thing but you had to do it. You had to go in and do it and what I didn’t quite understand about people like Cheshire was that they had no compunction about whatsoever about bombing the Germans, killing the Germans. He knew he was going to kill people but you know on one occasion at a later stage when he went to France, you know that, and he went, he circled the factory that he was meant to bomb, it was when he was on 617 and he circled the factory there three times in order for the girls to get out because he was low level bombing then in the Mosquito.
CB: Ahum.
MW: And, and they did. They got out. And one of those French girls came back to England, came to Linton to thank him. Didn’t want to know. No, didn’t want to know. But after Nagasaki he was a different person. That was the crunch. He wouldn’t, that really turned that man into something completely different.
CB: Interesting.
MW: Yes.
CB: Yeah.
MW: That you, he said you’ve got to find a better way of making peace in this country without that sort of bombing. You’ve got to find a better peace finally. But have we?
CB: Can we just go back to your debriefings? What was the information you were looking for specifically?
MW: Oh I didn’t do debriefing.
CB: At the end of a raid.
MW: Ivor Jones did all the -
CB: Yes, but you were there listening -
MW: We had three -
CB: Some of the time.
MW: We had three squadron er two flight lieutenants, one pilot officer and Squadron Leader Ivor Jones in the intelligence. That was the establishment and I say you, you understand about establishment don’t you? That, that’s what you were allowed and that’s what you had. And one was the managing director of Brylcreem [laughs]. I can’t remember his name just at the minute but he was. I can’t remember his name at the moment.
CB: But he was one of the intelligence officers?
MW: No, they did all the debriefing. They did. Ivor Jones would say. ‘Did you,’ you know did you, did you, ‘Did you see the target? Did you bomb the target?’ And they would make all the notes. Oh no, I didn’t do any of that. No. No I just looked after them morally I suppose, you know with their cups of tea and -
CB: So the maps you were providing did they have before a raid? What was on the map? Was it a plain map or did it have anything drawn on it?
MW: Oh, no it’s Mercator, projector.
CB: Right.
MW: The 48-4 was the main one that they used for Europe you see.
CB: Ahum
MW: And then they had a small target map if, if they were available and these all came from High Wycombe and then they had an ordinary, not always they took a map but they had a silk map provided in their aids to escape which was double sided. I had one when I came out of the RAF but my cousin persuaded me to give it to him which I did and he had it made into a double-sided picture so he has it hanging on the wall.
CB: Okay.
MW: [Which you can] And they had a compass.
CB: These are the escape equipment.
MW: In, in their shoes yeah.
CB: Yeah.
MW: Or in the, underneath the -
CB: In the heel.
MW: You know about these things anyway don’t you?
CB: Well we need to -
MW: But they, and I had to issue things like that and make sure they all came back.
CB: So, how many other WAAFs were there in the intelligence section?
MW: Oh, we had two special duty, two men, young, young, they weren’t corporals. No, I was the only corporal.
CB: Ok.
MW: And I’d say Ivor Jones, Brylcreem and this other one and sometimes a pilot officer.
CB: Were they people who were new to the RAF or were some of them pilots already?
MW: Were they?
CB: Were they people -
MW: No they were, they were admin. No they weren’t -
CB: There weren’t any flying people -
MW: They weren’t flying at all.
CB: In that.
MW: No. I don’t know what Ivor Jones did in the army but I should think he would do, he would do an administrative job because he was so good at it.
CB: Ahum.
MW: As I say we didn’t have any WAAF officers. I think we only had one when I, you see it was 1940 when I went in. My number is quite low. It’s 893293.
CB: Yes.
MW: Yes.
[pause]
CB: So obviously you kept that number all the time.
MW: You can’t get it out of your head, you know.
CB: No. Of course not.
MW: It stays there.
CB: Absolutely.
MW: Absolutely.
CB: I think everybody in the forces knows that -
MW: I know. They do. Yes.
CB: Remembers their number.
MW: Then of course I’m going out of Bomber Command now but I went to er, in the end of ‘43 I went to -
CB: That’s when you went to Shawbury was it?
MW: No. I went to Melksham. No, I went to um Newmarket first.
CB: Oh.
MW: Just for a few weeks.
CB: Yeah.
MW: And then I didn’t do much there. There’s not really any interest at all and then I went to Silverstone.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Silverstone was good because it was very near my home.
CB: Yes.
MW: And we were always, the done thing that we would go down to the bottom of the road and thumb a lift. It was nothing. You just did that.
CB: Yeah.
MW: You wouldn’t do it today. But that’s what you, and that was fine.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Shawbury -
CB: What did you do at Silverstone? That was an OTU.
MW: That’s right yes OTU. I just looked after the maps there and they had a lot of navigational equipment that needed a bit of attention from time to time. Sextants and things like that you know and, and not a great deal, I wasn’t there that long. But then I went to Shawbury that was the air, Empire Air Navigation School and they, the map office was in quite a mess there and needed a lot of attention but they were also working on Aries.
CB: What was Aries?
MW: That aircraft that went, that went to Canada. It was a special, special aircraft. I did help the squadron leader there. Squadron Leader Proctor who, who was handling that project.
CB: What were you helping him with?
MW: With the maps.
CB: Right.
MW: With the map reading. The reading out the numbers and positions on the map where they needed to be.
CB: But you didn’t go over to Canada with him?
MW: Oh no. I didn’t do any of that. No.
CB: Ok.
MW: I did do a bit of flying at Silverstone because they used to come backwards and forwards and around to Oxford in training you see. A few times I went up in an Anson. You know, the little aircraft, the Anson and, and Silverstone um Shawbury was, they were training an Australian squadron. What was, what was their number? 101, yes. All Australians. Very interesting young men. Full of life.
CB: Okay.
MW: Yes. We had, where are we there? Oh yes we were back in married quarters again then. Yes ‘cause I was in charge of a house there.
CB: This is in Shawbury?
MW: In Shawbury, yes.
CB: Yeah.
MW: Yeah ‘cause they tended to use the houses but of course not you see, at Linton and Driffield, they were permanent stations.
CB: Yes.
MW: Pre-war station and all built roughly the same aren’t they?
CB: Yeah and Shawbury. Yeah.
MW: Yes. Yes. Have you been to Linton?
CB: Yes and Shawbury.
MW: And Shawbury oh.
CB: They’re expansions period airfields. Yes. So then after Shawbury, well at Shawbury you were there for a little while.
MW: Yes. I was. And, and then at Shawbury, after Shawbury I went down to Brawdy in South Wales and that’s Coastal Command of course.
CB: Right.
MW: There, they were still, they were still flying of course by then, much later on.
CB: This was 1946.
MW: mmm’ And Shawbury.
CB: Brawdy.
MW: Brawdy was where I met my husband.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes. The map office was in a terrible mess. The navigation officer for whom I worked was absolutely wonderful to work for but I did get through the mess in the end because nobody had done anything for months. And they had just brought maps in, threw them down and it took me ages to get that clear. To, to get some sort of order there but um and then we moved to to Chivenor. The squadron moved to Chivenor and that’s near Barnstable.
CB: Also Coastal Command.
MW: Hmmn?
CB: Also Coastal Command.
MW: Also Coastal, yes.
CB: Yes.
MW: All Coastal then.
CB: So you were issuing a lot of charts for the sea.
MW: Absolutely. Quite different of course. There wasn’t the anxiety that there was with Bomber Command.
CB: So, how long were you at Chivenor?
MW: Not that long. I’m just trying to think. Yes I, and then I went to Northwood. Northwood was -
CB: The navy.
MW: And it and from there, Northwood, I was demobbed.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes.
CB: How far ahead did you know that you were going to be demobbed? Was it, did you volunteer for it or -?
MW: Ah yes well I because I’d been in so long because I was early, joined very early I could have come out much, but I offered to do another year, an extra year because really and truly there was nothing to do for me. I didn’t have a job to come back to and I certainly didn’t want to be back to be back to being a nursery governess again.
CB: Yeah.
MW: And I had met, met up with Roy and we were, I was toying with the idea of either going to live with Douglas’s mother, or going to Australia or marrying Roy and in the end I decided I would get married.
CB: It was a better offer.
MW: A better offer [laughs] but er so then that’s what we did.
CB: So Roy was still at Brawdy.
MW: He was moved to Waddington.
CB: Right. Oh.
MW: Yes. So, I came to live in Lincoln then.
CB: Ahum
MW: After that.
CB: Before you married him.
MW: Hmmn?
CB: Before you married him you were where?
MW: Oh yes. I lived in Lincoln.
CB: Yes.
MW: I got a job in Lincoln with the telephone manager’s officer. And that’s a different story. When you take, when you consider what they do today and what we did then in the telephone manager’s office it’s just archaic. You just don’t believe what, what goes on now. But yes I was, I was there. You wouldn’t want to know about that but -
CB: Well it’s just intriguing because what did people do when they left the RAF?
MW: This is it. I walked the streets to find accommodation for a start. There was nowhere to live. My family were down in Bloxham and I wanted to be near, be with Roy. There was no work in Bloxham, in the Banbury area and there um. There was no work and there was no accommodation but I think accommodation was the worst of my worries when I came out of the RAF. I did have a very good report from the officer at Northolt. Very, very good. He said, it should be in the roof somewhere but quite where, I don’t know and I managed to get a job purely on that, on that reference. You had to have a reference for everything in those days.
CB: Yeah.
MW: On that reference that he gave me I got this job in the telephone manager’s office. And then I managed to get some, some digs in Lincoln. Just one room. And then finally after we got married we got some, shared a house at Navenby. Do you know Navenby?
CB: No.
MW: Yes. Just up the road from -
CB: Yes.
MW: Lovely little village it was. Until Roy went , and we hadn’t been married long and he was posted to Aden.
CB: Oh.
MW: And he went by air. Flying by air was very limited in those days. You couldn’t. It wasn’t like it is now. It was very few and far between but he went out by air to take charge of the station at Aden. Khormaksar that is.
CB: Ahum.
MW: And I could go when he found me some suitable accommodation which [laughs] which again was a nightmare. Him trying to find me, but we did get in the end he decided that I would go to the Crescent Hotel which was the only reasonable place to live in it. So I went out by sea on the Toledo and arrived in Aden on Christmas Day, pouring with rain which he told me it never rained in Aden. And we had two years in Aden. Do you know Aden?
CB: Never been.
MW: No. Well you know where it is of course.
CB: Yeah. Yeah.
MW: Yes. Yes. But not many, I say to people, no idea where it is.
CB: We interviewed somebody operating from there.
MW: Yeah.
CB: Ahum.
MW: It’s, I mean you’d think, they don’t know the map these days.
CB: No. No.
MW: They get in the aircraft and fly off somewhere but they’ve no idea where they’re going I don’t think.
CB: So, then, when you, you were there for two years.
MW: Yes.
CB: Then where did you go? Well Roy was posted where?
MW: We came back. He was posted to Upper Heyford and then to Abingdon.
CB: And you got quarters.
MW: No.
CB: Did you get a quarter in both cases?
MW: We didn’t get quarters because he was back as a civilian by then.
CB: Oh, of course. Yes.
MW: Yes. He was a senior met officer in Aden.
CB: Ahum.
MW: In civilian but officer status you see.
CB: Ahum.
MW: So he could have lived in, well he did live in the officers’ mess in Aden but I couldn’t you see. Yes. It was officers’ mess only and so then we stayed in, we managed to buy a house or bungalow in Kennington which is not far from Oxford.
CB: Yeah.
MW: Oh, first of all we went, we had we shared a house in a place called Longworth.
CB: Yeah.
MW: And then we managed to buy this bungalow in Kennington and by that time we had our first son, Richard. Kennington is quite near Radley. Radley College.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Richard went to Radley College. Things were settling down there and then we had to move to Aylesbury.
CB: Roy went to Halton did he?
MW: Hmmn?
CB: Why did you go to Aylesbury?
MW: The Met Office just move you.
CB: Yeah.
MW: It’s like being in the RAF. The same.
CB: But stationed at Halton?
MW: He was stationed at, when we moved to Aylesbury he was stationed at Dunstable.
CB: Oh right.
MW: Dunstable was the main. So we bought a house in Aylesbury and for the five or six years that he was, he was at Dunstable we lived at Aylesbury and I had my second son at Aylesbury.
CB: What’s his name?
MW: Nicholas. And then we moved to Bracknell. The Met Office moved in 1961. It probably was here in 1960 when it was officially opened but the official Met Office where all the forecasting was done.
CB: But you came in ’61.
MW: Yes. They had a huge computer which was as big as this bungalow but it was all valves.
CB: Oh.
MW: All valves there and Roy was in charge of that. They used to get him up in the middle of the night because it had gone wrong and there were only three of those computers in the country and one was owned by Joe Lyons. Why he wanted one I don’t know and the other was down in something to do with the army. I can’t remember but -
CB: Yeah
MW: Roy used to go down there sometimes when the Met Office had broken down and he, well we’ve been in, in Crowthorne for fifty three years now.
CB: Have you really?
MW: Since we were in, but in that time Roy has been to Gan and the Indian Ocean but we weren’t -
CB: Yeah.
MW: I wasn’t allowed to go because they don’t have women on Gan at all.
CB: No. It’s such a small island.
MW: That’s right. Yes.
CB: No.
MW: And I had my third son here.
CB: His name is -?
MW: He’s Edward.
CB: Oh right. Did any of the three go into the Met Office like their father?
MW: No. No. One, Richard is an optician.
CB: Oh right.
MW: He’s got a practice in Hampton Court.
CB: Ahum.
MW: And Nicholas, the middle one is an engineer but he works in Wales and Edward, unfortunately, Edward has a business building children’s playgrounds.
CB: Ah.
MW: He had a very, very successful business doing all the children’s playgrounds around up and down the country but he had a severe stroke.
CB: Oh.
MW: Four years ago.
CB: Right.
MW: I saw him yesterday and he is very disabled. But we do, he’s only down at Halton so we -
CB: Ahum.
MW: Do meet up for lunch but unfortunately it was a very bad stroke.
CB: Oh dear.
MW: It was life and death really.
CB: Awful.
MW: Very bad. But he’s cheerful and I took my friend see him, to have lunch with him yesterday and he said, ‘You know, Mary, he does, he’s with it.’ It’s just the problem is with the speech. He can’t communicate -
CB: Right.
MW: It’s all up here.
CB: Yeah. Frustrating.
MW: And Peter said, ‘Oh he knows what he wants to say Mary. He can’t, just can’t’ -
CB: Ahum.
MW: He’s, he’s living at home now. And he, I don’t think he’s resentful, you know, about what’s happened to him. He seems quite cheerful and my friend said, he hadn’t met him before, and he said that he thought he was, he was really quite good obviously you know with his ability to talk. He says a lot of bloody hells unfortunately.
CB: Does he?
MW: And my friend’s a priest so [laughs]. I said to Peter, ‘Look,’ I said –‘, ‘I don’t really want - ’ He said, ‘Look Mary it’s no difference at all.’ But he’s like that. I mean a lot of priests wouldn’t have -
CB: No.
MW: Gone along with that but he’s very nice and -
CB: How many grandchildren have you got?
MW: Six. They’ve each got two.
CB: Two, two and two are they?
MW: They’ve each have two yeah and one came yesterday with us, Abigail. She’s lovely and she’s finished at Sheffield. She’s got, she’s got a law and criminology.
CB: Oh.
MW: And she’s the prettiest thing you ever saw.
CB: Going back to your, your major role in the RAF was in intelligence.
MW: Ahum.
CB: What was the key item that sticks in your mind about your job there?
MW: About my?
CB: The job you did. What was the most important part of it would you say?
MW: Looking after the boys. Yes. Being, the maps things were easy, I ordered the maps. I knew where they were going and knew how to calculate the targets and that but it was looking after the boys that was the most important.
CB: And what was looking after the boys? What did they really need?
MW: They needed a little bit of comfort. I think Ivor Jones saw that in me when he asked me because that was a very unusual thing to do. Chris, you don’t get away with that sort of thing in the RAF.
CB: No.
MW: I don’t think anybody else would tell you that story.
CB: Ahum.
MW: That, to be, to be told by a squadron leader to report to him the following morning without being re-mustered.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Without being, the WAAF officers being told. It was very unusual. That was the key point in my, it was one of the best jobs in the RAF really.
CB: Ahum.
MW: When I think about it. I mean all these girls that did, the friends of mine that did, that did work on balloons and, and, and television, the er um telephone operators and that but they, mine was, I was right in the midst of it. Right in the midst of the bombing. I knew, I knew the target. I knew what was going on and, and I mean Ivor Jones knew where the flak was coming from, what to tell them what to avoid and that but um and all that and, and it was just I was just in the thick of it really.
CB: So these, these young men are aged nineteen, twenty.
MW: Oh average age yes.
CB: Twenty one.
MW: Yes. Yes.
CB: And what are they really wanting to talk about?
MW: What did they want to talk about? Their home life. They’d just come out of university some of them. Not all of them. Just tell them what was going on at home. I don’t think they really wanted to be there. I’m sure they didn’t, a lot of them but, but they were going to do it. They wanted to be aircrew.
CB: Yeah.
MW: That was the absolutely the aim of every young man in the RAF was to be aircrew. Nobody wanted a groundcrew job at all.
CB: They were just getting things off their chests.
MW: Hmmn?
CB: They were trying to get things off their chest.
MW: Oh yes. Yes. Yeah.
CB: Any ground crew talk to you the same way?
MW: Did the ground crew -?
CB: Any ground people because they would have learned from air crew that you were somebody who was sympathetic to concerns did you get -
MW: No. I never really got to know the [air] crew I was really involved so involved with the maps I didn’t really get to know the ground crew at all.
CB: No.
MW: No.
CB: What was the worst experience you had, would you say?
MW: I think it was at Driffield.
CB: The bombing.
MW: The bombing. Yes.
CB: What was the casualty level then?
MW: We had –
MW: We had one WAAF killed on the station and about seven airmen. Seven others. That’s all in Cheshire’s book.
CB: Is it? Right.
MW: Yes, and even I am mentioned in “Cheshire VC” and he said about this WAAF who he had to put in to, in to the shelter. That was a very near thing for me. Well, for the three of us. There were two officers who weren’t when we went into this small room when, when everything started collapsing and you couldn’t see your way out and as I say then it was, it was Cheshire who pushed us in to the shelter. But I think possibly, we did have some very bad raids at Linton at night. We got, we were bombed one night. We were in the shelter and we got, I got thrown from one end of the shelter to the other end of the shelter. Ended up at the other end of the shelter and I had a piece of shrapnel in my toe, in my foot. But I would have said that because Linton, Driffield was the first experience of that sort of bombing in daylight that we, that it was quite horrendous.
CB: So -
MW: I, I [pause]
CB: Do you want to pause for a bit?
MW: Ahum
CB: This is an emotional -
MW: Ahum
CB: Issue isn’t it. Let’s stop for a bit.
[pause]
Other: Yeah. Look at those two there. That could be Scarlet and James.
CB: Mary’s done so well that we’re just stopping for a cup of tea which of course is what they did in the war as a way of reducing the difficulties of the time.
MW: What we haven’t discussed of course is whether you wanted to know and I thought you did is what I did after the war.
CB: That’s it.
MW: When I came back.
CB: I did. Yes.
MW: And that is quite interesting really.
CB: Is it? Yes.
MW: Yes because after the boys were out of school.
CB: Ahum.
MW: I, I took up flower arranging.
CB: Did you?
MW: Yeah. And I did a City and Guilds. Have you done? Have you?
Other: Yes.
MW: I can’t believe it.
Other: Yes.
MW: Goodness.
Other: I’ve done the floristry as well.
MW: I’ve done floristry as -
Other: And got the City and Guilds, yes.
MW: You’ve done City and Guilds?
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: Goodness me.
CB: Every Wednesday she does flower arranging classes.
MW: Yes. Yeah, well I’ve done the cathedrals.
Other: Lovely.
MW: Oxford twice.
Other: Lovely.
MW: Christchurch, Westminster Abbey, Guildford.
Other: Super.
MW: And I’ve been chairman of the club. Well I -
Other: Have you?
MW: For my sins. But yes, if you want to know about that well -
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: It’s so nice to meet somebody -
Other: It’s a lovely thing to do isn’t it?
MW: You take, whilst you’re flower arranging you can’t think of anything else.
Other: No. That’s right.
MW: [?] And I say to all the classes that I have, that I’ve had in the past, not so much now but in the past I’ve said look if you take up flower arranging if you’ve got a problem and everybody seems to have problems-
Other: Oh yes.
MW: These days. That you can’t think about anything else.
Other: No. No, that’s true.
MW: You just concentrate.
Other: That’s right.
MW: On your flowers. And your foliage of course.
Other: Yes your foliage.
MW: Your foliage.
Other: Is very important. I’ve got a lot of foliage in the garden actually.
MW: So have I. [laughs] Myrtle is the thing isn’t it?
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: Yes, I’ve got -
Other: The only thing I haven’t got which is very useful is Ruscus.
MW: Oh I haven’t got Ruscus either.
Other: That’s a super thing isn’t it?
MW: It is, isn’t it? Yes.
Other: Both the hard and the soft Ruscus.
Other 2: Is that one yours?
CB: Yes.
Other 2: I’ll just empty the tea.
Other: Yes but I must -
MW: Well I did that you see. That was from -
CB: That’s lovely isn’t it?
Other: Beautiful.
MW: That’s somebody brought me some flowers the other day.
Other: Lovely.
MW: But this is what you see -
Other: Yeah. That’s lovely.
MW: You don’t -
CB: I’m glad we didn’t try to be too ambitious with what we brought you. [laughs]
Other: [laughs] I know.
MW: [Laughs] Well if you have to do this random. Have you been to the shows or anything this year?
Other: I’ve been up to new Covent Garden to demonstrations there and, you know. Various church -
CB: Thank you.
Other: Church festivals. Flower festivals and what have you.
MW: Do you do them for church?
Other: I do. Yes. I do. Yes. Not regularly. Only when they have a special occasion. We’ve just had one, we’ve just had a flower festival so I’ve done something -
MW: Oh have you?
Other: For that. Yes. Yes.
MW: I do. I’m on the church roster here.
Other: Yes.
MW: ‘Cause I go to church anyway.
Other: Yes, so do I.
MW: I’m a church going person but I’m on the church roster.
CB: That’s quite a commitment to do that.
Other: I used to. I used to be. I used to do it regularly.
MW: Yes.
Other: But I don’t now.
MW: We have a roster every year -
Other: Yes -
MW: For the year and you -
Other: Which is good.
MW: Put down what you think you can, you are able to do.
Other: That’s it.
MW: Oh, thanks Abigail, lovely.
Other: Yes.
MW: Then if you have another -
CB: Yes.
MW: Go on.
CB: These are very good.
Other: Not for me thank you. No.
CB: Are you on sugar?
MW: No thanks.
Other: We have a problem in our village that there aren’t that many people being willing to do it so I think one of the wardens who was responsible for doing the roster had to give up in the end so if we’re having any special occasion she’ll ask the few of us -
MW: Yes. Yes.
Other: That will do something. To do you know to do something.
MW: Well you know we decide before Easter what we can do during the year you see.
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: And then when we, we get to, if you can’t do that, if something comes up you find amongst yourselves. You -
Other: Somebody else will, yeah.
MW: You do that. But we have a problem with the altar. They won’t do the altar.
Other: Oh really.
CB: Really?
MW: And it always lands in my lap.
Other: Oh right.
MW: But I haven’t got the altar for Christmas. I’ve got the Remembrance table.
Other: Right. Right.
MW: I’m very good at pedestals.
Other: Lovely, yes.
MW: That’s really my strength. The pedestals.
Other: Lovely, lovely and it’s getting the weight right isn’t it?
MW: Yeah. But the, we, I mean I’m going back a long way to Dora Buckingham and that but City and Guilds isn’t an easy exam is it?
Other: No. No.
MW: No. People think you know it is. In fact, I went into it, I was just doing club things and my friend said, ‘Oh let’s go to Bracknell,’ she said, ‘They’ve got a course there going on.’ And so I said, ‘Ok we’ll do the course.’ We did. And then the tutor started talking about exams and I said, ‘What exam? I wasn’t, I wasn’t expecting any exam,’ She said, ‘Oh yes,’ She said, ‘It’s part one.’
Other: Ahum.
MW: And I got through that because I’d never done any, any exam work really in my life but they had what they called a multi, multi questions.
Other: Oh yes.
MW: There were four -
Other: Yeah. Yeah.
MW: And I think -
CB: Oh multiple choice.
MW: There’s only one right one you see.
Other: Yes.
MW: And I managed to do that.
Other: Good.
MW: And I got very good marks for that.
Other: Good.
MW: So then I went on to part two. Part two is very interesting isn’t it?
Other: Ahum.
MW: Did you watch Monty Don last night?
Other: No. I didn’t, no.
MW: Oh ‘cause he went through Capability Brown, Repton -
Other: Oh really.
MW: And Sackville West and all those -
Other: Oh I wish I’d seen that.
MW: People we know about. Yes
Other: Yeah.
MW: And if you’ve got it on your tape or if it comes up again. Do -
Other: I will. I’ll have a look.
MW: Yes.
Other: I will. Yes. Yes.
CB: Well at ninety six I’m amazed what you do.
MW: Oh go on it’s only a number.
CB: Yes but I mean you know the energy you put in to all these things is extraordinary.
MW: Yeah, but -
CB: Thank you very much.
MW: You see, once you’re a flower arranger -
CB: Yeah.
MW: You’re always a flower. You won’t give it up.
Other: No. Oh no. No.
MW: No. You won’t. No.
Other: I mean I go every week. I don’t learn anything but I just go for social -
MW: So do I, you see.
Other: Reasons.
MW: I go every month, you see.
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: Now I’m, I’m -
CB: You instruct though.
MW: Honorary president now.
Other: Right.
MW: Of the club ‘cause I was -
Other: Do you belong to NAFAS?
MW: Yes.
Other: You do. Yes. Which do. I haven’t done that.
MW: Oh.
Other: I haven’t. I’ve only done the floristry.
MW: Oh you’ve done the floristry. Yes.
Other: I’ve done the City and Guilds floristry.
MW: Yes I’ve done the City and Guilds.
Other: And really the floristry that I learned they don’t really use so much now because it was all the wiring of the bouquets.
MW: The wiring and the stuff.
Other: They don’t -
MW: Oh yes.
Other: Do that anymore.
MW: They don’t do that now.
Other: No.
MW: No all those hyacinths that you wire.
Other: Oh don’t. Taking all the, I know, I know.
MW: Yes.
Other: But that’s not done now is it? I mean -
MW: No they are glued on aren’t they?
Other: It’s all that hand tied bouquets. Yeah.
MW: My friend that brought me -
Other: Yes.
MW: Those the other day, she’s a florist -
Other: Right.
MW: From, in Bracknell and she but she’s also a flower arranger.
Other: Ah huh.
MW: And she did a competition at Aldershot last week and she had those flowers over you see so she says, ‘Oh Mary can have those.’
Other: Lovely, no that’s lovely, that’s really lovely yes. It’s one of my favourite arrangements actually. I think that’s a lovely arrangement.
MW: The triangle? Yes.
Other: Yes, yes but on a little pedestal is -
MW: Yes I like that.
Other: Lovely. Yes.
MW: I mean, I, because I judge as well.
Other: Yes.
MW: I do the judging for the horticultural and everything.
Other: Yes.
MW: Yes. You, the, what was I saying?
Other: You do the judging for the Horticultural Society.
MW: Yes. Yeah.
Other: Yes.
MW: And for the various other shows around here now but they I mean some it’s very difficult to judge.
Other: I know.
MW: Because they use all this wire and stuff and -
Other: Exactly. Yes.
MW: And glitter and all that stuff.
Other: I know.
MW: We didn’t do that did we?
Other: No. I had what could have been a very embarrassing moment because I was asked to judge the local Horticultural Society flower arrangements and unbeknown to me, my tutor, the lady that had taught me for years, was putting in an entry and I was judging it and I bumped into her in Tesco and I hadn’t got a list of who was taking part and she was avoiding me you see. She knew that I was going to be the judge but she was avoiding me and I thought that’s funny she’s behaving in a most peculiar way. Anyway, when it came to the judging thank God I gave her first place.
MW: Oh.
Other: But I mean that could have been a disaster couldn’t it?
MW: Oh, yeah and you see, you see people say to me, friends of mine say oh well we didn’t realise about the judging. About the judging that they -
Other: No. I know it’s quite a responsibility isn’t it?
MW: It’s frightening.
Other: And you’ve also got to, you know, give comments as well.
MW: Oh yes you have to give comments.
Other: So you know.
MW: Yes.
Other: You know, it could have been, it could have been absolutely disastrous for me.
MW: Disastrous.
Other: If I’d, if I, you know had not given her -
MW: The judging isn’t easy.
Other: No, it isn’t.
MW: These days anyway.
Other: No. No.
MW: Because they use, and NAFAS have brought out these, you have to judge by NAFAS rules of course don’t you?
Other: Yes. Well I got a book.
MW: You got the-
Other: Actually, I wrote to them and I got a book and I read it because I thought I must, you know, I was asked to do this judging.
MW: Yes.
Other: And I thought I must know a bit more about it.
MW: Of course.
Other: And so of course it all has to -
MW: But as I say nowadays they don’t -
Other: Be certain
MW: If they don’t read the schedule -
Other: That’s right.
MW: If they don’t relate to the, to the, to the schedule that you can’t, you’ve got, you’ve got to down point them really.
Other: Yes.
MW: Last year -
Other: Absolutely.
MW: At Wellington, Wellington College I got a girl, it was a beautiful basket. Absolutely. Sunflowers, which I don’t like anyway -
Other: I don’t. Isn’t that funny?
MW: I hate them actually. [laughs]
Other: I can’t stand them.
MW: And she and she said and she got this beautiful basket and the title was “Let’s Have a Picnic.”
Other: Oh right.
MW: You see, and this basket was there and it was sunny and shining and really, really said a nice sunny day to you but it didn’t say anything about a picnic.
Other: No.
MW: If she’d just put a cake or a couple of -
Other: That’s right. Something yeah.
MW: That would have said, it would have told. I couldn’t -
CB: No story.
MW: I just had to down point it you see but it was certainly, it was certainly the best arrangement there.
Other: Right. Yes.
MW: But you can’t. You can’t do that, like you say. Who have you got at Aylesbury, you live in Buckingham -
Other: I’m at Wilmslow.
MW: You’re at -
Other: So I’ve learnt in Wilmslow at the Education -
MW: Oh.
Other: Centre in Wilmslow actually.
MW: Ahh.
Other: Yeah.
MW: So you belong to the flower club there.
Other: Yes. Yes. Yes.
MW: And, and you do you have all the shows and things like that do you?
Other: Well you can go to various, yes you can go to the various shows but it’s mainly a learning centre so -
MW: A learning centre.
Other: Yes. Yes, educational centre.
MW: See I hadn’t started when we lived at Aylesbury but I still had my -
Other: Well Aylesbury is much better. I mean my floristry course which was one day a week took three years. That’s because in in Wilmslow -
MW: Well the City and Guilds.
Other: It was only a daily, a daily course you see and just a couple of hours.
MW: Yes.
Other: Whereas in Wilmslow they had, sorry, in Aylesbury they had much more, you know, concentrated courses.
MW: Yes.
Other: So it would have been a lot shorter but I was working at the time anyway and it suited me and I thought well I’ve always worked in offices. I wanted to do something different.
MW: Yeah. And you had a garden as well you say.
Other: Yes I’ve got a nice garden. Yes.
MW: Yes I have. At the back.
Other: it’s getting a bit much now because my husband used to do -
MW: Well I’ve got a gardener in now.
Other: Well I’m having to.
MW: That’s why it looks neat and tidy.
Other: I can see. I said to Chris when we got here, ‘The garden’s lovely.’
MW: Yes.
Other: I have a problem with gardeners in as much as they seem to flip from one person to another and they’re not reliable.
MW: Oh mine are actually. They’re costly.
Other: Yes I know.
MW: But I said, ‘Don’t worry about the house.’ I don’t worry about the carpets or anything as long as the garden looks right that’s alright.
CB: So how big is the garden at the back?
MW: Quite big, yes. Yes it’s
CB: And what, what, what sort of layout is it?
MW: Shrubs. I love shrubs.
Other: So do I. Not flowers. Isn’t it funny?
MW: No. You can do without flowers.
Other: People say you’re a flower arranger -
MW: Daphnes out here -
Other: But you don’t like flowers.
MW: My Daphnes are about to flower and all my shrubs at the back there.
Other: CB: What’s your favourite flower?
MW: Flower?
CB: Yes.
MW: Oh I suppose it would have to be the Lily. The Lily of the Valley
Other: Yes, they’re beautiful.
CB: And what about shrub? What’s your favourite shrub?
MW: The Daphne, which is about to flower any minute but we’ve got Azaleas. We’ve got -
Other: So have I.
MW: Magnolias. This estate is wonderful in the -
Other: I can imagine.
MW: We’ve got all this -
Other: The soil looks, the soil looks good.
MW: Yes, It is.
Other: Our soil isn’t good -
MW: No. Well when we lived at Aylesbury -
Other: You see.
MW: We had different soil there but -
Other: Yes, ours is very clayey.
MW: And this friend of mine the priest this is all we talk about when we go out you see. The plants. He is so interested in, in the plant life and he’s very clever but he’s more interested in leaf form.
Other: Yes.
MW: The form that –
Other: Yes. Yes.
MW: He’s got a thing about Viburnums.
Other: Oh right.
MW: He’d like to have the national collection of Vibernums if you please.
Other: Oh does he?
MW: Now there aren’t many Vibernums that I like particularly. They’re not, they don’t last long do they?
Other: No. No.
MW: You know, the Tinus, and what’s that one that’s very scented?
Other: Oh I um no, I can’t think.
MW: This one -
Other: Mine isn’t actually. Mine isn’t scented at all.
MW: But anyway, he, he’s got quite a few but I mean if you looked at his garden it’s, belongs to the church of course because he’s the priest and I would, I looked, took one look at it and I thought there’s no way I could do anything with that. It’s got, its Bagshot sand. He’s got about three or four pines in there. They drop needles all over -
Other: Oh yeah.
MW: The place.
Other: Yeah.
MW: Its dark and I thought, ‘Peter you can’t do anything with that.’
Other: No.
MW: But he does you see, He’s a tryer he’s a real tryer and he said a few months ago. ‘Will you come and have a look at the garden again?’ I said, ‘You’ve got far too much.’
Other: Get rid of something.
MW: He just keeps putting stuff in.
Other: Oh.
MW: I said move this stuff here around in to where you’ve got a bit sun and have this as a woodland garden so we’re in the process of doing that at the moment. Oh I couldn’t live without my garden. Could you?
Other: No. Do you like Hellebores?
MW: Hellebores? I said Daphne for my -
Other: Yeah.
MW: But Hellebores are my favourite flowers.
Other: They’re beautiful aren’t they? But I went to, we’ve got a very large garden centre at Woburn called Frosts and one of the, I can’t remember what his name was but we was one of the gardeners that was always on tele, a florists that was always on television and he’d done this flower arrangement with Hellebores and it was about sixty, sixty five pounds this, this arrangement and I thought I shall be interested to see what that’s like in a couple of days’ time if that doesn’t sell and of course they had, they’d used this you can’t -
MW: Absolutely useless.
Other: Arrange Hellebores and he should have known that.
MW: In fact I had a few in that little glass vase -
Other: Yeah.
MW: Before you came and I thought I’d better turn these out. I’d only had them in a couple of days.
Other: Oh really.
MW: It would not, I chucked them out.
Other: You shouldn’t cut them.
MW: Just before you came I thought I must chuck them out.
Other: Yeah.
MW: But my Christmas Rose, the Hellebore -
Other: Yes.
MW: Niger.
Other: Yes.
MW: Has just started to flower and we only bought that last year.
Other: They are beautiful and they’re so -
MW: They are my favourite. Yes.
Other: Many varieties aren’t there?
MW: Do you cut your leaves back?
Other: Yes.
MW: Yes. I must get the gardener to -
Other: Well I say do I, I mean I haven’t done a lot in the garden since my husband has died. It’s just been one thing after another going.
MW: Really.
Other: With the house with fencing coming down and tiles off the roof you wouldn’t believe it and I’ve had to always -
MW: I would believe it. I would believe it because everything, everything’s happened here.
Other: Yeah.
MW: This house is fifty years old you want to get out of it and get a new one.
Other: But at least it’s lovely though.
MW: Everything happens. The boiler goes and -
Other: That’s right.
MW: Everything wants replacing if you have had three boys that have been -
CB: Kept you on your toes. Mary, thank you so much for all of that and -
MW: Pleasure.
CB: And I’d just like to look at some pictures quickly.
MW: Yes.
Other: It’s these in the book Chris?
MW: Yeah.
CB: So, you couldn’t take pictures. You weren’t allowed to keep a diary.
MW: No.
CB: But the war ended. Is that when you started doing your diary?
MW: ‘45 I got one. Yes.
CB: Yes.
MW: I’ve got the whole, every day I wrote in it. I’m looking for it now but I can’t see it.
CB: Oh right. Ok.
MW: I put it down somewhere.
CB: Am I sitting on it do you think?
MW: It’s not under your -
CB: It’s not here. No.
MW: Is it, not underneath your -
CB: No.
Other: What about –
CB: Well we can have a look for it in a minute can’t we?
MW: But that is all about, about Shawbury?
CB: What prompted you to start taking a diary, making a diary?
MW: Well I don’t think I did much before the war but I did, I thought well somebody gave me this diary and because I hadn’t, I hadn’t been -
CB: Keeping one.
MW: Allowed to do one, I thought well, this is good.
CB: Ok.
MW: Anyway, I will find it.
CB: Yes.
MW: I say I only brought it through this morning, so -
CB: Yes.
MW: And I will find the, I think you will be interested in the album that we did on Bilbao.
CB: Yes.
MW: Because that -
CB: Absolutely.
MW: David took some beautiful pictures.
CB: Did he? Yes.
MW: Of the war graves and -
CB: And which squadron was Douglas in? 58.
MW: Yes, 58.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes.
CB: Yes.
MW: And that was Wellingtons of course. Yes.
CB: Yes.
MW: ‘Cause we didn’t get Halifaxes at Linton until later on and then we still had Whitleys and we still had Wellingtons. We had, at Driffield we had Whitleys you see.
CB: How many squadrons were there on the airfield at any one time?
MW: Linton? There were three.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Yes 102, 76 and 78 ‘cause Cheshire well from Middleton St George he came back on -
CB: Right. Ok.
MW: Well I hope that’s been -
CB: That was the interview with Mrs Mary Ward nee Brown who was getting a bit tired and some emotional issues towards the end anyway. Outstanding points to pick up later are details about her fiancé who died aged twenty one. A 58 squadron man. The emotions surrounding other WAAFs and also the interaction with air crew. So we’ll pick up on those with another tape.
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 Mary Ward. One
Description
An account of the resource
Mary Ward grew up in Bloxham. She joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force in 1940 and was posted to RAF Driffield, on general duties in the officers’ mess. She describes a German daylight attack on RAF Driffield on the 15 August 1940 and the extensive damage it caused. Group Captain Leonard Cheshire had recently arrived and assisted her out of a shelter. The station relocated briefly to RAF Pocklington, during which time she was sent on a cookery course at RAF Melksham. She was then posted to RAF Linton-on-Ouse in late 1940. She describes a cook’s shift. While delivering rations she was invited by Squadron Leader Ivor Jones to re-muster as a map clerk special duties. She ordered maps and calculated targets and was sometimes present at debriefings. She describes her living conditions and uniform; the emotional stress of the work; those who were ‘conscientious objectors’ or lacking moral fibre; and Cheshire’s first wife, Constance Binney. In 1942 she met Douglas Harsum and they were engaged. He was killed on 12 June 1942. At the end of 1943, Mary Ward moved to RAF Shawbury, still working on maps, then to RAF Brawdy, where she met her husband Roy Ward. After the war she lived in the Lincoln area while he served at RAF Waddington. They also lived briefly in Aden. In civilian life her husband worked for the Met Office and she describes the various places they lived in England. She also talks about her family and at length about her passion for flower arranging.
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-12-14
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Mal Prissick
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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01:51:51 audio recording
Language
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eng
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AWardM151214
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
England--Shropshire
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
England--Lincolnshire
Spain
Spain--Bilbao
Yemen (Republic)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940-08-15
1942-06-12
1943
aircrew
bombing
briefing
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
control tower
coping mechanism
debriefing
fear
final resting place
Gee
ground personnel
killed in action
lack of moral fibre
love and romance
mess
military living conditions
operations room
RAF Driffield
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Melksham
RAF Pocklington
RAF Shawbury
RAF Silverstone
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/365/5765/WardM [Pesaro].jpg
d9a2d9c693790af82307dda6f15eb90a
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/365/5765/AWardEM160217.1.mp3
0e6cbd95c57a49ef84a82479d97093ed
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
Ward, Mary
Mary Ward
Elsie Mary Ward
E M Ward
Mary Brown
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. Three oral history interviews with Elizabeth Mary Ward (893293, Women's Auxiliary Air Force), her dog tags, an aeroplane broach and a photograph album. Mary Ward was a cook but re-mustered and was promoted becoming a map officer. She served with Bomber Command at RAF Driffield between 1940 and 1944 before being posted to Coastal Command.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Mary ward and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-24
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. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Ward, EM
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CB: Let me just introduce you. My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the 17th of February 2016. We’re back with Mary Ward in Crowthorne and we’re picking up on some of the points that needed elaborating upon and the first point is really, Mary, to do with your fiancé Douglas and what happened with that. How did you come to meet him in the first place and what went on after that?
MW: Well, I can’t remember the exact dates of when we met but it was ‘42 and he came with the rest of his crew to my map office to collect some maps. They needed new charts and they, they came to me to pick up the maps and the charts and he stayed behind when the rest of the crew left the office and asked me if I could go out with, if I would like to go to York with him. So, yes. I went to York with him and which followed, several dates followed and then he was diverted and was away for a few, a few days. I can’t remember exactly where the diversion was at this moment and then he came back and a few nights later he, they were, they went to an advance base and, to do reconnaissance over the Bay of Biscay.
CB: And this is flying in Wellingtons.
MW: That was flying in yes and he, he didn’t return that night. Well, several of the crews were lost that night but we, we, I was on duty. Most nights I was on duty when we were operating and we, I stayed until 8 or 9 o’clock in the morning trying to see if there was going to be any news but no there wasn’t any news and several days went by and I said to Squadron Leader Ivor Jones, ‘Do you think there’s any hope?’ And I actually said to him at that stage, ‘I can’t go on with this job. It’s too, too much to take. Losing all these boys.’ And his reply was that ‘I’m old enough to be your father. You’ve got to stop being, you mustn’t relate to this incident. You must put it aside because I need you here.’ So, right, well several months went by and worked very hard. That was a very busy time. And then I got a letter from Douglas’s mother who lived at Richmond. She had been, had been sent the, the um Douglas’s um kit and everything from, from the station. The adjutant had organised, always, always organised these things and, and she said, ‘I would like to meet you. Would you come and stay with me for the weekend?’ She said, ‘I’ve, I’d had a letter from Douglas just before, before he, he went missing and he said he’d met the girl he wanted to marry, he was going to marry.’ But I couldn’t do it then. I’m afraid, Chris, that it was too much for me. I had work. We were in Yorkshire, at Linton and they were in, she was in London so I kept putting it off and she kept phoning me. In the end, several months later, I did go. Very, very emotional. I’ll never forget the time she, when I went to meet her and I stayed the weekend, a lovely house. But she sobbed and sobbed. It really was her only son. The last one in their family and do you want to know what she was a sister, theatre sister in the South Middlesex Hospital and she said she’d married late and all she wanted was a little, a boy which she got and at twenty years old he was killed. Well, we did become very friendly. If you want me to go on with this do you? Ahum. And I went there quite a lot and then the time came for me. It was coming towards the end of ‘45 it would be and she said. ‘What are you going to do? Will you come and live with me after the, when the war’s over?’ I said, ‘No.’ She said, ‘You can have the house. You can have everything I’ve got’. But it was too much. I was too young to tie myself down at that stage and I knew Doug wouldn’t really have wanted me to do, to tie myself down so. And I met Roy and I had, well you probably saw from that diary I had loads of young men from the RAF from, from Australia who really wanted me to, to go back to Australia with them but in the end I decided, no. I would get a job and, and stay here. So we, we parted company really. I did write to her a few times afterwards but she was very disappointed that I wouldn’t go and live and live with her. And then I met Roy and um but that was after when I went back to, to South Wales to um to Brawdy. That’s Coastal Command, Brawdy. That’s where they were actually operating. They were still doing met, met work from there and I was there for a while until they, they closed Brawdy. I think the navy took it on then and then we went, we went to Chivenor, near Barnstable and from there I went to Northwood. That was headquarters at Coastal Command and from there I was demobbed. So, up until that time I think, I can’t remember, but I can, I can find out when I went to Bilbao. Up until that time I really, I mean I don’t, I can honestly say that there isn’t really a day that goes by when I don’t think of Douglas in some way or other and his christening cup is there on the mantelpiece. And his engagement ring. You will be very interested in this because she gave me her engagement ring which is a lovely three diamonds ring which I wore a lot and my granddaughter was looking at my, and she said she liked my rings and I said, ‘Right, well you can have this one when you get engaged.’ So recently, only last Christmas I had Douglas’s engagement ring put right. You know, cleaned up and made, made to fit and everything, you see. It is an old fashioned one of course. It’s quite old. And I gave it to her when she got engaged earlier this year. Well, I gave, I gave it to her boyfriend before then but Abigail now has it and she said, ‘Grandma,’ she said, ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, ‘I have to keep putting it in the box,’ back in the box looking at it. So that has been passed, as something that’s been passed on to her, on to her. Through her.
CB: So, you were thinking of Douglas all this time.
MW: Ahum.
CB: Was that -
MW: I only knew him -
CB: How long did you know him?
MW: Three months at the most.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes. But three months, three days, almost, almost you could say three minutes is long enough to know. You know you’ve got, there’s an attraction there isn’t there? You see, you’ve -
CB: Right. So, after how long did he propose?
MW: How much?
CB: After how many weeks or months did he propose to you? How long did you know him before he proposed?
MW: Oh only a few, they were all a bit like only, oh it must have been less than a month but he, and he used to make a joke of it because he used to send the boys, the other boys, the rest of the crew were there. They would say, ‘Oh when are you going to marry Mary then?’ And he said, ‘No.’ No. Oh some date in the far distance he would say but I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married anyone until after the war was over. In my, my, it wasn’t, in my book it wasn’t fair really, to get married, not to, but I had a feeling with the boys, with the bomber boys that they really, they wanted to leave something behind and, and if they could marry you and get you pregnant well they would. You know, there was something being, they knew, I mean all the boys knew that they weren’t, they weren’t likely to come back and of course most of them didn’t. It was only the few that um like Cheshire. Leonard was there at that time and his office was next door to mine until I moved upstairs. I was going to say to you, and I’m digressing, is there a possibility that I could get up to Linton?
CB: Absolutely. Yes. We can arrange that.
MW: I did read somewhere in the magazine that they had, they had funding that they, not that money would make any difference but I would just need the authority and perhaps a driver or something to, to go up for a couple of nights.
CB: Well, we do have a link with Linton on Ouse. There’s a wing commander who is responsible for the history of the place.
MW: Ahum.
CB: So I know we can get that sorted.
MW: You have that.
CB: Ahum
MW: Oh.
CB: Peter Jones who’s the, one of the -
MW: Who?
CB: Peter Jones.
MW: Peter Jones. Oh yes.
CB: Jones. He sent you the album back and he deals with all the, I send stuff to him.
MW: Oh really? Oh.
CB: So we can send that -
MW: He sent a very nice letter.
CB: Did he? Good.
MW: And Heather sent one as well.
CB: Good.
MW: Yes.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Well I would appreciate that because I think now as I say I’m just hoping that I’ll get Roy into a nursing home. Then I can have some free time.
CB: Of course.
MW: And do it because I do feel that this is, this is the last straw.
CB: Yeah.
MW: This is, you know, I really must do it -
CB: Ahum.
MW: Now. Otherwise I might do something disastrous because it is at that pitch at the moment, you know.
CB: Well, we, just keep us posted and we can sort it out. I know that because of a conversation separately that I’ve had with -
MW: Yes. I’m sure.
CB: With Peter.
MW: It would, it’s so nostalgic.
CB: Of course.
MW: But in my mind I can take you to the, to the, in to the headquarters, up the stairs into the adjutant’s room, to the intelligence office, the operations room and, and all those places. They’re all in my head you see.
CB: Of course. Of course.
MW: And it would be lovely just to have. I think it would be lovely -
CB: Ahum.
MW: Just to have a, have a look around again.
CB: So you met Doug when he was twenty two.
MW: He was twenty.
CB: Twenty.
MW: Yes.
CB: And you were twenty two.
MW: Yes.
CB: And um -
MW: He would have been, June the, June the um is it -
CB: ‘Cause the 12th was when he was lost. June ‘42.
MW: When he went down.
CB: Yes.
MW: Yes. And then in the August, on the 17th of August he would have been twenty one.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes.
CB: So what was the, you had a lot of choice of aircrew on the station.
MW: Had a lot of -?
CB: Choice of aircrew ‘cause there was so many.
MW: Oh.
CB: What was special about Doug?
MW: I don’t know really. He was just, we just seemed to hit it off. He was a very good dancer and I wasn’t and he was a very good skater. He skated at the ice rink at Richmond. And, and all that but I don’t know I don’t even know whether I knew him well enough to know how much he appreciated music but I’ve always been fanatic about classical music and I still am but whether or not he was I wouldn’t really know. He had quite a nice twinkle in his eye you know. He was, sort of a nice smile. Other than that -
CB: And was he a navigator? What was he?
MW: Was he - ?
CB: Was he a navigator or - ?
MW: He was observer plus navigator.
CB: Right.
MW: Yes. That was a bit more than a navigator.
CB: So he’d been trained in South Africa had he?
MW: No.
CB: Oh he hadn’t. Okay.
MW: No. Here.
CB: Right.
MW: He was a biochemist and he worked for [Joe Lyons] and he’d only just started. Well I mean, obviously, because of his age. He was only twenty, you see when he was killed.
CB: Yeah. And on the airfield, just going a bit broader than this now, you mentioned last time about you were issuing the charts for the raids but the lads would come and talk to you.
MW: Oh, yes they did.
CB: So what was the basis of that?
MW: The basis of that?
CB: Yeah. Their conversations.
MW: Oh their conversations. Well -
CB: Apart from the fact that you were a pretty girl that they came because also they had concerns. Did they?
MW: They would tell you about their personal life. Tell me anyway. And they would say how a lot of them didn’t want to go to the Ruhr and they didn’t, they didn’t, they didn’t know the target at that time when they came in until we went into the briefing room and everybody else was assembled. The met officer and the intelligence officer and briefing and everything and then once they, we had a large board on the wall, blackboard, and they, and then the route and everything was, was up on that board for them and the squadron navigation officer and the intelligence officer would point out various routes to go which were, which had, heavy, heavy flak and or searchlights and things like that but a lot of the time I know that a lot of them didn’t take any notice of what, where and they went their own way. Cheshire did that an awful lot.
CB: Oh did he?
MW: And they would change course and go over the routes that they thought might be more -
CB: From experience.
MW: Yes.
CB: Because what we’re talking about is a big map on the wall isn’t it?
MW: This -
CB: And it shows the route on this huge map -
MW: Yes. But we had -
CB: On the wall at the end of the -
MW: A big blackboard -
CB: Yeah.
MW: As well on the night when we, a big, like at school.
CB: Yeah.
MW: You know, a big blackboard it was and that’s what we had in the intelligence office to write the names of the, we wrote all the names down on the board that were going and who they were and the number of the aircraft and everything.
CB: Right.
MW: On that board so that when, when you came back in the morning, so when they first started coming back, you would be able to, to, you cross off the ones who’d arrived and what time they’d arrived back and then of course the ones that didn’t come back were still there on the board.
CB: Ahum.
MW: But when they came back of course they came straight up to the briefing office, to the interrogation office and the intelligence officer there and I was there and I took the aids to escape from them and made some more, made the tea for them.
CB: Ahum.
MW: But when, when they were talking to me before they took off, not all of them came in but a lot of them came in, it was mainly about they didn’t really like certain targets. Well, that was obvious really that they were heavily, they were going to be heavily bombed, er shot at. The Ruhr was very, very well protected and Hamburg and places, that was a bit further up. Hamburg is a bit further up but um and of course Berlin was almost, at that time, Berlin, you could only carry the Whitleys and the Wellingtons could only just get to Berlin on the fuel they had. And so there was no, no point in trying to go around twice or anything because they hadn’t got the fuel to get there. It was just, just enough fuel to get them in to, in to Berlin and back but, until the Halifax and the Lancasters came in and then they could of course.
CB: So, we’re talking the early part of the war before the heavy bombers -
MW: Yes.
CB: Came in.
MW: Yes.
CB: Right.
MW: And I mean for a lot of the, for a long time when I went to Driffield, at Driffield all they were doing was dropping leaflets from there but um -
CB: How did they feel about that?
MW: Not very good. But we didn’t have it, Chris.
CB: No.
MW: We didn’t have anything. It’s alright for Churchill to stand up there and say that we’ll do this, we’ll do that but we hadn’t anything to do it with until once the factories got going in this country and we made, well we made wonderful progress of course.
CB: So this added to the apprehension of the crews?
MW: Yes. Yes.
CB: Is what you’re saying?
MW: Yes they wanted to go, those boys. Yes they, but of course a lot of them weren’t so keen on the, on the target. Going in the Halifaxes, they were very so slow but I mean they used to christen the Whitley as a flying coffin.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Oh you know that do you?
CB: I do. Yes. So when the bigger planes came, so we’re talking about the Halifax and Lancasters, but Halifax in Yorkshire, how did the attitude of the crews change?
MW: It did change quite a bit really because they, for one thing we had, at Linton we would have the first Halifaxes to have cameras so you had a camera in there.
CB: For the target.
MW: But it did show a lot. It showed an awful lot in the first, in the beginning that they were, some of them were nowhere near the target.
CB: Right
MW: I shouldn’t say that should I?
CB: No, you should because these are important points and the review that was carried out proved that they were sometimes fifty miles away -
MW: Absolutely.
CB: From the target. And you -
MW: I had a job then –
CB: You were seeing that
MW: In the beginning. I didn’t do a lot of it mind you.
CB: Ahum.
MW: But I did do it because my eyesight is very short-sighted well not very short but good enough to read a very tiny, and I did a lot of looking at the maps when they came back from the cameras and you could see that, you know, then but the boys seemed to appreciate that. And then we had the other. What was it called? H2O I think.
CB: H2S.
MW: H2S.
CB: Yes.
MW: That’s right. Yes.
CB: The radar.
MW: That was fitted and I think that was we were one of the first stations to get that, you see.
CB: Right.
MW: And those maps were very, very secret and we made sure that they signed for them.
CB: Right.
MW: But of course that soon went by the board and everybody got them and that but Linton was very upmarket in that -
CB: Was it?
MW: Respect but it was -
CB: Right.
MW: We were. I don’t know why but, whether we of course later on with Cheshire there and Chesh was there for a long time and it’s – [pause]
CB: So when, when they came back from a raid they came upstairs.
MW: In to the briefing -
CB: Brought the charts back.
MW: In to the interrogation office, yes.
CB: What happened then? How did it then progress with Ivor?
MW: Oh. Well we, they had they had a cup of tea and a biscuit and they, they had a one to one talk with an intelligence officer. We had Ivor Jones and Brylcreem and what was the other ones called? About four of them there.
CB: Right.
MW: One was the manager from Brylcreem. The hair thing.
CB: Right.
MW: We always called him Brylcreem but Ivor Jones was the senior man.
CB: Right.
MW: And, but they all got an interview. A one to one interview with them and asked where they, what they’d done, how, what, what the opposition was like, what the flak was like and, and that and obviously a lot of the time they had been, been, come back with, with a few bomb holes in their, in the aircraft but what height did they bomb from and how many times did they circle around the target and just general things like that and then they were free to go and sometimes they would come back in to my office and have another cup of tea and sit down and talk a bit but other times they went off to the mess and had bacon and eggs and, and you know it was dawn by then you see.
CB: So, what -
MW: But I stayed till about eight in the morning because some nights I was on again you see but I did tell you about the, the, my role in, was, - the establishment in the RAF you know about that. If they allocated, they allocated at that time one map clerk, special duties map clerk for each station and I was that one for Linton but if, if you wanted leave you had to have liaison with one of the corporals or the sergeants in the intelligence office that didn’t deal with maps but would take over from me but I didn’t have a colleague who I could just say, ‘I want leave.’ And that, and that happened on all the stations because we were only needed on bomber stations really because the rest of the, Fighter Command and Coastal and that, they didn’t need a lot of maps there but it was critical for us to have enough maps available for -
CB: Of Germany.
MW: Yes. If, I mean most of it was covered on a 48-4 and the Mercator’s projection map but - [laughs] Yes.
CB: Big.
MW: All came
CB: Rolled up
MW: Rolled up. My poor fingers. They’re very, very harsh. The edges of maps and charts and charts especially. And you’d try to roll them back to get them into these big chests that we had to put them in and they, and you -
CB: Difficult.
MW: Nip your fingers off with the, if you weren’t careful.
CB: So, some of the crew used to return for another cup of tea.
MW: Yes. They did.
CB: It wasn’t the fact it was another cup of tea was it? They came to talk to you.
MW: Probably.
CB: So what would they be talking about in that case?
MW: Oh, what they were going to do, you know, if they, when they got their leave and where they were going to. It’s just, didn’t talk about what they had done so much as what they, their personal life. And I had one or two conscientious objectors and that was very difficult, very difficult because the RAF had paid a lot of money to train a pilot or a navigator and then after eight to ten weeks of training they decided they couldn’t do it and they became conscientious and the RAF is very cruel to those young men.
CB: Ahum.
MW: You know.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Yes.
CB: I’d like to know more though.
MW: Absolutely. Yes.
CB: So what did they do to them?
MW: Well, they, they were just thrown out of the RAF. No two ways about it. There were no references or anything like that given. They weren’t allowed to re-muster to do another job. It was a very cruel and harsh end but a couple of them got out on religious grounds. They couldn’t come to terms with that fact that God didn’t want them to, to kill other people whereas I will say most of the boys I spoke to and Cheshire was certainly had no regrets whatsoever about going over to Germany and bombing. He didn’t. They started this, we’ve got to, we’ve got to, that was Cheshire’s attitude about it but when he, I don’t know what year when he was flying in 617 on the, and he had a Mosquito and he went low level flying and what they call that and he went to a factory to [drop leaflets] to bomb in France.
CB: In France. Yes
MW: You know this do you?
CB: Yes. Go on.
MW: And he circled around three times I think to warn those girls to get out and they did and then he went in and bombed it you see but one of those girls came back to Linton.
Other: Oh really.
MW: To thank him. Yes. And he said, ‘Oh no. Go away’ he said, ‘We don’t, we’re glad you all got out.’ So, that was his attitude but his attitude changed and he was a different character after Hiroshima. And that is what, he was a different character after that.
CB: Because he was on the bomber -
MW: He was on the -
CB: One of the bombers.
MW: Not on the one that dropped the bomb but -
CB: The second one.
MW: The one that was observing. Yes. Yes. I don’t know much about that because it was, it all took place.
CB: Yeah.
MW: You know, there, but it was -
CB: And then he became a Roman Catholic and then he started his Cheshire Homes.
MW: You have to speak up.
CB: He became a Roman Catholic and he -
MW: Oh he was a Roman Catholic.
CB: Also started -
MW: Yes he did.
CB: Started the Cheshire Homes.
MW: The Cheshire Homes with Sue Ryder yes. But I told you about him being married before didn’t -
CB: No. Go on.
MW: Oh didn’t I? Poor old Binney.
CB: Take that for me.
MW: Are you alright for tea?
Other: Yes.
CB: Do you want to stop for a mo?
MW: Yeah okay. Do you want another bit of cake?
[pause]
CB: So, we’ve just taken a brief break and we’ve been talking about conscientious objectors but what about the other people who came under the title LMF. How did you come up against that?
MW: Um I didn’t see a great deal of that apart in, well I suppose in a way it was about three or four of them actually came through aircrew who, who decided that they couldn’t cope and they were known as conscientious objectors. A lot of them did offer the, the reason for not wanting to continue with flying, with, with bombing was that religion and whether or not they’d been religious people before or whether they’d just taken up with religion I really don’t know but it, they were obviously lacking in some moral fibre yes because it takes a lot of nerve to be a bomber pilot at whatever age. They were young men. This must be an awfully hard for you to go out night after night knowing that you’re not, you probably won’t come back and I think these young men probably couldn’t take that. But on the other hand the RAF had, had paid a lot of money to get them trained to be crew, to be aircrew which was all the air crew, as you know Chris were all voluntary reserves. Nobody was conscripted to aircrew and therefore if you felt fit enough and this was what you wanted to do for the country you should have been able to carry it out after that training but um all I did was offer them tea and sympathy but I couldn’t really do much else except listen and, and that’s what I did. To listen to them. They had various problems. They had this and they had that in their personal life which was, which they felt was more important than being, being, being shot down over Germany.
CB: And in many cases they felt a lot better for talking with you.
MW: Well, I wouldn’t know but I think they came so possibly that they did. Yes. Yes, I had a lot of spare time during the day when I was just tidying maps. I had a large office and when I was just tidying maps and checking on numbers of charts and things. Well, one of the charts which was used practically every night was Europe 48-4 on those were I had to order and perhaps if I’d had a delivery well that took a lot of time putting them all away, putting everything away and that but I did have quite a lot of time, spare time, during the day until we got the target and everything and then I needed to get those ready and the aids to escape which all had to be signed for. So, really and truly they, they, they knew that they could probably pop up to see me or pop up for, to have a chat and come in my office.
CB: Could you just explain what the aids to escape were?
MW: Well um they had a lot, the ones that I was involved with were, were things that they put in their boots and there was maps, there’s a silk map. Now one of them, one of these silk maps I had, of France. They’re back to back on both sides. Silk they are. And I, I did have one and I gave it to my cousin and he’s had it framed so you that can have one side one, one side and other as a picture like on the wall and he’s agreed with me that when he dies that he’ll send it to the museum for you. You’ll have it so you can have it.
CB: Thank you.
MW: There -
CB: Yeah.
MW: But um -
CB: What else did they have?
MW: There’s a compass.
CB: Yeah. That’s a small compass.
MW: Small compass.
CB: Pin head type.
MW: Yes. Yes.
CB: Button size.
MW: That’s right. Yes. And what else were they? I don’t remember too much about, about those.
CB: And then they had made their own arrangements for rations.
MW: Ahum. They, one of, one of the group captains at Linton used to wear a civilian suit underneath his, his uniform.
CB: His battle dress, yes.
MW: But he didn’t fly very often. That was Whitley wasn’t it, was it who did that?
CB: So he could immediately go into civilian clothes.
MW: Exactly. Yes. Yes, yeah, strip off everything if they were shot down and they had a chance of getting away.
CB: Now you moved on from Linton to other places. The Halifax had arrived before you moved. The operations were different because of the camera amongst other things.
MW: Before I moved?
CB: But you moved on from, from Linton. Where did you go to next?
MW: Oh but I was at Linton for three and a half years.
CB: Right.
MW: No. It was Driffield. We were bombed out of that.
CB: Of course.
MW: We did that last time didn’t we?
CB: Yes. Yes.
MW: August the 15th we had a daylight raid.
CB: Yeah.
MW: And we were wiped out of Lint –
CB: Yeah
MW: Er Driffield. Ammunition went up, we’d got people killed and that was a day I shall never forget.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Because it was a daylight raid and it was very early on, you see, in 1940 but, and then I was, then I went, we were moved to Pocklington with 102 and 76 and then we went from, I went on a course and, have I not told you this?
CB: What was the course for?
MW: Well they were very short of cooks.
CB: Oh yes.
MW: They sent me to Melksham.
CB: Oh yes.
MW: To do this course and this was, this was a day when the Battle of Britain was on and I can honestly sit here and tell you that I have no recollection whatsoever of what happened there. Where I was. It is as if there’s a complete blank.
CB: Really.
MW: I know I went to Melksham. I know I passed the course and I know that I came back to Linton but I’ve no other recollection at all and that was because, the only recollection I have of being there is that we were scared out of our wits because they were bombing day and night, daylight bombing and it just went on and on. You couldn’t, but I have a good memory as you know.
CB: This was Germans bombing you?
MW: But I can’t tell you a thing about that.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Nothing.
CB: You’re talking about the Germans bombing you?
MW: Yes. Oh yes. That was the battle yes, the Battle of Britain. That was on then. And then I came back to Linton and that’s where I stayed but I went back to Linton in to the officers’, to the sergeants’ mess to do, to do cooking and I, there was a civilian cook there ‘cause they did have a lot of civilians still working on the stations from the remains from before the war, you see. And the civilian chef and he, he used to give the orders and I took the rations across to the intelligence office. He said to me, ‘Will you take the rations across for the flying,’ for that night. The, the sergeant’s mess and the officers’ mess provided the rations. The tea and the sugar and the biscuits to make tea for them when they came back, you see and I took them across there and Ivor Jones, the intelligence officer, looked up from his desk when I went in and he said, ‘Where are you from?’ And I said, ‘I’m from the sergeants’ mess. I’ve brought the rations for tonight.’ And he said, ‘Oh would you come downstairs with me?’ He said, ‘Would you like, do you know anything about maps?’ I said, ‘No. Not a lot.’ And he said, he said ‘Where is the mouth of the Danube? Do you know that?’ I remember this as plain as anything. I said, is it in the Red, in the, er where was it now? It’s in the, can’t get it, it’ll come back and he said oh and what about so and so and so and so and I seemed to provide him with the answers but I said, ‘What’s all this about sir?’ And he said, ‘I want you to come and work for me.’ I said, ‘I can’t do that.’ I said, ‘I’m already in the, in the -’ you know what it was like in the RAF you had to have a re-muster put you to all the re-mustering, do all that and send it away and they would put it through to the officers in charge. I know this was very early on in the war, in 1940 but it’s he seemed to take command. He was an ex-military man and he, we always called him the colonel and he said, ‘Report to me tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.’ I went back to the civilian chef and he said, ‘He can’t do that. He can’t take my staff.’ I said, ‘Well what I do?’ And so anyway I thought I’d better do what he says. He’s a squadron leader. So I went back and he said, ‘One of these lads, these corporals in the intelligence office, will show you what to do and you can go on a course in about a week’s time to Gloucester and, and then you’ll come back and when you come back you’ll be a corporal. And this, all this happened, you see. It was most, I mean you, you might think I’m telling you a really big story but I’m not. I assure you that is exactly what happened.
CB: And this was all when you were aged nineteen.
MW: Hmmn?
CB: This was when you were aged nineteen.
MW: Yes.
CB: Yeah.
MW: Twenty actually.
CB: Twenty.
MW: Yeah. This is what happened and it was so out of character for anybody to do. I don’t think you’d find anyone else in the RAF who had been promoted like that by, by a squadron leader. Just, just said, ‘Look, you come and you - ,’ and I thought about it afterwards and I thought well I really didn’t know very much. I hadn’t, I had, I wasn’t very good at school really but I was good at geography funnily enough but I wasn’t all that bright at school because I wanted to be outside. I spent most of the time looking out of the window you know instead of paying attention to the board but I think it was perhaps not, it’s not charisma but it’s attraction. People want to talk to me.
CB: Ahum.
MW: And I think he knew that. And of course -
CB: He could sense it.
MW: And this is what worked for him. These boys needed someone. Not motherly love at nineteen or twenty years old but that sort of, so that was where I was and that was where I stayed for the rest of the um until later on. He, he then, Ivor Jones said, ‘I’ve put a recommendation in for you for a commission’. He said, ‘You’ve got an interview,’ on so and so and so and so and I thought about and I said, ‘I don’t want it sir.’ He said, ‘You don’t want it?’ I said, ‘No. I don’t want it.’ And he said, ‘Well,’ Anyway I went and I got accepted but I still didn’t want it.
CB: Ahum.
MW: So I refused and he said, ‘Why don’t you want it?’ I said, ‘I don’t want to be an admin officer for a start.’ I said, ‘I don’t want to be and I don’t want to be, to go away from these boys. I don’t want to leave this job. This job is what I like doing.’ I didn’t like it in that sense but I did, I felt I was needed then, you know. Sort of needed there with looking -
CB: Ahum.
MW: And then a bit later on, another year later he said, ‘Are you, would you, would you consider doing, having a commission now?’ I said, ‘No. I don’t want it.’ It just didn’t appeal to me.
CB: No.
MW: To be sitting at a desk or -
CB: Quite.
MW: Or doing these things so then I moved. I’d say I moved on then a bit. I think we’ve done all this -
CB: I think we have. I need to ask you a couple of other things if I may. One is, you were a number of several hundred WAAFs. Two hundred perhaps.
MW: Oh on the station.
CB: On the station.
MW: Oh yes. Yes.
CB: So what was the general link between the association between the WAAFs and the flying people?
MW: The flying?
CB: The aircrew.
MW: The aircrew.
CB: Ahum.
MW: Oh we all, all the girls loved them of course. I mean if you wanted a date you didn’t have, it wasn’t much if you didn’t have a date with, with, with aircrew or with an officer or something like that you, you, you were aiming a bit high but with aircrew yes they all liked the aircrew boys ‘cause they were fun you see. They were great, they were really, and er but I didn’t have much to do with the other WAAFs really because I was on shift work, you see. I mean my, my duties weren’t nine to five although I was usually there about 9 o’clock but because I would then have to be, be back in the evening, in the middle of the night and that was a bit traumatic when we, we had a very bad raid one night. We were always having, we were always being bombed at that time. They seemed to target the RAF stations up, up in the north and Cheshire came back and said, ‘It looks worse than we’ve left, what we’ve done in Germany.’ This RAF at Linton but um after then they decided that the WAAF couldn’t sleep on the camp so we were billeted out to various large houses in the vicinity and my, I went to Newton on Ouse which is just down the road from Linton. If you’ve been to Linton you probably know it’s just down the road and um but that wasn’t very good because I had to be, go on my bike in the middle of the night to get back to the office to, for interrogation you see and they used to be droning overhead and me on my bike trying to get back because you weren’t allowed lights or anything. But -
CB: It was dangerous on the road was it?
MW: On the road? At -
CB: Yes.
MW: Not in the middle of the night it wasn’t. No. No, it was, it’s very countrified, you know um but you couldn’t see where you were going in the middle of the night with no lights on.
CB: No.
MW: And there’s aircraft droning overhead but, the ones that were coming back because as I say I stayed until, until we cleared everybody and then it was about 8 o’clock or 9 o’clock and then you were so tensed up you couldn’t go to bed really so we used to hop off into York and have a play around, you know, in York for a bit, come back in the afternoon and have a bit of sleep because you might, I might be, be back on again in the evening you see. If the weather was good then I, you would be back on duty again but if the weather was bad you would have a few days off if it wasn’t fit for flying.
CB: Finally, fast forward to 1945.
MW: Hmmn?
CB: 1945.
MW: Yes.
CB: Fast forward to 1945. You, in your diary you’ve got a very brief statement on the 8th of May, VE day. About the end of the hostilities in Europe. The end of the war.
MW: Yes.
CB: Was the 8th of May. How did you feel at that time?
MW: Where, where the 8th of May, where was?
CB: So you’ve put in here, I’m going to have to do, you’ve put in here, “Down to the beach with Pam and Ray. Peace declared with Germany. Had tea at the Met Office.” So -
MW: Oh is it -?
CB: What happened really that day? Did everybody celebrate?
MW: Oh yes.
CB: Did it just go over their heads?
MW: Went mad. Everyone -
CB: Or what happened?
MW: Oh went mad down at the beach and you let all the dogs out. You know, some of the crews and we, we, had their dogs with them but they couldn’t have on the station. They had them boarded out you see and we went and got all the dogs and took them for a walk down on the beach. It was quite a nice day actually then wasn’t it. That, that year.
CB: And then on VJ day the end of the war in the Far East.
MW: Yes.
CB: Then -
MW: Oh I went to down to Plymouth didn’t I, because we were dancing in the Hoe in the middle of the night. Yes. That’s right.
CB: So, there really was a lot of celebration was there?
MW: Oh dear yes.
CB: With these things.
MW: Yes
MW: Yes. So it sounded as though there was plenty going on then.
MW: Yes. Yes.
CB: Yeah. Right.
MW: Well I wasn’t tied up with anybody at all of course. I didn’t get tied up with anybody after Douglas was killed until -
CB: No.
MW: Until I got, got to know Roy. I did know plenty of boys. I mean there was no shortage of friends to go out and that but I wasn’t over serious about anybody.
CB: No.
MW: Until as I say and that was sometimes think it probably wasn’t a good thing but on the other hand I should, should have probably given it a bit more time but it seemed to me that he was very keen to get married and, and at that time he was a very different person you see.
CB: Of course.
MW: A completely different person but this is what people as you say about the young marriages you, about Douglas, there’s nothing to say that that couldn’t have gone completely wrong because you don’t know the future do you?
Other: No.
CB: No.
MW: Although you think at the time that it’s all going to go -
CB: Yes.
MW: Alright but er -
CB: Yes. There’s another entry where there’s a chap who takes you on a flight after the war is finished over France.
MW: Yes. Oh yes.
CB: How on earth did you manage that?
MW: Well, yes. I was a bit privileged in those days and we yes we went over to France. That was, that wasn’t Roy’s crew. That was another crew. That was from Brawdy wasn’t it?
CB: Yeah.
MW: Yes and oh my goodness me how those, I really got to know what it was like being, being on board a Halifax with going over there oh it was awful. So little space in those things. You couldn’t, and of course you had to wear oxygen masks in those things. Nowadays, it’s completely different and yes that was quite exciting. I’d been wanting a flight but when I got to, I was at Shawbury, not Shawbury, Silverstone. You know the race course that was RAF and I was there for a short time. It was training and they wanted somebody to, to clear the map office ‘cause they hadn’t they’d had they hadn’t had anybody but they had a lot of instruments hanging about, navigational instruments so I went there for a short while and while I was there the nav officer said to me, he said, ‘Now if you don’t behave yourself you’re going up to Lossiemouth tomorrow’[laughs]. He would, he would threaten me you see and I kept saying, ‘Now when you’re going to Oxford again can I come for the trip?’ And he promised me. ‘Yes, he would. We would go.’ So, this particular day it was a really lovely sunny day and I said. ‘Now, look, can I come to Oxford with you if you’re going? And, ‘Oh alright but you won’t like it.’ I said, ‘But look it’s a lovely sunny day.’ Of course it was. There was all this, all this cloud about you see and oh God it was a terrible trip. This was in one these twin light aircraft. What was it? Anson?
CB: Anson.
MW: Anson. Yes.
CB: Avro Anson.
MW: Anson Avro Anson. It was the most awful trip. I’ve never felt so sick.
CB: Did you sit up at the front?
MW: Hmmn? Yeah I went up to the -
CB: Did you sit up at the front?
MW: Yes of course but of course it’s the cloud -
CB: Twin engine. Yes.
MW: But you have to run into cloud and then it went whoohoo! all over the place in those light aircraft in those days.
CB: I must just go to the loo.
MW: Ahum.
CB: Thank you.
MW: I hope it’s clean and tidy. Anyway how are the flowers?
Other: Oh doing well. Thank you very much.
MW: Are you still going?
Other: I’m still going.
MW: Oh good.
Other: Only, only really it’s more of a social thing I suppose because I’ve been doing it -
MW: Don’t, don’t give it up.
Other: No I won’t.
MW: It’s so therapeutic.
Other: It’s my, it’s one of my pastimes.
MW: Isn’t it?
Other: Yes. That’s right.
MW: The next time you come I’ve got a really lovely Daphne out here.
Other: Oh have you?
MW: Yes Daphne, not Miseria um Daphne Odora
Other: Ah huh.
MW: Marginata. And the scent is gorgeous.
Other: ‘Cause not many, not many flowers have a scent now do they?
MW: Not at this time of the year. No.
Other: No.
MW: No. And my, at the back I’ve got so many Hellebores out this year.
Other: Have you? Its’ been a good year for Hellebores.
MW: Have you got Hellebores?
Other: I have. They’re down at the bottom of the garden.
MW: Oh right.
Other: I can just see them.
MW: Yeah.
Other: I’m being very lazy actually because I need a gardener to come again and sort me out.
MW: Right.
Other: The lawns are all fine. They’re all being treated
MW: Yes.
Other: And airyated and God knows what but um -
MW: Well I have the gardener once a fortnight and I’m not giving up that.
Other: No, your garden’s lovely. Your garden’s lovely but you’ve got good soil.
MW: Ahum.
Other: My soil is clay based.
MW: Oh yes.
Other: And it’s a nightmare.
MW: Well I say good. This is sand really it’s -
Other: Yeah.
MW: Sandy.
Other: But it’s looks lovely rich, dark soil.
MW: The water runs through that you need in the summer. It goes very dry.
Other: Yeah.
MW: But I mean the Camelia’s on this wall I brought some the other day. Out already, you see.
Other: Well it doesn’t know what season it is.
MW: Look at the Daffs.
Other: I know. It’s all the same. I know. They’ve all come through haven’t they? It’s incredible.
MW: Yes. What it’s going to be like in a couple of months because everything will be gone.
Other: Well that’s right.
MW: They’re forecasting snow for the weekend aren’t they?
Other: Yes. Yes they are.
MW: The Daphne’s done very well this year and Peter, my friend brought me another one. What’s that one called? That’s over the side there but I don’t, hopefully it’s going to go, go, right in the corner when, as you go out. The Sarcococca, have you got that?
Other: No. I haven’t.
MW: Oh that’s, when you go, when you go out it’s right on the drive.
Other: Ok.
MW: It’s got little white flowers on it.
Other: Lovely.
MW: And the scent is fantastic.
Other: Beautiful. Oh I’ll have to look.
MW: Just pick a bit and take it off with you.
Other: I’ll just have a little look.
MW: Smell it in the car going out.
CB: Sounds super. Thank you.
Other: Yes.
MW: It’s really gorgeous.
Other: Yes. Yes
MW: Yes. Everything seems to be -
Other: Well as I say nothing knows what season it is.
MW: What it is, no.
Other: That’s the trouble.
MW: No.
Other: Isn’t it? Everything’s coming through far too early.
CB: Well the trees are blossoming where I am.
Other: Yeah it’s crazy isn’t it?
CB: Well we were just talking about the Daphne’s and things but I say my garden comes first. I mean I could really go to town on this house and have it all decorated but I’m not going to.
Other: Why bother? No. It’s, it’s
MW: Why spend the, I’d rather spend the money on the garden, you see.
Other: Exactly. Exactly ahum.
CB: You need to get going in a minute I know but final point blossoming is interesting comment in a way, a word because you have all these young girls who are WAAFs on an airfield and you have these young men and they were young men become real men very quickly in the terror of the war. How did the WAAFs react? They blossomed quickly? What was the sort of way things went with WAAFs?
MW: What was the -
CB: How did they react to being in the air force in these circumstances?
MW: In - ?
CB: How did the WAAFs react to being in front line station like Linton?
MW: I don’t think we thought anything about it. I didn’t think, I don’t think we even gave it a thought that we were in, no, I’m sure we didn’t.
CB: But they grew up quickly as well.
MW: We grew up quickly and oh yes, my goodness.
Other: Had to.
MW: You had to. We, it wasn’t, we were there to do a job and at the RAF as you know they, don’t suffer fools gladly. You have to do that job. I’m very concentrated and if I but I go in the straight line, I can’t sit on the, everything goes this way but of course I’m very much a perfectionist as well and I think that gives you, in the RAF that’s, they don’t want, they can’t have people who can’t take orders. If you’re given an order you that’s it, isn’t it?
CB: Let’s get on with it.
Other: Yeah.
MW: No, I don’t honestly think that any of the WAAFs that I knew I knew mostly met office girls in the later stages because sharing a hut and being, being, being an NCO you had, you were given charge of a hut or a house. In the early days at Linton and at Driffield I lived in the married quarters that belonged, that the RAF people had vacated when, you know, the wives, when the war started.
CB: Ahum.
MW: We had their bedding and everything because that was all supplied by the RAF as it is today of course. They, you, you go in naked and you come out naked really don’t you? Because they provide everything -
CB: Yes.
MW: For you but, and it is a very good life if you, if you can stand the discipline.
CB: Yes.
MW: Yes.
CB: So here we are in a barrack hut with all these young girls. How difficult were they, as their corporal, to manage their activities?
MW: It wasn’t very difficult really. I know there are a lot of stories. I’ve heard a lot of stories about the WAAF went off with airmen and got pregnant and so on and so forth but it was few and far between in my experience. I mean, you had to be in at five to midnight or whatever it was and you did it. I mean, If the circumstances where you didn’t catch the bus well you just had to pay the price for it. It was there were no excuse in the RAF.
CB: Ahum
Other: No.
MW: No. You just and I think, in my opinion the RAF is rather maligned really in as much what we did during that war hasn’t been, had enough said about it. We did, Bomber Command didn’t win the war as people have said but my goodness what we’d have done without them I’m afraid is, I dread to think. We couldn’t, with Hiroshima coming forward that much if we hadn’t done Hiroshima we would still have been fighting now wouldn’t we? They wouldn’t have given in would they?
CB: No.
MW: No. No.
CB: Well on that note I think we’d better let you get on. Thank you very much indeed and we’ll arrange another meeting. Thank you -
MW: Well I don’t think we have done very much today.
Other: Let’s get all this into -
CB: We’re just talking about Mary’s dog tags and the plane. What was the origins of those.
MW: The dog -?
CB: Those that everybody wore.
MW: Oh yes one is fireproof and the other’s waterproof. Yes.
CB: Right.
MW: And I don’t know which is which mind you but if you were in a bombing raid over here or anywhere if you’d been, if there was very little left that would still be there to recognise, say that that was you.
CB: Ahum.
MW: You had been there and equally if you’d been drowned this one of them would be.
CB: Right.
MW: We were issued with these on the first day and you wore them around your neck.
CB: Right. And it’s got your service number on it.
MW: Yes, your, its um and your religion.
CB: Yes.
MW: I think. Yes.
CB: Yeah.
MW: I say that. They need a bit of a clean-up.
CB: Okay.
CB: And this is little bits of silverware when they were making the Mosquito. They had to use a certain amount of silver in it and there were little bits left over and the boys would make little things like, and this is -
CB: A brooch.
MW: It’s a little brooch from, it’s pure silver and it is from a Mosquito.
CB: Fantastic yeah.
MW: A Mosquito? Yes, it would be, I think. Yes.
CB: Ok. Thank you.
MW: And you’re very welcome to those.
CB: So what we’re looking at now is the detail.
MW: Yes these are -
CB: Where the grave -
MW: Are all the correspondence from you?
CB: Yes. Thank you. And in your binder here we’ve got details of the grave of
MW: Yes.
CB: Douglas Arthur Harsum, your fiancé.
MW: Yes. That’s 58 Squadron. That’s his number and reserve -
CB: And he died on the 12th of June 1942.
MW: Yes. And I think that’s the rest of the crew and that’s his headstone -
CB: Right.
MW: In Bilbao. And these are on board the boat.
CB: How many years was it before you found where he was buried?
MW: This is only about eight or nine years ago.
CB: Right. So it -
MW: Going back.
CB: So it took sixty years -
MW: Yes.
CB: To find out -
MW: To find out.
CB: Where he was.
MW: Ahum.
MW: And I stood there and I mean it’s probably been on the internet. My cousin came for the day and I’d had this well not because of that but I said to him, ‘When you’re playing about on your computer would you like to have a look and see if you can find where this young man was buried?’ And he came back with it. Hello.
Other2: Hello. Hello. Hello.
Other: Hello.
MW: I said um and he came back the next morning. He said, ‘Well that was easy there was only one Harsum in the RAF.’ Because it’s a very unusual name.
CB: Yeah, indeed yeah.
MW: And he said he’s in so and so and so and so and I said to Roy, ‘Would you like to come?’ And he said, ‘No I wouldn’t,’ he said, ‘But why don’t you ask David if he would.’ So we, I rang David and I said, ‘How do you think about it?’ I said, ‘If I pay everything because I’d got this legacy you see from -
CB: Oh did you? Yes.
MW: And I said the three of us will go. And we went and I stood in front of that headstone and it was, I could almost hear Douglas say. ‘You’ve come at last.’
CB: Really?
MW: It was -
CB: It’s very touching.
MW: Strange. It really is. But it’s such a beautiful place.
CB: Is it?
MW: And do you know when we went in the lady that keeps it going she’s English married to um whether he’s Italian I think he’s probably Italian and she took us to the little, the book where you can, and I wrote in it.
CB: A Book of Remembrance
MW: And there’s a little church, a catholic church and, and a protestant church. Catholic one’s not used very often but she said the protestant one they always use it on Remembrance Day and it is open on some occasions but it’s so well kept.
CB: Is it?
MW: And this is a communal grave of course.
CB: Yes. Right -
MW: But that’s on board the, the Bilbao and -
CB: That is the
MW: That’s the -
CB: Commonwealth War Graves. Yes.
MW: And there are the war graves. Can you see [?]
Other: Yes, I can see. Yes. Yes.
MW: You can see and these are, [pause] oh that’s Lorna and me.
CB: Yeah.
MW: And that’s the lady who looks after it and I say there was a cockerel running around.
CB: Oh was there?
MW: I think that’s him there. And when we went back a couple of days later there was a rabbit
CB: Oh was there?
MW: Running around.
CB: Really?
Other: Wow
MW: Beautifully kept.
CB: Yes.
MW: And these are all the ones that, is this of any interest?
CB: Yes. Thank you.
MW: Would you like to take it?
CB: We’d like to borrow that as well.
MW: Would you?
CB: Yes. And let you have that back.
MW: Ok. Oh well you can have a look -
CB: Yeah.
MW: At it when you get back.
CB: Thank you.
MW: I mean you, as I say there’s only us three on it.
CB: Yes.
MW: And you’ll recognise me -
CB: But it’s an important link in what you’ve been talking about.
MW: Right. Well you take that.
CB: Thank you.
MW: And I’ll keep all your correspondence.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Mary Ward. Two
Description
An account of the resource
Mary Ward joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force in 1940. She served briefly at RAF Driffield but mostly at RAF Linton on Ouse. She trained as a cook before being moved to duties as a map officer. She prepared maps for briefings and debriefings. She was engaged to a flying officer, Douglas Arthur Harsum, who was killed in action on 12 June 1942. She offered a listening ear to aircrew who would visit her for tea and a chat. She describes their fears and the dilemmas of those whom she calls ‘conscientious objectors’. For a time she worked in the office next to Leonard Cheshire’s. She describes the VE and VJ Day celebrations, as well as a flight she took in a Halifax over France. She transferred to RAF Coastal Command towards the end of the war, serving at RAF Brawdy, where she met her husband Roy Ward. She also describes visiting Harsum’s grave in Bilbao some sixty years after his death.
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-02-17
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Mal Prissick
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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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01:11:12 audio recording
Language
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eng
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AWardEM160217
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Coastal Command
Spatial Coverage
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France
Great Britain
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
England--Lincolnshire
England--Shropshire
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
Spain
Spain--Bilbao
Yemen (Republic)
Temporal Coverage
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1940
1942-06-12
1945
aircrew
animal
briefing
Cheshire, Geoffrey Leonard (1917-1992)
Cook’s tour
coping mechanism
debriefing
fear
final resting place
grief
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
heirloom
killed in action
lack of moral fibre
love and romance
military service conditions
operations room
RAF Driffield
RAF Linton on Ouse
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/711/17277/PBlairJJ1632.2.jpg
ee56639d6bfde9d797e713d682097d11
Dublin Core
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Title
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Blair, John
John Jericho Blair
J J Blair
Description
An account of the resource
38 items. The collection concerns John Jericho Blair DFC (1919-2004). He was born in Jamaica and served in RAF from 1942-1963. He flew a tour of operations as a navigator with 102 Squadron from RAF Pocklington. The collection includes numerous photographs of him and colleagues, several photographs of Jamaica, a document detailing his life and an interview with his great nephew Mark Johnson.
The collection also contains three interviews with Caribbean veterans including John Blair recorded by Mark Johnson.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Mark Johnson and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-05-09
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Blair, JJ
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
John Blair at briefing
Description
An account of the resource
Three men, including John Blair, studying a map on the table in front of them, one is wearing a civilian suit and the furthest is an officer in dress uniform. Caption: 'Briefing – (John right)'.
Format
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One b/w photograph
Language
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eng
Type
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Photograph
Identifier
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PBlairJJ1632
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
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
African heritage
aircrew
briefing
navigator
operations room
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30990/BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1-01.1.pdf
8262794404d2ef0dfee19a3f5bd97a8e
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/193/30990/BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1-02.2.pdf
7e6e96679a1915a0c9b98fb636e9cf11
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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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
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2016-10-28
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Yeoman, HT
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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Start of transcription
[underlined] LOOSE ON THE WIND [/underlined]
Harold Yeoman
[page break]
To those who never came back.
[page break]
Their voices, dying as they fly,
Loose on the wind are sown;
The names of men blow soundless by,
My fellows’ and my own.
A.E. Houseman,
“A Shropshire Lad”, XXXVIII.
“And how can a life be loved that hath so may embitterments, [sic] and is subject to so many calamities and miseries? How too can it be called a life, that begetteth [sic] so many deaths and plagues?”
Thomas a Kempis,
“The Imitation of Christ”.
[page break]
[underlined] LOOSE ON THE WIND [/underlined]
Author’s foreword
Never no more
We would never fly like that
Lennie
It makes you think
‘Yes, my darling daughter’
Crewing-up
Images of mortality
Tony
Mind you don’t scratch the paint
Rabbie
Letter home
Low-level
A boxful of broken china
The end of Harry
Silver spoon boy
Intermezzo
Overshoot
First solo
The pepper pot
Approach and landing
Knight’s move
A different kind of love
Sun on a chequered tea-cosy
Photograph in a book
Glossary
[page break]
[underlined] AUTHOR’S FOREWORD [/underlined]
During the years of the Second World War, some 90,000 men, from the British Isles, from the great Dominions overseas and from the countries of Europe overrun by the German enemy, volunteered as aircrew in Bomber Command of the Royal Air Force. Of these men, over 55,000 were to lose their lives and, to this day, more than 20,000 of that total have no known graves. In one particular operation there were more Bomber Command aircrew killed than there were casualties during the entire Battle of Britain.
There were many men whose names will bear for ever an aura of unfading brilliance, men such as Leonard Cheshire, (whom for a brief time I was privileged to know) such as Guy Gibson, or John Searby. There were also the thousands who could not aspire to the greatness of those remarkable men, to their almost unbelievable heights of courage and achievement. To attempt to assess what we in Bomber Command did achieve is no part of my aim. Much greater minds and more highly skilled pens than mine have already done this. This small piece of writing is solely an attempt, through the window of personal recollection, to tell of a few of the incidents which affected me and of a few of the splendid young men whom I was fortunate enough to know and to call my friends. Many, all too many of them, alas, gave their lives as part of the price of our freedom, the freedom from an unspeakable tyranny, that freedom which we now so casually enjoy and take so easily for granted. If, in this small book, I have planted their names like seeds in the garden of future years for even a few eyes other than my own to read, for a few other minds to remember, then I shall have done what I set out to do.
An eminent air historian has recently quoted some words which I wrote to him, words which I now venture to repeat. I said, “We simply had our jobs to do and we tried to do them as best we could.” I believe that sums it up.
Harold Yeoman
November 1994
[page break]
[inserted] [underlined] Never no more [/underlined] [/inserted]
“….. And through the glasse [sic] wyndow [sic]
Shines the sone. [sic]
How should I love, and I so young? …..”
(Anon.)
[page break]
[underlined] NEVER NO MORE [/underlined]
There was something icy cold running down my face and a brilliant light was shining into my eyes.
“What on earth?” I heard myself mutter.
I came to rapidly out of a deep sleep and tried to wriggle away from the cold wetness which was finding its way down my pyjama collar, but I could not escape it, nor the blinding glare.
“What’s going on?” I half-shouted, then I saw her hand holding the dripping sponge. Bright sunshine was pouring through my window that winter morning.
A pale, laughing face framed in jet-black hair behind the hand. She was sitting on the side of my bed.
“Betty!” I shouted, “Stop it! What the heck are you doing?”
“Saturday,” she answered brightly, twisting the sponge away from my hand, “Saturday, and it’s your day off. We were going for a walk, do you remember?”
Her dark, lustrous eyes shone with mischief. I wiped my face on the sleeve of my pyjama jacket and shuddered with the cold. I tried to pull the blankets back around me, but she pulled them firmly down again to chest level. What on earth would my parents think, I wondered, a young girl coming into my bedroom – they’d have a fit. It was almost too much for them when I’d insisted on volunteering for aircrew when I was nineteen, but this - !
“I’ve brought you a cup of tea; now hurry up and drink it, ‘cos it’s breakfast time.”
Betty got off the bed, handed me the cup and made for the door.
“Don’t be long now, and if you don’t take me for that walk, I’ll never speak to you again, never no more.”
“What, never, never no more?” I mimicked.
“No, never no more.”
She grinned, but pretended to be in a huff and flounced out, tossing her shiny black hair which gleamed like coal in the morning sunlight. It became a silly, affectionate catch-phrase between us.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
We had arrived at the Knight’s home at almost the same time; Betty from Coventry, after the air-raid, I from Initial Training Wing, to start my flying training at Sywell, a few miles from the centre of Northampton. We had seen the bombing from a safe distance, out of the train windows, on the way up from our I.T.W. at Torquay overnight. We had stopped, miles from anywhere, for hours, it seemed, while the raid progressed. We could hear the Jerries droning overhead and saw the fire on the horizon.
“Someone’s getting a hell of a pasting,” we had said.
Betty, then, was a refugee. Near misses from H.E.s had decided her parents to evacuate her from the shattered and blazing city to the safer home of her aunt and uncle; the R.A.F. billeting authorities had decided to send me to the Knights at the same time. So we quickly became friends; we were both of an age and of similar dispositions, light-hearted, fun-loving, undemanding and contented by nature. Two of a kind, I thought.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We walked in Abington Park. It was brilliantly sunny but bitterly cold, a wonderful December day. There was snow on the ground, the bare trees were black and stark against the clear winter sky. With my white u/t pilot’s flash in the front of my forage cap I swaggered a little. Why not? I was very proud of it. My buttons gleamed, my boots shone like glass.
“Bags of swank!” our drill Corporal used to shout at us as we marched through Torquay, and we obeyed that command, always. I was proud of myself and I was proud to be walking out with Betty. She was a lovely girl, her face in repose calm and radiant as some Italian Renaissance Madonna in a painting.
“No, I haven’t gone solo yet,” I was saying as we walked, “but I’ve only done nine hours up to now, you know”
“How long will it take you, do you think?”
“Oh, any minute now, but my instructor puts me off a bit, he is rather bad-tempered.”
(‘Can you see that other aircraft?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well then, are you going to fly round it or through it?’)
“That’s not very nice, is it?”
“No, not very, but I try not to let him put me off.”
[page break]
“Will you be getting any leave at Christmas?”
“Don’t suppose so, Betty; I mean to say, I’ve only been in three months altogether and we did get a 48 hour pass from Torquay, you know.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Knights had a radiogram in the lounge of their comfortable semi-detached house.
“Look what I got for Christmas,” Betty exclaimed, holding out a blue-labelled record in its cardboard envelop, “would you like to hear it?”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Hutch.”
I had little or no idea who or what Hutch was, then.
“Yes, please,” I said.
She put the record on and straightened up, standing before me in her simple, grey dress. The creamy, brown voice came out of the loudspeaker and I was immediately seized by some emotion which I had never before experienced.
“That certain night, the night we met,
There was magic abroad in the air,” sang Hutch, and Betty was humming the tune along with him.
“There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.”
To this day, when I play that on my hi-fi and hear Hutch’s lovely velvet voice and perfect diction, I am back with Betty at Mrs. Knight’s, falling beautifully and adolescently in love with her from the exact moment that she played me that song. I find it, still, an unbearably moving experience, one which brings a lump into my throat and tears to my eyes.
“Did you like that? Do you want to hear the other side?”
“Oh, yes, please, I’d like to.”
On the other side was “All the things you are,” and it couldn’t have fitted my mood better, either. She was all the things which Hutch was singing about.
“That’s a wizard record, Betty,” I said. She smiled happily.
. . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
“Gosh, I’ve never had champagne before, Mr. Knight,” I said.
“Well, you went solo on Christmas Eve, when we were away and now you’ve done your first solo cross-country today, so you can try some, to celebrate, apart from the fact that it’s New Year’s Day, of course.”
“Well, thanks very much, and – cheers!”
“Cheers,” from Mr. Knight, “and happy landings.”
“Chocks away,” Betty said. Now where had she learned that?
“Would you like to hear another new record?”
“Oh, yes, I would, very much. What is it?”
“’You’d be so nice to come home to’, it’s called,” she said, “do you know it?”
“No, I’ve never heard that one.”
She put the record on and I listened as I sipped the unfamiliar but strangely disappointing wine. I thought, “Yes, you would be so nice to come home to, Betty darling.” Maybe it was the wine after all.
But I really didn’t know how to say that sort of thing to her. How did one start? Besides, my mind was still full of the voice of Flying Officer Lines from earlier that wonderful day.
“You don’t need me, do you? I am going to have a sleep. Wake me up if anything goes wrong.”
And pulling out his speaking tube he had wriggled down into the front cockpit, out of the slipstream, that New Year’s morning, as I set course, droning over snowy Sywell in the bitterly cold sunshine. He was a Battle of Britain Hurricane pilot, instructing for a so-called rest, and trusting me, with only thirty hours in my log-book, to fly from Sywell to unknown Cambridge, land, and come back again. If you did the trip without assistance from your instructor it counted as solo time, and I had done that. My cup of happiness was full, that day.
“You’d be paradise to come home to and love”, went the song as the record ended.
I sighed.
“Yes, she would be,” I thought, “but how on earth do you go about actually saying things like that to Betty?”
There were all manner of things I undoubtedly wanted to say to
[page break]
her. But I hadn’t even kissed her yet, and you couldn’t say some things without kissing somebody first, could you? Besides, she might not want me to. So how, and when, did, or could, one start? It was very difficult, rather like trying to do a perfect three-point landing.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Every other Friday we were paid. I was rich beyond my wildest imaginings. From the two shillings a day at Torquay I had progressed to no less than five pounds four shillings each fortnight. That was as a mere Leading Aircraftman. What I would be paid if ever I became a Sergeant pilot the imagination simply couldn’t tell me. I used to split the money carefully into equal parts and with one half burning a hole in my pocket and the Friday evening feeling joyously pervading my system my little world was at my feet until Monday morning. I would go into Northampton, to the “Black Boy” in the main square, for a mixed grill and a pint of black-and-tan, sometimes with Len or Eric, sometimes alone. It became the high point of my week.
We would sit and talk flying to our hearts’ content, comparing notes on our experiences. In retrospect how limited they were and how naive we were, and yet how miraculous and other-worldly it seemed to me to know the unutterable thrill of open-cockpit flying in the freezing winter air, strapped tightly into the fragile machine whose engine purred bravely in front of me; the wonder of the view of the blue-green and white hazy landscape spread out below, the icy slipstream on my numbed face, the thrill of the response, under my hands and feet, of the aircraft to small, smooth movements of the controls. There was the magic of the rising, tilting and falling of the snow-covered, mottled, dim countryside, blotched with the smoke of towns, the dazzling red disc of the sun as it set in the haze, the ecstasy of sideslipping [sic] in over the hedge and of smoothly straightening out the glide to set her down for a perfect three-pointer on to the frosty grass near the other Tigers, while a few fellow-pupils watched critically, and while over at the Vickers shed the engines of a great black Wellington rumbled ominously.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
“Are you coming down to the Y.M. tonight, Harold?”
My head was down over my books, in the dining room. I wasn’t finding the theory of flight too easy.
“Oh. Yes, I’ll be along; are you going to be there?”
“Well, I work there there [sic] three nights a week now, you know. Auntie thought I should do something to help the war effort until I’m called up.”
(Called up? I hadn’t thought of that; somehow I couldn’t imagine Betty in uniform.)
“O.K., I’ll see you down there later, then, I’ve got just about an hour’s work to do. Keep a chocolate biscuit for me, will you?”
She waggled her fingers, crinkled her nose smilingly, and went out.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I landed for the last time at Sywell in a Tiger Moth, sideslipping [sic] off the height and greasing her down on to the grass. I let the aircraft rumble to a halt, then I taxied carefully to the dispersal tents, faced her into wind and switched off. The prop juddered to a stop. An erk ducked down to chock the wheels. Dusk was beginning to fall; I could see Alex Henshaw, Vickers’ Chief Test Pilot, on the circuit in his Spitfire. Everyone always stopped whatever they were doing to watch him fly, it was part of our education. But my eyes always returned to the huge black bulk of the Wellington by their hangar. I pulled out my harness pin and released the straps carefully, so as not to damage the aircraft’s fabric. I sighed and reluctantly, as one would part from a girl, I climbed out of the cockpit. A chapter had ended.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“I don’t know exactly where, Betty, except that it’s overseas. The lads are all saying Canada, but no-one ever tells us much. I suppose we’ll not know until we get there. There’s a few posted to S.F.T.S.s in England, Hullavington, Cranfield, places like that, but ten of us are definitely on the boat.”
She looked down at her cup of tea. We were sitting together in
[page break]
the Y.M.C.A.; she had an hour off duty. The place was full of uniforms, but I scarcely notice them, I only had eyes for her.
“Will it be soon?”
“Next week, they think.”
“Harold - ?”
“Yes, what?”
“Oh, well, nothing. You will write, won’t you?”
“Of course I will, Betty, yes, I’ll write to you as often as I can.”
“What will you be flying?”
“Harvards or Oxfords, I suppose, I’m not really sure.”
“What do you want to go on to, fighters or bombers?”
(Strange, how civilians thought there were only those two categories of pilot, but I suppose the news the press and radio gave concerned mainly those two. After all, they were the types mostly at the sharp end of things. But I thought of Betty, huddled fearfully in the shelter, that night of the Coventry raid and I felt a sudden and great anger that she should have had to endure that. And I thought of the Wellington over at the Vickers hangar at the aerodrome, sinister, powerful, black, and from then on I was never in any doubt.)
“Bombers,” I said firmly, “definitely bombers.”
. . . . . . . . . . .
It is strange that I don’t remember saying goodbye to Betty, nor to the Knights, if it comes to that. I must have done so, of course, but sadly, I cannot bring the occasions to mind.
I did go to Canada. Once we got out west we worked hard and we flew hard, by day and by night. We got no leave, very little time off. We didn’t particularly want any. Things were getting rather urgent back home. Besides, I wanted to hurry back to Betty, and to my parents, too, of course.
I wrote to her as often as I could. She sent me her photograph, smiling and lovely in that grey dress, but I’m afraid I haven’t got it now. I got my wings a few days before my twentieth birthday. In the late summer, after a stopover in Iceland, I was back in England, and with a couple of Canadian chaps, splendid fellows whom I had
[page break]
met on the boat, I was posted to a Wellington Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourne, not too far from Northampton. Most of my buddies went on to fighters. As it happened, they had a little more future than us bomber boys. Not much, but a little. Of course, I was longing to see Betty again.
As soon as I had settled in I phoned the Knights one evening. It was an interminable business, repeating their number to different operators, waiting while the line buzzed and crackled, while disembodied and unreal voices spoke unintelligibly to one another in hasty, clipped syllables. In the end, a man’s voice spoke up.
“Is that Mr. Knight?”
“Yes, who is that?”
“It’s Harold.”
“Harold! How are you? Where are you speaking from?”
I told him Bassingbourn. We were allowed to do that so long as we didn’t give the name of our unit.
“How’s Mrs. Knight?”
“Oh, she’s fine, she’s down at the Y.M. this evening, on duty.”
“I see. And Betty, is she still with you?”
There was a slight pause. I thought we must have been cut off. Then he said, “No, she went back home a little while ago. Things are a bit quieter now, you know.”
“Yes, I understand. But how is she? I’d love to see her again.”
“Well, actually, Harold, she’s fine. But look, did you know – did she mention that she’s getting engaged?”
I felt as though I’d flown slap into a mountainside in the dark. I swallowed with difficulty, the perspiration had broken out on my forehead and my hand holding the receiver was trembling.
“No,” I said, “I didn’t know that.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
“No, I hadn’t heard that.”
“Yes; he’s quite a nice chap, a bit older than she is, works in a car factory, I believe.”
We didn’t talk long after that; I was too stunned to think very straight. I’m afraid I never saw the Knights again, and I am truly sorry, for they were good, nice people and they were extremely kind to me. I made a mess of my flying during the next few days.
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I still think about Betty. I have quite a substantial record collection and after years of fruitless searching I finally got the record of Hutch singing what has become for me a poignant song, that song about the nightingale. And when I play it I can see Betty’s lovely face, pale and calm, like the Madonna, and I can visualise the gleam of the firelight on her jet-black hair, that winter afternoon in Northampton.
I wonder, often I wonder, what became of her. Dear Betty, I shall never forget you for you were my first love. What happened? Where did I go wrong? I don’t know why I should feel so very sad when I think of those days, for they were truly among the happiest of my life.
Sometimes, too, I think of the way she used to laugh, and of her words; I can almost hear her voice speaking to me, as though she were in the room here. But I know I shall never see her again and now, the touching little phrase sounds only like a cry of despair in the night – “Never no more, never no more.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] We would never fly like that. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] WE WOULD NEVER FLY LIKE THAT [/underlined]
After I had described the incident to him, with inevitable, automatic use of a pilot’s illustrative gestures of the hands, he thought briefly about it, then looking directly at me, “You ought to write about it,” he said, “Why don’t you put it on paper?”
The following day I awoke early in the morning, earlier than usual, even for me, with his words still sounding in my ears. And remembering the words with which I had described the events of almost sixty years previously still fresh and vivid in my mind, I took up pencil and paper.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Now, in the dying days of the twentieth century, almost every summer week-end, all over the land, you may buy your ticket for some air display. You may sit in your car with the doors open to admit the pleasant breeze, the warm air, the chatter of the crowd, the over-emphatic loudspeaker announcements, or you may lounge upon your hired camp-chair, your sunglasses shading your eyes as you look upwards into the limitless blue clarity of the sky, and watch, to the accompaniment of the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of the hundreds of spectators, the improbable antics of the ugly, purpose-built, monstrously-powered aircraft, meretriciously decorated with advertisements, performing their violent and ugly aerial manoeuvres. To me, the vicious use by their pilots of stick and rudder palls after only a few seconds, and I think, perhaps nostalgically, that I would much rather watch fewer and simpler aerobatics performed by pilots in standard military aircraft. And as I ponder this my thoughts are led back to a day on a Northamptonshire aerodrome when I was beginning my elementary pilot training in the R.A.F.
The time was the sever winter of 1940-41. The Battle of Britain had just been won; Coventry had only very recently been devastated by the Luftwaffe in one catastrophic night raid. I was one of twenty or so young men on our course. Most of us had never seen an aircraft at close quarters until we arrived at No. 6 Elementary Flying Training School. Here, there
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were Tiger Moths – biplanes, gentlemen’s aeroplanes, as I heard them many times described. They were docile, forgiving, vice-less, sensitive to both hands and feet, a sheer joy to handle once the initial strangeness of the sensation of controlling an aircraft in three dimensions had worn off. Most of us, I fancy, could see ahead no further than going solo on them, then completing the course with the required fifty or so flying hours before we went on to the next stage in our training, a Service Flying Training School. But we did not look far into the future; we did not know nor could we imagine what was coming to us. Perhaps, in many cases, this was just as well. All we knew was that we were, each one of us, filled with an unquenchable desire and zeal to qualify eventually as pilots in the finest Air Force in the world, to become – and we thought this and spoke of it without embarrassment or apology to any man – the elite of all the armed forces, an opinion which I will hold with pride today.
So we flew and we studied flying and talked of little else but the theory and practice of flying. We questioned one another. We pored [sic] over pilots’ notes and airmanship notes and navigation books and the Morse Code. We questioned our instructors and our peers on the senior course. And we kept our eyes and ears open, sensitive and receptive to anything, however small, which would assist us in any way to obtain those wings which we longed to be able to wear on our uniforms.
Here at Sywell, the Tiger Moths were, during the day, dispersed around the perimeter of the grass aerodrome, standing in their training yellow and earth-camouflage paint, their R.A.F. roundels standing out bravely, awaiting their next pupils to take them up on whichever exercise they would carry out. We were divided into three Flights, six or seven of the boys on my course in each, with six or seven of the senior course. Each Flight had its ‘office’ in a camouflage-painted bell tent near the hedge. But what drew my eye almost hypnotically when I was standing there, not flying, perhaps watching other pupils performing their ‘circuits and bumps’ until it was my own turn, was the occasional sight of a Wellington, a twin-engined bomber, at that time the biggest we had, standing outside a hangar on the far side of the aerodrome – the Vickers shed, as it was called. It fascinated me constantly and unfailingly, massive in its matt-black dope with its very tall single rudder, standing squat, silent and menacing outside its hangar, contrasting against the snow-covered ground,
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never approached by anyone except the Vickers personnel. What was taking place there I have never known, but all of us well knew who flew it.
He would arrive in his Spitfire, considerately keeping a respectable distance outside the circuit while we pupils took off or landed in our tiger Moths. Then he would slip into a vacant place in the circuit and make his approach and landing, his aircraft, pencil-slim, perfect and graceful in its flight, the focus of all eyes from the ground, its appearance possessed of something of the beauty and poetry of a Bach fugue or a Mozart andante, a Shakespearian sonnet of flowing aerial beauty. The pilot, we learned from some of the senior course who were comparatively old hands on the aerodrome, was Alex Henshaw, Vickers’ Chief Test Pilot, a fact which reduced us tyros, with probably less than thirty flying hours in any of our logbooks, to awestricken silence.
He it would be who would take the Wellington from its place at the Vickers shed, taxi it, ponderously, it seemed to us, into take-off position when all Tiger Moths were well clear, and without fuss send it charging with engines howling at full boost over the bumpy grass field and into the air, leaving traces of oily smoke in its wake from the two Pegasus engines as he eased it over the trees fringing the aerodrome and climbed away. Later, he would return to land, once again showing meticulous consideration of us pupils, and would taxy the bomber to its position by the Vickers shed. I would have not believed them had someone told me that less than a year later I would land and take off here in a more powerful Mark of Wellington on the strength of having seen Alex Henshaw’s performances; I am sure that my audience, if indeed I had one, would have been quite unimpressed by the sight. I know that my own crew, in the tense silence as I scraped over the trees on take-off, were wishing themselves anywhere but with me in my inexperienced disregard for their safety. But it was watching Alex Henshaw that first sowed the seed of an idea in my head that, whereas almost all of the chaps on my course wanted to fly fighters, I thought that I would try my utmost to get on to a bomber Squadron, if only to hit back at those who had so terrified Betty, the niece of the couple on whom
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I was billeted in Northampton, and whom I was beginning to regard as someone more than a friend. A year later I would be wearing my pilot’s wings, having been half way across the world and back to earn them, having joined a Wellington Squadron in Lincolnshire and having survived a fire in the air followed by a barely controllable night descent in the darkness and the final crash-landing on my first operation against the enemy. I would also have gained, then lost, a love.
One afternoon, at Sywell, I was not flying, standing outside the dispersal tent with two or three others of my course, no doubt talking flying, and watching critically the take-offs and landings of a few pupils on circuits and bumps. (How readily I could point out their faults – a slight swing on take-off, a ropey turn, a bumpy landing, or a too-high hold-off; how slow I was to recognise my own failings and correct them, except on the sometimes caustic promptings of Flying Officer J - -, my instructor).
At this stage in our training we could detect instantly any appearance or movement of an aircraft in the sky, no matter how far distant it was – an attribute I have never lost – and we could also quickly and correctly identify it, an ability which, for obvious reasons, was essential by day or by night. But on that bright, very cold afternoon, first there was the distinctive note of the Merlin engine. Our heads turned. Here was the Spitfire with Alex Henshaw, assessing the position of the Tigers on the circuit. He would have been at about 800 feet; I had a splendid view as he cruised gently along, well outside the aerodrome boundary. Then there was a flash of sunlight off the wing as, quite unexpectedly, he rolled the aircraft on to its back and flew, straight and level, but inverted, into wind. We turned our heads and grinned at one another. This was good. This was very good. Exciting stuff. Soon he would roll back and finish his circuit normally. We were wrong. He turned crosswind, still inverted, his rudder pointing grotesquely earthwards. This was becoming quite amazing, an incredible sight. Then, still inverted, he turned again, on to the downwind leg and put his wheels down – or rather, put them up, as we saw them, rising like a snail’s antennae from the duck-egg blue under surface of the Spitfire. Then he turned
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on to the final crosswind leg, still inverted, undercarriage held high, flaps now out, and finally into wind, on to his landing approach.
Spellbound and speechless we watched as he lost height smoothly in the inverted position. What was he going to do? Open her up and roll her out, then go round again on a normal circuit? But no, he continued on his inverted final approach. I hardly dared breathe; the tension in our small group could be felt. Down and down he slipped until we were prepared to see simply anything – but surely not a crash? I could not truly estimate at what height he was, but finally, effortlessly and smoothly, he rolled her out, the engine popping characteristically as he held off at a few feet and set the Spitfire down for a perfect landing on the grass. We exhaled in unison, the tension gone, wonderment taking over.
I have never seen any piece of flying anywhere to approach the silken, wonderful skill of this, and I would be astonished if anyone else has; it was sheer unadulterated Henshaw genius, a sight that I have always remembered with awe, one I shall never forget.
There is a very fine novel, long since out of print, written by an R.A.F. Flight Lieutenant pilot who was killed in 1940. The action takes place at a civilian flying school; in one particular chapter some pupils are watching an instructor putting an aircraft through its paces on a rigorous test flight and one of them speaks some words which precisely matched my thoughts as I watched that incredible inverted circuit – “We’ll none of us ever fly like that.”
I am sure that none of us standing there on that wartime winter day ever did and I would be astounded if anyone else did, or could. It was flying by a genius; even the gods must have smiled to see it.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Lennie [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LENNIE [/underlined]
In those days, full-backs wore number 1, right wing threequarters threw into lineouts and wore number 2, and so on, down to number 15 at wing forward. Lennie wore number 2 in my local rugby club’s first team, and also in the County side. As an aspiring wing threequarter [sic] myself, although just into my teens, Lennie, when I watched the team’s every home game, wide-eyed on the open side of the exposed pitch, in whatever weather, Lennie became one of my boyhood heroes.
He was not by any means one of your greyhound-type hard-running winger, for he carried, in retrospect, perhaps a pound or two too much weight to be numbered with them. But he was as elusive as a well-greased eel. Although in defence, and in particular, his rather feeble kicking, he was slightly suspect, with ball in hand every spectator, whether at club or County match, unconsciously sat up or stood straighter, in anticipation of his jinking, sidestepping runs up the touchline, soldier-erect, dark head thrown back, mouth slightly open. I wonder how often in his career he heard the encouraging shouts of the crowd, “Come on, Lennie!”
The recollection of a particular incident in one particular match, against the strongest club side in the county still remains vividly with me. In all but the highest grade of rugby, receiving the ball as a wing threequarter [sic] within ten or fifteen yards of one’s own corner flag meant that there was no choice. One kicked for touch, hoping to gain at least twenty or so yards. Especially so when one was pitted against the most efficient and successful team for miles around, and even more so when one was faced by the opposing winger, who in this case was an English international. But on this occasion Lennie eschewed the safe option. Perhaps it was that he himself knew that his kicking was rather weak.
About a hundred yards from his opponent’s line and faced by a rapidly advancing and grimly competent opponent, he set off to run, up the appreciable slope of his home ground. With a jink and a sidestep he evaded the oncoming International, who skidded and was left floundering. Urged on by the home crowd, myself included, he ran, sidestepped, swerved and tricked his way through the opponents’ entire team, his lately evaded marker in breathless and fruitless pursuit. He finally rounded the fullback and scored wide out to the left, after a solo effort of more than 120 yards. It brought the house down, especially as the England ‘cap’
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was finally left prone and exhausted in his wake. I have watched and played rugby for very many years and I honestly believe that I have rarely seen a finer individual try scored.
Came the war. Players and spectators alike of the necessary ages were scattered all over the world, many never again to see or handle a rugby ball. Very early in 1941, my elementary flying training – and Betty – left behind, the latter with some heartache, I and several other LACs from Sywell found ourselves en route for we knew not where to continue our training, gathered like so many shepherdless sheep in midwinter in a large and bleak Nissen hut at RAF Wilmslow, an overseas embarkation depot. There must have been fifty or so of us in the hut, sitting upon our respective beds, while a Corporal at one end lectured us on some topic relevant to our impending departure, then called us forward, alphabetically, of course – I was used to being the last in any roll-call – to hand us some sheet of instructions. Awaiting my turn I watched idly while others hurried forward to the Corporal’s desk, then about-turned and went back to their places. Watched idly, that is, until a name I only half-heard was called, and a well-built dark man trotted, on his toes, up the aisle to the Corporal. I started up with a stifled exclamation, recognising the way he ran. It was Lennie, Lennie C - - of W - - R.F.C. I could scarcely believe my eyes. For a second or two the forage cap with the white flash of u/t aircrew almost deceived me.
As soon as we were left to our own devices I walked along the hut and across to his bed-space.
“Excuse me, but you are Lennie C - -, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He looked curiously at me.
“I thought so, I’ve often watched you play, at W - -.”
He looked surprised and pleased. I mentioned my cousin, who played in the same team. To meet someone from one’s own home town in the Service was a reasonably infrequent happening, and because of that, all the more welcome. He told me he was under training as a Navigator. We stuck together, despite the disparity in our ages – he was about ten years my senior – through our dismal stay at Wilmslow, then via Gourock and a ridiculously small ship to Iceland where we trans-shipped
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to an armed Merchant Cruiser. This was more of a morale-boosting title than anything else; the ship was a medium-sized passenger cruise vessel with two quite small guns which, at a guess, might have just about managed to sink an empty wooden barrel, but not much else. The news finally filtered down to us that we were heading for Canada. On setting out from Reykjavik we looked around for our convoy. There was none. We were to cross the Atlantic alone, with two paltry guns to defend ourselves against whatever there might be in the way of U-boats, pocket battleships or a combination of both. This was a very real threat. The ‘Bismarck’ was later to sink ‘Hood’ and itself to be sunk in the North Atlantic. We slept and lived, about 150 of us, I suppose, on the floor of what had been the Recreation Room with about twelve inches of so-called bed-space between mattresses. Half way across the Atlantic, in a February storm, the engines packed up and we tossed, helpless, for twenty four hours, a sitting target for the Kriegsmarine. Then at last we heard the welcome rumbling from the bowels of the ship.
An LAC whose bed-space was near to Lennie’s and mine then reported that he felt unwell. Chickenpox was diagnosed, and the M.O., looking for all the world like an S.S. man selecting victims for the concentration camp, ordered that several of us, including Lennie, Brian S - , who had been on my course at Sywell, and myself, were to be sent into quarantine when we arrived in Canada. Brian, as it happened, was also a rugby man, having played for Broughton Park.
We duly and thankfully docked in Halifax, Nova Scotia and after, I’m afraid, gorging ourselves on steaks and chocolate, which we had never seen since before September 1939, about twenty of us, including two or three Fleet Air Arm airmen, to our eyes bizarre in their bell-bottomed trousers and flapping collars, were put on the train for Cape Breton Island, in particular for the small R.C.A.F. Station of North Sydney.
Our quarantine turned out to be farcical. After twenty four hours on the camp we were informed, amazingly, that we could please ourselves where we went and whom we met, until further notice. We looked at one another in astonishment – then proceeded to enjoy ourselves while we could. Our duties, such as they were, consisted of one night duty in six when three of us were left in charge of the kitchen and served meals to the RCAF airmen
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who were on guard duty and fire picquet. The civilian cooks, who had never met anyone from the U.K., ensure that we were fed like fighting cocks, providing us with quantities of steaks, eggs and milk. Out of camp, the streets, cafes and cinemas of North Sydney and of Sydney itself were open to us. Lifts in cars belonging to the local people were there for the asking, and the friendly Nova Scotians, learning of our arrival, took us to their hearts and into their homes. They were astonished that despite the deep snow on the ground, we seldom, if ever, wore our great coats. The cold was so dry compared with that in England, and we were physically in such prime condition that we felt no discomfort, whereas our Canadian hosts went about muffled up in greatcoats and fur hats with ear-flaps. Our stay there was as good as an extended leave.
Off the pitch, most rugby players are determined to do their utmost to ensure that breweries never go out of business. Lennie was no exception. When a group of us were out together he drank his beer slowly but steadily, became more and more relaxed and laughed a good deal, sometimes uncontrollably. He never became objectionable or aggressive, never used bad language and was always amenable to our advice that perhaps he had had sufficient and it was time to return to camp. Being a mere tyro, at the age on [sic] nineteen I drank sparingly and with considerable discretion, my mental sights being fixed over the horizon, on the next stage of my flying training and the eventual gaining of my wings. So I took it upon myself, on several occasions, to steer Lennie, muscular but curiously boneless, laughing at only he knew what, safely into our barrack hut and on to his bed, where I covered him, still in uniform, with his blankets, where he would fall peacefully asleep. Lennie, even with several beers inside him, never did the slightest harm to anyone.
Of course, the idyll had to come to an end. After several very pleasant weeks, our posting came through. Brian and I and some others were destined for Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, No. 32 S.F.T.S., while Lennie was posted to Goodrich, Ontario, a Navigational Training School. I remember how we shook hands when we said ‘cheerio’. His smile was as broad as ever, and his hand, I recall vividly, was large and surprisingly soft.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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It must have been on one of my leaves from Moreton-in-the-Marsh towards the end of 1942 when my father, who was on the committee of the local rugby club, gave me the news. Lennie had been shot down and was missing. He believed that it had happened off the Norwegian coast. It was yet another blow to me following the loss of my own crew. I had recently had a reply from the Commanding Officer of my Squadron in response to a letter I had written him, that my crew must now all be presumed dead. I felt that the bottom had dropped out of my life and I was nearing the end of my tether. I was suffering deeply, as was my flying, and I sensed that my forthcoming Medical Board would be the end of a chapter. I went about cocooned in silent grief so intense that it amounted to permanent depression, which was only temporarily assuaged by drinking far more than I ever saw Lennie drink. From what little my father had gleaned from his informant at the clubhouse I surmised that Lennie must have been on some squadron in Coastal Command. For some reason I visualised him on Whitleys.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Years passed. I will not say that I had forgotten Lennie; occasionally some memory of those days would float unbidden into my mind and I would visualise him as I had last known him on Cape Breton Island, always smiling, playfully light-hearted, completely harmless. Then a friend gave me a cutting from a local newspaper with a photograph of the successful rugby team of the immediate pre-war years. Lennie smiled up at me from the middle of the front row of players, next to another young man who had been shot down into the sea off the Dutch coast as a wireless operator in a Blenheim on a daylight shipping strike. I was impelled to ask the friend whether any information could be obtained from the Internet as to what had happened to Lennie, and when it was he had died. Within days I knew enough to be able to consult a series of volumes of casualties of Bomber Command. For Lennie had not been on a Coastal Command Squadron as I had surmised, and he had not been shot down off Norway.
He was the Navigator of one of six Wellingtons from a Bomber Squadron at Mildenhall, (where much later, J – ended her career in the W.A.A.F. as a Base Watchkeeper), detailed to attack shipping, in daylight, on the Dortmund-Ems Canal in North-west Germany on a September afternoon in 1942.
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On reading this, I could hardly believe that Wellingtons were being used on daylight operations at that time; I had thought that the crippling loses [sic] that they suffered on such attacks in the early days of the war had meant their transfer solely to night bombing. (On my telling M – about these circumstances, she said ‘Suicide raid’. That was about the size of it.) Mr. Chorley’s painstakingly collated and amazingly detailed book gives the bare bones of the tragic story. Four and a half hours after taking off, presumably on their way back to Mildenhall, and within sight of the Dutch coast and the comparative safety of the North Sea, his aircraft was attacked by a Luftwaffe Focke-Wulfe 190, a formidable fighter aircraft. The wireless operator was killed in the attack and the aircraft was set on fire. The two gunners managed to bale out and became prisoners of war. The account says that Lennie was last seen using a fire extinguisher, bravely trying to put out the fire which was raging inside the fuselage of the Wellington.
The blazing aircraft crashed into what was then the Zuider Zee; the bodies of the wireless operator and the pilot were recovered and subsequently interred in a cemetery in Amsterdam, but Lennie’s body was never found and, having no known grave, his name is recorded on the Runnymede Memorial along with twenty thousand others whose remains were never recovered.
So died a hero who for a brief time was my friend.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] It makes you think [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] IT MAKES YOU THINK [/underlined]
“Mail up!”
We jumped off our beds and hurried towards the door at the end of the barrack hut. At least, some of us did. The majority stayed where they were, on their beds, pretending to read, cleaning buttons, pottering about. There could be almost no chance of mail for them, for they were Norwegian, and their homeland was under German occupation. They accepted this lack of mail, as they did much else, with considerable stoicism.
We who were the fortunate ones gathered around the R.C.A.F. airman who called out the names on the envelopes, and who, while looking down at the handful of letters he held, handed us our mail without a glance. There was one for me. I looked at the postmark. Coventry. My heart bounded when I saw that. There was two-thirds of the width of Canada and all the Atlantic Ocean between us; she was back in devastated Coventry, I in smaller and completely peaceful Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, under training as a fighter pilot.
I walked slowly back to my bed, savouring the sight of her handwriting, feeling the texture of the envelope smooth under my fingers. I sat down quietly, as far as one could be quiet in a hut with twenty-nine other blokes. In deference to us, the Norwegian lads did keep quiet as we read our mail. I held the unopened letter a long time in my hand, gazing at her rounded, shapely writing. I wanted this moment of pleasure to last as long as possible.
At the time I was with her, under the same roof, being so caught up in the novelty and the thrill of flying, I didn’t realise what was happening to me, or to her, and it was all too foolishly late that I had become slowly aware of it. After we had parted, when I was at the Embarkation Depot en route for Canada, and when I had time to take stock of myself, it was only then that it dawned slowly upon me that I had fallen in love with her, and that I wouldn’t see her again for the best, or the worst part of six months at least. Oh, Betty, I thought, the time I so stupidly wasted. Would I ever have the chance again?
I sighed, and looked at her photograph on my locker. She was
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smiling at me enigmatically, her mouth curving slightly up at the corners, her dark eyes holding more than a hint of mischief, the gleaming mass of her ebony hair framing the soft pallor of her calm face. Slowly and carefully I opened the envelope. I turned to the last sheet, looked at the end of the letter first, fearful that it might say only “yours sincerely” or some such. It did not. The words were there that I wanted to read. I lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and luxuriously, and started from the beginning.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Tim spoke up from across the gangway between the beds, his English idiomatic and only very faintly accented.
“I hope she still loves you, but come on, we have flying to do.”
“O.K., Tim, I’ll be right with you.”
I tucked the letter into my top left-hand tunic pocket, carefully buttoning the flap. Soren and Aage, next to Tim, both stood up. What opposites they were, I thought, Soren cheerful, muscular, blond, extrovert, while Aage was gaunt and rather silent, and toothy, with melancholy eyes which flickered nervously around him. We made our way up to the flights; it was going to be another hot day. Already the air was filled with the tearing rasp of the Harvards’ Wasp engines as the fitters ran them up in preparation for a long day’s flying.
We turned into ‘F’ Flight crewroom at the front of one of the hangars and looked at the flying detail pinned up on the board, next to the Coke machine. Aage was due off on a cross-country to Swift Current and back at 0900, while Tim, Soren and I had an hour’s formation flying at 1000. Lower down the list I saw that I was due on the Link Trainer at 1500 for blind-flying simulation, and to round off the day, or rather, the night, one and a half solo night-flying hours at 2100. It was going to be a long day, as well as a hot one. Aage, now bent over a map, pencilling careful lines, was to take over my aircraft, I saw, when I landed after night-flying.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
After the snowy, tree-fringed grass field at Sywell it was a novelty to have these sun-baked runways, even more so when there were two parallel ones with a narrow grass strip in between, the whole field being patterned by this double triangle of concrete strips.
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We took it in turns to lead our formation of three. Station-changing, as we had no R/T, was indicated by hand-signals from the leader. Soren was to lead first with me as his number two and Tim, three. Then I would take over the lead, and finally, Tim. I followed Soren’s bright yellow Harvard out as he taxied on to the perimeter and turned towards the end of the runways in use. He took the right-hand runway of the pair and edged across to the left of it, braked and stopped. I gave him ten yards clearance and took the right-hand edge of the same runway. Tim stopped level with me, alone on the left-hand runway. I saw Soren slide the canopy shut and start rolling, and I followed, pushing the throttle firmly up to the stop. I never got used to the tremendous feeling of exhilaration as the power surged on. I lifted the tail and kept straight with small pushes of my feet on the rudder-bar. As I chased after Soren I could see Tim out of the corner of my eye, keeping abreast of me.
Suddenly Soren was airborne, then I followed, climbing into the summer sky. To maintain station, the rules of tidy and correct flying were suspended. You used no bank on your small turns to get into position, but skidded gently across on rudder only. It felt all wrong, it was like being told deliberately to mis-spell a word one had known and used for years. When I had first practised formation with F/O Sparks in the front cockpit I had been frightened out of my wits to see two other aircraft each within ten yards of me. But one was soon conditioned to accept this, and very quickly one learned the gentle art of close formation flying, when your own wing was actually tucked in to the space between the leader’s wing and his tailplane, so that any forward or backward relative movement meant a collision. But provided you watched him like a hawk, and kept station by means of constant throttle and rudder juggling, you got by. It became great fun, and the early thoughts of comprehensive and devastating collisions were soon forgotten.
So I tucked myself right in on Soren’s starboard side and stayed there while he climbed, turned or glided. We flew four basic formations, vic, echelon starboard, echelon port and line astern. The echelons looked great and the line astern gave you a bit of relaxation, for numbers two and three were slightly lower than the aircraft in front,
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to keep out of the turbulence of his slipstream. Where we were heading was not my worry, nor Tim’s. Soren was in charge of that side of things while he was leading. He gave the signal to change leaders. I skidded away from him and opened the throttle to draw ahead. He skated in to my left and Tim crossed to my right, as number two. Back to cruising revs as they snuggled themselves in tightly against me. I looked down at the baked prairie landscape and saw that Soren had headed us back towards Moose Jaw to make it easy for me. I grinned and mentally thanked him. I started to sing loudly to myself as we flew, running through the repertoire of the popular songs we were always playing on the juke box at Smoky Joe’s cafe, just outside the camp gates, I felt on top of the world – a letter from Betty, a great day for flying and the formation going like a dream. I led them around until my time was up and signalled Tim to take it from there, over Regina Beach on Last Mountain Lake, at four thousand feet.
I slid into number three position in the vic and tucked myself in tightly into Tim’s port side. He led us around in a turn to port, back towards base. We never did steepish turns in vic formation, it was too difficult for the man low down on the inside to keep station as he had to cut his airspeed back so much. Tim tightened the turn and climbed a bit as he did so. Watch it, Tim, I thought. Still tighter; I dared not look at my airspeed. Still tighter, and my controls were starting to feel sloppy, approaching the stall; I dared not throttle back any further or I would stall off the turn and go into a spin, and a Harvard lost nine hundred feet per turn once they did spin. Out of it! I shoved throttle on as I winged over and dived out of the formation, swearing to myself as I did so. The wretch! Playing silly buggers like that!
All on my own in the bright morning sky I screamed round in a steep turn to port, with plenty of power on, nearly blacking myself out in the process. I yanked the seat tighter against the straps to bind my stomach firmly in and keep the blood in my head, stopping the grey-out. I eased out of the turn. Five thousand feet. Now, where the hell were they? Then I saw them, now about six miles away, orbiting innocently. I flew over to them and sat just off
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Tim’s port wingtip, shaking my fist at him, which only made him throw back his head and laugh as he made come-in motions with his hand. I went in, tight. We formed up again into a sedate vic and finished the detail, as usual, in echelon port, about two miles from the field, when we did our line-shoot party piece – a swift wing-over to port in rapid succession and a dive on each other’s tails into the circuit, making sure we were well clear of the more sedate pupils going about their quiet business.
When we had landed, taxied in and switched off, I collared Tim.
“Damn you!” I said, pretending to be about to sling a punch at him, “What the hell do you think you were playing at? Trying to make me spin in, were you?”
“No danger,” he replied, laughing, “you had bags of height – can’t take it, eh?”
Soren chimed in, smiling broadly.
“We thought you’d just decided to go home.”
“Wait till I’m leader, next time, you two mad so-and-so’s,” I said threateningly, “I’ll turn you both inside out!”
All the same, I threw Tim a Sweet Cap; Soren didn’t smoke. We strolled back to ‘F’ Flight crew-room where I’m glad to say that Tim bought the cold Cokes. It was a hot morning.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Link Trainer Sergeant was a stocky little R.C.A.F. man who looked like a middleweight boxer.
“Don’t forget to reset your gyro-compass every ten minutes or so or you’ll be way to hell out at the end. Got your flight card? Do all your turns at Rate two and let’s have a nice neat pattern on my chart at the finish. Give me the O.K. when you’re ready and I’ll tell you when I’m switching on so you can punch the clock.”
“Right oh, Sergeant,” I said.
I climbed into the little dummy aeroplane on its concertina-like base. I pulled over the hood, plugged in the intercom in the darkness and propped up the flight card near the small lamp on the instrument panel. I felt the lurch as he energised the system; the instruments
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came to life with a sigh.
“I’ve put you at a thousand feet,” he said, “do you read that?”
“Check,” I replied, “turning on to 045 Magnetic, now.”
“Got you. Just watch your height as well as your timings, won’t you, bud?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
I was flying the awkward Maltese Cross pattern, the idea being to finish exactly where you started, after the completion of the twelve legs. The instructor had a wheeled “crab” which inked in the line of your track on his chart. At the end, you should have drawn a perfect Maltese Cross, but it took forty minutes, approximately, of solid, grinding concentration on your instruments alone.
“Switching on – now!” came his voice, and I hit the stop-watch.
After what seemed like hours I did my final Rate 2 turn on to my original course. I straightened it up, timed a careful one minute, then called out, “Finish – now!”
He acknowledged and switched me off. The needles sagged to their stops. I took off my headphones and opened the hood and side door.
“O.K.,” the Sergeant said, “come right over here and have a look-see. Not bad at all.”
I went over to his glass-topped table. My pattern was about ten inches across and I had finished about an eighth of an inch from where I had started. It looked pretty damn good to me, and for an instant I thought about Tink’s brother in his Hampden.
“Yes,” I said, feeling rather pleased, “just a bit out, Sergeant.”
He grinned.
“You’re doing O.K., buddy,” he said agreeably, “now how’s about seeing if L.A.C. Briggs is outside, eh?”
“O.K., Sergeant,” I said.
He had just made my day.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I lay back on my bed after the evening meal and read the letter once again. The hut was quiet. Those who weren’t night flying had gone to Smoky Joe’s or into town for an evening meal. The few of
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us on the night flying detail were reading, writing letters or dozing on our beds, waiting for the darkness. There was no sign of either Tim or Soren, while Aage was actually sound asleep.
She wrote, “I miss you here, I miss our walks in the park. I wonder if you will be posted somewhere near when you come back, where we can meet? Do you still want to go on to bombers, like you told me? Will it be very dangerous? Whatever happens, I shall pray for you, as I do now, that God will keep you. I have always said what has to be, will be, but I feel he will keep you safe…..” She went on to say she would be spending some time with her Aunt and Uncle in Northampton, as her parents still felt happier with her over there.
I folded the letter slowly and thought about Betty and the simple, almost idyllic happiness of life in those days six months ago. Tink, on the bed next to me, motioned to me and across at Aage, grinning, imitating his open mouth and his posture, his ungainly sprawl. Tink, the single-minded, I thought, hero-worshipping his brother flying his Hampden over Germany, and who could hardly wait to get on to the same Squadron. A faraway look would come into his eyes when he spoke about it; “When I get on Hampdens,” he would always be saying, and his broad, boyish face would be raised to the sky, “When I get on Hampdens with my brother –“
But looking at Aage had made me feel tired, too. I yawned, then lit a cigarette and grinned at him. Tink was from Coalville in Leicestershire; I wonder often what became of him.
An hour later I was taxying my Harvard out in the darkness, the flarepath away to my right looking very long and very far away. Night flying without a navigator and entirely without radio consisted, at Moose Jaw, of circuits and bumps – and of not getting lost. There was no blackout and you could see the town for miles, no bother at all. But if the visibility went, you got down out of it, quick. So far, it never had; the prairie nights were wonderfully clear.
I got my green from the A.C.P. and, nicely central between the flares, opened her up. We charged down the runway and floated off
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easily. I had done quite a few of these night flying stints before, and found I had taken to it naturally, much more so than I did to aerobatics, for example. Undercart up, throttle back to climbing power, keep the gyro on 0, shut the canopy, and up to 1000 feet. Level off, throttle back to cruising, turn port to 270. There’s the flarepath down over my left shoulder. Keep the wings level, watch the artificial horizon. Rate one turn downwind, heading 180, throttle back a bit, then wheels down when we’re opposite the middle of the flarepath. Greens on the panel as the wheels lock. There’s the A.C.P. giving me a green on the Alldis lamp. Crosswind on to 090. Bit of flap. Drop the nose and turn in. Watch the airspeed, open the canopy. Engine noise surges in. Switch on the landing light and hold her there. Nice approach, I think. Now, hold off and let her sink the last four feet. The flares merge into a line. Hold it there. A bump and a rumble. We’re down.
Keep her straight, flaps up, headlamp off. Touch of brake, not too much. Fine, now turn off the runway along the glim-lit perimeter track and back to the take-off position again. There’s someone else up, I can see his nav. lights. Wonder who it is? I rumble along the peri. track to head back for the end of the runway. Must say, I can see Tink’s point, I’d rather like a bash on Hampdens myself. After all, they’re what I wanted when I first thought about joining up, except that my ambitions were no higher than to be a gunner.
“Will it be very dangerous?”
God knows, Betty, but as you say, what has to be will be, and there is no turning back, one must simply live for and through the minute, even the second, and do what has to be done, enduring what has to be endured with fortitude.
Something’s irritating me, and I can’t think what, except there’s something here which shouldn’t be. My God! Yes! The cockpit is full of red light, now it’s flashing off and on, urgently. Stop. Tread on the brakes. She creaks and jerks to an abrupt halt. The red light stops flashing at me and someone taxies past me in the opposite direction. Wow! So that’s what the red was all about?
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Must stop this day-dreaming. Only two more circuits and I can pack it in, hand over to Aage and hit the sack. I’ll be about ready for it, too.
There’s my green. Hope he doesn’t report me for taxying through a red. It was only a dozen yards – I think. Oh, well, can’t do a thing about it now. No harm done, so here goes, back to my take-off point. Turn on to the runway, uncage the gyro on 0, open her up. We’re off again.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Turn on to 180, see the stars sliding around. Between the field and the town, now. Nice and easy, purring along, last landing coming up, then into the pit.
“I miss you here, I miss our walks in the park.”
I wish I were meeting you after this, Betty, ‘you’d be so nice to come home to’ – I wonder if you still play that record? ‘To come home to and love.’
Coming home – the lights of home – lights – lights – lights! What the hell’s going on? All those lights, ahead, and coming straight for me? Hell! Get the stick back, you’re in a dive, heading straight for the town! You’ve been asleep, you bloody fool. Come on, come on, ease out. The lights slide below me. Thank God for that. I risk a look at the altimeter – 500 feet. God. Another few seconds, and that would have been it, smack into the town centre, curtains. I reach up and slam the canopy open, letting the cold night air flood in, taking deep breaths to wake myself up. I climb cautiously back to circuit height, select wheels down and duly get my green from the A.C.P., as though nothing at all had happened. I turn across wind, edging towards the flarepath. Shove the nose down, turn port, full flap, headlamp on, heading straight in. I land, thankfully, and exhale with relief. Aage is ready and waiting to take over the kite as I dump my ‘chute, blinking in the bright light of the crewroom, and fill in the Authorisation Book.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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The murmur of voices nearby awoke me. I pulled the bedclothes around my ears, but it was no good. I was awake, back to life again. I sat up, yawned, looked at my watch – 0820. Still in time for breakfast, if I hurried. Brian, Tim, Tink and Soren were in a huddle across the other side of the hut, talking in hushed voices, looking solemn. Two strange erks were standing near Aage’s bed. I was puzzled.
“Hey, Tink!” I called, sitting on the edge of my bed and yawning again, “Tink!”
He looked over his shoulder and came across to me. I nodded towards the strangers.
“What’s cooking?” I asked.
“It’s Aage.”
“Aage? What about him?”
“He’s dead. He crashed, night flying, last night.”
“He what?” I gasped, fully awake in an instant, “He crashed? How the hell did it happen?”
Tink shrugged.
“No-one knows, he just went in, about four miles away, that’s all we know.”
“Christ,” I whispered, “poor old Aage. He’s definitely - ?”
“Oh, yes,” Tink said, “no doubt about it, I’m afraid.”
I said, quietly, “He took over my kite, last night, you know.”
Tink said, “Was it O.K. when you had it?”
“Of course, no trouble at all.”
I didn’t want to mention my falling asleep, not even to Tink. He sighed.
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I answered, remembering the lights rushing towards me, “it certainly makes you think.”
(‘What has to be, will be.’)
“Mail up!” someone shouted, and there was a clatter of feet hurrying down the hut. There would be no mail for Aage. Another day had begun.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] “Yes, my darling daughter” [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] “YES, MY DARLING DAUGHTER” [/underlined]
“What was it you did yesterday?” Flying Officer Sparks asked, “advanced formation, am I right?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering what was in store for me that morning. He pinched his lower lip between thumb and finger and frowned with silent concentration, his black moustache looking more luxuriant than ever.
“Well now, I think you’d better do some steep turns, climbing turns and a forced landing. An hour, solo. Take 2614. Don’t do all your turns to port, you don’t want to give yourself a left-handed bias, and watch you don’t black yourself out in your steep turns. Now. Forced landings. Don’t touch down anywhere, you only do that with an instructor. Don’t go below a hundred feet, and thirdly, don’t cheat and have a field picked ready, close your throttle at random when you’re doing something else. If you do ever have an engine failure you won’t be able to pick and choose the time or the place. All right? Any questions?”
“I take it I keep my undercarriage up, sir?”
“Yes, better a belly landing and a bent prop than a somersault if you try a wheels down landing on an unknown surface. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Right, off you go, then.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I came to attention, about-turned smartly and went out of the Instructors’ Office into the pupils’ crewroom of ‘F’ Flight, No. 32 Service Flying Training School, Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, on the Canadian prairies.
I felt buoyant that morning; I was feeling very fit and happy and I knew I was flying well. It was a beautiful early summer day with a few puffs of fair-weather cumulus at about five thousand feet, with a light breeze to temper the already growing heat. The constant drone of Harvards filled the air, punctuated by the fierce, ear-splitting howl and crackle of the high-speed propeller tips as one fled down the runway like a scalded cat, tail up, and took off, flashing yellow in the sunlight and tucking its wheels neatly up as it left
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the runway.
Tim and Soren, two of the twenty or so Norwegians on our course – in fact, the R.A.F. were in the minority on Course 32 – were sitting in the crewroom. They completed my formation of three when we flew, and we were great buddies. Tim looked up and grinned.
“No formation for us this morning, eh?”
“No, not this morning, Tim. I hear that you’re grounded, anyhow, for trying to make me spin in off a turn!”
I was joking, of course, and Tim knew it; on’s [sic] loyalty to one’s formation was absolute. Tim laughed hugely, his lean, brown face, normally rather grave, was transformed.
“Anyhow,” I said, “he’s not fit to fly with a face like that,” and I pointed to Soren, who was feeding a nickel into the juke box. There was a thud, and out came the seductive voice of Dinah Shore.
“Mother, may I go out dancing?
Yes, my darling daughter.
Mother, may I try romancing?
Yes, my darling daughter – “
It was practically our course signature tune at Moose Jaw, everybody sang, whistled or hummed it and selected it on whatever juke box was handiest, whether here in the crewroom or out at Smoky Joe’s, the cafe at the camp gates, on the dust road which led to town. Soren looked up. He had a bottle of coke in one hand, a split lip and a discoloured right eye. He grinned at me.
“Ah, but it was just a friendly little fight with a couple of Canadians, nothing serious at all.”
Soren’s favourite occupation on his evenings out was to have several drinks then find someone to fight. Strangely enough, he never fought with any R.A.F. bloke.
“See you later, then,” I said to them. Tim gave a vague wave, Sorne’s eyes were already shut as he lay full length on a convenient bench, arms crossed on his chest, his mop of incredibly blond hair gleaming in the sun which poured in through the window.
“What if there’s a moon, mother darling, and it’s shining on the water?” I sang to myself as I crossed the expanse of concrete
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in front of the hangars, under the blazing sun, my parachute bumping against the backs of my knees, the morning breeze finding its way pleasantly inside my unbuckled helmet. It was so hot that we were able to fly in shirtsleeves. Up at eight or ten thousand feet it was delightfully cool, but at ground level the temperature could climb to the 120’s in the sun by afternoon.
I found 2614 among the half dozen kites parked in line facing the hangar. Someone had thoughtfully left the canopy open to minimise the heat in the cockpit. I checked that the pitot-head cover was off, I didn’t want to get airborne and find that the airspeed indicator was out of action. Then I climbed in off the port wing-root, clicking the leg-straps of my ‘chute into the quick-release box as I did so. An erk was standing by with the starter trolley. I did up my safety harness while I was busy with the pre-start cockpit check. I operated the priming pump and shouted “Contact!”, switching on the ignition, and with the stick held firmly back into my stomach I pressed the starter switch. The propeller staggered, jumped, staggered again, then caught as the engine roared into life. the prop-tips became a yellow semi-circular blur in front of my eyes. The erk wheeled away the trolley, parking it to one side where I could see it.
I tested the controls for the full movement and ran up the engine, buckled my helmet securely and pulled the seat up hard against the straps, waving away the chocks. The erk gave me the thumbs-up. I toed the brakes off, opened the throttle a little, and we rolled. I taxied with exaggerated care, knowing that F/O Sparks was probably watching me. I had been told off by him once or twice for taxying carelessly. So I ruddered the nose meticulously, each way in turn, at 45 degrees to my direction of travel, which enabled me to see ahead, to the sides of the big 450 horse-power radial engine. A taxying accident was a very serious matter indeed, and a Court Martial was the automatic sequel.
I arrived at the end of the twin runways in use and squinted up into the flare; no-one was on his approach. A final check on the windsock and on the cockpit settings, then I turned on to the runway, pushing on a little rudder to ensure I was absolutely in
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line and central. I set the gyro to ‘0’ and uncaged it, then glanced up to make doubly certain that the canopy was fully back, just in case anything went wrong on take-off and I had to get out in a hurry. Then a final deep breath and we were off. I eased open the throttle to its fullest extent. We rolled, rumbling over the runway, keeping straight with small pushes on the rudder. The engine note rose to a deafening howl and the pressure on the stick increased as we gathered speed and as I eased the stick central. We were in a flying attitude, tail up and charging down the runway which was vanishing with amazing rapidity under the nose of the aircraft. At 65, a slight backward pressure on the stick – not quite ready. At 70, a bump or two, then the incredibly smoothness of being airborne.
I whipped up the wheels, holding the nose just above the horizon to pick up speed, then I throttled back to climbing boost and revs, and reaching up, slid the canopy shut. It was a bit quieter then, and I could relax a little. I adjusted the climbing angle to give me 100 m.p.h., saw with satisfaction that the gyro was still on ‘0’, and did a quick check on all the instrument readings, going swiftly round the cockpit in a clockwise direction. The altimeter slowly wound around its way towards the cotton-wool cumulus.
“Mother, may I go out dancing?
Yes, my darling daughter,” I sang loudly to myself.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“How right he was,” I thought as I brought her smoothly out of a steep turn, “you can black yourself out in one of these.”
I had tightened the turn gradually, to the left, which I could do without conscious effort, toeing on top rudder to keep the nose pushing around the horizon, the stick fairly tightly into my stomach to tighten the turn in on itself. As the rate-of-turn indicator hovered around the 3 1/2 mark I could feel myself being crushed down into the seat, my cheeks were being pulled downwards, and the instruments had become rather fuzzy as the ‘g’ took hold of the blood in my brain, sucking it down out of my head. Then, as I came out of the turn and the ‘g’ decreased, I stretched myself against the straps as the pressure slackened, and bared my teeth in a mirthless grin
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to restore my features to their correct shape.
“Forced landing next,” I said to myself as I slowly but firmly closed the throttle, stopping it just before the place where the undercarriage warning horn would sound. I was at about six thousand feet, to the west of Moose Jaw. Several miles away, to the north-east, I could see another Harvard stooging along, probably on a cross-country, and away to the north a civil DC3 was flying the beam from Regina to Swift Current. I gently pushed the nose down into the quietness, selected flaps down and hand-pumped on 15 degrees. In a real engine failure you would have to do it this way, the hard way. I slid the canopy open and was all set to pick what would laughingly be called my ‘field’; in this part of the world what passed for a field was rather rare.
The prairie lay below in its muted colours, the occasional yellow dust road straight as a string, the sun flashing briefly on some watercourse. About thirty miles to starboard there seemed to be some line-squalls building up already above the low hills which marked the border of Canada with the neutral U.S.A. I put the kite into a shallow glide. Then I saw my field, a green, squarish paddock with two white buildings in one corner, a dirt road leading up to them. I settled the airspeed on 80 and turned towards the paddock, losing height slowly but steadily in a succession of well-banked turns like the descending hairpins of a mountain road. The green postage stamp of the paddock grew larger. From the smoke of a small fire somewhere on the prairie I saw I would be roughly into wind on my final approach. The white buildings grew into the size of matchboxes.
“What a God-forsaken place,” I thought, “imagine being stuck out here, miles from anywhere, no town, no trees, lots of damn-all connected by roads.”
Then I notice a movement near the house. One figure was standing just outside it, then it was joined by another. Still I glided down, mentally noting airspeed and altimeter readings with quick glances, checking and assessing my position in relation to the paddock. I used to sideslip Tigers with contemptuous ease to get them into the
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field at Sywell, it became my trademark before I left there, but I’d never tried to sideslip a Harvard. Come to think, perhaps this wasn’t the time to start. The horizon had lifted quite a lot. I was going to make it all right, I thought. The prop windmilled ahead of me and I had the urge to open the throttle to make sure that the engine was still functioning; it seemed an age since I had cut the power off. I dropped the nose and did a final turn to port. Airspeed back to 80, pump down full flap, line up, into wind, on to the paddock.
It was a man and a girl standing there watching me, the sun gleaming on their upturned faces. The man was pointing upwards, towards me, he had put his arm protectively around the girl’s shoulders. His daughter, I thought. I imagined them speaking to one another in their slightly harsh Canadian voices, anxious as to what was going to happen next to the aircraft, to me – and to them and their home. I saw the girl give a small wave of the hand, nervously, encouragingly, almost as though she were trying to placate some force, to stave off a possible disaster, and I felt a pang of guilt, knowing that they would be thinking that I was in trouble. Two ordinary people, the tenor of their lonely lives disturbed as never before, by my so casual and uncaring intrusion.
Altitude 150 feet. Airspeed 80. It was, if I said it myself, a honey of an approach, I could have put her down with no trouble at all. They were both waving now and I could distinguish their features. I had them firmly fixed in my mind as father and daughter. Perhaps he was a widower, living out his hard life on the land which his ancestors had farmed since the Indians had left, perhaps his pretty daughter had sacrificed her youth, her prospects and hopes of marriage, to look after her father and help on their farm, burying herself in their lonely world. They were remote there from everything of violence, receiving news of the war over the radio from professionally cheerful and brash newsreaders, couched in terms that they could merely imperfectly comprehend: Europe was far away, dominated by some tyrant of whom they knew little, opposed only by distant and defiant English cousins whom they had never seen, and whose ways were as strange and unknown to them as those of the biblical characters of whom perhaps they read daily at the end of their quiet evenings together.
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I saw him clasp her to himself protectively, and I saw also that I was now below 100 feet. Firmly, I opened the throttle fully. The engine surged with power, its roar doubly deafening after the long glide down. I eased the nose up and gently started to milk off the flap. The house slid beneath my port wing. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the two figures. He was greying, slightly stooped, in brown bib-and-brace overalls, she a slim girl in a vivid blue frock, her dark hair like a halo round her face. I suddenly thought of Betty. They stood, their arms around each other, as I flew over them.
Then I had the strange and unaccountably peaceful feeling that in those few minutes I had known them all my life. It was as though time itself had become distorted, elongated, to envelop the three of us in some temporal vacuum in a cul-de-sac off the normal path of consciousness, where the clock of the world stood still and where we had, in some mysterious way, experienced a fragment chipped off the endless expanse of eternity, wherein the three of us had been united as one.
The horizon sank away below the Harvard’s nose. I was back again in my element after those eerie few seconds. I looked down at them for the last time. She was standing with both hands pressed to her face. Then her father slowly raised his right hand, as though in benediction. I climbed away into the summer sunshine. And I sang, to no-one but myself, but thinking of the girl down there –
“Mother, must I keep on dancing?
“Yes, my darling daughter!”
I turned the Harvard’s nose for home.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Crewing-up [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] CREWING-UP [/underlined]
Although there are many things which happened at that time when we looked directly into “the bright face of danger”, there are some, and regrettably, some of the most important, the recollection of which steadfastly eludes me. This of course pains me greatly, as the men I was about to meet were destined in those six all too short months to leave an indelible and now poignant impression upon my memory.
My recurring faint recollection is somehow associated with being in a group of other pilots, pupils at 11 O.T.U., Bassingbourne, not far from Cambridge, quite near to the place of execution of Dick Turpin at Caxton Gibbet, and later to become an American Flying Fortress base. We were gathered at the end of one of the hangars in the morning sunshine, practising what little skills we had acquired on the use of the sextant, taking sun-sights and from them plotting the latitude of our position, which was, of course, easily checked by our, at that stage in our training, benign instructors. Perhaps their thoughts were couched in similar terms to those which Connie was to use in conversation with me a year or more later, and in totally different circumstances and surroundings – “They don’t know what’s coming to them, poor sods, do they, Yoicks?”
None of us knew what was coming, for better or for worse, to us, and I was certainly not to know that within the hour I was to meet, and for the next six months – (was it really as little as that?) – become associated with and know intimately five of the finest men, in my opinion, who ever walked the earth. Men who became closer to me, closer to each other, than brothers, than my and their own flesh and blood, men who were mutually supportive in the intangible but unyielding bond which perhaps only aircrew or ex-aircrew can comprehend, men, four of whom had already entered the last six months of their short lives.
We put away our sextants, thankfully, in most cases. There were about twenty of us pilots on the course, both from the United
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Kingdom and the Dominions. My own particular friends were Charlie from Newcastle, Hi-lo, a rugged, rangy Canadian and the man who was to become his Observer, a cheerful Australian named Laurie, and also Roddy, another Canadian, smiling and lively, whom I often addressed, attempting, not unkindly, to imitate his accent, as Raddy. He, Hi-lo and Laurie were soon to be posted with me to 12 Squadron. All three were also soon to die.
We had completed our introduction to the Wellington under the tutelage of ‘screened’ ex-operational pilots, on somewhat battle-weary ex-Squadron aircraft. The inevitable ‘circuits and bumps’ – a few of the bumps quite heavy – had been the order of the day, and of the night, a fortnight of them. I astonished myself by going solo on what were in my eyes monstrously large twin-engined aircraft, having gained my wings on single engined Harvards, in less than three hours. Perhaps it was due not so much to skill and ability as to confidence, or perhaps over-confidence. Looking back on it now it never ceases to astound me and I have to consult my log book to verify the figure of a mere two hours and forty five minutes instruction.
One interesting feature of this fortnight was that before we flew at night we practised what were known as ‘day-night’ landings. Flying in broad daylight with an instructor as safety pilot, we wore specially tinted goggles which gave the impression of surrounding darkness, while the runway was marked by sodium lights which showed up brightly and gave us the line of approach and landing. It was a novel and rather weird experience, but a very useful one, preparing us for the real thing, flying at night in much-reduced visibility, our eyes fixed almost exclusively on the blind-flying panel of A.S.I., altimeter, turn and bank indicator, gyro compass, artificial horizon, and rate of climb and dive indicator.
And so, to one degree or another proficient enough pilots of the Wellington, we were ready to be crewed up.
‘George’, as automatic pilots were universally known, were rare pieces of equipment in late 1941, so every Wellington was crewed by
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two pilots who shared the manual flying (of anything up to 7 1/2 hours on some operations) and one of whom was designated as captain of the aircraft, almost invariably addressed as ‘skipper’ or more usually ‘skip’. Once in the air, however, the pilot was virtually under the orders of his Observer, a misnomer if ever there was one, as he was in no position, huddled in his tiny compartment with his plotting chart and maps, his parallel ruler and sharpened pencils, constantly reading his super-accurate navigation watch, his ‘slave’ altimeter and airspeed indicator, to observe anything outside the aircraft. No pilot, however privately doubtful he might be of the Observer’s statement of the aircraft’s position relative to the earth, or of his instructions to alter course on to a given heading at a certain time, ever had the temerity to question him as to these matters except in the mildest and most oblique of terms. To do otherwise was to risk a most sarcastic reply, usually culminating in the curt riposte, “You just do the flying and let me do the navigating.” Later, on the Squadron I was to learn that Observers as a clan – and a Freemasonlike clan they were, dabbling in the impenetrable mysteries of running fixes, square searches, back-bearings, drifts and suchlike – were sometimes irreverently known as the Two-Seventy Boys, after their alleged persistent habit of, having bombed some German target and being urgently asked by the pilot for a course “to get the Hell out of here”, would airily answer, “Just steer two-seventy,” that being West. The Observer was also the crew member who released the bombs, his bomb selector panel down in the starboard side of the aircraft’s nose being somewhat inappropriately known as the Mickey Mouse, for a reason I never discovered, directing the pilot from his prone position between the front turret and the pilot’s feet on the rudder pedals with what was usually a breathless series of instructions, “Left, left”, “Right” or “Steady”, the word “left” always being repeated so as not to be confused with “right” against the various external and internal noises of a bomber aircraft. Current at the time was a somewhat school-boyish joke that one Observer had so far forgotten himself in the excitement of the bombing run to call urgently to the pilot, “Back a bit!”
The remaining three crew members each wore the air gunner’s ‘AG’ half-wing on his chest. But one, in addition, had the cluster of
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lightning flashes of a wireless operator on his sleeve and was invariably referred to, not by the official designation of wireless operator/air gunner but with the racy and succinct abbreviation ‘WopAG’. His was the task of obtaining as many bearings on radio stations, both R.A.F. and, if he was able, B.B.C. and German civilian stations such as Hamburg or Deutschlandsender and pass the information to the Observer in the next compartment. He must also, at designated times, listen out to messages from his base aerodrome and also his Group Headquarters. In addition, in emergency, he could attempt to obtain a course to steer to any given bomber station by requesting from them a QDM, the code for that information. But this was regarded as being rather infra dig.
The two ‘straight AGs’, as the other gunners were known, occupied their respective gun turrets with a few inches to spare, one at the front and one at the rear of the aircraft, the coldest positions, despite their electrically heated leather Irvin suits. In the ‘tail-end Charlie’s’ case it was the loneliest position in the aircraft and the most hazardous if attacked by a Luftwaffe night-fighter, but the safest if a sudden crash-landing became necessary, or if the order to bale out was given in some dire emergency, when he simply rotated his turret through ninety degrees, clipped on his parachute, jettisoned the turret doors and fell out backwards. Each turret was equipped with two .303 inch Browning guns, lovingly maintained and cared for by their users, pitifully inadequate when compared to the cannon of the German night-fighters.
To be in the firing line of these Luftwaffe cannon was not at all pleasant. Although never, fortunately, experiencing it in the air, Charlie, my room-mate, and I, billeted in Kneesworth Hall close to the aerodrome, on the old Roman road of Ermine Street, were quietly writing letters one evening in our first-floor room when we heard, and ignored, the noise of the air-raid siren from the village. Bassingbourn was one of the nearest training aerodromes, and certainly the nearest bomber O.T.U., to the east coast, although a fair distance from it. But this fact must have been well known to the enemy, who paid us periodic visits. One aircraft, in fact – I believe it was a Junkers 88 – either by design or mischance actually landed at
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Steeple Morden, our satellite aerodrome and became the property of H.M. Government and the Air Ministry, subsequently appearing as part of the circus of captured German aircraft in flying condition which we once saw flying out of Duxford, a nearby fighter station, where they were based, and heavily escorted by a squadron of Spitfires indulging in some plain and fancy flying around them to discourage curious onlookers such as we, who might have gone so far as to try to shoot them down, if in sufficiently rash a mood. However, to return to Kneesworth Hall and the air raid warning. Charlie and I carried on with our respective writing until we were suddenly aware of a strange aircraft engine noise becoming rapidly louder, accompanied by the loud and staccato banging of cannon-fire as the German intruder shot-up the road, the village and approaches to the aerodrome. Our letters were swiftly thrown aside as we, with violent expletives, flung ourselves under our respective beds. My future rear gunner also had a tale to tell concerning an attack by an intruder.
The taking of sun-sights over, we were instructed to gather in one of the hangars to be crewed up. There was, as I recall, no formal procedure attached to this important and far-reaching event. One of two instructors acted somewhat like shepherds directing straggling sheep to make up a group of six which was to be a crew. There must have been a hundred or more aircrew of all categories milling around rather haphazardly until, perhaps, a beckoning hand, a lifted eyebrow or a resigned grin bonded one man to another or to a group as yet incomplete. The whole procedure, if indeed it could be graced by that term, seemed to be quite without organisation, the complete antithesis of all previous group activities I had experienced since putting on my uniform eleven months before. Here, there was no falling-in in threes, or lining up alphabetically. (And how I used to long for anyone named Young who would replace me, the invariable and forlorn last man in any line for whatever was to be received or done.)
“You lookin’ f’r ‘n Observer?”
He was tallish, rather sallow and thin-faced, in Australian dark blue uniform with its black buttons, Sergeant’s chevrons on his sleeves, the winged ‘0’ above his breast pocket.
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“Sure. Glad to have you,” I said.
This was Colin, more often than not simply ‘Col’. He was to guide us unfailingly through the skies, friendly skies by day and night, then through the hostile moonlit spaces over Germany and Occupied Europe. Col, from Randwick, near Sydney, with his baritone voice which quite often suddenly creaked, almost breaking as he spoke, with his wry sense of humour, his sudden, almost apologetic half-stifled laughter, his strange, colourful vocabulary – “Take five!” His term, sometimes sarcastically uttered, of approval. And when he suspected that I or some other member of the crew was trying to kid him – “Aw, don’t come the raw prawn!” A single man, his father working for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.
Later, one night on ops with the Squadron to Kiel where the Gneisenau was skulking after its dash up the Channel from Brest with the Scharnhorst and Prinz Eugen, Col performed a wonderfully accurate piece of navigation. It was on an occasion, of which there were several, when the Met. forecast was completely inaccurate, which we feared when we entered cloud at 600 feet after take-off. We climbed slowly until we could climb no more in the thin air and reached 20,500 feet, still in cloud, a faint blur of moonlight showing above us. We bombed the centre of the flak concentration in the target area, completely blind, but saw several large explosions which we duly reported on our interrogation back at base. Losing height slowly on the way back and with an unwelcome passenger in the shape of the 1000 pound bomb which had hung-up, I broke cloud at something around 1000 feet on return, a mere four miles south of our intended position, to see the welcome finger of Spurn Head down to starboard and the four red obstruction lights of a radar station near Cleethorpes gleaming ahead. Over seven hours in cloud and an error of only four miles, thanks to Col’s abilities. It was on this raid, by Wellingtons, 68 in total, of our No. 1 Group, that the Gneisenau was so badly damaged that she never sailed again from her berth. Many of her crew were killed. Perhaps it was our bombs that had done the damage, who knows.
I once found Col, on an op, being quietly sick into a tin at the side of his plotting-table, his face ashen, but carrying on despite that.
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Such was his dauntless spirit. He had my unspoken sympathy as a fellow-sufferer.
A pale, poker-faced and very quiet Royal Canadian Air Force sergeant pilot attached himself to us. Elmer, as the rest of the crew came to christen him, was silent to a degree, but despite that somehow exuded a quiet if somewhat forlorn determination. When we reached the Squadron in October he joined Mike Duder’s crew. Five of the six of them were killed when, damaged by flak over Essen on Mike’s 29th trip, his last but one of his tour had he completed it, they were finished off by a night-fighter and crashed in Holland. It was not until many years later that I learned a little more about Elmer. Although in the R.C.A.F., he was not, in fact, a Canadian, but a citizen of the United States of American, from St. Paul, Minnesota. Before Pearl Harbor [sic] he had an urge to fly against the Germans, possibly because of his Central European forbears. He volunteered for the U.S. Air Force as a pilot and underwent his initial training. Unfortunately, like many others, he had trouble with his landings and was failed. He returned home undeterred, with his desire to become a pilot undimmed. To raise money for the course of action upon which he had decided, he took a job in a sweet factory and augmented his wages by working as a petrol pump attendant. He then travelled to Canada and enlisted in the R.C.A.F. This time he successfully completed his training and got his long-desired wings. All this I learned years later when I was able to trace his sister-in-law and with a residual sense of guilt over my at times impatient, if not downright snappy instructions to him in the air, I have attempted to salve my conscience by having several times visited his grave, and those of his crew, in a war cemetery in a small, neat town in the Netherlands.
The ‘father’ of our crew was Mick, our Wop/AG, the only married man amongst us. In peacetime – or ‘civvy street’ as it was invariably known – he had worked at Lucas’ in Birmingham and was knowledgeable on most things electrical and mechanical, owning a small Ford car as well as a motor cycle. The former was later well used on stand-down nights on the Squadron for trips into G.Y. (as Grimsby was known) and I once had the doubtful pleasure of a hair-raising pillion ride
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over snow-covered skating rink minor roads, on his motor cycle, also into Grimsby, which was almost as nerve-wracking to me as a trip to Essen. Mick (this was not his given name) was tallish, fairly well-built, with a high forehead, a studious manner, a slight ‘Brummy’ accent and an unconsciously querulous voice. It was he, I think, who christened me ‘Harry’, by which name I became known by the rest of the crew, and the use of which, after their loss, I have strongly discouraged. Mick had done part of his training somewhere in Lincolnshire and had frequented, and knew the landlady, Edna, of the Market Hotel on Yarborough Road in G.Y., which became a home from home for us on stand-down nights. He had a habit concerning which Col and I wryly complained on several occasions, of, on being asked over the intercom. for some information, would testily reply, “Hey, shut up, I’m listening out to Group.” We met his wife once, in the ‘Market’, Mick proudly introducing her to us all, a shy, rather self-effacing girl, soon to become a widow.
Our gunners were a wonderfully contrasted pair. Johnnie, from a small Suffolk town – and again, not his given name – in the front turret, was slim, neat in appearance, quiet of speech and demeanour, moderate in his choice of words and apparently completely without fear. No matter what the circumstances, his voice over the intercom. was as calm and measured as though he were indulging in casual conversation over a glass of beer. On the way to Essen one night we were suddenly coned in a dozen or more searchlights and the German flak gunners got to work on us. Cookie was hurling the aircraft all over the sky in his attempts to get us out of the mess, and I was being hurled all over the interior of the aircraft, which was lit up as bright as day. In a steep dive, attempting to escape from the combined attack of searchlights and flak bursts, Johnnie, without being told, opened fire with several short bursts from his twin Brownings on the searchlight batteries, and immediately we were freed from them as they snapped out as though all controlled by a single switch. Johnnie bought himself no beer the next time we went to the ‘Market’.
In contrast to Johnnie’s urbanity there was Tommy, our cockney rear gunner. I am still looking for Tommy, still seeking to discover what became of him after he was admitted to hospital after a few ops with us, whether even today, somewhere, he is alive. J – would have
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described him, had she, like me, had the good fortune to know him, as being like Tigger, a very bouncy animal. Although not tall, he was built like a boxer or a rugby prop forward, solid, chunky – even more so when kitted up in his Irvin suit – with a gleaming broad red face, scarred in one place, topped by rather long and slightly untidy Brylcreemed hair, his face almost always split in a broad grin. He was cheerful, cocky, good-humoured, never short of a quip, lively and effervescent, and he was a tonic to us all when things were going against us.
He laughingly described to us one incident in which he was involved while in his training Flight in the weeks before coming into the crew. He had been on a night cross-country involving an air-to-sea firing exercise, aiming, presumably, at a flame float which they dropped in the English Channel. Several other gunners were taken along on the trip and after Tommy had fired his allotted number of rounds he retired to the rest bed half way down the Wellington’s fuselage, unplugged his intercom., closed his eyes and fell asleep, the padded earpieces of his helmet dulling the noise of the engines and of the rattle of the Brownings fired by his fellow-pupils. He awoke with a start, someone shaking him violently and yelling in his ear, “Bale out! Bale out!” The aircraft was being jinked around the sky in evasive action from the attack of a German fighter. By the time Tommy had collected his wits, found and clipped on his parachute and jumped through the open escape hatch, the aircraft was down to approximately 600 feet, the lowest safe altitude to allow a parachute to open. No sooner had it done so than he was down to earth, to the softest of all possible landings – in a haystack.
He had no idea where he was, nor what had happened to the aircraft or to the others in it, and certainly no idea of the planned route of the cross-country flight.
“I hadn’t a bloody clue where the hell I was,” he told us, “could’ve been in France, Germany England, any bloody where.”
So he collected his deployed parachute into his arms and in the darkness plodded away from the scene of his sudden and fortuitous landing upon the earth. The unfamiliar countryside was silent and
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dark. He came upon a ditch under a hedge and rightly decided to spend the night there. In the morning he would take stock of his position. In the ditch, he rolled himself into his parachute, comfortably warm inside his leather Irvin suit and once more slept.
In the morning, at daylight, he cautiously emerged to size up the situation. On the other side of the hedge was a narrow road. Keeping well hidden, he awaited developments. Presently, the distant sound of voices alerted him and two men dressed in farm-workers’ clothes came walking along the lane. Tommy strained his ears to catch their conversation, to determine what language they were speaking. To his relief he heard familiar English words. Tommy emerged and, perhaps too quickly, confronted them. But startled as they were by his sudden appearance and flying clothing, they were soon convinced of his nationality when he employed his colourful vocabulary to some effect. They directed him to the nearest house where he received some much-needed refreshment and telephoned his flight Commander at Bassingbourn.
On our evenings out at the ‘Market’ in G.Y. he always made a point of collecting small empty ginger ale bottles after one or other of us – often it was I – had added the contents to our gin. These he would take along on our next op., storing them handily in his already cramped rear turret ready for use. We had heard it said that if caught in searchlights, a couple of empty bottles thrown out would, during their descent, scream like falling bombs and cause the searchlight crew to douse their light, and one night on the approach to the Happy Valley, as the Ruhr, with the somewhat black humour of bomber crews, was known, when we were trapped in searchlights he proved, by throwing out a few bottles, that this was no old wives’ tale. It worked like a charm and we slipped through the defences and on to Essen.
(Soon afterwards, on leave, I was relating this to an elderly and very unworldly female relation, who, to my amazement and vast amusement was alarmed and scandalised, wide-eyed and open mouthed. “Oh! But you might have killed somebody!” she exclaimed.)
I have made several attempts to find out whether Tommy survived the war. In correspondence with a contemporary Squadron member, he
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wrote to say that he had a copy of a Squadron Battle Order in which Tommy’s name appeared in relation to an operation, as rear gunner in some crew whose names were unfamiliar to me, but that Tommy’s name had been crossed out in pencil and another substituted. Whatever the significance of that, neither he nor I could tell after the lapse of time. A message on the Internet, placed by my Dutch friends, has produced no result.
Are you out there somewhere, Tommy? If so, you and I are the only two survivors of the six who came together on that sunny August day in the echoing hangar at Bassingbourn those years ago. I miss you all, more than words can express; I think of you every day that passes, and I never cease to grieve for you, nor ever shall.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[underlined] Enemy coast [/underlined]
Through cockpit window now,
The lemon-slice of moon,
Some random stars
Pricked in a hemisphere of indigo.
Ahead, the coastline waits –
Pale, wavering beams
As innocent as death
Rehearse the adagio ballet
Which will transfix us
On pinnacles of light
For ravening guns.
But for a space
In this brief, breathless safety,
Poised high above the metal
Of the neutral sea,
We hang in vacuum,
Scattered like moths,
Mute castaways in sky.
Until, inevitable, we penetrate
The charnel-house of dreams,
That swift unveiling of Apocalypse
Familiar to us
As the routine holocaust
Which other men call night.
H.Y.
June 1991
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[inserted] [underlined] Images of mortality [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] IMAGES OF MORTALITY [/underlined]
Someone, once, to whom I had been talking – perhaps, it must be admitted, at rather too great length – of my time at Binbrook, cut across my words impatiently with, “Ah, yes, but you were at an impressionable age then.”
Not being by nature argumentative I let the comment pass, and the subject was rapidly changed. But the memory of that remark has remained with me. Broadly, I would not dispute its accuracy, for surely, at whatever age one is, one should be, and should remain, impressionable. But here, the implication seemed to be that the events I had been speaking of were not of such importance to have remained so strongly in my memory as they had done. I was then, and still find myself now, a little annoyed by that viewpoint. The happenings of that period of time were of considerable importance to us participants, and the young men, or youths, as some of us were who were involved, were all, in their own individual ways remarkable to one extent or another, by any standards of unbiased judgement. But perhaps my bias is showing.
Be that as it may, when I think of Binbrook now, there comes into my mind a cascade of kaleidoscopic impressions of scenes, small scenes maybe, and of faces and voices, images of places and of people fixed into my memory like the black and white snapshots secured in an album of photographs.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
It was a shock to me when I saw it for the first time, walking up the road from the Mess towards the hangars. Being a peacetime Station – only just – Binbrook was equipped with the standard pattern of permanent buildings, including a row of what had been married quarters – a few semi-detached, two-storied houses. For some seconds I couldn’t think what had happened over there when I saw that most of the top storey of one of the houses had been shattered and was broken off. I halted in my stride, quite appalled at the unexpected and shocking sight. My first thought, an almost instinctive reaction in those days, was “enemy action”, then it slowly dawned on me that
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this was not so, that the building had, horrifyingly, been struck by one of our own aircraft, either on taking off or on landing, using the short runway. Who it had been, and what casualties had resulted, I never knew. I was too shaken to ask and no-one, certainly, ever volunteered the information. It was not a topic of conversation one indulged in or dwelled upon. But similar incidents were to involve my room-mate, Johnny Stickings, and I was to escape the same fate by only a few scant feet, and by the grace of God.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Johnny had been somewhat longer on the Squadron than I, an Observer in Sergeant O’Connell’s crew. He was short, rather chunky and pale, with straight hair the colour of dark sand. I think we were both much of a type, for while we never went around together, we were perfectly pleasant towards one another and quite happy to be sharing a room, never getting in each other’s way or on each other’s nerves.
One winter’s morning I woke to find his bed still neatly made up and unslept in. At breakfast I heard that his aircraft had crashed the previous night, coming back from an op., on Wilhelmshaven, I believe. As far as anyone could tell me there had been both casualties and survivors. It was later that day when I returned to the room, and found Johnny in bed.
As I recall, he seemed rather dazed and quiet, as well he might have been. He went into few details of the incident; possibly his conscious mind was shying away from the harrowing experience, or perhaps he had been given a sedative. What he did tell me was that when the aircraft crashed he remembered being thrown clear. He had been flung bodily into a small wooden hut on some farmland in Lincolnshire. The hut had collapsed around him and he was only discovered lying in its wreckage by chance, when one of the rescue party noticed the demolished building.
For several years, on the anniversary of the crash, there was an entry in the memorials in the “Daily Telegraph”, to Sergeants O’Connell, Parsons, Laing and Delaney, signed “Johnny”. Then one year the entry no longer appeared.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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Life on the Squadron produced, naturally, shocks to one’s nervous system. Shocks which one could reasonably expect as part and parcel of the normal run of operational flying, and which to one extent or another were predictable. It was the unexpected ones which shook one more violently than the rest; the dazzling blue of a searchlight out of nowhere which flicked unerringly and tenaciously on to one’s aircraft, the long uneventful silence of flying through a black winter’s night being suddenly shattered by a flakburst just off the wingtip. These were things which could set the pulse, in an instant, racing to twice its normal speed.
But there was an incident which occurred in, of all places, the ablutions of the Officers’ Mess, an incident which was so completely unexpected and, at the time, heaven forgive me, so utterly shocking, that it froze me into complete immobility, open-mouthed, horrified, and, for an instant, uncomprehending.
Apart from, as they are termed, the usual offices, in the dimly-lit stone-floored rooms, there were, naturally, a row of washbasins. I was washing my hands at one end of this row one evening when I heard a soft footstep nearby and I distinguished a figure in the feeble blue light which served to illuminate the place. What was so shocking was the face, a random patchwork of different shades of vivid red, white and pink, two long vertical cuts from the ends of the mouth to the chin, the eyelids unnaturally lifeless and mis-shapen, the hair of the head in isolated tufts falling at random on the skull over the brow.
As he moved, I recovered myself and muttered some vague greeting as I went hurriedly out, back to the normality of the well-lit, noisy anteroom. It was a while before I recovered from this un-nerving encounter. Someone subsequently told me about Eddie. He was a burn case, one of McIndoe’s ‘guinea pigs’. A pilot, he had crashed, taking off in a Hampden. The aircraft had burst into flames. The Hampden’s cockpit was notoriously difficult to get out of in a hurry and he had fried in his own greases until he was rescued. Richard Hillary, in his well-known book ‘The Last Enemy’, described Eddie as the worst-burned man in the R.A.F. He was now a pilot in the Target Towing
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Flight, flying drogue-towing Lysanders on gunnery practices.
Possibly because we both frequented the games room a fair amount, he and I slowly drifted together. No-one made any sympathetic noises towards Eddie, that was definitely not done, and no-one made the slightest concession towards him either. He played against me often at table-tennis, with a controlled ferocity which could have only have been born of the desire to live his spared life completely to the full. Frequently, a clump of his dark auburn hair would flop uncontrollably down over his eyes, to expose an area of shiny red scalp, upon which hair would never again grow, one of the numerous grafts on his head and face, the skin having been taken, he told me, mostly from his thighs. He would damn it cheerfully and push it roughly back again with his sudden slash of a broad grin, which never reached his lashless and expressionless eyes.
I had detected some accent which I could not place. One day while we were sitting together in the anteroom, chatting, he mentioned that he was a South African.
“Oh?” I said, “Where from? I’ve got relations out there.”
“Where do they live?”
I named the town.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, “that’s where I’m from; what’s their name?”
I told him.
“Have you a cousin called Edna?”
“Why, yes,” I said, astonishment growing every second.
“I used to go around with her,” he laughed, “it’s a small world, isn’t it?”
Eddie, I am glad to say, survived the war. There is a photograph of him, among others of McIndoe’s ‘Army’, in a book named ‘Churchill’s Few.’
. . . . . . . . . . . .
What can one say of Teddy Bairstow? Only that, had he lived fifty years before his time he would have been described, I am sure, as ‘A Card’ or as ‘A Character’.
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Unlike Tony Payne or Jim Heyworth, for example, he was physically unimpressive; very thin-faced and pale, sparse hair brushed sideways across his head, but with eyes as bright as those of the fox’s head of our mascot. It was his voice, however, which one remembers best, grating, strident and penetrative in its broad Yorkshire accents. When he was in the room, everyone knew it, and the place seemed filled with his jovial, but somehow, rueful, almost apprehensive presence.
Teddy had a stock phrase which he used whenever anyone asked him, for example, what sort of a trip he had had. He would lift his voice in both pitch and volume and exclaim to the world at large, “Ee! ‘twere a shaky do!” He had, to everyone’s knowledge, at least one very shaky do. Coming back from some op, he found, for one reason or another, that he wasn’t going to make it back to Binbrook. But he was reasonably close, he had crossed the Lincolnshire coast, and decided he would force-land his aircraft. But no wheels-up-belly-landing, as he should have done, for Teddy. Incredibly, he did a normal landing, if it could be described in those terms, undercarriage down, in the darkness, into a field near Louth, and got away with it without nosing over into a disastrous cartwheel. Few would have survived to tell the tale – Sergeant O’Connell certainly had not done so – but everyone agreed with Teddy’s usual comment. ‘Twere indeed a shaky do.
Towards the end of February Teddy’s luck ran out. We went after the German pocket-battleship Gneisenau in Kiel Docks, where it was holed up after escaping up the Channel. Teddy did not come back.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Somehow, it happened that Eric and I tended to gravitate together to play billiards or table tennis in the Mess games room, and for the odd glass of beer. It was, I think, possibly because like me, he was the only one of commissioned rank in his crew, apart from Abey, that is, who was his pilot and our Flight Commander, a Squadron Leader, very much senior in rank to both of us. Eric was Abey’s Observer, tall, well built, unfailingly polite, his manner polished and urbane, yet by no means superior. We got along very well; I enjoyed his company, and I like to think he enjoyed mine.
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It was one afternoon when we had a stand-down. Frequently, my crew and I would go in to Grimsby, to the cinema, then to the “Market” for a meal with Edna, the landlady, possibly stay the night, and come back in time to report to the Flights next morning. We usually managed to cram ourselves into Mick’s, our wireless operator’s, Ford. However, on this particular afternoon, possibly because we were broke, there were no such arrangements. I happened to bump into Eric in a corridor, in the Mess. We said “hello”, then he stopped suddenly and said, “I say, are you interested in music?”
“Yes, I am, rather,” I said, not knowing what to expect.
“Well, look, I’m just going along to old Doug’s room, he’s going to play some records – would you like to come along? I’m sure he won’t mind.”
So I went. Doug was pleased to see us both. He wound up his portable gramophone and put on Tchaikovsky’s ‘Valse des Fleurs’. I can never hear that lovely, lilting piece without thinking of that afternoon in Doug Langley’s room, lost in the beauty of discovery of orchestral music, and remembering Doug himself, with his light-ginger hair and luxuriant moustache, sitting, eyes closed, head thrown back, as Eric and I listened attentively. From there, on a subsequent stand-down night we went to a real symphony concert, my first ever, in Grimsby, and a whole new and wonderful world had opened up for me, thanks to Eric and Doug.
Abey’s crew went missing on Kiel, the same night as Teddy Bairstow. It was years later that I knew that Eric, and indeed, the rest of the crew, had survived. Desperate for contacts after J – ‘s death, I hunted through telephone directories until I found his name, and contacted him. After a few phone calls, and the exchange of several long letters, I met him in London. Being the men we are, it was an affectionate but undemonstrative greeting, a handshake and smiles rather than arms around shoulders and tears.
His was a simple story. With quite typical frankness he told me, and M – who was with me, that it was all his fault that they had got shot down. There had, he said, been some fault in his navigation, a very common thing in those days when navigational aids were almost nil, when such things as Gee and H2S had never been heard of. On the way to Kiel they had strayed over Sylt, a notorious hot spot of an island off the Danish-German coast.
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They were hit be flak in their starboard engine, which put it out of action. After a discussion as to the alternatives open to them, Abey had turned for home, in the fond hope that one good engine would be sufficient to carry them to the English coast. It was not to be; they were losing too much height to be able to make it back across the wide and inhospitable North Sea. The next option was to turn round again, fly across enemy-occupied Denmark and try to get to Sweden, where they would bale out and be interned for the duration. Again, their loss of height eventually ruled this out, they would never have a hope of reaching any Swedish territory. The third and final option was to bale out over Denmark. This they did, one after the other, successfully, over the island of Funen. They were all immediately taken prisoner. Eric and Abey finished up in the notorious prison campo Stalag Luft III, Sagan, the scene of the “Wooden Horse” tunnel – and of the murder of fifty aircrew officer prisoners by the Germans.
Eric, to my and to M – ‘s fascination, produced an album of pencil sketches he had made on odd scraps of paper, of prison-camp life. I asked him how he had been treated as a P.o.W., those three and more years that he spent behind the wire. Typically, again, he said, “Oh, I didn’t have too bad a time, really, you know.”
What could one say in reply to that? I simply shook my head in wonder. Of course, among others, we mentioned Teddy Bairstow. He and his crew had not been so fortunate. Nor had Doug Langley, whose grave I found, quite by accident, in a quiet cemetery in norther Holland a short time afterwards.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I returned to Binbrook after many years. But only to the village. I had already found the Market Hotel in Grimsby where I went so often with my crew. I had stood for several minutes, looking up at the windows of the rooms we used to have, and remembering kindly Edna, who treated us like sons. Remembering Col, and Mick, and Johnnie, of my original crew. Remembering Cookie, our skipper, and Mac, our rear gunner, the Canadians among us. Thinking of the man I never knew, Rae, the man who had taken my place, the man who had died instead of me.
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When I arrived at Binbrook, I found I could barely contain my emotion. I recovered myself to some extent while I drank a cup of coffee in the Marquis of Granby, the well-remembered pub in the village. I stood for a long time at the top of the hill, on the road which led down into the valley and up again to the now deserted and silent aerodrome. I stood, remembering again, seeing, across the distance, visions of the Wellingtons I and my friends had flown, parked in their dispersals, the movement of men around them, and their faces, hearing their long-stilled voices. But I could go no closer to them than that. There were too many memories, too many ghosts.
On that fine morning the images of mortality were too real to be borne.
. . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Tony [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] TONY [/underlined]
At the time when I subscribed to ‘Readers’ Digest’ there would appear in each issue a short article entitled ‘The Most Unforgettable Character I Have Ever Met’. I find that this description could fittingly apply to Tony Payne.
When I had the privilege of knowing him, Tony, at the age of 21, was already a veteran in terms of ability and experience, looked up to almost in reverence as one of the elite pilots on the Squadron.
And whenever I recall the Officers’ Mess at Binbrook with its high-ceilinged anteroom just across the main corridor from the dining room, with the eternal, homely smell of coffee from the big urn near to the door, I can visualise Tony as he was so often, standing slightly to one side of the fire, pewter tankard in hand, holding court, as it were, the focal point of all eyes and conversation, eternally smiling and cheerful, his crisp, clear voice sounding above the music from the worn record on the radiogram which would be softly playing a catchy little tune, a favourite of his, called ‘The Cuckoo’. I have never heard it, or heard of it, even, since that time, but I could never forget it, as it was almost Tony’s signature tune. But Tony was entering the last six months of his life.
He had the gift of holding everyone’s attention by his witty observations on most things operational – and non-operational, his words rolling brightly and optimistically off his tongue, his eyes shining with the pleasure of living for the moment, and that moment alone, of good company and comradeship.
Once we were discussing a particular trip. (They were always ‘trips’, occasionally ‘ops’ but never ‘sorties’ or ‘missions’). Someone was describing our attempts to locate some target in Germany one night recently. There had been only sporadic gunfire aimed at us whn [sic] we arrived at about 20,000 feet, and that gunfire, we knew, was not necessarily from the immediate area of the target.
“What did you think about it, Tony?” someone asked. Tony beamed at the question, leaned slightly forward and declaimed with mock solemnity and a judicial air, “Ah! Then I knew that something was afoot!” he said.
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Among his many friends, or ‘familiars’ as they might have once been known, (a description singularly appropriate), was the Senior Flying Control Officer (or ‘Regional Control Officer’ in the terminology then in force) Flight Lieutenant Bradshaw, “Bradders” to everyone. He was old enough to be Tony’s and our father, a World War I pilot beribboned with the ‘Pip, Squeak and Wilfred’ campaign ribbons of that conflict, slightly portly, fairly short in stature, of equable temperament and genial in manner, his iron-grey to white hair meticulously trimmed. A great deal of repartee was invariably exchanged by the two, doubtless born of their mutual affection despite the disparity in their ages.
To our delight one day, Tony hurried into the anteroom in a state of high glee, carrying a small, brown-paper wrapped parcel the size of a large book.
“Wait till you see this, you types!” he crowed to his audience, which included Bradders, who was as intrigued as the rest of us. Tony slowly, tantalisingly slowly, unwrapped his mysterious parcel then dramatically held up its contents for all to see. It was a gilt-framed oil painting of a side-whiskered old man in a country churchyard, his foot upon the shoulder of a spade, a battered old felt hat on his head. The frame bore the title – ‘Old Bradshaw, the village sexton’. It brought the house down and it was ceremoniously hung on the anteroom wall near to the portrait of Flying Officer Donald Garland, one of the Squadron’s two posthumous Victoria Cross recipients, and near also to the mounted fox’s head, our Squadron badge, which had been presented to ‘Abey’, Squadron Leader Abraham, our Flight Commander, on his posting from a Polish O.T.U. where he had been instructing, to 12 Squadron.
At about this time the Air Ministry commissioned Eric Kennington, a noted war artist, to make portraits of outstanding aircrew members, many in Bomber Command, and Tony was one of those selected to sit for him. He sat in his usual place at one end of the anteroom fireplace while Kennington went about his work. The Mess kept a respectful silence while this was proceeding, conversing only in whispers and never attempting to peer over the artist’s shoulder. Some time later, the finished portrait was hung in a place of honour on the wall, to Tony’s laughing embarrassment.
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It was only within these last few years that during a telephone conversation with Eric, my friend, fellow-survivor and table tennis and billiards opponent of those days, who had been Squadron Leader Abraham’s Observer when they were shot down over Denmark, that he asked me if I remembered Tony’s portrait, and whether I knew what happened to it. I confessed that I had almost forgotten about it and did not have any idea what had become of it. But his question touched off in me a desire to find out. It seemed logical that in the first instance I should consult my local Library to see whether they might possibly have any book of the Kennington portraits. It did have such a book, and they brought it out to me. Unfortunately, Tony’s likeness was not among the hundred or so reproduced, but he was mentioned in the index of all the portraits which the artist had undertaken. Where next? I decided that the obvious next step was to contact the R.A.F. Museum at Hendon. There I struck gold. They had the original portrait in storage and swiftly sent me a photo-copy. I obtained two copies, one of which I sent to Eric. Today, a sizeable and well-produced copy of Tony’s portrait hang on my wall where I can look on it with a mixture of affection, pleasure and great sadness, as well as a sense of honour that such a fine man and such a fine pilot could have wanted me to join his crew. I was more than a little surprised when he did so and have often wondered what prompted him to approach me. It was prior to his finishing his first tour, and I have described the incident and its calamitous sequel in the next chapter.
His crew, on his first tour with us, must truly have been quite exceptional. To have completed their tour made them exceptional enough. The chances of that were a considerable way short of evens. There was an example of their ‘press on regardless’ spirit and of the brilliant navigation of Tony’s Observer, Sergeant Dooley, a dapper, smiling little Englishman, on one of our trips to Kiel to bomb the pocket-battleship Gneisenau.
We rarely had an accurate Met. forecast on the trips we did in that winter of 1941-42, and on this night the conditions turned out to be worse than even the Met. Officer had forecast. We took off in the darkness and gloom and entered heavy cloud at 600 feet We climbed
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steadily out over the North Sea but at 20,500 feet we had still not reached clear air. With our bomb load we could climb no higher. We were somewhere in the top of the cloud mass, the moon a faint blur of light on our starboard bow. Below and around us were numerous gun-flashes from the flak defences of Kiel, and as obtaining a visual pinpoint was obviously impossible we bombed the centre of the flak concentration. We turned for home, still in cloud. After over three hours of manual flying, concentrating solely on the instrument panel in front of me, and losing height slowly down to 1,000 feet, I became aware that we had finally reached the cloudbase. Then to my relief and delight I pinpointed Spurn Head, our crossing-in point, about four miles to starboard, and saw the four red obstruction lights of the radar station near Cleethorpes dead ahead. We heartily congratulated Col on his navigation – seven hours plus in cloud and only four miles off track at the end of it.
But Sergeant Dooley and Tony had outshone us. Like us, finding the target in Kiel docks completely cloud-covered he had refused the opportunity to bomb blind as most of us had done. They set course for the Baltic Sea, topped the cloud and found moonlight – and stars. Flying straight and level, which one had to do to take astro-shots of the various stars on the astrograph chart, and which one could safely do over the sea, but which was a most unhealthy undertaking over hostile territory, Sergeant Dooley obtained an astro fix of their exact position. He then plotted a dead-reckoning track and course to the target, some distance away, and when their E.T.A. was up, bombed on that. The Squadron Navigation Officer subsequently re-plotted his whole log and found that they had been ‘spot-on’ the target. Such was the ability and experience of Tony and his crew.
When his tour was finally over and he had a well-deserved D.F.C. to his credit he was posted away to some hush-hush job at an aerodrome on Salisbury Plain, and both the Mess and B Flight Office were the poorer and less colourful for his going.
My final meeting with him before my posting and his shockingly unexpected and untimely death was a few weeks after he had left the Squadron at the end of his tour. He appeared one day, cheerful and unchanged as ever, in the anteroom one lunchtime. He had flown up,
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unofficially, one guessed, in a small, twin-engined trainer. He was, he told us, flying all sorts of kites, at all sorts of heights, mostly over the Channel. He alleged that ‘they’, whoever they might be, and he did nothing to enlighten us on that, even wanted him to fly inverted on occasions. Beyond that he said nothing, and we did not ask him too many questions. He mentioned that although he had flown up to see us in the Oxford, one of the several aircraft at the secret establishment, he would have preferred something else – “I wanted to come in the Walrus”, he chuckled, naming an antiquated and noisy single-pusher-engined flying boat, usually operated by the Fleet Air Arm.
“I’d love to have taxied up to the Watch Office and chucked the anchor out!”
He left us after a cheerful lunch and went for ever out of my life, for which I am greatly the poorer.
It seems that he came back to 12, without a crew, for a second tour and was insistent on taking part in the first 1,000 bomber raid, that on Cologne, with a completely new crew. His was the first aircraft to be shot down that night. It happened over the outskirts of Amsterdam. How he came to be there will always remain a mystery to me, as the route planned for that night to Cologne lay over the estuary of the Scheldt, mush [sic] further south, its numerous islands providing invaluable pinpoints.
He and all his crew are buried in beautifully tended graves in a shady part of Amsterdam’s New Eastern Cemetery, which I have several times visited.
On one visit to Amsterdam I had contacted a Dutchman who had formed part of the team of volunteers who had excavated the remains of C-Charlie, Tony’s aircraft on that fatal night in May 1942. I was able to visit the crash site in the suburb of Badhoevedorp. A small museum of remembrance had been created in some old underground fortifications on the outskirts of the city where were reverently displayed several small identifiable components of the aircraft, as well as one or two pathetic personal belongings of the crew. I was offered, and accepted, a small section of the geodetic construction of the Wellington and this now has a place of honour in my living room, where Tony, from his portrait, appears to be looking down upon it.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Mind you don’t scratch the paint [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] MIND YOU DON’T SCRATCH THE PAINT [/underlined]
After what happened that night to his beloved Z-Zebra when we, for the first and only time, were being allowed to fly it on ops, I could have quite understood if Tony had never wanted to have anything to do with me, or with any of the crew, again.
But instead, after it was all over, for some time afterwards, whenever he happened to see me in the anteroom there would come into his eyes a gleam of what I could only interpret as amusement, but something more besides; this was a look of amusement mingled with a knowledge and appreciation of our good fortune, the look which perhaps a proud parent gives to his offspring as he sees him emerge from the last obstacle of a tricky course in the school sports and run triumphantly towards the finishing line, a “by-God-you’ve-done-it” look. A fanciful idea maybe, but the more I look back on it, the more I am sure that was what it was.
It was when we had already done a handful of ops, I remember, and when he himself must have been well on towards finishing his tour – remarkable enough in itself – and quite some while after the events which led to his, and our, final trip in ‘Z’ that he caught my eye and beckoned me over, one day when there was no flying, in the mess at Binbrook. He and I were both standing among the small crowd of aircrew officers near the fireplace, tankards in our hands, nearly all of us smoking, under the gaze of the portrait of Donald Garland, V.C., and of the fox’s mask mounted on its wooden shield.
And when I had made my way towards him he paid me a great and surprising compliment, he who was without doubt one of the finest of the many fine pilots on the Squadron.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
But the story, of course, starts some time before that, when we were very much the new boys, before I and the rest of the crew had been blooded on ops. When we had arrived on the Squadron from our Operational Training Unit at Bassingbourn, Elmer, my co-pilot,
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had been allocated to Mike Duder’s crew, while the rest of us had been taken over, as it were, by Ralph, a pilot who had a few ops already to his credit. We settled down comfortably enough with him and went through the final stages of our familiarisation and training on the Mark II Wellington in preparation for our first operation together. This landmark in one’s flying career was something which I, at any rate, had looked forward to – if that is the correct form of words – with a mixture of curiosity, awe and a certain degree of apprehension tinged with excitement; I regarded it as a large step into a completely unknown world. Just how hazardous a step it would turn out to be I was soon to discover.
At that time, my logbook tells me, we had no aircraft which we could really regard as our own, perhaps because we were a fresher crew, I don’t know. However, we had flown seven different aircraft since joining ‘B’ Flight. One morning we reported as usual, to the Flights. I had the privilege of using, along with others, Abey’s, our Flight Commander’s, office as a sort of mini-crewroom. It was late November and we sat around talking, shop mostly, until about ten o’clock, when Abey’s phone rang. All conversation stopped. We knew what it would be – either another stand-down, or a target. It was a target, for freshers only. It would not be named until briefing that afternoon, of course, but I was fairly certain it would be one of the French Channel ports.
Abey nodded to me pleasantly and said, “Let the rest of your crew know, will you?” Then he looked quickly at the blackboard fixed to the wall facing him and said, “Look, I think you’d better take Z-Zebra, Tony’s aircraft – he’s off to Buck House tomorrow to collect his gong from the King.”
Tony Payne wasn’t in the Flight Office at the time, I suppose he had been told by Abey that he wouldn’t be required in any case; an appointment with His Majesty would naturally take priority over anything. So it was lunchtime when we’d done our quite uneventful night flying test on ‘Z’, that I saw him in the Mess. Or rather, that he saw me, and made a bee-line for me.
“What’s this I hear, then?” he asked.
I grinned at him.
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“You mean about Z-Zebra?”
“Yes, I mean about Z-Zebra. My Z-Zebra. You’re not actually going to fly my kite, are you? On ops? God!”
There was a look of mock-horror on his face.
“Well, that’s what Abey said, so that’s what we’re doing. Don’t worry, Tony, we won’t bend it, or anything.”
“Bend it? You’d better not! If you so much as scratch the paint I shall deal with you all personally, one at a time, when you come back, you mark my words!”
We both knew he was kidding, but I knew, too, that ‘Z’ was the apple of Tony’s eye and that it had served him well. I hoped that it would serve as [sic] well, too.
Briefing was in the early afternoon. I cannot recall that there were many of us there, three crews at most is my recollection. The target was Cherbourg docks, time on target 2100 to 2130, bomb-load seven five hundred pounders, high explosive, route Base – Reading – Bognor Regis – target and return the same way. I felt nothing other than curious anticipation, once the time of take-off drew nearer. I think the thought that we were in ‘Z’ boosted my morale. Tony’s aircraft must be good, for he was good, the best. That followed; ‘Z’ wouldn’t let us down. The trip was going to be, if not the proverbial piece of cake, then quite O.K., quite straightforward, a nice one to start us off, of that I was confident.
It was a Saturday evening and dusk was falling as I went up to the Flights and opened my locker in Abey’s office. He was there, of course, looking quietly on at the small handful of us putting on our kit for the op. I started to struggle into my flying kit. Roll-necked sweater under my tunic, brown padded inner suit from neck to ankle, like a tightly fitting eiderdown, old school scarf, which, while I would never have admitted it, was my good-luck talisman. Pale green, slightly faded canvas outer flying suit with fur collar, wool-lined leather flying boots, parachute harness, Mae West and, lastly, ‘chute and helmet, which I carried. I checked that I had the issued silk handkerchief, printed very finely with a map of France, just in case, and I touched the reassuring small miniature compass,
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sewn into my brevet, another aid to evasion if forced to bale out.
I joined Ralph and the lads in the hangar. There was a continuous buzz of conversation, the odd burst of laughter. Ralph was smiling with rather forced cheerfulness, no doubt wondering how his new crew would cope. Col, our Aussie Observer, looked more sallow than usual and was chewing gum rapidly. His Australian twang, when he spoke, was more pronounced, it seemed to me. Mick, the wireless op., looked worried, as usual, and said nothing, while Tommy, our rear gunner, was completely unconcerned and grinning from ear to ear. Johnnie, who would occupy the front turret, was his calm and quite imperturbable self, almost, I realised, the complete antithesis of Tommy.
Ralph said quickly, “Let’s go, then,” and we strolled out of the chilly, pale blue lighting of the hangar into the darkness. We climbed awkwardly into the waiting crew-bus parked on the perimeter track. A half moon was beginning to show, flitting in and out of the scattered clouds which were drifting out to sea from off the Lincolnshire Wolds. It was cold, and despite my flying kit, I shivered a little. Col was still chewing stolidly, his face expressionless. There was a little desultory conversation as the bus rolled towards the dispersals, but the night’s op was not mentioned.
“Z-Zebra,” called the W.A.A.F. driver through the little window at the front of the bus. We started to clamber stiffly down the back steps, reluctant to leave the companionable shelter of the vehicle.
“Have a good trip!”
Someone from another crew shouted the conventional but oddly reassuring words, which were invariably used to send a crew on their way.
“You too,” one of us replied.
Z-Zebra loomed over us in the semi-darkness. The crew bus rumbled away. The silence was intense, almost tangible. The ground-crew stood around, blowing on their hands and beating their arms around their bodies against the cold. There were muted greetings. Col and I walked several yards away from the kite, lit cigarettes from my case and took a dozen or so quick draws before stamping them out.
“Come on, let’s get started,” I muttered, and we clambered up the red ladder which jutted down from Z’s nose. Johnnie was handing
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the pigeon in its ventilated box carefully up to Mick.
We struggled in, heavily and clumsily, each to his position. I hoisted myself over the main spar and stood in the astrodome, reaching down to plug in my intercom lead, and I found the hot-air hose, aiming it to blow on to my body once the engines had been started. The port engine suddenly stammered and roared into life, then the starboard. We heard Ralph blow twice into his mike to test the intercom, then he spoke.
“Everyone O.K? Harry?”
“O.K., skip,” I said.
“Col?”
“Yeah, skip.”
“Mick?”
O.K.”
“Johnnie?”
“O.K., skipper.” Johnnie was always punctilious and correct.
“Tommy? All right at the back there?”
“Yes, fine, skip.”
“Right, I’ll take it there and do the bombing run, Harry, you can bring us back.”
“O.K., skip,” I said.
Ralph’s mike clicked off. There was an increased roar from the port enging, [sic] shaking the whole kite, then from the starboard, as Ralph ran them up, checking the power, the magnetos, the oil pressure and the engine temperatures. The kite was shivering like a nervous racehorse at the starting gate, waiting for the off. A lull, then I felt a lurch as we moved slowly out of dispersal. The hangars, topped by their red obstruction lights, slid by, then we were at the end of the runway in use. Behind us I could see the nav. lights of the other aircraft which were to share the night sky with us over Cherbourg. A green Alldis light flashed directly on to us – dah, dah, di-di, - Z.
“You’ve got your green, skipper,” I said. We were on our way.
“O.K., here we go, hold on to your hats.”
Johnnie appeared alongside me and grinned rather wolfishly; the front
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gunner went into his turret only when we were safely airborne. Ralph opened up the throttles against the brakes to lift the tail a little. Z-Zebra jerked and strained, then suddenly we surged forward, the engines howling. The Drem lighting of the flarepath smudged past, faster and faster as we charged down the runway. The bar of lights with the two goose-neck flares at the far end slid towards us, then suddenly all vibration ceased; we were airborne, we were on our way.
Johnnie gave me the thumbs-up and vanished up front to go into his turret. In a few seconds he called up to say he was in position. I felt and heard Ralph throttling back to settle into the long climb to operational height; we would aim to be at 20,000 feet over the target. He began a turn to port to bring us back over the centre of the aerodrome to set course accurately for Reading.
The night was clear, some cloud showing vaguely out to sea, a blaze of stars everywhere, with the half moon as yet low on the port beam. There were several flashing red beacons to be seen, scattered over the dim landscape like lurid and sinister fireflies, but no-one bothered to read their Morse letters on the way out; coming home, it would be another matter, they would be looked for and read as eagerly as one used to read the familiar names on railway stations on the way back from a holiday. From the astrodome the mainplanes were pale in the faint moonlight, the exhaust stubs glowed redly. The rudder was a tall finger behind us, under which sat Tommy in his turret, a lonely place. I could see the guns rotating from side to side as he kept watch. There was little sensation of height or speed as the engines roared steadily under climbing power, the passage of time seemed suspended and there was a sense of complete detachment from the earth and from all things on it. Conversation was limited to the essential minimum.
Ralph came up, eventually, on the intercom.
“Oxygen on, please, Harry, ten thousand feet.”
I acknowledged, unplugged my intercom and left my position, going forward over the main spar to where just behind the Observer’s compartment the oxygen bottles were in racks up on the port side of the
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fuselage. I screwed open the valves on each one and returned to the astrodome.
“Oxygen on, skipper.”
I plugged in the bayonet fitting of my oxygen tube to the nearest socket and clipped the mask on my helmet securely to cover my nose and mouth. After a while, “Glow on the deck, dead ahead, skipper,” Johnnie said. I went forward quickly to stand beside Ralph.
“Looks like Reading,” I said, “they always did have a lousy blackout. See those two lines of lights? The railway station. Wouldn’t that slay you? I don’t know how they don’t get bombed to hell.”
“Useful for us, anyhow,” Ralph replied, “we’re dead on track and two minutes to E.T.A., too. Good for you, Col,” he called.
The faint glow of Reading vanished under the nose. The moon was a bit higher now. Col gave the new course for Bognor. I took a deep breath of oxygen and holding it in my lungs as long as I could, went back to the astrodome. Tommy spoke up, rather fractiously.
“Bloody cold back here.”
“Shut up a minute, Tommy,” I heard Mick say, “I’m listening out to Group.”
No-one spoke for a while. Then I caught a glimpse of a white flashing beacon to starboard. These were very useful; Observers kept a list of them coded with their actual Latitude and Longitude positions. I switched on my mike.
“Occult flashing R Robert about five miles to starboard, Col,” I said.
Then, “That’s peculiar,” I thought, “I didn’t hear my own voice saying that.”
I checked my intercom switch and repeated what I’d said. Still nothing. I moved over to the intercom point at the flarechute and plugged in. I blew into my mike – dead as mutton. Taking a gulp of oxygen I went forward to Col’s desk and banged him on the shoulder. He looked up in surprise. I undid his helmet and shouted in his ear.
“Is your intercom working?”
He thumbed the switch and I saw his lips moving. Then he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
“Bloody thing’s crook,” he shouted.
After another gulp of oxygen I went forward to yell in Ralph’s ear.
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“Intercom’s u/s!”
I saw Ralph check his mike, then he nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down ruefully.
“Not a sausage,” he shouted, “see if Mick can fix it.”
I pushed through the door into Mick’s compartment. He beat me to it.
“Intercom’s u/s, R/T, too.”
“See if you can fix it!”
Mick nodded.
I went forward again to Ralph, who had scribbled a note on a message pad.
‘If no joy in 15 min. we jettison and abort.’
Without the intercom we would be completely cut off from one another, an impossible situation. I settled into the second pilot’s position alongside Ralph, thinking that I might as well stay up front for a while. Ralph was writing something again, letting the trimmers fly the aircraft while he did so.
‘Tell the gunners,’ I read, and gave him the thumbs-up. More oxygen, then I ducked under the instrument panel, past the bomb-sight, treading gingerly on the bottom escape hatch, and quickly opened the front turret doors.
My God, I thought, it’s freezing cold in here.
Johnnie twisted himself round and looked at me questioningly.
“Intercom’s gone for a Burton,” I shouted, “we may have to scrub it.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
Half way back down the fuselage I saw the rear turret doors opening and Tommy emerged, slightly red in the face.
“My bloody intercom’s u/s,” he shouted, looking aggrieved.
I told him the situation quickly and he went back into his turret. I bent over Mick, who was fiddling with the intricacies of the radio equipment.
“Any joy?” I shouted.
Mick grimaced and shook his head.
“Keep trying, Mick.”
When I went back to Ralph he leaned over and shouted, “If Mick can’t fix it by Bognor, we’ll jettison ten miles out to sea and go home.”
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I wrote a note for Col and passed it to him. I was already hoarse with shouting and tired from moving around the aircraft on scanty oxygen.
Still we climbed. Bognor was now below us, I could distinguish the shape of the south coast, the Isle of Wight. Col came forward and made book-opening movements of his hands to Ralph who nodded and selected the bomb-door switch to ‘open’. Col ducked down to the bombsight. I wondered idly whether there were any convoys below; even though the bombs would be dropped ‘safe’ they wouldn’t like five hundred pounds of solid metal from this height. There was a slight shudder as the bombs went. Col came back.
“Bloody waste,” he shouted.
Ralph nodded as he closed the bomb-doors.
He shouted to me, “We might as well get down lower where we can come off oxygen. Get a course from Col, will you?”
I did so and set it on the compass for Ralph, who did a wide turn to port, losing height steadily. The altimeter slowly unwound.
When we passed through ten thousand feet I turned off the bottles and went the rounds of the crew, telling each one we were on the way home. Their reactions were muted, impassive. Soon we were down to two thousand feet, droning over the dim November landscape. There were no beacons to be seen anywhere in this area. I stood alongside Ralph, wondering if I would get a chance to fly ‘Z’ soon, but perhaps he didn’t like the thought of passing messages himself; the journey from front turret to rear, for example, was a bit of an obstacle race.
Quite suddenly, I noticed that the starboard engine temperature was up. I tapped Ralph on the arm and pointed to it. He nodded slowly, we droned onwards. I looked out of my side window, through the arc of the propeller, mere inches away, at the starboard engine. Was it my imagination, or was there a whitish mist streaming back from it? Ralph had levelled off at a thousand feet. Col came in and handed him a note of E.TA. Reading. The starboard engine temperature was higher, and now the oil pressure was decidedly down, too.
We’ve got trouble, damn it, I thought, and I saw there was now
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no doubt at all about the trail of vapour from the engine.
“Looks like a glycol leak,” I told Ralph, who stared grimly ahead and nodded. Then he turned to me.
“Get Mick on the W/T to base, returning early, intercom and R/T u/s, glycol leak starboard engine.”
I gave him the thumbs-up, seized a message pad and wrote it down, then went aft and handed it to Mick, who was sitting glumly at his table. He looked at the note, raised his eyebrows and frowned, then started to tap out the message on the Morse key.
Up front again I saw that the vapour leak from the engine was now streaked with red, and angry looking sparks were flying back over the engine nacelle and the trailing edge of the mainplane. I nudged Ralph, who leaned over to look, then grimaced. Now, the engine temperature was very high and the oil pressure had slumped even further. Z-Zebra was in real trouble. As is the way in flying, events thereafter moved in a downward spiral from bad to desperate with sickening rapidity. A lick of flame spat out of the engine, over the starboard mainplane, then horrifyingly, like the tail of a rocket, the flame shot back towards the rear turret.
“Fire!” I yelled in Ralph’s ear.
I pressed the extinguisher button on the instrument panel. Ralph chopped the starboard throttle back and hauled the wheel over to counteract the lurch and swing. I looked at the flames which were now pouring out of the duff engine, over the cowling and the trailing edge of the mainplane. Suddenly Tommy appeared at my side.
“Hey! There’s a hell of a lot of sparks flying past my turret!”
“Yes, we’re on fire, but we’re trying to get it out,” I shouted back at him.
Tommy’s eyes opened wide when he saw the blazing engine.
“Jesus bloody Christ,” he said, in awe.
We were now below 1000 feet. Ralph had opened up the port engine to try to maintain height, but we were turning slowly to starboard the whole time. I thought about the best part of 375 gallons of petrol in the starboard wing-tank, then about the western edge of London and its balloon barrage, somewhere very close to us. We
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were in one hell of a mess, I thought, and it began to dawn on me that the situation could well kill us all. I tried not to think too hard about that. Ralph was wrestling with Z-Zebra, trying to keep it on some sort of a course, but it appeared to be useless.
“Poop off some reds,” he yelled, “and look out for a flarepath!”
I hurried aft.
“Put the I.F.F. on Stud 3,” I shouted to Mick, above the howl of the good engine, and nodding glumly, Mick switched to this distress frequency which would show up as a distinctively shaped trace on all ground radar sets. I quickly found some double-red Verey cartridges and got the signal pistol down from its fixture in the roof of the fuselage. I loaded the cartridges and shot them off one at a time.
“Can’t do much more now,” I said to myself, and hoped for the sight of a flarepath, a directing searchlight, or anything that would help us. I went forward again. We were still losing height and I realised that we were too low to bale out. But the fire had died down and I sighed with relief at that. The prop windmilled slowly and uselessly. I wished that Z-Zebra had been fitted with propeller feathering devices, but it was useless wishing thoughts like that. I peered intently at the starboard wing; there didn’t seem to be any fire there, thank God, otherwise we would simply blow up in mid-air and that would be that. Now, the immediate problem was how we were going to get back on to the ground in approximately one piece; there wasn’t a flarepath or a beacon to be seen anywhere.
I felt completely helpless and at the mercy of a capricious and malignant fate which I could do nothing to influence. It was like being in a paper bag going down a waterfall. Ralph’s face was grim as he struggled to keep straight and to maintain altitude. I heaved a length of wrapped elastic from my parachute stowage and tied the wheel fully over to the left, to take the load off Ralph a little. He nodded his thanks. Another length of elastic; I tied the rudder bar over to the geodetics. That was all I could do.
I looked out again. Still no sign of friendly lights and the treetops were looking damned close now. The port engine exhaust stubs were bright red due to the punishment the engine was taking and I knew it was just a matter of minutes before we hit something. I thought, “This is a hell of a shaky do.” Then, ahead, I saw an interruption in the dark skyline and I was puzzled as to what it
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could be. I took a glance as [sic] the A.S.I., just under 100 m.p.h., much too near stalling speed for comfort. I hardly dared look at the altimeter, it showed a mere 200 feet now. The curious, dim outlines on the skyline grew slowly larger as we staggered on. That was about it, Z-Zebra was simply staggering along and sinking through the air, almost on the point of stalling, when we would drop like a stone. I was holding the wheel over to port, helping Ralph all I could. Keep height and we lost speed; keep speed and we lost height. That was the quite hopeless situation.
The jagged skyline, which was now beginning to fill the windscreen, resolved itself horrifyingly, in the dim moonlight, into buildings. A town, and worst of all, a town with a tall, thick chimney, dead ahead.
“Jesus Christ,” I thought, “we’ve bloody well had it now, we’re going to hit that bloody chimney.”
100 feet on the altimeter. Now we were over the town, churning over the roofs at 90 miles an hour. The streets looked so close that I could have put out a hand to touch them. The chimney loomed nearer, the black roofs skated away behind us, apparently just below the floor of the fuselage. I thought of the people in those houses, cringing as they heard the hideous noise just above their heads, praying that the aircraft wouldn’t hit them in a cataclysm of bricks, rubble and blazing petrol. I was sweating as I frantically heaved at the wheel to try to help Ralph. His eyes were staring as though he were hypnotised by the sight of the chimney. With agonising slowness it slid towards us, slightly to starboard now, it seemed, then just beyond the starboard wingtip, a handful of yards away. I shut my eyes for a second, hardly daring to believe that we had missed it.
“Thank Christ for that!” I yelled at Ralph. We were over open fields again. Ralph shouted desperately, “I’ll have to put it down soon, get them into crash positions!”
I hurried to the front turret, collected Johnnie, who was as pleasant and imperturbable as though he was sitting in an armchair in the Mess. he would have had a grandstand view of the whole thing, up to now. Together, we grabbed Mick and Col. The three of them lay on the floor of the fuselage, hands clasped behind their necks.
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I hurried, stumbling, to the rear turret and wrenched open the doors.
“Crash landing, any minute now!” I yelled at Tommy. He would sit tight, his was the safest place in the kite in this situation. I almost envied him. I rushed forward again and took a final glance out of the windscreen. We were at treetop level. Then I went back to join Mick, Col and Johnnie. There was not enough room for me to lie down, so I stood sideways on, taking a firm grip on the geodetics, and hoped for the best.
Suddenly the port engine was throttled right back. This was it, I thought. A few seconds’ silence, which seemed like a month, then a tremendous impact. A cool smell of newly-torn earth filled the aircraft. I hear, unbelievably, a long burst of machine gun fire and could see red tracer flying ahead of us. I couldn’t think what was going on; surely we weren’t being shot at? The kite bucketed along, everything twisting and grinding, the deceleration fantastic. I could hardly stay upright. The smell of ploughed earth was beautiful, almost intoxicating. I hung on grimly, and after what seemed an age, we finally lurched to a halt. For an instant there was total, blissful silence.
“Everyone out, quick!” I shouted.
The three of them hurried forward where I could see Ralph’s legs vanishing through the escape hatch above the pilot’s seat. Tommy came staggering from the rear of the fuselage, clutching his forehead.
“You O.K.?” I asked him.
“Hit me bloody head on some broken sodding geodetics,” he said angrily.
“Hurry up and get out in case the bloody kite goes up,” I said urgently, and I pushed him forward, ahead of me. He climbed out of the top hatch via the pilot’s seat; I was hard on his heels. I could hear Johnnie telling someone, in his clear, modulated voice, that he had forgotten to put the safety-catch of his guns on to ‘safe’, the impact of the crash had set them firing. I hoped vaguely that no-one had been hurt. It was years later that I learned that one bullet had gone through a child’s bedroom window as her mother was putting her to bed; the bullet had embedded itself in the mattress without harming the little girl.
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I followed Tommy up and out. I was swinging my legs over the edge of the escape hatch, on to the top of Z-Zebra, when I saw a spurt of flame from the port engine. The strain had been too much for it.
“Port engine’s on fire!” I shouted to them, “get to hell out of it!”
I jumped back inside the cockpit, quickly found the port fire-extinguisher button and jabbed my thumb hard on it, swearing softly under my breath. Then I clambered out again, found the port mainplane under my feet and walked down it on to the field.
The aircraft looked like a landed whale, its props bent grotesquely backwards, its back dismally broken, with the rudder towering up at an odd angle, its wings now spread uselessly across the stubble and the broad rut which we had gouged out of the field trailing back towards the hedge, between some tall trees. The crew were grouped together twenty yards away.
“Come on, Harry!” someone shouted.
A man was running over the field towards us, I could see the steam of his panting breaths in the moonlight as he got nearer and heard him excitedly saying something about ‘the biggest field in the district’. The moon shone palely through the trees which we had missed and the air was sweet as wine. I lit a cigarette and joined the others.
“Are you O.K.?” Col asked. I nodded.
“Bloody fine landing, Ralph,” I said, “damn good show.”
We followed the man over the stubble, towards the broken hedge, then to an Auxiliary Fire Station on the outskirts of St. Albans, where we had come down.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“Look,” Tony said confidentially, “you know I’ve got …… as my co-pilot?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering what was coming next.
“Well, between you and me, I’m really not all that happy with him. Would you like to come into my crew? I can fix it with Abey, if you would.”
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When I recovered from my astonishment it didn’t take me long to decide. I shook my head.
“No, thanks, Tony, no, really, I wouldn’t want to leave my own crew, you know.”
“Oh, well, I can quite understand that. I just thought - . But if you do change your mind, there’s a place for you with me, any time.”
I thanked him. I have never forgotten the honour he did me.
As I have said, Tony took the wrecking of Z-Zebra quite well, all things being considered. Shortly afterwards, he finished his tour. His crew were posted away, while he himself went on to some hush-hush flying, somewhere on Salisbury Plain, we heard, involving several different types of aircraft. It was something, we guessed, in connection with the development of radar and its applications. He paid us a visit once, in an Anson.
“I wanted to come up in a Walrus,” he said, naming a slow, noisy and out-of-date small flying-boat, “and throw out the anchor in front of the Watch Office!”
We had a jocular half hour with him in front of the ante-room fire.
Tony Payne came back to the Squadron for his second tour of ops. He took a new crew, on their first trip, on the Thousand Bomber raid on Cologne. His was the first aircraft to be shot down that night. He was hit by flak over Ijmuiden, on the Dutch Coast and the aircraft blew up over Badhoevedorp, on the outskirts of Amsterdam, killing him and the whole crew. They are buried together in a beautiful shady spot in Amsterdam East Cemetery, their graves lovingly kept and cared for. I have visited the place where they fell; I have seen the place where they now lie at peace. Most of the aircraft was salvaged recently by some caring Dutch people, and I have a fragment of it on my bookshelf, to remind me of the man that was Tony. Not that I need much reminding.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Rabbie [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] RABBIE [/underlined]
He was the sort of bloke one took to automatically if one was of a fairly quiet disposition, for he himself was quiet almost to the point of being self-effacing. On the ground, that is. But in the air – well, that was another matter. On the evidence that I had, at least, it seemed that another side of his nature took over.
In build, he was perhaps an inch or so taller than me, well made, with rather thick, limp, fairish hair, quite piercingly blue eyes and a mobile mouth which always carried the trace of a smile, as though he were laughing inwardly at some secret joke. His manner of speaking was strange until you got used to it; he would start a sentence then lower his eyes almost apologetically, as though he were afraid you were becoming bored with what he was saying. His voice was quite deep, very quiet, and his utterances were staccato, like short bursts of machine-gun fire, punctuated by little nervous laughs, almost sniggers. Now and again he would stammer slightly, and now and again a trace of his native soft Scots accent would ripple the surface of his halting, quietly spoken sentences.
It was I who first called him Rabbie, on account of this inflexion of voice, which, when he became animated, would show more prominently. I think he secretly rather liked the name; there weren’t many Scotsmen on the Squadron as far as I knew, and certainly, there weren’t many in ‘B’ Flight. We became friendly, and although on stand-down trips to G.Y., as we invariably called Grimsby, crews usually went as crews, on nights when we stayed in the Mess he and I, more often than not, would gravitate together, along with Eric. Possible because the three of us where a shade quieter types than, say, Tony or Teddy Bairstow.
I don’t know how it came about that I flew to Pershore with him – he had done his O.T.U. there, it seemed, and on a stand-down day he got permission from Abey to do a cross-country there. He must have asked me if I would like a ride; anyhow, I went along with him. He had his own co-pilot, Sandy, with him, and his crew. It was then I discovered the other side of Rabbie. I had only been on the Squadron a fortnight and everything was new and a bit strange.
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Rabbie and most of the others were comparatively old hands, and whereas I was a strictly-by-the-book pilot, I soon found that there were others who weren’t. Like that day, when I flew with Rabbie. One normally did cross-countries at a sober and sedate height, say between two and six thousand feet. Perhaps for a few minutes, now and again, one might have a crazy fit and beat up a train or something or other, but unauthorised low flying was a Court Martial offence, and all pilots had been repeatedly warned of that fact ever since they started flying at E.F.T.S.
We went off in Barred C, Abey’s own aircraft, and once we’d cleared the circuit, quite simply, it was a hundred feet maximum all the way. To begin with, I was shaken rigid, I’d never known anything quite like it; such sustained, hair-raising excitement, spiced with the occasional bad fright. Trees, villages, hills, hedges, they all streamed by; very little was said among the crew. When I’d collected my scattered wits and realised that this was second nature to all of them, I began to enjoy it a little more. We landed at Pershore, Rabbie said hello to one or two old friends, we lunched, took off again and came back at the same height, all the way. I was getting used to it by this time, but I still swallowed hard once or twice.
When we had landed and taxied in I came down the ladder after most of them. Rabbie and the crew were doing what we usually did then, taking off helmets, sorting out the navigation stuff, looking for some transport back to the Flights. As we lit cigarettes, and with his little secret smile, Rabbie said to me, “Enjoy it?”
“Rabbie,” I said to him, “excuse me for asking, but do you always do your cross-countries at nought feet?”
He gave his little sniggering laugh and looked down.
“Well, no,” he said softly, “but you have to let your hair down now and again.”
Some of it must have rubbed off on Sandy, too, except that he gave himself a bad fright. It really could have been quite a shaky do. Several of us were in ‘B’ Flight office one afternoon, doing nothing in particular. We had a couple of kites on, that night,
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but most of us had been stood down too late to go into G.Y. The phone rang and Abey answered it, his face, as usual, giving nothing away. He looked across at the blackboard as he listened and our eyes followed his, wondering.
“That’s right, E-Edward,” he said, and rang off.
The board said, ‘E’ – Sgt. Sanders – Local flying – airborne 1420.’
“We’d better go and see this,” Abey said calmly, straightening a few things on his desk, “Sandy may be in a bit of bother, it appears that he’s hit something south of here. He’s coming in now.”
We piled into the Flight van and hared out to dispersal. Just then, we saw ‘E’ land, quite a reasonable one, too. We breathed again. Then, as we waited, he taxied in and we could see that where the port half of his windscreen had been there was just a jagged hole. The air-intake on his port engine looked peculiar, too, it was half bunged up with something greyish. Sandy stopped in his dispersal and cut the engines. The ladder came down and he climbed down it a bit tentatively, looking decidedly sheepish when he saw the reception committee.
He and Abey talked rather quietly together while the crew climbed down and stood around, fiddling with their ‘chutes and navigation stuff, surreptitiously brushing what looked very like feathers from off themselves and trying to look unconcerned. Someone who had overheard the conversation muttered, “Been low-flying over the Wash and hit a bunch of seagulls.” We grinned at [sic] bit at that, once we knew they were all O.K. Abey’s poker face said nothing as he turned away from Sandy. Then someone nearby said, “Hey, Sandy, what’s wrong with your face?” and when we looked closely we could see a piece of pink seagull flesh sticking to his cheek. Sandy put a hand up to his face, then had a look at what he had collected. Slowly, his eyes rolled up, his knees buckled and he fell at our feet in a dead faint. Abey, good type that he was, hushed it all up.
Not long afterwards, a handful of our kites went as part of a smallish force to attack one of the north German ports. It might have been Emden. Rabbie was on it; I wasn’t. Next morning, after breakfast, Teddy put his head around the door of the ante-room, his eyes starting out of his thin, pale face.
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“Hey!” he exclaimed, “You want to have a look at Rabbie’s kite, he’s had a right shaky do!”
He tore off out, to tell someone else. Quickly, we made our way up to the Flights. ‘E’ was parked right outside ‘B’ Flight hangar, and most of the starboard mainplane out board of the engine just wasn’t there. The wing finished in a ragged, twisted jumble of geodetics. Obviously, they had had a very narrow escape indeed from a burst of flak. I climbed aboard. The wheel was tied over to port with a chunk of rope. I found Rabbie, poking idly about at this and that.
“Dodging the photographic bod,” he said with an apologetic grin. There was one of the photographic section erks outside now, fussing about with a camera, taking pictures of ‘E’. Rabbie looked paler than usual, thoughtful.
“How the hell did you manage to get it back like this?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, with his nervous little snigger, “it wasn’t too b-bad, Sandy and I tied the wheel over a bit,” and nodded towards it.
The photo erk had gone and the sightseers had thinned out to two or three. I climbed out, chatting to Rabbie, but as we talked, I could see something different. There was something in his eyes that I’d never seen there before, a distant, almost other-worldly expression.
When I left the Squadron I lost touch with everyone, including, at times, myself. It was a long time afterwards, and I was talking to Eric on the telephone. We had reached the “Do you remember” and “What happened to” stage.
“By the way,” I asked him, “what ever happened to Rabbie?”
“Rabbie?” Eric replied, “Oh, I’m afraid he was shot down, you know.”
It had happened near the Dutch town of Beverwijk. Rabbie had finished up as a P.o.W with Eric and Abey, then had been repatriated on account of injuries to his hands, Eric said. Some of his crew had been killed.
In June 1989 a Dutch air-war historian took me to a beautifully-kept cemetery in the small town of Bergen, near Alkmaar, to visit the graves of a contemporary crew of ‘B’ Flight whom I had known.
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As I was turning to leave, my eye, quite by chance, noticed another name on a nearby tombstone, one which I immediately recognised, that of our Commanding Officer, who had gone missing while I was with the Squadron. Very near to him and to the others was yet another familiar name, that of Sandy.
Each name of all the aircrew, some 200 of them, who are buried there, is inscribed upon the bells of the local church, just across the way. One of the bells is perpetually silent, representing those who could not be identified. And one bell bears the inscription – “I sound for those who fell for freedom.”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Letter home [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LETTER HOME [/underlined]
I wonder how many premonitions the average person has during his or her lifetime. It’s not the sort of topic which crops up very much in normal conversation, so I don’t think it can happen all that often. But when it does, and you believe you are being given a glimpse of the future, it can be quite weird and rather frightening. So far, I can recall three instances personally. One was at a very long interval of time, one was just the opposite, while the third - . That is what the letter home was about.
A week or two ago I was watching a debate from the House of Commons on television. There was a fairly sparse attendance, the subject became rather mundane and my attention, frankly, was beginning to wander. I looked along the green leather seats where the numerous absentees would normally have sat. Surely, I thought, surely seats like those had played some part in my life at some time?
Then I had it – they were the colour of the wooden-framed armchairs in the anteroom of the Mess at Binbrook. And I was immediately reminded of the first, and very strong, premonition I had had there, and was coping with, as I sat in one of those chairs, almost alone in the quiet room on that winter’s night, waiting to take off on a raid over Germany – and not expecting to come back.
Looking into my logbook now, I can narrow it down to one of four dates, but the actual date is of no importance. The premonition I had, though, was important, very important to me, very gradual, but extremely strong.
Abey, our Flight Commander in ‘B’ Flight was, in every sense of the word, a gentleman. He was then in charge of eight or ten crews of six men each which comprised ‘B’ Flight, and he had, among many other things, the responsibility of selecting crews under his command for any operations on any particular night, or day. Fortunately, the latter were scarce enough. Sometimes the choice was simple, if a maximum effort was called for by Command or Group, he simple sent everyone whose aircraft was serviceable. But sometimes
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he had to choose, and no-one envied him that, nor ever queried his choice. Querying things like that is something that happens in films, usually bad ones. If a “fresher” target was specified for the night’s operations then novice crews, who had done up to four of five ops were selected to go. If he had any choice at all, any crew due for leave went on leave, that same morning. He did his job well and fairly; he was a very considerate man.
On the day of which I write, our crew had done three trips, one of which had had an abrupt and near-catastrophic ending. A “fresher” was called for that night, so we were “on”, in S for Sugar. I have been wondering, recounting this, trying to remember what my reactions were during the time of an op, from the first knowledge that I was going, that night, to some unknown target, whose location and identity would not be known until briefing that afternoon, until the moment after one’s return, sitting down thankfully, tired and strained, into a chair, with a mug of coffee and rum in one hand and a cigarette in the other, for interrogation after the trip. When we would look around the room to see who was seated at the other tables with the Intelligence Officers, recounting their stories of the night’s experiences. However, although I readily confess that not a single trip went by when I was not to some extent frightened, quite often very frightened indeed, my first reaction on being told that I was among those who were on that night’s operations was one of intense excitement, of being immediately strung up to a very high pitch, reactions accelerated beyond their normal speed, like those of a sprinter on his starting blocks, alert for the sound of the pistol which will launch him on his rapid way.
We did our night flying test in S for Sugar as soon as we knew we were operating that night. It was winter, but not too bad a winter until then. This particular morning was cold and cloudy with a breeze from the south-west, the odd spot of rain in the wind, a typical winter’s morning in Lincolnshire, in fact. We flew around for a while to test that everything in the aircraft was working properly, except for the bomb-release mechanism and the guns. We weren’t bombed up yet, of course, and we would test the guns over the sea once we were on our way that night. I was still quite strung up with excitement
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and anticipation. None of us thought or said very much about the target, it was bound to be one of the French Channel ports, the docks, or course, and they were reckoned to be a piece of cake – straight in from the sea, open the bomb doors, press the tit and then home, James.
Briefing was at 1430 hours. By that time the weather wasn’t so good. The cloudbase was down, the wind was getting up and it was colder. At briefing there was ourselves and a handful of others. The target wasn’t one of the Channel ports, it was Wilhelmshaven, on the north German coast, not what we had expected, and quite a tough target. Weather prospects were moderate to fairly poor, with a front coming across which we would have to contend with, a risk of icing. It didn’t sound all that funny. But there it was.
The excitement of the morning had worn off and I was beginning to feel a bit deflated when I went back to the Mess after briefing. There was nothing to be done until teatime, and takeoff was fairly late, to catch the late moon. About five hours to kill. As I thought about it like that I realised that the expression could be taken more than one way, and I didn’t like one way very much. I went back to my room with the sense of deflation sliding quickly downwards towards a feeling of depressive foreboding. It was not as though the target was the toughest one in the book, tough enough by any standards, but no long stretch of enemy territory to be crossed there and back. Not exactly, as we had thought, the reasonably easy one we had expected, but not as bad as it might have been. Or so I tried to tell myself.
The foreboding grew inside me the longer I sat in my room. I was alone; Frank Coles, my room-mate, was Squadron Signals Leader and usually had things to do even when the rest of us were free. Out of the window I could see that the weather was steadily worsening, which added to my unease. I sat there, smoking, and trying to read. It was useless. I became more and more certain that this trip was the one I wasn’t coming back from, that we were going to be shot down. Once I had arrived at that realisation I found I was almost able to visualise it happening; I had already seen it happen to others nearby. But tonight it was going to happen to us, and that would be the end of me.
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There was nothing I could do about it; I had to go through with it, it had to be faced. The only practical thing I should now see to was to write a letter home, to my parents. The trouble was that I had very little idea what I wanted to say to them. For several reasons, I felt they hadn’t had the time to get to know very much about me, as an individual. But still, I felt I owed them this letter.
So I wrote to them. It was a very short letter, I remember, but its exact contents I cannot recall. I know I started in the conventional way – “by the time you read this you will know I have been reported missing,” and so on, and I know that after I had addressed the envelope I added, “To be forwarded only in the event of my failing to return from an operation.”
By the time I had stewed over this wretched little piece of writing it was teatime. There was still no sign of Frank. I was glad of some company in the Mess, although there weren’t all that many in, with only the freshers operating. So I had tea. It was usually a high tea if there were ops on. On this evening, as on many others, there were kippers, toast and tea. Surprisingly, I found I was very hungry. I think I was determined to enjoy what was going to be my last meal. So I savoured every morsel. As dusk fell I stretched myself out in front of the roaring fire in an armchair in the anteroom to await the time to go up to the Flights to get dressed for the trip. The armchair had wooden arms and sides with a green leather padded seat and back.
Every time the tannoy went with some commonplace announcement that someone was wanted at his Flight or Section I would jump a little and stiffen when the W.A.A.F. said, “Attention, please, attention, please,” and then slump down again when I heard that it wasn’t ops being scrubbed. There weren’t many people in the anteroom, and as the fireplace was at one end and I was very close to it, I couldn’t really see who was in the room with me. I was concentrating on absorbing, I think, every scrap of physical comfort I could from the heat of the fire, in what I now firmly believed to be the last few dwindling hours of my life. I could hear sleet or snow spitting as it dropped down the chimney on to the fire.
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I was seeing all sorts of strange pictures in the glowing coals. What they were I didn’t know, faces mostly, it seemed, but whose, I couldn’t distinguish. I started as one of the Mess waiters drew the big curtains across the blacked-out windows. Seeing me in battledress and roll-necked sweater and knowing that I was “on”, he gave me a half-smile as he piled some more coal on to the fire. The heat on my legs died as he did so.
“Is it still sleeting?” I asked him.
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, “still sleeting.”
Tactfully, he didn’t add “It’s a rotten night to be on ops,” or anything like that, but I knew that was what he was thinking. I nodded. He walked quietly away about his business and we left it at that. The wind was starting to get up quite a lot now. I could hear the slap of the sleet hitting the window like a wet cloth in the gusts. Surely they would scrub it? In an hour or so we were due to take off for Wilhelmshaven. I wondered what the weather was like over there, whether they were thinking that it was such a bad night that they were safe from R.A.F. raids. Then I thought about the letter. Was I being stupid? Was this all a lot of childish, hysterical nonsense, over-dramatising oneself? I still thought not; I was still convinced in my own mind.
Why did one write such things? I mused. It made no difference, really, to the outcome, someone would die, someone would be bereaved, that was all there was to it. I wondered how many people I knew actually wrote them, too. I suppose one reason for writing a last letter was to say a final goodbye to someone who was dear to one, but I think also it was to prove to oneself that one was ready and spiritually prepared to leave this life, to give up all those things regarded hitherto as important and to enter a new existence, to meet again one’s friends who were already there, like going from one room of a house to another via the dark passage which we call death. There was a Sergeant pilot in ‘B’ Flight, whom I knew quite well, Norman Spray. He left a letter for his mother. He went missing on a raid the following spring and his words of parting from his mother were so memorable that they found their way on to the page of a national newspaper which I happened to read. I am sure he was an exceptional person to have written in the way he did.
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The minutes ticked slowly by. Hypnotised by the heat from the fire and, I suppose, subconsciously withdrawing from what I believed were my final hours, I think I must have dozed for a few minutes. The tannoy announcement jerked me back to complete wakefulness. The W.A.A.F. said, “All night flying is cancelled, repeat, all night flying is cancelled.”
I immediately started to shiver uncontrollably, despite the fire’s heat. I moved my body around in the chair to try to stop the shakes, to try to hide them in case someone should see. I fidgeted around, stretched, blew my nose, then looked around the ante-room to see whether anyone was watching me. There were one or two ground staff Officers, and Teddy, Eric and Doug, the first two talking quietly over their beer, Doug reading a book, absently stroking his luxuriant ginger moustache with the back of his hand, an unconscious gesture which we all knew well. Outside, the wind moaned, the sleet was still tapping on the window, as though someone were asking quietly to be let in, perhaps like the messenger of Death itself. For not long afterwards, He would claim two of those three.
I took something of a grip on myself and pressed the bell at the side of the fireplace. When the steward came I ordered a beer. I could hardly believe this was happening. He was the man who had drawn the curtains earlier. He took my order, then hesitated and said, not looking directly at me, “You’ll not be sorry, sir, about the scrub, not on a night like this?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, “not on a night like this.”
The shakes had just about stopped by then. I went across to Eric and had a chat and another beer. Neither of us said much about the scrub, he hadn’t been on, anyhow, being in Abey’s crew. I certainly didn’t complain about it. Eventually I went up to my room and furtively tore up the letter into small pieces. I don’t think Frank noticed anything, if he guessed what I was doing he was too tactful to mention it. Then I undressed and got into bed. I was probably going to live for another twenty-four hours.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Low-level [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] LOW-LEVEL [/underlined]
By the third day, those of us who were in the know were getting a little twitchy.
When you are briefed no less than three days in a row for the same target, when you are told it is to be a low-level night attack, when you learn that the whole thing is so hush-hush that only pilots and Observers are to know what the target is until after you are airborne, you only need one scrub to make you jump a bit at loud noises.
After the second briefing, when there was another scrub, and the following day, when there was a third identical briefing, you could have almost cut slices of the tension out of the air with a knife. To begin with, nothing in that city had ever been bombed before. When we knew where it was to be, we looked at each other with eyebrows raised. For very good reasons, we had to go in low and make one hundred per cent certain that we were going to hit the target when the Observer pressed the bomb-release. If we were not certain, then, ‘dummy run’ and round again. No trouble in that, we were told, there were no defences worth speaking of, only a couple of light flak guns at the airport some distance away. Just avoid that, and we shouldn’t have any bother.
So we were told at the briefings, all three of them. Did we believe it could possibly be true? We made ourselves believe it, I think, but it took some doing. Weren’t we used to the Channel Ports, to Kiel, to Essen and the Ruhr, where, in all conscience it was deadly enough at twenty thousand feet at night, let alone at – what was to be our bombing height? – two thousand five hundred feet, straight and level down a corridor of flares?
We would have liked to believe it, certainly. It sounded so – different, so well organised. 235 aircraft, which to us was one hell of a lot, including some Manchesters and four-engined Stirlings and Halifaxes. The first wave was going to drop flares, and keep dropping them so that the whole place would be well lit up, and once
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they'd done that and let go some incendiaries and cookies to start the ball rolling, then the second wave, which was us, would come in and stoke the place up with high explosive, as low as the safety height, 1,000 feet per 1,000 pounds of the heaviest bomb, permitted. If there hadn’t been some Manchesters carrying 2,000 pounders, in our wave, we would have been down around 1,000 feet, I suppose.
What was going through the minds of Mick, our wireless op. in S-Sugar, and Johnnie and Bill, the gunners, being completely in the dark as to what it was all about, I could only guess. But they accepted the situation stoically, and never asked one question. Except when we were clambering out of the transport at dispersal, really on our way, on the third evening, then Mick, who was a married man, said quietly to Cookie, “Is this a suicide effort, skip?” I believe he was recalling those two posthumous V.C.s our Squadron had won less then [sic] two years before, when we had lost five out of five Fairey Battles trying to stop the German advance through the Low Countries. Anyhow, Cookie shook his head.
“No, Mick, it’s not a suicide effort, at least not if I can help it!”
I’m afraid I couldn’t resist mischievously chipping in then, just as we were sorting ourselves out in the dusk of that early March evening under the shadow of S-Sugar’s nose in the quietness of our dispersal.
“You won’t be needing your oxygen mask, though,” I said.
Mick’s eyes widened. It was a bit cruel of me.
“You’re kidding, Harry, aren’t you?”
“No, pukka gen,” I laughed.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Mick said, his Brummy accent very pronounced.
Col, our Aussie Observer, came to the rescue.
“Don’t let it worry yer, Mick,” he said, “it’s going to be a piece of cake. Or so they say, anyhow.”
I was hoping this didn’t fall into the category of famous last words, as we climbed aboard. I found I was yawning quite a lot, while a muscle in my back was trying to do something all on its own.
We took up our positions in the kite. As co-pilot, mine was in the Wimpy’s astrodome until Cookie wanted me to fly it, or needed
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a hand with something up front. I checked the intercom point, saw we had a flare handy in case we had to do a bit of target-finding ourselves, and I groaned inwardly when I saw the stack of nickels, as our propaganda leaflets were known, which I was going to have to shove out over northern France. I took one out of the nearest bundle and saw a cartoon of a depraved and vicious-looking S.S. man, headed, ‘Personalité de l’ordre nouveau.’ I hoped I didn’t meet him later that night in some French gaol.
Faintly through my helmet I heard someone shout “Contact port!” and the engine shuddered into life with a roar, bluish flames spitting out of the exhausts. Then that tune, which remained obsessively with me throughout that night, and which, ever since, has evoked such vivid memories of it, started going through my head – ‘The last time I saw Paris’. Now we were rumbling around the perimeter track. The black shapes of the hangars, topped by their red obstruction lights, came and went. A little group of four or five W.A.A.F.s near the end of the runway waved to us as we passed them. A dazzling green light flashed three dots, our aircraft letter, at us, Cookie opened the throttles and the tail lifted. Then we were charging down the runway, the Drem lighting whipping past the wingtips as the Merlins’ roar rose to a howl at full throttle.
When we had turned on to the course for Reading, our first pinpoint, Cookie checked that everyone was O.K. Then he said, calmly over the intercom, “Now I can tell you where we’re going. It’s the Renault factory in Paris and it’s a low-level do, two to three thousand feet, and there’ll be bags of flares so we can bomb spot on.” There was stunned silence, then Johnnie said coolly, “Paris? That sounds like fun.”
The tension was released and we all laughed immoderately. Cookie told them about the lack of defences, how the crossing-in point had been carefully chosen at the mouth of the Somme, near Abbeville, and how we had to be very sure not to drop anything outside the target area, in case of casualties to the French population.
“I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower,” Mick said.
From the rear turret Bill, our Canadian gunner, drawled, “Don’t worry, at our height you’ll be able to count the bloody rivets!”
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The evening was clear as our home beacon slowly fell away behind us. It seemed strange to be cruising easily along at about five thousand feet; usually we climbed steadily all the way to whichever target we were bound for. There wasn’t much talk over the intercom, I think the boys were busy digesting the news about the target – and the bombing height. Then the moon came up, huge, brilliant and impersonal, a beautiful sight, away to port. Reading was, as always, easy to find, the railway station was like a dimly-lit flarepath, but it gave us a good pinpoint, however much it might have helped the Luftwaffe. We crossed the south coast dead on track and E.T.A. and headed out over the Channel. Cookie switched off the navigation lights. Shortly afterwards, Mick reported that he had switched off the I.F.F. We were on our own now.
In only a few minutes it seemed, Johnnie said, “Enemy coast ahead, skipper.” I peered forward from the astrodome. The pewter colour of the Channel showed a faint line of dirty white a few miles ahead of us. A few degrees to starboard some light flak was going up, and I reported it for Col to log.
“Probably Le Tréport”, I said, “they always put on a firework display for us.”
Johnnie said, “I can see a big estuary dead ahead.”
“O.K., Johnnie,” Col replied, “let’s know when we cross the coast. Next course one seven two magnetic, skip.”
Then Johnnie said calmly, “Anyone see an exhaust almost dead ahead, same height?”
I hurried forward to stand beside Cookie, and we both saw it at once, a point of orange light, straight ahead of us, and nastily at our own height.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Cookie said, “I don’t want to be formating [sic] on a goddam 109.”
“Nickels due out in five minutes, Harry,” Col told me.
“O.K., Col, thanks,”
I went aft again, to the flare chute. I heard Cookie say, “That fighter’s still going our way, we must be bloody close to him. I’m going to alter course a bit to try to lose him, then fly parallel to our proper track. Turning ten degrees starboard now, Col.”
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In the darkness of the fuselage I unlocked and extended the flare chute and started pushing the bundles of leaflets out. Once free of the aircraft the slipstream would release each bundle from its elastic band and spread them all over the countryside below. In a little while I heard Cookie say, “That bloody fighter’s still there, damn him to hell.”
Johnnie said, “We’re catching him up a bit, too, skipper.”
“That’s bloody impossible,” Cookie exclaimed angrily. He sounded rather exasperated.
I finished the nickelling, stuffed a couple into my pockets for souvenirs, brought the flare chute in and went forward again, past Mick, who gave me a thumbs-up, and Col. Johnnie had been quite right, that glowing point of red light was definitely larger now. The countryside under the rising moon was a leaden blur, now and again shot with a vein of silver as the moonlight reflected off a river.
“How long to the target, Col?” Cookie asked.
“E.T.A. eighteen minutes.”
The light was really getting quite a bit bigger now and we were still heading straight towards it. Suddenly, it all became clear to me.
“Hey, Cookie!” I exclaimed, “that’s no fighter exhaust, it’s the bloody target!”
There was a moment’s silence, then, “Jesus!” Cookie said in awe, “You could be right, Harry, you could just be right, at that. Check our course, Col, one seven two magnetic, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s it skip, one seven two.”
Now we could see it. It was a fire on the ground, like a huge, glowing ember alone in the darkness. I went back to the astrodome. A pinpoint of white light hung above the glow, like a star, then a second, a third, a fourth. The flares were going down, dropped by the markers, for us. Cookie called out, “O.K., fellers, this looks like it, but we want to be good and sure where we bomb.” As we flew towards the blaze Johnnie said, “I can see the Seine, the fire’s right on it.”
Col said, “Part of the works is on a sort of banana-shaped island
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in the river, we’ve got to fly slap over it.”
We could see almost a dozen flares now, brilliant, whitish-yellow, and trailing rope-like white smoke as they slowly sank towards the ground, suspended from their parachutes. I could dimly see buildings below us. Cookie was turning S-Sugar gently to come in from the south-west; all the action was now on our port beam, then on our port bow.
Suddenly, away to starboard, two light flak guns pumped a few rounds of coloured tracer upwards, but there could have been no aircraft anywhere near them.
“Light flak away to starboard, skip,” I said, “only a few rounds, I think they’ve gone down to the stores to get some more ammo.”
“Just keep an eye on it, Harry.”
I was humming the words of that song to myself,
“The last time I saw Paris,
I saw her in the Spring….”
We were heading straight in now, flares on either side of our nose. The ground was almost invisible against the glare ahead from the fire and the lines of flares hanging in the sky. Col said, “Coming forward, skip.”
A few more rounds of tracer hosed up, away to starboard, but I didn’t even bother to report it. The lack of opposition near at hand was quite uncanny; we certainly weren’t used to this sort of thing. I was searching the sky for fighters, tracer, heavy flak-bursts, but there was nothing. Just the flares, dozens of them now. We were right among them, flying straight and level down a well-lit avenue.
I saw a dim shape loom up, dead ahead, growing rapidly and menacingly larger every second.
“Turn port, skip, quick!” I shouted.
Cookie yanked her nose round. A Hampden, bomb-doors open, hurtled past us on a reciprocal course, obviously completely disobeying briefing instructions as to the direction of the bombing run. He was almost close enough to read his identification letters.
“The stupid bastard,” said Cookie, “what the hell’s he doing?”
“Bomb doors open, skip,” Col said tightly.
“Bomb doors open, Col!”
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The inferno had vanished under our nose. There was a long silence while Col directed our track up to the target. I peered down, but I could only see a jumble of city buildings; I was trying to find the Arc de Triomphe.
“I’ve got that island coming up,” Col said, his excitement showing in his voice, “left, left, steady, right a bit, steady, steady – bombs gone!”
I felt the rumbling jolt as we dropped our load on the Renault factory.
“Bomb doors closed,” Cookie called.
“Oh, bloody marvellous!” Bill almost shouted from the rear turret, “spot on, Col, you got the first one bang on the island and the rest of the stick went right across the factory, I saw them bursting!”
Some distance ahead there was a sudden flash from the ground, a yellowish fire which turned redder and spread out, in a bend of the Seine.
“Some poor sod’s bought it, about one o’clock, five miles,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Cookie, I can see it. Don’t know what the hell he was doing up there.”
I looked back at the target, now a sea of flame beneath the brilliance of the unearthly light of the flares and the moon. A sudden eruption of flame shot up from the factory as I watched.
“Christ! Did you see that?” Bill called, “someone’s hit a goddam petrol tank or something.” We learned later that one of our Flight Commanders, Squadron Leader Jackson, had scored a direct hit on a large gas holder; it was that we had seen.
But the other fire, the burning kite on the ground in the bend of the river, drew our eyes to it as I took over the controls from Cookie.
“Poor sods,” Johnnie said quietly, “I hope they got out of it.”
We droned on over northern France, heading for Abbeville and home. But the excitements of the evening were not over yet. Half way to the French coast Johnnie reported a light flashing from the ground, to starboard of our track. I looked across between the nose and the mainplane and saw it, a square of yellow light, bravely flashing
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di-di-di-dah, “V for Victory”. Col came up to look.
“Good on yer, mate,” he said laconically. Those people down there in Beauvais were risking their lives by signalling to us their appreciation and encouragement, and I felt a strong bond had been forged between them, whoever they were, and us, in S-Sugar.
We flew on towards the mouth of the Somme. Bill said he could still see the target burning, many miles behind us now, and we were riding on the crest of a wave at the obvious success of the attack. We’d never known anything like it before and we hoped we would know many like it again. And as the Renault factory burned in Paris and the V’s flashed out from Beauvais I became aware that perhaps, after many disappointments, we were now beginning to win.
There was much elation as we flew homewards in “S”. We were a cheerful and buoyant crew, that night of all nights. I never dreamed that five short weeks hence I alone, of the six of us in the crew, would be the only one left alive.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] A boxful of broken china [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] A BOXFUL OF BROKEN CHINA [/underlined]
It had happened to Abey’s crew already (although I was not to know this until some years later), and no doubt it had happened to others whom I had known.
It was a common enough occurrence in those days, when we had simply to rely upon dead reckoning navigation with a bit of astro thrown in – there was nothing else to rely on, then – that at one time or another you would stray off track, fly unwittingly over a defended area, and get thoroughly well shot at. I use the words ‘thoroughly well’ advisedly, in the full knowledge that I shall be treading on many corns when I say that the German flak and searchlights left our own standing at the post when it came to accuracy and effectiveness. On several nights while at Binbrook, after our own air-raid sirens had sounded, we would troop out of the Mess to watch the progress of a raid on Hull and, so to speak, compare notes on the Luftwaffe’s reception with what we received, over Germany. We were all left in no doubt as to which target we would have chosen to be over, and would retire to the anteroom when the all-clear sounded, shaking our heads sadly and making rueful and derisive comments concerning the lack of effectiveness of our ack-ack gunners and searchlight crews compared to their German counterparts.
There were well-known hot spots over the other side, places whose names sent a slight chill up one’s spine when they were mentioned. Places such as Essen, or anywhere in the Ruhr, if it came to that, Hamburg, Heligoland, Sylt or Kiel. The list was a long one and the toll taken by those guns of unwitting tresspassers [sic] over their territory was heavy.
But no such reputation attached itself to a town called Lübeck, which we, among 2345 aircraft, were to attack one night late in March 1942.
“Lübeck?” we whispered to one another at briefing that day, “Lübeck? Never heard of it.”
We had it pointed out to us by our Intelligence Officer at the briefing, a bit beyond Kiel, a bit beyond Hamburg and between the two, almost on the Baltic coast. The defences, we were told, were
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believed to be negligible. Oh, yes? Well, we’d heard that about the Renault factory in Paris and that turned out to be true, so why shouldn’t this one be the same? Our confidence was very high after that Renault attack and this one was beginning to sound quite good. It was going to be largely a fire-raising raid. There were a lot of wooden buildings in the town, apparently. This really was beginning to sound very interesting, the chance to do to a German city what they had done on fifty-odd nights in succession to London. However, we were to carry an all-high explosive load in S for Sugar. We were warned, of course, of the proximity to our route of the defences, which we all knew about, of Kiel and Hamburg, but no-one really needed telling about those. We had experienced the Kiel defences twice before recently, once when 64 of us Wellingtons of 1 Group had put the battle-cruiser Gneisenau out of action for the rest of the war. I often wonder which of us it was that hit it, for I remember seeing some quite big explosions that night.
So, as far as the trip to Lübeck was concerned our crew, at least, were in a fairly happy mood. Looking back, I am sure that on that night, while not one of the six of us would have admitted it for fear of tempting whatever fates might be looking down upon us, we were each secretly thinking that this trip, this particular, and possibly only trip we would do, was going to go some way towards approaching the proverbial ‘piece of cake’. One could describe a trip in those terms while drinking, in a post-operational flood of euphoria, one’s mug of rum-laced coffee, waiting for interrogation, bacon and egg, and then bed, but no-one ever had the temerity to voice those words about any target before take-off. Not at any price. Fate was not there to be tempted in such a careless and impertinent manner.
The buoyant mood of the crew of S for Sugar was not in any way diminished when we gathered in B Flight hangar, all kitted up and ready – almost eager – to go. Mick, Johnnie and Col were standing near the crewroom door, looking amused about something, and with a fairly large cardboard carton half-hidden by their flying-booted legs. They had obviously said something to Cookie, now commissioned and doing his first op. as a P/O, for he was showing a lot of very white teeth in his amusement.
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“What’s going on?” I asked, puzzled. Such levity was very unusual before an op., we were invariably rather silent and very tense. Mick nodded towards the box.
“Present for the Jerries, from the Sergeants’ Mess,” he said in his Brummy accent, a broad grin splitting his face.
“What the hell have you got there?” I asked.
“Boxful of broken china,” Col said, “we’re going to chuck it out over the target. It’s all got the R.A.F. crest on, too.”
“Christ, you’re a mad lot of so-and-so’s,” I said through my laughter. Had I known it, I wasn’t going to laugh again for some time after that.
Recalling it now, although I cannot obviously tell where or how the navigation went wrong, it must have done so, somewhere along the line. Perhaps the reason was simply plain fatigue which led to our being off track and flying into trouble. Fatigue which, even as young, fit men, was inevitable when one realises that while the Lübeck raid took place on 28th March, this was our third operation in four nights. It almost alarms me now, to think of it as I write. We had taken off late on the evening of the 25th, the target being Essen, never any picnic. We had bombed what we believed to be Essen, but we had seen, remarked upon among ourselves at the time, and reported at our interrogation, that many aircraft seemed to be bombing much too far west, at Duisburg, we believed. But there were those among the Squadron aircrews who laughingly insisted that we had bombed too far east, perhaps Bochum, or even Dortmund. We still didn’t think so; we believed we had been in the right place and that the main force of the attack had hit Duisburg.
Apparently ‘Butch’ Harris thought so too, for after a few hours’ sleep we were awakened, fully awakened, with the news that ops were on again that night, the 26th. At briefing we learned the target. Essen again, time on target before midnight. It was a sticky trip, and we lost two of our crews, making three lost in the two nights. I have often wondered how many ex-aircrew are alive today who can say, “I was twice over Essen within twenty-four hours, and live to tell the tale.”
So, after the double attack on Essen, twenty-four hours’ rest
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and we were off to Lübeck, the piece-of-cake target compared to Essen, the wooden town which would burn like Hell itself. Provided we got there to see it, which, in the event, we didn’t.
It seemed that no sooner had we crossed the enemy coast, somewhere in Schleswig-Holstein, that a huge, bluish searchlight suddenly snapped on, and pinned us as surely as a dart hitting the bullseye. And not only one, but about a dozen followed. Then the flak started. Cookie was flying S for Sugar, I was in the astrodome. What use I was I don’t really know, except to try to see if there were any fighters about to attack us. Which was ridiculous, with all the flak they were throwing up at us. In any case, I couldn’t see a thing for the dazzling and horrifying glare of all those lights.
Cookie threw the Wellington about as though it were a Spitfire. The sensation was like that of being on a high-speed roller-coaster which had gone mad. And all the time, the intense, bluish flood of light which lit up the interior of the fuselage like day and the thumping of the flak-bursts around us. We had the sky all to ourselves, and, it seemed, all the defences of northern Germany were telling us that this time we weren’t going to make it back home. I was hanging on to whatever I could to stay standing upright in the astrodome, striving to see beyond the lights, to see whether there was a gap anywhere which Cookie could aim for. One second I would be pressed down on to the floor as he pulled out of a steep dive, the next, I would be hanging in mid-air, fighting against the negative ‘g’ and clutching wildly at the geodetics as he topped a climbing turn then put S for Sugar into another screaming dive. We carried one flare, heavy and cylindrical, four of five feet long. This suddenly left its stowage with the violent manoeuvres and hit me flush in the chest, almost knocking me to the floor. I managed to grab it before it damaged the aircraft and somehow secured it again.
I was, of course, frightened, but not uncontrollably so. As the shellbursts thudded around us my fear was climbing steadily, like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day. I felt I was useless in the astrodome and longed to be doing something active. Quickly I unplugged my intercom and oxygen and clawed my way forward, to see if I could do anything to help Cookie, perhaps to take over
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if he was hit. Col was sitting with both hands clutching at the navigation table, looking rather sick and staring straight ahead of him, while Mick was fiddling with his radio, doing goodness knows what, I thought. I reached the cockpit, where Cookie was wrestling with the controls, his face shiny with sweat, his jaw tightly clamped. He glanced down at me as I plugged in my intercom. Dive, turn, climb, turn, dive – we were corkscrewing all over the sky, losing height all the time. Then Cookie snapped on his intercom switch.
“Col, get rid of the bloody bombs.”
Col came forward, his face looking ashen in the awesome light. A few seconds later I felt the bombs go with a thud. I thought, “I hope they kill somebody, destroy something down there, after what they’re doing to us.”
My fear had now risen to such a pitch it amounted almost to ecstasy.
“Get your chutes on everybody,” Cookie half-shouted over the intercom, “stand by to bale out.”
I obeyed, gladly, and wrenched open the escape hatch near to where I was standing. As I did so, a hole appeared in the aircraft’s fabric skin at my side and I wondered how much damage we had taken. It seemed it was merely a question of a second or two before we were hit and blown to pieces or set on fire, before I and the rest of the lads were torn apart by an exploding shell. They could not go on missing us for ever. I was impatient for the order to bale out; I felt I had had enough of this experience. At the same time I felt a deep sadness that I might be going to die without having led a complete life, a life in which I had not experienced many things. I had never known the love of a woman; I had never even had a steady girl friend.
Through the open escape hatch I could see the earth, a huge forest, stretching away under the moonlight. Still the lights and the flakbursts hammering at us, the smell of cordite. At that moment I came to accept that I was going to die, and at the same time, I now realise that I lost altogether, and for ever, the fear of death. Not the fear of pain, of great pain, which I still possess, but the fear of dying, of the flight into the unknown world of
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the hereafter. I am convinced that in those seconds, a corner of the veil was lifted and I was granted a glimpse of the boundless quietude of eternity. A great and mysterious calm flooded over me, enfolded me in a sensation of complete and deep peace. I now understand what the prayer means when it speaks of ‘the peace which passeth all understanding’. I could not then and cannot now understand it, but I am certain that at that moment, when I felt I was standing poised on the brink of death, the Almighty reached out His hand to me and I responded and touched it with mine. The memory of the incredible sensation of smoothly passing, as it were, through the fear barrier to another dimension, one of all-embracing calm, is one which has remained with me all my life.
Then suddenly it was quiet. Utter quiet – and darkness. We were through it, we had got away. There was the forest below us, and a stretch of water. The Baltic? It could only be. Cookie was almost drooping over the controls now, physically spent, nearly, I knew, at the point of exhaustion. He had saved all our lives.
“Take over, Harry, for Christ’s sake,” he said, and almost dropped out of the left-hand seat. I climbed quickly up into it and took the controls. Someone slammed shut the escape hatch and I inhaled deeply, very, very deeply, hardly able to believe we were still alive, still flying.
We were at a mere 2,0000 feet. Cautiously but quickly I tested the controls for movement and response. Satisfactory. Almost incredible, I thought.
“Col, where d’you reckon we are?” I asked.
“I know where we’ve been, right enough, Harry,” he said, “slap over Kiel.”
“Look, then, I think we’re a bit east or south-east of it now,” I told him, “I’ll steer three-one-five for the time being if you’ll give me a course to take us to that big point of land on the Danish North Sea Coast – you know the one I mean? Near Esbjerg?”
He knew it. He gave me the course and I started to climb; the more height we had, the better for us, in case of further trouble. We had lost thirteen thousand feet in all that evasive action but we needed to get at least some of it back. I had everyone make a check around the aircraft, but apart from a few minor holes we were intact, and there were no injuries of any sort. It seemed
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unbelievable that we could have survived the pounding we had taken with such negligible damage.
In the brilliant moonlight I saw the Danish coast creeping towards us, with the glint of the welcoming North Sea beyond. Esbjerg harbour was sliding beneath our nose; about eight ships were anchored there – and we hadn’t one single bomb left for them. I cursed aloud; they would have been sitting ducks for us. Not a shot was fired at us as I dived S for Sugar gently out to sea.
On the way back I discussed with Col where he thought we had been caught at first; he reckoned we had been trapped over Flensburg and then handed on, from cone to cone of searchlights until we were firmly into the Kiel defences, like a fly in a spider’s web. I was sure his assessment was correct as we had arrived over Esbjerg exactly as we had planned. I settled down to the long, thoughtful flight home. As usual, there was almost complete silence all the way. I am certain that there was not one among us who was not offering up a silent prayer of thanks.
After we had landed, switched off the engines and climbed stiffly down the ladder, we gathered in a group to congratulate Cookie. He was quite matter-of-fact about his marvellous effort. Then Mick said, in that edgy voice of his, “But listen here, Cookie, we used to have decent trips when you were a Sergeant, I hope all your trips as a P/O aren’t going to be like this one.”
He little knew that two short weeks and three trips later, he, Cookie and the rest of them, apart from me, would be dead, in unknown graves.
Then, inconsequentially, I remembered something.
“Hey! What happened to that boxful of china?” I asked.
The tension was easing.
“Oh, that?” Col said, “don’t worry, Harry, we’ll drop it on the blighters on our next trip, get our own back for tonight. Anyhow,” he added, “I’ll bet it’s the first time Kiel’s been dive-bombed by a single kite!”
I recall, with crystal clarity, waling down to interrogation. Col and I were together, he on my right, the others a few paces behind
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us. The moonlight was intensely bright and the hangars and the buildings of the Station stood out sharp and grey under its flood of cold light. There was not another soul to be seen and there was only the sound of our footsteps on the roads which led down from the hangars to the Headquarters buildings. I felt that I did not want to speak now, I did not want to break the spell of the feeling of that great “peace, from the wild heart of clamour” which was pervading my whole being, enfolding me in the purity of its white light, like that of the moon, shining down from God’s heaven on those whom he had spared that night, the night of the Lübeck raid.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] The end of Harry [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] THE END OF HARRY [/underlined]
“And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!”
II Samuel 18, v.33.
“Crews were given a forecast of clear weather over Essen but cloud was met instead. The bombing force became scattered and suffered heavily from the Ruhr Flak defences….. 7 Wellingtons, 5 Hampdens, 1 Halifax, 1 Manchester lost ….”
Martin Middlebrook and Chris Everitt,
The Bomber Command War Diaries.
I open my log-book to refresh my memory of that trip. The entry lies there in red ink, under my fingers, as clear as the day on which it was written, as is now my recollection of the night, which comes flooding back to me.
The date. We were in M for Mother. “Operations, Cologne. Diesel engine factory attacked with 4000 lb. bomb. Moderate heavy flak and searchlights in area, mostly on west side of town. Good weather.” A pencilled note, “263 aircraft in attack; 179 Wellingtons, 44 Hampdens, 11 Manchesters, 29 Stirlings. A new record for a force to a single target. 4 Wellingtons and 1 Hampden lost.” We got off lightly that night. Sometimes, like one we did to Essen, it was ten per cent. It was the last night I ever flew as one of Cookie’s crew.
We approached Bonn from the north-west at about twenty thousand feet, into the brilliant light of the moon, dead ahead. The sight was fantastic, beyond all imagining. We were just off the edge of a solid sheet of strato-cumulus at about ten thousand feet, stretching as far south and east as the eye could see, lit brilliantly white by the moon, and with its north edge, nearest us, as well-defined as the edge of an immense shelf. Out of this layer there towered
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a huge cumulo-nimbus, rearing up, its north side jet black, like a gigantic tombstone, to about 15 or 16 thousand feet and casting a tremendous shadow over the Rhineland. To the north of this cloud-shelf it was crystal-clear, hundreds of stars shone brightly and the Rhine writhed and gleamed like a thread of silver below us. We turned north, to track along it, the fifteen or so miles to Cologne.
We could see it ahead. There were six or eight searchlight cones, with a dozen to twenty lights in each, probing, leaning, searching the sky for a victim to pin like a sliver moth in the beams. Every now and again the cones would re-form to close the inviting gaps between them. Each cone would split in half, the lights from one half leaning one way, and the other half the other way, to join the neighbouring cones, which performed the same manoeuvre, to form new cones. It was hideously fascinating, almost hypnotic, to watch. There would seem to be no way through. The dozens of red flashes of the flakbursts, seen distantly, grew larger and more menacing as we approached. Light flak was hosing up, strings of red, green, orange and white, and below everything, the fires, three or four smallish ones, growing larger all the time. Big, bright, slow flashes as cookies exploded among the flames. We were tensed up as we carried ours in. M-Mother had been specially modified to carry the two-ton bomb which protruded some way below the belly of the kite, the bomb-doors of which had been removed. A single hit from a piece of shrapnel on the cookie’s thin, exposed casing and – the mind shied away from it.
So we felt naked with this inches beneath us as we edged through the searchlights, to the right of the Rhine, weaving constantly through the flak, which we could hear, thumping around us over the roar of the engines. We could see it flashing close to us on all sides. In our imaginations the cookie was growing in size; they could hardly miss it, I thought. More fires started below, a stick of bombs rippled redly across the darkened city, then another. Some incendiaries went down in a yellow splash. Or was it an aircraft going in? Still, the slow, bright flashes of the cookies going down on to Cologne. Col went forward. We could hear his harsh breathing over the intercom as he directed us into the bombing run, guiding M-Mother so that the target slid down between the wires of the bomb-sight.
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“Bomb gone!”
The kite thumped upwards as the cookie left us on its journey of destruction. A tight turn to starboard and we were heading back the way we had come, towards the surrealist cloudscape, the enormous, abrupt shelf with the grotesque tower looming up out of it.
On the way back Cookie called me up on the intercom.
“Will you take over, Harry?”
Someone else said, “come on, Harry, get us home.”
It sounded like Mick, the wireless op. Up to now I had always got them home. I had never in my life been called “Harry” by anyone until we were crewed up at O.T.U. But from them I would have happily accepted any nickname they cared to bestow on me. So we flew on through the night, and I got them home.
When we landed I found the M.O. waiting. He was usually to be seen somewhere in the background. This time, he singled me out and detached me from the weary crews who were standing around, clutching their helmets, drinking their rum-laced coffee, rubbing their faces and eyes to clear their fatigue before they were interrogated.
“How did it go?”
“O.K., Doc.”
“Any trouble?”
“The trip, or me?”
“You.”
“No more than usual.”
“Take your pill?”
“Yes.”
“No effect?”
“No.”
“Take this one, now. Get some sleep and see me in the morning after breakfast.”
“O.K., Doc.”
He slapped my shoulder and trudged off. I went into interrogation with the crew, lighting another cigarette as I did so. Ewart Davies was the Int. Officer at our table. We liked him. He didn’t push us too hard for answers, he was quick, quiet, and had some idea what it was like. He knew we wanted our egg and bacon – and bed. As we walked towards the table, Johnnie, our front gunner, gave me a
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quizzical look. Mac, now our rear gunner since Tommy had gone into hospital, was telling him how he’d chucked some empty bottles out over the target to fox the searchlights; it had worked, too. Gunners were a special breed, and had a special bond.
Next morning, I saw the Doc. He made no bones about it and came straight to the point.
“Come in, sit down. Now then, your grounded until you can have a Medical Board, and as soon as you can pack you’re going on six days’ sick leave.”
I felt as though someone had slammed a brick on to the back of my head. I had flown and lived with my crew for eight months. We had shared much together; more than that perhaps. We had shared everything from hilarious evenings in the “Market” to staring into the face of imminent death, where our expectation of life seemed to be measured in seconds. They had become indispensable to me, we were part of one another, our relationship uniquely deep. We knew one another’s strengths, and weaknesses. Where there was a weakness, and there were few, strength was drawn from the others. Where there was strength, we each drew from it fortitude and endurance. We were closer to each other than brothers and there was an unspoken-of bond of the deepest affection between us all which was greater in its way than anything else in the world of human experience. I was stunned to think I was being parted from them; it was something I had never imagined could possibly happen. Our lives were so much intermingled and we were so completely unified and interdependent that I couldn’t imagine life without Cookie, Col, Mick, Johnnie and Mac.
In a daze, I collected some kit together, saw the Adj. about my travel warrant and found Johnnie. He, of all the crew, was closest to me. We would always sit next to one another on our sessions in the “Market”; he was very quiet, absolutely imperturbable, the personification of steadfastness and quiet courage. Somehow I got to Grimsby, then to Doncaster. On Doncaster station I was surprised to meet Ewart, who had so many times gently interrogated us. Normally so ebullient, he too was now subdued.
“Posted to Northern Ireland,” he said ruefully, in his harsh Welsh
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voice, “Hell’s bells, I never wanted to leave 1 Group, but you’ll be back, don’t you worry.”
Nearly three years later I was to meet him in Malaya. We had much to tell each other then. But now, we were both thoroughly depressed. He saw me on to my train, we shook hands, wished each other “Happy landings” and I looked back at him as the train pulled out, a slight figure, smoking the inevitable cigarette in its long holder, hunched miserably on the end of the platform.
The sick leave was anything but cheerful. I was tired, moody and tense. I developed some new and unpleasant symptoms which I kept to myself. I slept fitfully, ate little, snapped at my parents and listened avidly to every news bulleting on the radio for word of bomber operations. There was a raid on Hamburg, five missing. I drank in the local pub, alone, more than I was accustomed to, lay in bed late, walked alone on the cliffs where I used to go with Ivor on his leaves from the R.A.F. Three of my friends were on the verge of call-up for aircrew and Ivor and another school friend, Connie, had already gone to Stirling squadrons which were being formed and expanded. Of these five, four were soon to die, but there was no knowing that at the time. I looked out the first three and let them eagerly pick my brains, it gave me some relief to be able to talk flying and it filled some of the dreadful blanks in the leave.
I was working it all out. I would apply to go on to night fighters, to get some of my own back, or on to Coastal Command Whitleys. The morning before I was due back off leave I heard the B.B.C. news bulletin.
“Last night, strong forces of Bomber Command attacked the Krupp’s works in Essen and other targets in Western Germany and Occupied France. Much damage was done and large fires were caused. From all these operations sixteen of our aircraft failed to return.”
I found my hands were clenched tightly. Essen. That was an old enemy; we had been twice in and out of its massive and savage defences inside twenty-four hours not so long ago, and it had cost us three of our crews, including our Commanding Officer, in the process. To this day I cannot say or hear that evil name, Essen, without a shiver going down my spine.
My parents saw me off at the station. I was glad to go back;
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I felt like a fish out of water away from a bomber station, it was my life. I was anxious to hear the latest gen., and to get my medical board over and done with, to know what was to become of me. The local train crawled from Doncaster to Grimsby; I found transport there to take me to Binbrook.
My room-mate Johnny Stickings had crashed in January when one engine had failed on the way back from Wilhelmshaven, and he and the only other survivor had been taken to hospital. A little later, another Observer and a good friend, Eric, had gone missing with Abey, our Flight Commander, on Kiel, along with Teddy Bairstow and his crew. I had been moved in with Eric’s room-mate Frank, to keep up our morale, I supposed.
I walked along the empty corridor in the Mess. Someone came out of the ante-room and passed me, a pilot whom I didn’t know. I wondered about him, who he was, who he was replacing. We said “hello”. I went up the stairs and turned left to my room. I opened the door and there was Frank, with his fresh complexion and almost Grecian good looks, putting away his laundry.
“Hiya, Frank,” I said, “what’s the gen?”
“Oh, hello, Harry,” he replied, looking up, “how do you feel? Did you have a good leave?”
“So-so,” I said, “but what’s the gen?”
He cleared his throat.
“Look, Harry,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. Cookie, your crew, they went missing on Essen two nights ago.”
“Oh, Christ, Frank, no,” I said, dropping on to my bed, “Oh, God, they didn’t. Is there any news of them?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No, I’m afraid not. They went to Hamburg the other night and got back O.K. with everybody else, then they were on Essen and they didn’t come back, I’m afraid. They were in H-Harry, there was nothing heard from them after they took off. I’m terribly sorry.”
I put my head down into my hands; I was beyond speech. I heard Frank go out of the room very quietly. I thought, “I’ve let them down. I’ve failed them completely. I wasn’t with them to get them back home this one time when they needed me more than ever. I wish
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to God I had gone with them.”
And I wondered who had taken my place. Whoever you were, I thought, I would have you heavy on my conscience for the rest of my life, I would forever walk with your ghost at my side. I knew it was the end of something unique and very wonderful in my life, as though a great light had suddenly failed. It was the end of being called “Harry”. To this day I have never permitted anyone else to call me by that name, their name for me. H-Harry was gone for ever, taking them all with it to their eternity, and their own Harry had died with it, and with them.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Silver spoon boy [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] SILVER SPOON BOY [/underlined]
It’s not a part of the city I’m in very often, but a short while ago, after a lunch engagement, I found myself passing the narrow-fronted shop in the busy street which once was the cafe where I had met him for the last time.
I stopped for a minute or so, oblivious to the intense, grim-faced pedestrians brushing past me, and to the traffic as it roared by. And I remembered that day more clearly, it seemed to me, for in that area, while the occupants of the shops and offices have obviously changed many times, the upper facades of the Victorian buildings have remained virtually unaltered – as have my recollections of Jack.
So indeed has the mystery surrounding him, how he came to be in the R.A.F., what happened to him then, and why the man who might have answered my questions would not do so.
There seems to have been no actual beginning to our friendship, it was simply one of those things which developed out of nothing. Since we were merely children at the time I suppose we must have seen each other in the road, probably each of us with a parent, perhaps eventually spoken a few casual words, but looking back now I cannot put any sort of a date upon it. I suppose friendships are like that. My memories of the house we lived in then are intermingled, woven like the coloured threads of a tapestry, with the recollections of the lads I knew at that time – of Alan, of Norman and Peter, and of Jack himself, who lived nearest to me of them all.
He was an only child of quite well-to-do parents. His father was a tall, big-boned, genial man, fond of country pursuits. Jack’s mother was a pleasantly relaxed, comfortably built lady with shrewd eyes, a good amateur pianist who also had rather a fine contralto voice. Jack was very much the son of his parents, cheerful, almost jaunty in manner, generous to a degree and quite undemanding – this last perhaps because he had most things that an only child of fairly well-off parents could wish for. But although he was a boy whom I had heard described, somewhat jealously perhaps, as having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he was not by any means a spoiled child.
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Like most other boys of my age I lived an intensely active life, physically in top gear from morning till night. But there appeared to be a shadow across Jack’s life. He was frequently absent from school, and on those occasions when I called at his house I would be told by his mother that he was in bed, unwell. These vague illnesses were, more often than not, described as ‘overgrowing his strength’, but eventually there were hints of a weak heart. He began to be excused games at school and their doctor’s car appeared fairly regularly at their front door. Yet he was never anything else but buoyant and cheerful and I never remember seeing him look or behave very differently from a normal, healthy lad. My own parents, at those times when I told them that Jack was poorly, would give each other meaning looks and would now and again make veiled and half-audible remarks about some doctors who knew when they were on to a good thing. These bouts of malaise never seemed to alter in their frequency, and it became accepted, gradually but inevitably, in the small coterie of friends I had as a young teenager, that Jack was perhaps a little less fit than the rest of us.
Jack’s father, as I have mentioned,. Was interested in country life, and in particular, in shooting; he owned a beautiful and gentle-natured black Labrador, by name Prince. Jack’s uncle was a farmer near to the small country town of B - , some sixty miles away, and close to some good shooting. It was only natural that Jack’s family should spend most of their holidays there. One summer it happened that my parents were going through a period of considerable financial stringency; there had never been any luxuries in my life, but now, even the necessities were scarce.
Then Jack’s father, perhaps being aware of our circumstances, and being the generous man he was, casually asked me if I would like to spend two weeks of the summer holidays with them on the farm. My parents readily and gratefully agreed; I was in the seventh heaven of delight. It was an idyllic fortnight, the car drive there and back were memorable adventures enough, to me, at any rate, without anything further. We had the run of the marginal land on which Jack’s uncle grazed his stock, the scenery was very agreeable, there was impromptu cricket to be played, drives in the country and to
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wonderful, deserted beaches nearby. The discordant note, as far as I was concerned at any rate, was sounded by the early-morning shoot which I attended, crouched unhappily in the butts near the sea’s edge in the half-light of a chilly dawn, while Jack’s father blazed away at the beautiful and harmless ducks and we regaled ourselves with bottles of cold tea, which were regarded by the others, at least, as something of both ritual and delicacy. A little while ago I found, at the bottom of a drawer, a photograph, startlingly clear, of Jack and me standing against a haystack during that holiday, two gawky youths grinning into the camera, with me holding Jack’s cricket bat. I was to visit the farm once again.
When the war came, the little crowd of my friends and I, apart from Jack, went our various ways. It is difficult now to place the events of that time in their correct sequence, the constantly recurring pain of many recollections has tended to blur the outlines, but never to soften the impacts of those tragic times. The two events connected with Jack, I am now astonished to realise, were separated by almost three years of war – in my mind they seemed to be telescoped together, their perspective foreshortened by the passage of time.
Strangely enough, my own family’s ancestors had some connections with B - , and my father, who was always much more interested in the family tree than I ever was, had paid one or two visits to the place over the years to search the parish register for reference to our name and to contemplate the inscriptions on our forebears’ tombstones in the shady churchyard on the side of the hill.
My father was quite obviously under considerable stress during the war; the office where he worked was constantly understaffed as more and more men were called up into the Forces. There were also frequent Air Raid Precautions duties which he could not neglect, nor would ever have dreamed of doing so. In addition, my mother’s health was beginning to fail, and they had two sons in the forces, one of whom was engaged in duties where the chances of eventual survival were rated as about two in five.
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Early in 1942 my own crew, in my absence on sick leave, were reported missing on a raid over the Ruhr. I think my parents must have noticed the effect this had upon me, for they decided that on my next leave we could go to B – for a few days, staying at the hotel in the small market place, if I was agreeable. I thanked them, and thought it might be a good idea. It was late spring when we went, with blue and white quiet skies and sunlight pleasantly shining on the grey stone buildings. The hotel was almost empty; B - , while on the main road, was also between two county-towns which drew the local people like the twin poles of a magnet.
Released from operational flying I embarked upon what was to be several months of drinking far more than was good for me, in an attempt to dull the agony of mind and self-recrimination I was undergoing. This must have been painfully apparent to my parents, and must have caused them considerable heartache, but – and I shall always be grateful to their memories for this – they uttered no word of reproach.
How we spent our time there I cannot remember, perhaps I was in a constant alcoholic haze. The only event I can recall with any clarity was the afternoon we visited Jack’s uncle’s farm and I introduced my parents to Mr. Brown, his wife and his two daughters. I remember it as having the appearance and atmosphere of a scene in a stage play. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, gestures seemed limp and exaggerated and we sat like figures in a tableau against the backdrop of the scarcely-remembered living room of the farmhouse, small-windowed, lit by an oil-lamp, a heavy, dark red tasselled tablecloth draped over the massive dining table. Outside, I could see the shelter-belt of firs waving lazily in the breeze, hypnotic in their motion. My parents and the Brown family sat stiffly in their best clothes. What they talked about, I have no recollection; I said not more than perhaps a dozen words. I remember that one of Jack’s cousins kept looking curiously in my direction from time to time. Jack, now working in a branch of the same bank as his father, was, naturally, mentioned. I hadn’t seen him for quite some time, but someone said he would like to meet me when we went back home, before I returned to my unit.
The arrangements were made. My parents and I got off the bus at its city terminus in the Haymarket. They would make their way to the railway station and so home, I would join them later, to pack my kit at the end of my leave, as that day was my last.
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I remember feeling released and lighter in spirit when I left them, and guilty because I did so, but the sense of freedom was pleasant after a week when it had been necessary to cork down my feelings tightly and be on my best behaviour. Yet I almost dreaded going back to my unit, a Bomber Group Headquarters, where I had been given a sinecure of a job while I waited for a medical board, for the news that I might receive of the fate of the crew of H-Harry. As I walked through the grey city streets it seemed as though I were treading the razor-edged ridge of a mountain in a high wind.
We had arranged to meet at a little cafe on one of the main streets. Jack was standing outside, smartly dressed, tall, looking well and, as usual, cheerful. We shook hands.
“Hello,” he said, “nice to see you again. How are you?”
I lit a cigarette as we walked into the quiet cafe.
“So-so,” I replied, “a lot has happened since I saw you last.”
We sat at a small table, ordered coffee and biscuits. I looked at him and said, “You’ll have heard about my crew, have you?”
He looked down at his cup and nodded. I thought he appeared more adult than I’d ever noticed before.
“Yes,” he replied, “I had heard. How do I tell you how sorry I am?”
“Don’t try,” I said, “it’s O.K., I know.”
He asked, uncomfortably, “Do you think they could be prisoners?”
“I don’t know; it’s nearly two months now, no-one’s heard anything?”
We sat silently for a few minutes, traffic noise falling on our ears. Then he said tentatively, looking at the wings on my chest, “Are you finished flying, for good, I mean?”
I shrugged.
“Not as far as I know. I’ve got six months off then I’ll be having another medical board and we’ll see what they say then. I’ll probably go back on ops, I should think; after all, I’ve only done half a tour, I think I owe somebody something.”
“Do you think they’ll send you back again?” he asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes, they can do anything, you know,” I said, “there’s a bloke on the Squadron who’s completely flak-happy and he’s still operating.”
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He looked at me.
“What do you mean, ‘flak-happy’?”
“He’s round the bend,” I said shortly, “got the twitch, call it what you like.”
Jack shook his head wonderingly.
“But they let him go on flying?”
“Sure they do; he’s a damn good gunner and an experienced one, too. He’s not afraid of man or beast. Of course,“ I said, “there is another side to it – he could be dead by now. It’s a while since I saw him, and anything could have happened in that time. It depends on the targets you get. It depends on a hell of a lot of things.”
Jack swallowed hard.
I asked him if he’d seen anything of Alan or Peter.
“They’ve both volunteered for aircrew,” he said. I thought he sounded a bit wistful and I could tell what he was thinking.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “when I went and stuck my neck out I didn’t do it as a dare to the rest of you, you know, there are other ways of getting yourselves into trouble. And don’t you go losing any sleep about not being fit, it’s not your fault, and when the time comes you’ll be shoved into something which will be useful to the war effort, I’ve no doubt at all.”
He looked at my wings again.
“I hope so,” he replied, “it’s not a great deal of fun feeling left out of things.”
We finished our coffee. He insisted on paying for them, saying that he was a rich war-profiteer. He was probably getting a lot less than me, but it was no use arguing, I didn’t have a lot of time, and neither did he. I suddenly thought of that and said to him, “Anyhow, what are you doing here, skiving off during working hours? Shouldn’t you be drawing up balance sheets or something?”
He looked at me a bit sheepishly, squinting into the sunshine as we stood on the pavement with the pedestrians hurrying by around us.
“Oh, I asked the Manager for an hour off,” he said airily, “told him I was meeting a pilot on leave from the R.A.F. He said to tell you to drop one for him.”
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We shook hands.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, “and I hope you’ll have some good news soon.”
“Thanks, so do I.” I could hear the pessimism in my own voice. I looked at my watch. “Well, it’s been great seeing you; until next time, then, so long, Jack.”
It was some time later when I learned, with feelings of complete astonishment, almost disbelief, that not only was Jack now in the R.A.F., but that he had been accepted for aircrew training. I had to read my parents’ letter several times before I could begin to grasp what they were telling me.
Many months went by. I had been stationed at Tuddenham, in Suffolk, for a year, watching the almost nightly operations of, originally, the Squadron’s Stirlings, then their Lancasters; by day seeing the vast fleets of American Fortresses and Liberators forming up overhead to carry on the round-the-clock bombing of German cities. Late on a February afternoon I stepped out of the Tuddenham mail van, on which I had hitched a lift, at the aerodrome gates of Mildenhall, our parent station. The daylight was already fading and there was comparative silence; the Fortresses were back at their East Anglian bases and our Lancasters were waiting, poised to go that night.
I stood watching the roadway which led up to the barrier at the guardroom, chatting to the Service Policeman on duty. I recognised J – ‘s walk when she was far away. The S.P., who knew her, wished us a good leave, saluted and turned away. J – and I had met and worked together in the Operations Room of a bomber station in east Yorkshire, around the time of the Battle of Hamburg. But after a blissful few months I had been posted to Tuddenham, then, quite amazingly, following a bleak interval without her, she had been posted to the Base Operations Room at Mildenhall, a small handful of miles away. Everyone who knew us thought that one or other of us had somehow wangled things; in point of fact it was simply unbelievably good luck. In addition, it was a considerable feather in her cap as Mildenhall was one of the key stations in Bomber Command.
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Consequently, we saw one another several times a week when she, of course, should have been catching up on her sleep after long and hectic hours of night duty when operations were on. Now we were going on leave together; three days at my home then three at hers.
A lorry, known to all as the Liberty Wagon, took us to the nearest railway station at Shippea Hill, along with a dozen or so others, then we caught a local train to Ely. We had a meal there and took the overnight train home. We arrived before breakfast the following morning. When we had freshened up and had breakfast, my mother, who looked paler and more drawn than when I had last seen her three months before, looked at me across the table and said quietly, “I hardly know how to tell you this; it’s so awful, when you and J – have just started your leave.”
I couldn’t guess what was coming, but I steeled myself for whatever it might be.
“What is it, mother?”
She bit her lip then said, eyes averted, “I’m afraid it’s bad news, it’s Jack, he was killed two days ago.”
I felt my mouth open and close, then I reached slowly for a cigarette.
“But – was he on ops? I didn’t know he’d got as far as that, I thought he was still training.”
Mother nodded.
“As far as I know, he was killed training, night flying.”
She paused.
“You will go and see his parents, won’t you? They’re terribly upset, naturally.”
“Of course I’ll go,” I said, “of course I will.”
I went to see them that afternoon, after I had screwed up my courage to the limit for what I knew would be an ordeal for all of us. The tension in their house was almost tangible, their grief hung on the air like a cloud. They knew little about it except that Jack was dead; he had been a Navigator on Wellingtons at an Operational Training Unit in the Midlands whose name, Husband’s Bosworth, rang a bell with me when they told me. His pilot was also from our area;
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they had flown into a hill near a village in Northamptonshire. His funeral was here, tomorrow, would I come? It was unthinkable, of course, that I would not. His father paced the room incessantly, never meeting my eyes, Jack’s mother, her face bloated with weeping, tore at a handkerchief in her deep armchair in the corner. Their beautiful piano, black and shining, would remain unplayed for a long time, I knew, and her voice, which I had so often heard in Schumann lieder, would be silent now. The dog lay across the hearthrug, his eyes following first one speaker, then the other; I felt he knew what had happened to his beloved young master.
I met the cortege at the massive stone and iron gateway of the cemetery the following afternoon. The late winter sun was sinking and it was bitterly cold under the fading colour of an almost cloudless sky. I was the only non-relation there; as the hearse came slowly up to the gates through an avenue of trees I gave it the finest salute I had ever given to any senior officer. When I went home in the deepening dusk J – was alone in the living room, sitting in the firelight. I kissed her gently, holding her to me.
That evening, as I felt I must, I went to see Jack’s parents again. They were sitting alone, quieter than before, and with the calm of resignation beginning to possess them. Prince’s tail thumped the hearthrug twice as I walked into the room, his eyebrows lifted and fell as he looked at me, his chin across his folded paws. Jack’s photograph smiled cheerfully down from the mantelpiece. I told them I had come to say au revoir. His father thanked me for being there that afternoon, then, “Do you think you could possibly do something for us?”
“If I can, of course,” I said, glad to be moving on to practicalities.
“You know Jack was stationed at Husband’s Bosworth when – it happened, don’t you?”
“I didn’t know at the time,” I said, a bit uncomfortably, thinking that I should have done. We had seldom written to one another; one didn’t have much time nor the mental quietude in Bomber Command to do very much in the way of letter-writing, except to one’s girlfriend.
He went on.
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“Do you know anyone there? In your job I thought perhaps you might know someone who could tell us just what happened. We know so little, just what his C.O.’s letter told us, not very much at all. But if you could, perhaps, speak to someone?”
Jack’s mother dabbed at her eyes.
“Actually, I do know someone there, as it happens,” I said, “a chap I worked with at Tuddenham until recently was posted there as Adjutant; I’m sure he’ll be able to tell me something.”
He brightened slightly.
“That’s good,” he said, “really quite a coincidence. What sort of chap is he? You really think he would be able to help?”
I described George, avuncular, knowledgeable, but on occasions fiery and quite outspoken.
“I’ll phone him as soon as I can after I get back to Tuddenham, and get in touch with you.”
“I’ll be glad to pay any expense involved, if there is any,” he said, “and don’t get yourself into trouble on our account, will you? But – we would like to know something, of course.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I told him, “there’ll be no expense, and no trouble at all.”
I said goodbye to them. I was not to know that I would never see them again.
The first day back from leave I rang George quite confidently. He sounded his usual self, brisk, affable as ever, but perhaps slightly fussed. Had he trodden on a few toes already, I wondered? After the conventional greetings were over, I came to the point.
“George, I’ll tell you why I’m ringing you – it’s about a crash you had a week or so ago, the pilot was Sergeant - - . Well, I was a friend of the Navigator. I’ve just come back from his funeral at home and his parents were wondering If you could give them, through me, any further details of how it happened.”
There was an abrupt and surprising change in his manner.
“Is that why you rang me? To ask me that? I can’t tell them any more than was in the letter to them. I’m surprised at them asking you to do this.”
“O.K., then, George,” I said calmly, “if that’s how it is then I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”
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I rang off. I was extremely puzzled and quite troubled by his unexpected reaction; we had always been, and still are, good friends and our working relationship was never anything less than co-operative and mutually accommodating. That evening I wrote to Jack’s father, telling him briefly that I had been unable to obtain any further facts about the crash. He did not reply.
For various reasons, and to my lasting shame, I did not visit the graves of Jack, and of Peter, Connie and Roly, another classmate, all Bomber Command aircrew casualties, for several years. But after having stood in that busy street, gazing at what had been the cafe, and remembering Jack and I as we had been then, both of us in the prime of youth, an inner compulsion drove me to do so. I could find the graves of all of those who were buried there except one – Jack. I visited and revisited the place where I thought I had stood at his funeral, searching the tombstones round about for his name, but to no avail. I had heard that his parents had moved to B – on Mr. Henderson’s retirement and I was almost on the point of becoming convinced that they had had Jack re-interred there.
Eventually, after several fruitless searches, and as a last resort, I decided to go to the cemetery office to make enquiries. In a few minutes I had found it, about a hundred yards away from the place where I had been looking. There was a solid, low grey headstone with a substantial curb. There was the name, Flying Officer John Henderson, ‘killed in a flying accident 3rd February 1945.’ So very near to the end of the war, I thought sadly. The lettering was now so faded as to be almost illegible. Underneath his name were those of both his parents. The grave itself was completely bare, not a flower, not a blade of grass, not even a weed, only the cold, wet earth under the leaden sky.
I stood for several minutes in the silence, remembering them, but especially remembering Jack, incidents from our friendship returning vividly to mind. And I wondered about many things, the questions now long unanswered. Was he really the semi-invalid he had always been made out to be? How then had he passed his aircrew medical? Why did they crash that night? Had he – God forbid – made a navigational
[page break]
error? Why had George been so brusque and annoyed at my question?
There were no answers to be found in the rustling of the cold breeze among the fallen, russet leaves, and I thought that there never would be, that I would never know. But worse, I wondered would there be anyone left to remember Jack when I was no longer able to remember, or would his name disappear completely, both from his gravestone and from the memories of everyone who might have known him on earth?
I took the Remembrance Day poppy out of my lapel and pressed it into the sodden, bare earth below his name. Then on that grey afternoon I spoke a few words to him, very quietly, but knowing that somewhere, he would hear. And as the winter dusk was falling I turned away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I did not expect that I should be writing a sequel to this, but a sequel there is, one long-delayed…
Obviously, I have thought very many times about Jack since his fatal crash and I have visited his grave very many times also. But rarely, if ever, have I dreamed about him. Until a few nights ago, that is, more than fifty-one years since he was killed. It was a dream which was so vivid and so poignant – that realisation was with me even as I was dreaming it – that it has stayed with me, haunted me and disturbed me ever since the early morning when, in this heartbreaking dream, I recognised Jack, from a great distance, walking towards me on a riverside path. There were iron railings on my right, a river was nearby, at my left hand, the path curving slightly from my left to the right. For some reason I was quite sure I was on the riverside at Stratford-upon-Avon. I have been there twice, once during the war, with Connie and Shep, when we were at Moreton-in-the-Marsh together, and once on a brief visit when I was on holiday at Malvern. Yes, this was Stratford, I was positive. And I knew it was Jack approaching, I could distinguish his
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features, his walk, his tall, upright figure. He was as I never saw him in life, in uniform, his peaked cap at a slight angle on his head, the Navigator’s half-wing above his breast pocket. There he was, coming briskly towards me, smiling, the Jack I knew of old. And he was with a girl. Her features I could not distinguish as she approached me with him; they were walking close together, arm in arm. Even in my dream I could feel a lump in my throat as I watched them. They stopped in front of me. I heard Jack say, “This is Janet”, and I could see now that she was smiling, a radiant, pure smile, full of utter delight and joy.
They turned together and walked slowly in the direction that I was going. It had turned slightly misty. I was fascinated by Jack’s girl Janet, wondering what sort of person she was; I could not take my eyes off her. She wore a small, round hat of the pillbox type, and a brownish, quite long, heavy coat. Her lips were full, I saw, and pink; here eyes shone with a wonderful radiance, such as I have rarely seen. I had the overwhelming sensation of their happiness with one another. Then the girl, Janet, looked at me directly, her arm still through Jack’s, and gave me her wonderful smile, so full of bliss.
“We are going to be married,” she said, “next year.”
At that moment she looked as lovely as anyone I have ever seen. But immediately, as though I had been submerged by a wave from the sea, I felt an immense sorrow engulf me, because, as I awoke slowly, with the vision of that lovely, loving couple in my brain, even in my dream I knew that their marriage could never, never be. For Jack was to die; Jack was dead.
It is a dream I shall have in my mind until the day of my own death, until Jack and I meet once more and – God alone knows whether there ever was a girl named Janet – perhaps I might meet that girl who I dreamed was going to marry my oldest and closest friend, The Silver Spoon Boy, the boy who gave everything he ever possessed. ‘Too full already is the grave, Of fellows who were young and brave, And died because they were.’
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Intermezzo [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] INTERMEZZO [/underlined]
“Sign here? And here? That it? O.K., Sergeant. Now, what have I signed for? Oh, I see, one brand-new Wimpy in mint condition with full certificate of airworthiness and rarin’ to go. HD 966, isn’t it? Where do I find her? That it, over there by the dispersal hut? O.K., thanks. Probably be back tomorrow for another. Cheerio.”
“Here we are, on this beautiful morning. HD 966. Plenty of juice, Corporal? Well, I’m not going as far as John o’ Groats, thanks, just to Moreton-in-the-Marsh. Pitot head cover off? Fine.”
“There’s only me. Up the ladder. God, it’s hot in here. Haul the ladder up, stow it next to the bomb-sight. Slam the escape-hatch door. Stamp it down firmly, to be sure. Hell, the heat. Slide open the windows, that’s better. Shove my chute into the stowage. Into the driver’s seat, check brakes on. Push and pull the controls about to test for full movement. Shove the rudder to and fro with my feet. All free. Fine. Check the petrol gauges. Enough.”
“Undercart lever down and locked. Flaps neutral. Bomb doors closed. Switch on the undercart lights. There we are, three greens. Undercart warning horn? God, that’s loud. Never mind. Main petrol cock on, balance cock down.”
“Now. Throttles closed, boost override normal, mixture rich, pitch levers fully fine, superchargers medium. O.K. So – ignition on, open throttle an inch. There we are. Now, yell out of the window. Contact port! Press the starter button. That’s it, got her! Hell! What a row, wish I’d brought my helmet after all. Shut the window. No, damn, not yet. Contact starboard! Press the button. There she goes. Come on, come on. Now shut the window. It’s a bit cooler now, anyhow.”
“Oil pressure O.K., all temperatures O.K. So, what’re you waiting for? Run them up. Port engine first. What a bloody noise. Pitch controls O.K., revs down and up again. Give her plus four boost. This is going to be damn noisy. Here goes. Throttle back, boost override in. Now for it. Open right up. Hell, it’s awful. Plus
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nine and threequarters. Fair enough. Throttle back smoothly. Not too quick. Override out. Now the starboard engine. Stick my fingers in that ear. Pitch control O.K. Plus four boost. Mag drop? ……”
“All O.K., then. Brake pressure? Right up. Try each wheel. O.K. So it should be, too, brand new kite. There goes the Anson with those A.T.A. girls. God, shook me when that blonde brought the Halifax in. Cool as you please, all five foot nothing of her. Damn good landing, too. Smashing blonde, like to see her again. Like to – hey, steady on! Back to business. Test the flaps. Right down. Now up again. Fine. Where’s he taken the starter trolley? Oh. Over there, well away from me. See they haven’t got that bloody Whitley moved yet. Bit off-putting, that, finding a pranged Whitley over a hump in the runway, just after you’ve landed. Plenty of room, though, at least it’s on the grass. Well, come on, let’s get back to Moreton, might have half a can if there’s no more flying today.”
“Chocks away. Wave hands across each other where the erk can see. There he goes with the port chock. Now the starboard. Thumbs up from him. And from me. Little bit of throttle, hold the yoke well back. Here we go. Taxy out over the grass. Bumpy. Wish they’d get another runway put in, too. The one they have got isn’t even into the prevailing wind. Using it today, though, I see. Not much wind at all, but the Anson used it. Lovely sunny day. Swing the nose about a bit, never know what’s ahead. Would hate to prang a Spit or something. What’s that Oxford doing? Coming in. Trundle up to the end of the runway, opposite the line of trees. Bit off-putting they are, too, when you’re approaching to land. Park, crosswind. Brakes on. Relax and watch him come in. Wheels down, crosswind, losing height. Bit bumpy over the trees, of course. Flaps down, now he’s turning in. Nice steady approach. Oh, Christ, here’s a Spit coming in next, what a bind. I’ll have to wait a bit. Yes, he’s put his undercart down. Damn!”
”Float her down, boy, float her down. Now, watch it. Not bad, not bad at all. Over-correcting a bit on his rudder on the runway. Never mind, nice landing, though. Open up my throttles to clear the plugs of oil. Yoke hard back. What a row. There we are, sounds
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O.K. Now throttle back and wait for the Spit. Quick check round the dials again. Set the altimeter to zero. Gyro to zero and leave it caged. Where is he? Oh, here he comes, hellish fast. God! That was a split-arse turn and no mistake. Full flap. Well, he is heading in approximately the right direction. Whoof! He’s down. A bit wheel-y, but never mind, he’s in one piece and still rolling. Now beat it, chum, and let a real kite take off. No-one else in the circuit? Thank bloody goodness. Wait a tick, where’s my friend in that Spit? Oh, there he goes, taxying to the Watch Office. Fighter boys – I don’t know!”
Here we go then. Flap fifteen degrees. Brakes off. Port throttle to turn on to the runway. Hope the far end’s clear. Suppose they would poop off a red if it wasn’t. Nice and central Brakes on. Uncage gyro on 0. Now hold your hat. Open both throttles steadily against the brakes. What a bloody row. Yoke back, now let it go to central. Not too far, not too far. More throttle. Hold the brakes on. She’s shuddering like hell, wants to jump off the runway. Lift the tail just a bit more. Now. Full throttle and brakes off. Here we go – and how! We’re really rolling. Shove those throttles forward against the stops. Touch of rudder against the swing. Fine. Hold it there.”
“Feels great. Love take-offs, tremendous sense of power. Hellish noise, too. Airspeed? 50. Nice and straight, shove the tail well up, a real 3 Group takeoff. Touch of rudder again. 65. Over the hump. Gi-doying! Nearly airborne then! Plus nine and threequarters on both, 3000 revs. Wizard. 75. Runway clear and pouring back underneath. There’s that Whitley. Plenty of room. 80. Almost ready. Still bags of room. Come on, come on. Ease back a bit. Trying hard to go, almost a bounce then. Now? Now she’s off. Airborne. Keep her straight, wheels up. Pick your field in case an engine cuts. Right, got one. Lights out as the wheels come up. Then red, red, red. All up and locked. Throttle back to climbing boost. Revs back to 2600. Airspeed 120. Overrides out. 200 feet. Gyro still on 0. Take half the flap off. Watch it, now. 300 feet. All flap off. Slight sink there, feels horrible. Keep climbing. Everything sounds good. Quick look around the panel. All O.K.
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“1000 feet. Level off. Cruising boost and revs. Select weak mixture on both. Rate 2 turn to port. There’s the Oxford just taking off. Spit’s parked at the Watch Office, next to the Hali. The Hali – God! That girl was a smasher. Cirencester just below the port wing. Now the railway. And there’s the Fosse Way. Follow it home, no bother. The Romans knew how to build roads. Excuse me, Centurion, but there’s an enemy chariot on your tail! Weave left, Lucius Quintus – now! Weather’s wizard, just a few puffs of cloud at 1500 feet. No hurry. Throttle back to economical cruising boost and revs. Try the trimmers. Feet off the rudder. Nice, keeps straight. Feet on again. Hands off. Bit nose heavy. Just a touch on the trimmer. Try again. There we are, perfect, no wing-drop, no pitching, no yawing. Flies herself and purrs like a sewing machine, she’s a beaut. Check the magnetic compass. Heading 037. Cage the gyro, set to 037, uncage. Check around the panel. Zero boost, 1850 revs, airspeed 150, altimeter 1000 feet, temps. and pressures O.K. and steady. Fosse Way sliding along under the port wing. Vis thirty to forty miles, 2/10 cumulus at 1500 feet. God’s in his heaven and all that.”
“What a view, all greens and hazy blues. Fields, trees, hedges, pale little villages. Lovely country. Must really explore it soon. Good as being on leave. I’m lucky. Bit lonely in these kites all on your own, though. Used to five other bods nattering. Nearly four months now. I wonder if there’s any news yet. Write to the Squadron tonight, see if there’s anything come through from the Red Cross.”
“Kite at 10 o’clock, slightly higher. Twin. Oxford, heading for Little Rissington, I’ll bet. Wonder who’ll take this Wimpy over. Couple of weeks and it could be bombing Tobruk or somewhere. Long stooge out there. Portreath – Gib – Malta – Canal Zone. Blow their luck. Wonder what the chop rate is out there. Better than we had, I’ll bet. Spit. at nine o’clock, high, heading East. Going like a bat out of hell. Clipped-wing job. Boy! Is he pouring on the coal. Wonder if he’s a P.R.U. type. Climbing hard, too. There he goes. Berlin by lunchtime at 40 thousand plus, I’ll bet. Nothing to touch him. Take his pictures, stuff the nose down and come home with 450 on the clock. Not a thing near him. That’s the life.”
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“Stow-on-the-Wold coming up below. Must go back to that pub some time. Wonder if I’ll hear anything from the police. No rear light. Jam had no front light. Both tight as newts. Tried to tell the flattie we were a tandem which had just come apart, wouldn’t believe us. Hell, couldn’t even pronounce it, I called it a damned ‘un, could hardly talk for laughing. We’d had a few that night! Blasted nuisance, though, expect we’ll be fined ten bob each. Shan’t go to court, though, write them a pitiful letter. Got no ident letters yet, how about doing a beat-up at nought feet? Oh, hell, can’t be bothered. Too hot, anyhow, slide the window open a bit more. Wouldn’t want to drop off to sleep like I did that night at Moose Jaw. Shaky do, that. Never mind, still alive and kicking.”
“Should write home tonight, really. Can’t be bothered to do that, either. Write to Betty? Oh, Christ, what’s the use? She’s hooked up to that other bloke, whoever he is. Don’t even know his name. Hell and damnation, why didn’t I - ? What’s the bloody use of moaning about it? But, God, she was nice. Wizard girl. There were angels dining at the Ritz - . Oh, for God’s sake, stop it. She’s gone, she’s gone, you’ve bloody had it, you missed your chance. Just stop thinking about her. Forget it. Oh, hell, why didn’t - ? Christ! Forget it, can’t you? Think of something else. Yes. Yes. What? I know. Let’s have a song.”
“Ops in a Wimpy, ops in a Wimpy,
Who’ll come on ops in a Wimpy with me?
And the rear gunner laughed as they pranged it on the hangar roof,
Who’ll come on ops in a Wimpy with me?”
“There we are, Moreton dead ahead. Long runway end on to me. Two kites on the circuit. God, I’m ready for a bite of lunch. Wonder what it is? I’ll do this right, otherwise the Boss will chew me off.”
“Into wind over the runway in use. Good look-see at the Signals Area, then a copybook circuit. Here we go. Signal for transport by pushing the revs up and down again. Makes a nice howl, hear it for miles. Oh, hell, I expect I’ll get chewed off for that, though.”
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Blast him, why does he hate my guts? Those other two Wimpies have gone, must have landed. Yes, can see one taxying. Reduce airspeed to 140. No signals out except the landing-T and that’s O.K. Crosswind leg. There’s the van leaving the Flight Office, good-oh, he’s heard it. Turn port, downwind. Throttle back to 120. 120 it is. Lock off, select wheels down. Red lights out. Green, green, green. Down and locked. Ready for crosswind.”
“Rate 1 1/2 turn to port, now. Nice. Select flap 15 degrees. Stop. Lever to neutral. Push a bit to compensate for the flap. Now the approach. Full flap. Shove the nose down. Rate 1 1/2 turn to port again. Watch the airspeed. Back to 95. Pitch fully fine. The van’s heading for dispersal down there. Keep the speed at 95. Dead in line with the runway, height just nice. Carry on, carry on. Losing height nicely, speed dead on 95. Trees rushing by. Lower and lower. Throttle right back. Push the nose down a bit more. Ten feet, now level off. Lovely, sinking down beautifully. Airspeed falling off as the runway comes up. Clunk! We’re down, what a beaut. Have we landed, my good man? I didn’t feel a bloody thing. Keep straight with the rudder. No brake, plenty of room. Slowing down now. Flaps up. Turn right at the peri. track. There we are.”
“Van’s waiting for me. Good-oh. Follow it round to whichever dispersal. Go on, then, after you, I’m waiting. That’s better. Get well ahead, where I can see you. That’s it. Weave the nose a bit. Not too rough with the throttles. Bit of brake now. O.K., I see which dispersal. Bit more brake. Slow right down. Turn into dispersal and swing round into wind in one go, with the starboard throttle. Flashy! Throttle back, straighten her up. There’s an erk with the chocks. Roll to a stop. Brakes on and locked. Pull up the cut-outs to stop the engines. That’s it, piece of cake.”
“Ain’t it gone quiet? Out of the seat. Where’s my chute? Yank open the escape hatch and shove the ladder down. Just nice time for lunch. Wotcher, Loopy, thanks for the lift. Did you witness my absolutely superb landing? No? Well, you missed a treat. How’s the Boss? What was that? Do what to him? Not me, old boy, it’s
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a Court Martial offence, and besides, it’s immoral. Come on, let’s go for lunch. What about the White Hart tonight? By the way, you missed a treat at Kemble this morning. I was just standing there, waiting until this kite was ready, when a Hali. comes into the circuit. Lovely approach and landing, taxies in, stops, and what do you think, out steps this A.T.A. pilot. Wait a minute, wait a minute, this one was a dame, and a wizard blonde at that. Now just let me describe her to you in some detail, you lascivious, drooling Australian, while I permit you to drive me to the Mess. Well, now, she was about five foot six, and her figure…..”
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Overshoot [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] OVERSHOOT [/underlined]
In that glorious summer they had decided that I could do some non-operational flying, so they posted me away from Group Headquarters at Bawtry Hall, where I’d been playing about with a bit of admin. work, a lot of cricket, and, between drinking sessions, flirting with a couple of W.A.A.F.s.
Bawtry had been very pleasant but it was distinctly stuffy after the Squadron. I was the only recently operational aircrew there and I always had the feeling that they were waiting uneasily and suspiciously for me to start swinging from the chandelier, or to come rushing up to someone very senior and snip his tie off at the knot. What really made it for me was the brief moment when I happened to look across the anteroom one day – where Group Captains and other wingless wonders were two a penny, with bags of fruit salad to be seen on their chests, though – I looked across and saw him standing there, quite quietly. It was “Babe” Learoyd, and he had only one medal ribbon, that of the Victoria Cross.
It was a bit strange when I found myself back on a Wellington Station again, even more so because this one, an O.T.U. at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, was set in lovely pastoral countryside, a complete contrast to my Squadron’s base on top of the Lincolnshire Wolds. As I was back on flying, I decided that instead of getting drunk every night I’d better cut it down a bit, to every other night, if I wanted to survive, of course, which was debatable. I suppose that was oversimplifying it, because if I misjudged something and pranged, I would possibly write myself off, but I might take a few quite innocent people with me, which wasn’t by any means O.K.
However, I needed something to knock me senseless at night, because I was still getting nightmares. In the end, I would usually fight myself awake, distressed and sweating, and lie wide-eyed, until the summer dawn at last came palely to my window and I heard the distant whistle of the first train as it wound its way through the trees and by the little brooks down to Adlestrop and Oxford.
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That train and the railway station in the small market town gradually became to me symbols of ordinary, carefree life, of freedom and safety from sudden death, symbols I was desperate to hang on to. Eventually, the station became so central and vital a part of these imaginings that I lived in considerable and constant anxiety lest one of our aircraft while using the short runway which pointed directly towards it, should crash on to it and destroy my only link with the sanity of the outside world.
I wasn’t posted to the actual O.T.U. in Moreton, but to No. 1446 Ferry Flight. Basically, the idea was that we picked up brand-new Wimpies from Kemble, about half an hour’s flying time away, flew them solo, following the Fosse Way, back to Moreton, then handed them over to pupil crews from the O.T.U. who would do one or two cross-countries in them and then fly them out to the Middle East, in hops, of course, to reinforce the Squadrons in the Western Desert. Sometimes they were straight bombers, nevertheless looking strange in their sand-coloured camouflage, sometimes “T.B.s”, torpedo-bombers, with the front turret area faired in by fabric and the torpedo firing-button on the control yoke, and sometimes they were pure white Mark VIII “sticklebacks”, bristling with A.S.V. radar aerials, low-level radar altimeters and the like.
One morning I had collected a T.B. from Kemble and was bringing it in to Moreton. No bother at all. Except on my approach to land I seemed to be coming in a bit steeply, I thought. I checked the airspeed, 95, correct. I checked the flap-setting – yes, I had full flap on, and wheels down. Looked at the A.S.I. again. Still 95. But, hell, I thought suddenly, it’s graduated in knots. Frantic mental calculations to convert knots to m.p.h. Ease back on the control column a bit. Multiply by five, divide by six, I concluded. Say, 80. So, bring the speed back to 80 indicated. I should have checked before take-off, of course. After all, this was a T.B., a nautical job. Looks right now, I thought, except that I’m floating a bit while the airspeed drops off, using a bit more runway to get her in. No panic, though. I got her down quite nicely and didn’t go anywhere near the far hedge. Quite a good landing, too, though I says it as shouldn’t.
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But, just my luck, Squadron Leader --- had noticed it.
“That’s not a bloody Spit you just brought in, you know, Junior,” was his greeting as I walked into the Flight Office. I sighed inwardly. Here we go again, I thought.
“No, sir.”
What the hell were you doing? Trying to land at Little Rissington?”
“Just came in a bit fast, sir, that’s all.”
“You should’ve gone round again, done an overshoot.”
“Well, sir, I don’t much like overshoots on Wimpies.”
He grunted.
“Don’t like overshoots,” he said acidly, “Are you a competent pilot, or not?”
“Yes, sir, I am, but I don’t like taking unnecessary risks.”
To tell the truth, I hated overshoots completely. You had to shove on full throttle when you decided you weren’t going to make it, and with the full flap you already had on, the nose tried to come up and stall you at fifty feet. So you pushed the nose down with all your strength and some frantic adjustment of the elevator trimmer – three hands would have been useful about then – to pick up some speed before you even thought of climbing away to have another shot at a landing. Then, while keeping straight you had to milk off seventy degrees of flap a little at a time – and she wasn’t at all fond of that process. She wanted to give up the whole idea and just sit down hard into a field, to sink wearily on to the deck and spread herself, and you, around the county. You had to be damn careful not to take off too much flap in too much of a hurry when those big trees came nearer, or when those hills started to look rather adjacent. At night, of course, you couldn’t see them at all, but you knew they were lurking somewhere handy. If you were in a hurry about taking the flap off, then, you went down like a grand piano from a fourth-storey window, and you’d had it. No, overshoots were definitely not for me, thank you very much, not unless they were absolutely essential, and I knew that I knew, to the foot, when they were. I’d never been wrong yet.
“Well, watch it in future, Junior, and don’t set the pupils a bad example.”
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I could quite understand why Loopy had been within an ace of punching him in the face, a few days previously. It wasn’t only the things he said, it was the way in which he said them. Before I could reply he went on, “You might be interested to know that we’ve got the S.I.O.’s son taking a kite out to Gib. soon, he’s done his circuits and bumps and he’s crewed up. His father had a word with me at lunchtime yesterday.”
As I only knew the Senior Intelligence Officer vaguely by sight I merely murmured something non-commital [sic] and asked if there was anything else. I was told, reluctantly, no, there wasn’t, so I saluted and drifted out to have a word or two with Dim and Loopy.
A few days later there was a gap in the flow of kites from Kemble, and as Loopy and I had done all the compass and loop-swinging on those we’d recently collected I took myself off to the Intelligence Library. I was standing at one of the high, sloping library desks, reading one of the magazines, when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone come in and stand at a desk about six feet to my left. I took no notice of him but carried on reading Tee Emm or whatever it was. When I had finished, I turned to go – and recognised him.
“Christ! It’s Connie, isn’t it?” I exclaimed.
I had last seen him in the Sixth Form at school, five years ago. Five thousand years ago.
“Yoicks!” he said, greeting me by the nickname I’d almost forgotten. Connie wasn’t his real name, either, but he’d always been called that at school because, it was said, he had a sister of that name who was more beautiful than the moon and all the stars. A shame I never met her. We shook hands vigorously.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
“Been posted to something called a Ferry Flight,” he replied.
“Bloody marvellous! I’m in that, too; come into the madhouse!”
“Well, blow me,” Connie said, “it’s a small world, isn’t it?”
We celebrated that night, in traditional fashion, with several pints apiece. It was great to have him with me, he was jaunty, carefree, entertaining and likeable. I had noticed, of course, that he had the ribbon of the D.F.M. One day, as we walked through some nearby town on a half-day off, I noticed too that his battledress was ripped,
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just below his ribs, on one side.
“By the way,” I said, “do you know you’ve torn your battledress?”
I pointed to the damage. He laughed heartily.
“That’s my line-shoot, I’m not repairing that, Yoicks – got that over Turin from a cannon-shell. Never felt a thing!”
It was about this time that I discovered the poems of A.E. Housman and, on free afternoons, I would lie on the unkempt lawn of the little cottage where I had my room, out beyond the Four Shires Stone, and would read his poems long into the drowsy, high-summer afternoons, their words tinged with the sadness that I had learned. And as I lay there, the supple, vivid wasps would tunnel and plunder the ripe plums I had picked off the little tree under whose shade I rested. There was constantly to be heard, with the persistence of a Purcell ground, the noise of the Wellingtons on the circuit, two miles away, over the lush green Gloucestershire landscape, hazy with heat, the sound rising and falling on the consciousness like the breathing of some sleeping giant.
At length I would pick myself up, stiffly, feeling the skin of my face taut with the sun, and put the poetry away. Then in the incipient twilight I would stroll down the road towards the sinking sun to meet Connie, to have dinner in the Mess and to slip easily into the comfortable routine of an evening’s drinking with him, and perhaps with Dim, Loopy, Pants or Mervyn, in the anteroom, or down at the White Hart in the village. I would see Connie’s dark hair fall across his forehead, his heavy black brows lift and lower expressively over his mischievous eyes as he told some humorous story of his days and nights on his Squadron at Downham Market. Sometimes, when we were flush, he and I would catch a train to one of the neighbouring market towns, to embark on an evening’s pub crawl, laughing at each other and at ourselves as the beer took effect, and as the darkness slowly fell, un-noticed; each of us drowning our private memories.
Once, a bunch of O.T.U. pupil crews came into a pub where we were sitting – was it in Evesham? – obviously on an end-of-course party before they went their various ways to join their bomber Squadrons. They joked a lot, sang a bit and indulged in some mild, laughing horseplay. Connie, who like me had been watching them, suddenly
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grew solemn.
“Poor sods,” he said gravely, “they don’t know what’s coming to them, do they, Yoicks?”
Poor Connie, too. He himself had not long to go. Just over a year later he was killed, at the controls of his Stirling, where, had he known that he must die, he would have wished to be, I think.
Eventually, wherever I had been, I would fall into bed, my brain dulled by the alcohol, but neverthless [sic] conscious enough to dread what the night might hold for me, waiting for the nightmares to come again.
There was one kite in the circuit, wheels down, as I strolled towards the Mess for dinner as twilight was beginning to fall. It was yet another lovely evening, and what with the idyllic existence and Connie’s new-found friendship, I was feeling that as far as I was concerned, I could stay here until further notice, despite Squadron Leader --- and his unpleasant little ways.
I was quite near to the Four Shires Stone when I heard the sudden howl as the kite’s engines were opened up to full throttle. Should we go to the White Hart with Loopy and Dim tonight, I wondered, or have a bit of a session in the Mess? Just then there was a loud thump and a silence, another thump, and I saw a telltale column of black smoke erupting over the hedges and treetops ahead and slightly to my left, a mile or so away, I guessed. The kite had overshot and gone in.
“Jesus!” I said, and broke into a run down the road. I was panting and sweating along when suddenly the Flight van screeched to a halt beside me, going the same way. Squadron Leader --- was driving.
“Get in, Junior,” he yelled, “We’ve got to get them out!”
He let in the clutch and drove fiercely down the empty road. The pillar of smoke grew bigger as we got nearer. Then I saw the gap in the hedge and the smashed tree where it had hit. At the far edge of the field the shattered Wimpy burned savagely. We skidded to a stop and flung our doors open. As I ran through the gap in the hedge and across the field, --- raced around the front of the van to join me. I could feel the heat on the surface of my eyes from
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the wall of leaping flame. The kite’s geodetics were like smashed and twisted bones stripped of their flesh. I ran on, over the cratered and churned earth. There was a reek of petrol, of ploughed earth, and of something else, sweetish, sickly, burned. An engine lay to one side, the prop grotesquely curled back.
Suddenly there was a ‘whumph!’ and I found myself on the ground. A petrol tank had exploded. I got up again and went towards the inferno that was raging under the smoke-pall. I splashed through a pool of something. I could hear Squadron Leader --- cursing somewhere nearby; I was gasping and sobbing for breath.. [sic] Then the oxygen bottles started to explode and bits of metal went screaming viciously past me. I tripped and fell heavily. And I saw I had fallen over something smoothly cylindrical, like an oversize sausage, bright brown, and with a smouldering flying boot at the end of it. A few feet away lay an untidy, horribly incomplete bundle of something in what looked like Air Force blue, lying terribly still under the stinking glare. I was retching, on all fours, unable to move further. I dimly heard another explosion nearby, sounding curiously soft, there was a blast of hot air on my face, and then there were the bells of the approaching fire-tender and ambulance.
I was being dragged by my shoulder. It was ---.
“Come on,” he panted, “we’ll never get near it. They’ve had it, poor bastards.”
We must have made our way back to the van as the rescue vehicles arrived; I don’t remember much about that part. I was leaning up against the side of the van and wiping my face with a shaking hand when I heard --- say, “Now I’ve got to go and tell the S.I.O. that his son was flying – that.”
“Oh, Christ,” I groaned.
“Let’s go,” he said, “Let’s get to hell out of here.”
He switched on the engine of the Utility as the black funeral pall of smoke spread over the sky, and thinning, smudged the sunset dirtily.
I read an article in a magazine recently. The writer had been visiting some place which had impressed her. She concluded with
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the words, “But you never lose an experience like that. You carry it around with you.”
Yes. And sometimes you feel you need just a little help to carry it just a little further.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] First Solo [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] FIRST SOLO [/underlined]
I drank some more beer and said to Connie, “The trouble with Shep is that he’s far too damned opinionated, and what’s much worse, he’s far too often right. You just can’t knock him down, can you?”
Afetr [sic] several pints in the White Hart I was feeling less in control than I might have been, but having given vent to that penetrating observation I felt quite foolishly and inordinately pleased with myself. Connie, who had also had several, perhaps for different reasons, looked at me a trifle owlishly.
“I say, Yoicks,” he said, slurring just a little, “that’s rather good. You’re dead right.”
“If you don’t mind, Connie,” I said, “I’d rather you didn’t use that word.”
“What word? What have I said?”
“Dead,” I replied.
At the time, Connie and I were busy settling into our new routine in ‘X’ Flight of the O.T.U. at Moreton-in-the-Marsh. The powers-that-be had decided that there were too many pilots in Ferry Flight just across the way, and not enough utility pilots in ‘X’ Flight. Squadron Leader ---, with barely disguised joy, had promptly nominated me for transfer. And perhaps because he knew Connie and I were close friends, he had selected him to accompany me.
“Utility” was the word for it. We flew Wellingtons on fighter affiliation exercises and on air-to-air gunnery, one pilot and a kite full of A.G.s who took it in turns to man the turrets. Fighter affiliation was by common accord reckoned to be gen stuff, that is, approximating to the real thing – mock attacks by the ‘X’ Flight Defiant, convincingly hurled around the sky by Cliff, at which the gunners “fired” their camera-guns. But the air-to-air lark, I always thought, was of very doubtful value. Our Lysander flew straight and level, towing on a cautiously long cable, a canvas drogue, at which the gunners fired live ammo. with prodigal enthusiasm. Doubtful value? I might have said “pointless” instead. How many Me109s or 110s obligingly flew alongside you at a convenient distance and invited
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you to have a shot at them? It was damn noisy, too, with both your turrets blazing away, and the smell of cordite lingered on your battledress for days.
Most of the time the Defiant or the Lysander, whichever was in action, was flown by Cliff. He was tallish, lean, dark-haired and casual, a Canadian Flight Sergeant, but a man who might have stepped straight out of a Western film. Like Connie, he too was entering the last few months of his life. Cliff, the casual, was soon to be killed over Hamburg in his Pathfinder Lancaster.
The other occasional pilot on the two single-engined kites was Hank, an American, a Flying Officer in the R.A.F., also casual and easy-going, but suave, where Cliff was slightly flinty. The two were inseparable, if only as inveterate gamblers. I learned a lot about the gentle art of shooting craps from Cliff and Hank. On days when there was no flying, when Bill, Connie and I would be lecturing the O.T.U. pupils on Flying Control systems, emergency procedures, dinghy drill and airfield lighting and also, in my case, on the layout of the multifarious internal fittings of the Wellington, Cliff and Hank would retire to a quiet corner of the hangar. Gambling was strictly prohibited by the R.A.F., of course, but the rattle of dice would faintly be heard, punctuated by urgent cries of “Box cars!” “Baby needs new shoes!” or “Two little rows of rabbit-shit!” Money was never seen to change hands, but now and again it was apparent, from the obvious tension which was building up between them, that the stakes were high.
Our happy little Flight was genially run by an Irish Flight Lieutenant named Bill. Bill was the very antithises [sic] of Squadron Leader --- whom I’d just left behind. He was a tall, gangling, rather awkward-looking pilot who affected a slightly vague nonchalance about life in general. One of his endearing little foibles was that he seldom, if ever, referred to an aircraft by its proper name. It was commonplace that all Wellingtons were Wimpies, and fairly common that Lysanders were Lizzies, but he extended these nicknames by referring to our Defiant as a Deefy.
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I sat in on his introductory lecture to a new Course, a dummy run for me before I took over the conducting of the wedding ceremony of sprog crews to the Wimpy. They had all come off Oxfords and it was a bit awe-inspiring at first to be confronted by the size and complexity of the Wellington at close quarters. Bill’s opening remarks were memorable. He lurched up on to the dais, which was, in our hangar, alongside a complete Wellington fuselage, stripped of its fabric, and also near a separate cockpit taken from another kite. He looked slowly around the faces in front of him, as though surprised to find himself there at all, then lit a cigarette, exhaled, beamed happily at our new charges, coughed softly, and in an unbelievably broad Ulster accent uttered the following pearl of wisdom and deep scientific truth.
“Well, now. This here – this here is a Wimpy, and –“ patting a mainplane as one would a favourite dog, and lowering his voice confidentially as he leaned forward earnestly towards them – “these are the wings. Now you’ll be wondering what keeps them on. But don’t you be worrying yourselves about that, ‘cos it’s ahll [sic] ahrganised.” [sic]
After that, he had our pupils in the hollow of his hand; they adored him, as we all did. Dear old Bill. Old? He was about twenty three.
Bill, Hank, Cliff, Connie and me. A nice mixture; one Northern Irishman, one American, a Canadian and two Englishmen. Then into our happy little world stepped a newcomer. Shep. Correction – he did not step, he never stepped. He would barge, blunder, or he would push, but step? No. However, he arrived, all right. That was the system all over. ‘X’ Flight had needed two pilots, so it got three. Shep was a stocky, powerful little Yorkshireman, darkish hair thinning a bit, snub-nosed, built like a prop forward and always with a challenging look shining from his eyes, as though to tell the world, “I’m only five foot six but don’t let that fool you, I’m little and good and I’m worth two of you.” In his manner of speaking he was blunt and earthy to the point of rudeness, but almost everything he said was accompanied by that challenging look and a grin, which took the edge off most of his outrageous remarks. While none of us, except perhaps Bill, were saints as regards our language, which was, when circumstances demanded it, bespattered with words we wouldn’t normally use in mixed
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company, not to mention the odd spot of blasphemy, Shep’s outpourings were liberally garnished with a single oath, namely, “bloody”, which, at times, he rather over-used, I’m afraid.
Like Connie, he had been on Stirlings in 3 Group, or rather, “them bloody Stirlin’s” and, of course, when he realised that he and Connie had that in common he attached himself firmly to the two of us. So our placid little duo became a slightly turbulent trio. Express an opinion which didn’t match Shep’s and, “Ah’m tellin’ you, you’re bloody wrong. Now listen ‘ere – “ and one would be corrected in no uncertain way.
On an occasion when flying was scrubbed for a couple of days due to bad weather, we found ourselves in the city of Oxford. We had a meal, and we also had several beers. When it came to the time to go for the train back to Moreton it was growing dusk and it became necessary to find our slightly alcoholic way from an unfamiliar side street to the railway station. There developed a slight divergence of opinion as to the correct course to steer; Connie and I were all for heading in a certain direction, but not so Shep. Oh, no.
“It’s not that bloody way, Ah’m tellin’ you, Ah’m bloody sure we passed that big buildin’ over there when we came in.”
Meekly, we followed him. And arrived at the railway station in a few minutes. That was Shep all over. A trip to Stratford-on-Avon followed, one Sunday, and we were regaled with a lecture on bloody Shakespeare, and also bloody Ann Hathaway. The trouble was that Connie and I were both reasonably ignorant about Shakespeare and all his works and couldn’t contradict, or even argue with Shep. It was a trifle frustrating, to say the least, at times.
I seem to recall that it was my idea in the first instance, to have a bash at the single-engined kites which we owned. I had been up with a crowd of gunners on fighter affil., no evasive action, of course, to give them practice in getting the Defiant in their sights long enough to get a picture of it. It was simply a question of flying a straight-line track along the line of the range for about forty miles and back again, while all the gunners had a shot. To be honest, it was pretty damn boring, except when one of the pupils,
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despite all my previous entreaties and warnings, would clumsily heave himself in or out of the rear turret and give the undoubtedly adjacent and awkwardly placed main elevator control shaft a hearty push or shove, whereupon we were all hurled up to the roof or on to the floor amid a torrent of curses, depending on whether the kite was forced suddenly into a climb or a dive. It broke the grinding monotony of straight and level flight, though, and once back into the correct attitude everyone had a good laugh about it, including me. Needless to say, the exercise was conducted at a very respectable altitude to allow for such eventualities, and also to give Cliff free rein to throw the Deefy around with considerable abandon.
I was stooging along at about six thousand feet on a day of pleasant sunshine while all this was going on around me, watching Cliff out of the corner of my eye as he screamed across and down beyond my starboard wingtip in a near-vertical bank which he would then convert into a steep turn and a rocket-like climb, before coming in at me again from some new angle. I was thinking that it was pretty to watch, and that he should have been a fighter boy. I thought also that I might well have been one, too, had I not had two early love-affairs, a distant one with the Wellington across the field at Sywell, the other with Betty who had suffered under the German bombing of her home town. But the germ of an idea was growing as the morning progressed and as I day-dreamed, holding the Wimpy on course over the placid Gloucestershire landscape while the white puffs of cumulus drifted lazily by on their summer way.
When I’d finally finished the detail and landed back at Moreton I disgorged my crew of gunners and wandered into Bill’s office. He was sitting there doing his best to look like Lon Chaney on one of his off-days.
“Hello, Bill,” I said, “have you got a minute?”
“Sure, Junior, me boy,” he replied, “and what would be on your mind, now?”
“Well, it’s like this,” I said thoughtfully, “I’ve been watching Hank and Cliff having all the fun chucking the Deefy and the Lizzie about –“ he had me doing it by this time – “ – and I was thinking I’d like to have a bash on them, too. I did my S.F.T.S. on Harvards,
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you know.”
“Did you now?” he answered thoughtfully, “well, well, let’s see.”
He lowered his voice confidentially and looked around conspiratorially. He pretended to be watching a Wimpy on the circuit.
“As a matter of fact,” he said quietly, “a little bird tells me that Hank might be leaving us soon.”
“Oh?” I said, not wanting to appear to be too inquisitive, and waited for him to go on.
“Yes,” he said, “apparently the Chief Instructor came across him and Cliffy rolling the bones in a quiet corner, and poor old Hank, him being the senior and an Officer and all, is going to be sent to the place where they send naughty boys.”
“But what a bloody stupid waste,” I exclaimed, “Hank’s a damn fine pilot. He goes and sticks his neck right out, volunteers for the R.A.F. when he had no need to, being a Yank, and just because he rolls a couple of dice they’re going to kick him up the backside. It seems damned childish to me.”
“Oh, he won’t be grounded for good, or anything like that, he’ll just do drill and P.T. and parades and so forth for a couple of weeks, then they’ll send him back on flying, somewhere. Anyhow, the point is, I could use another pilot or two for the Deefy and the Lizzie, so you and Connie and Shep might as well have a go. It wouldn’t be fair on them if I said O.K. to you and not to the other two.”
“No, of course not,” I said.
“There’s no dual controls, you realise that, don’t you, Junior? You’ll have to pick it up from a ride or two in the back seat and read up the Pilot’s Notes a bit.”
“I’ve already been genning up on them,” I grinned, “I think I know where all the taps are, it’s just a question of getting the feel of the things.”
“You crafty so-and-so,” Bill said, smiling. “O.K., then, you fix it all up with Cliffy and I’ll have a word with the other two. H’m. Is that the time? Neither of us are flying this afternoon, so how about a quick noggin before lunch?”
“Sound suggestion, Bill,” I said.
We walked up to the Mess together; I was feeling slightly excited at the thought of getting a couple of new types in my log-book. I suppose I liked the challenge.
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It was strange to be sitting jammed into the four-gun turret of the Defiant while Cliff flew it around the circuit and gave me the gen.
“She’s a bit of a heavy sonofabitch,” he drawled, “but she’s got no vices if you treat her right.”
To be honest, I couldn’t see anything of what went on in the cockpit in front of me, all I could do was to form some idea of the distances on the circuit, where to start reducing speed and where to put the wheels and flaps down, and to watch the landing attitude, of course. He did a couple of circuits and bumps for me and that was all we had time for on that session.
Soon afterwards, he gave me a ride in the Lysander. That was quite an entertaining experience. It was an ugly-looking parasol-wing kite with a big, chattery radial engine, wonderful visibility due to the high wing, a fixed undercart and ultra-short take-off and landing runs. It was fitted with God knows what in the way of trick slots and flaps. Take-off was incredible, it made me want to laugh out loud.
“The important thing,” said Cliff as we stood ticking over, ready to roll, “is to make sure you’ve got your elevator trim central for take-off – this wheel right here.”
I leaned over his shoulder and looked at the aluminium wheel down below his left elbow. It was the size of a small, thick dinner-plate, with a bright red mark painted across the rim as a datum.
“If you don’t have that centralised, like it is now, you’ll try to loop as soon as she gets airborne, then we’ll be having a whip-round for a goddam wreath for you. So watch it, bud.”
“O.K., Cliff,” I said, “I’ve got you.”
“Let’s go, then, eh?” he said, and opened the throttle. We seemed to be airborne in about fifty yards and climbed like a lift in a hurry. The runway simply dropped away below us. Compared to the Wellington’s take-off it was simply unbelievable.
“Hell’s teeth!” I said, “She really wants to go, doesn’t she?”
“Sure does,” he replied happily.
Landing was equally impressive. It seemed you just closed the throttle and the Lizzie did the rest. She was designed for Army
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co-operation duties, to land in any small, flat field. And, of course, they were used extensively for the cloak-and-dagger stuff, putting in our agents to western Europe by night and picking up others, all by the light of the moon and a couple of hand torches: that must have been quite something.
Cliff turned into wind.
“No undercart to worry about,” he called.
Suddenly there was an almighty ‘clonk’ and I almost snapped the safety harness as I jumped involuntarily.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“No danger, just the slots popping out at low speed. Now see, I’ve got the elevator trim wound right back. Get it?”
“O.K.,” I said, “Got it.”
We lowered ourselves down on to the runway and rumbled to a halt in a few yards.
“Bloody marvellous!” I exclaimed, “some kite, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” said Cliff as we taxied in, “I wouldn’t mind one of these babies for myself, to take back home.”
“No trouble at all,” I replied, “they’ll be two a penny after the war, and with all the cash you’ve won at craps you’ll be able to afford a fleet of them.”
He laughed.
“Aw, well, we’ll have to see, when the time comes,” he said.
The time never came, of course.
You can guess who organised himself the first solo. You’re right, it was Shep.
“Ah’m flyin’ the bloody Lizzie in ten minutes,” he announced loudly, one day soon after, bustling into the hangar and crashing open his locker door.
“How’d you fix that?” Connie asked.
“Ah, well, Ah’m the best bloody pilot around here so Bill said it was only right Ah should have first bloody crack before either of you clumsy buggers bent it.”
“Get the Line-Book out!” I shouted, “Just listen to that – best pilot? You’re just a ham-fisted bus driver, you four-engined types are all alike!”
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“Steady on, Yoicks,” Connie said, “don’t include us all in that.”
“Well, some of you are ham-fisted,” I said. “Anyhow, let’s go and witness this demonstration of immaculate, text-book flying by our modest friend here.”
Shep grinned and slung his chute over his shoulder, then the three of us wandered down to the peri. track where our Lizzie was standing on the grass, looking quite docile and waiting for her pilot. Shep buckled his chute straps into the harness quick-release box, pulled on his helmet and heaved himself into the cockpit. Connie and I lit cigarettes while he started her up, ran up the engine and taxied out for take-off.
“When are you going to have a shot?” Connie asked.
“Tomorrow, in the Lizzie,” I replied, “I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Shep was ready for take-off. He opened her up and the bright yellow Lysander quivered and tolled, then she was airborne, climbing steeply and joyously. He took her nicely around the circuit, a much smaller one than the Wellington’s, of course. Connie and I watched critically, smoking and chatting. As he was on his landing approach Bill drifted along.
“How’s he doing?” he asked.
“Bang on,” I said, “just coming in now.”
Shep landed and taxied round to the start of the runway again. He had done all right, we agreed. No reason why I shouldn’t, too, I thought. Hurry up, tomorrow.
He stopped to let a Wimpy take off. The contrast was grotesque, the bomber using most of the runway and climbing very shallowly away over the trees as it tucked its wheels up, leaving behind it a blur of oily, brownish-black smoke.
Shep moved on to the runway into position for takeoff. It was a lovely afternoon, hardly any wind, a few puffs of cumulus at about four thousand feet. There was a slight haze over the low hills beyond the railway station. We heard him open her up and she rolled. He’d hardly got the tail up before he was airborne, nose-high. Then he was climbing steeply, the engine howling, the kite hanging on its prop.
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“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Bill said, very distinctly, next to me. I simply stopped breathing and watched. We were going to see Shep die in front of our eyes and were completely unable to do a thing to help him. Then, at the moment when it seemed he would inevitably stall and crash into the middle of the aerodrome from less than a hundred feet, he somehow got the nose down, and as he did so, painfully raised the starboard wing. The crazy, fatal climb changed slowly, so terribly slowly, into a steep turn to port. Shep was in a series of tight turns, at full throttle, right over the centre of the runway at about fifty feet. Gradually, the turns slackened, the note of the screaming engine eased. He flew over us, very low, still turning to port, but now more or less in control, obviously winding the trimmer frantically forward.
“Bloody hell!” Connie gasped, “I thought he’d had it that time.” I could only gulp and nod. I felt for a cigarette with hands which were shaking so much I could hardly open the case. My knees felt like water. Bill sighed and said quietly, “I’m afraid he didn’t do his cockpit drill. He forgot the elevator trim.”
We said nothing, but watched as Shep came in to land.
“Let’s go,” Bill said.
We went back to the Flight Office. Five minutes later Shep bustled in, a bit red in the face. He dumped his chute and helmet on to a chair.
“Bloody Lizzies!” he exploded wrathfully, “that bloody trimmer wants modifying, it’s a bloody menace!”
We could only look at one another in silence and amazement. Surely he would admit to being in the wrong, just this once?
Next day, Bill called for Connie and I and silently handed us a memo from the Chief Instructor.
“With immediate effect,” it said, “Lysander and Defiant aircraft of ‘X’ Flight will be flown only by the following personnel.
F/L W. McCaughan,
F/O H. Ross,
F/Sgt C. Shnier.”
Bill, Hank and Cliff. I handed the memo back to Bill.
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“Yes, Bill,” I said, “O.K., fair enough.”
So we flew Wimpies up and down the range and liked it, and we watched Cliff hurling the Defiant into gloriously abandoned manoeuvres in the late summer sky while we flew straight and level. And we gritted our teeth, and we liked it. But now and again I had a sneaking little thought – I wondered what would have happened if that had been me up there instead of Shep. Would I still be bouncing around, like he still was, or …..?
I know, of course, what became of poor Connie, and every year on the anniversary of the day it happened, I visit him where he lies. What happened to Shep, I don’t know, but I’m prepared to bet that whatever it was, he would have had the last word, or, as he would put it, the last bloody word. But really, he wasn’t such a bad bloke. As I said to Connie, you just couldn’t knock him down, that was all.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] The pepper pot [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] THE PEPPER POT [/underlined]
It must have been a surprise to Connie as, just when we were about to climb up the ladder into the Wimpy one fine morning, he saw me fold into a heap at his feet. I can’t say it was much of a surprise to me, I hadn’t been feeling too brilliant for some time before that.
Things then moved very quickly. The M.O. saw me and whipped me off to London for a medical board, where I was told quite pleasantly that my flying days were over as far as the Royal Air Force was concerned, and I was asked what I would like to do. No promises, of course. I said, “Intelligence, in Bomber Command.” That seemed to them a reasonable idea, as far as I could make out.
Then followed several completely idle weeks in Brighton in mid-winter, waiting to see what was going to happen to me. My days’ work consisted of reporting to the Adjutant in the Metropole at nine a.m., asking, “Anything for me?” being told, “No”, and that was it until next morning, when the routine was repeated. I was billeted in a little hotel on King’s Road, facing the sea, with three or four other R.A.F. types and one or two R.A.A.F types. There were a few civilians there, too, among them the comedian Max Miller, who, off-stage seemed to me to be distinctly un-funny, if not downright anti-social.
I made friends with a couple of other pilots, Aussies, John Alexander and Don Benn, who were on their way home. Don had crashed in a Beaufighter and injured his legs – his M.O. had said he should play some golf to strengthen them. As he had been a stockman in outback Queensland, the idea of his playing golf was rather amusing both to him and to me. But, as an utter tyro myself, I agreed to go around the lovely course, up on the Downs near Rottingdean, with him. At night, John and I would paint the town red in a mild sort of way, sometimes exercising the legs of the local police force. I caught a glimpse, one day, of Hank Ross, doing penance, marching in a squad of aircrew types along the front. It depressed me greatly. Hank looked desperately unhappy. I waved to him and he acknowledged
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me with only a sad little smile. I thought that if he had waved back, he would probably have been sent to the Tower. It still seemed desperately unjust. I never saw Hank again.
Eventually my course came through, to an Intelligence training centre in a big old house in Highgate. Some fairly hush-hush stuff went on there and we were forbidden to talk to anyone who wasn’t on our own course of about twenty. But one evening, in the anteroom, I was delighted and amazed to see dear old Tim, and made a bee-line for him, rules or no rules. We chatted for a few minutes until someone intervened. Next day I was kept behind after a lecture and given a severe reprimand, and although I saw Tim several times after that, I never spoke to him again while we were there. Not until we met, at Niagara Falls, almost fifty years later – two survivors.
During this time, Alan was called up for training amd [sic] I discovered he had reported to an Aircrew Reception Centre at St. John’s Wood. We met for half a day, had a long talk, a visit to the flicks and a meal at a strange and deserted Greek restaurant somewhere near Covent Garden.
The end of March found me posted as an Intelligence Officer to Linton-on-Ouse, where there were two Halifax Squadrons, one commanded, as I discovered when I arrived, by Wing Commander Leonard Cheshire. Soon afterwards, the Canadians were about to take over Linton and I accompanied one of the Squadrons to Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, in east Yorkshire. After a couple of weeks there, the S.I.O. decided that they were rather short-handed at the satellite Station, Breighton, where the other Squadron from Linton had settled in. So there, among the farm buildings of the nondescript but not unpleasant hamlet of Breighton, I put down roots for a few months. And there I met J - .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I was pinning up the bombing photos of the previous night’s raid when I noticed he was there again. the Intelligence Library, no matter how we tried to dress it up, was never all that well-populated, and that morning was no exception. The photos usually drew a few
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interested crew members, Tee Emm was invariably popular, but the other stuff was really a bit on the dull side. There wasn’t, for example, a tremendous rush for the Bomber Command Intelligence Digest. Most of the crews, anyhow, were sleeping off last night’s trip, or last night’s session in the local, whichever was applicable.
This little gunner, though, I had seen him in there several times before, always at the same table near the door. It made me wonder. I suppose it was rather obtuse of me not to have cottoned, especially in view of my own feelings about J - . Anyhow, when I had put up the photos I went over to him, more out of curiosity than anything.
“Hello,” I said to him, “did you want something?”
He hesitated, then said, “I suppose – “
“Yes?”
“I suppose Sergeant S – isn’t on duty, is she?
I saw it all, then. One of our W.A.A.F. Watchkeepers, Billie S – was very much sought after for dates, and, it must be admitted, slightly blasé about the whole business. Rumour had it she was the daughter of a fairly high-ranking Army Officer in the Middle East. She was an extremely pleasant girl, blue-eyed, blonde and very nicely shaped, with a calm, almost angelic manner and a vibrant, husky voice which could send the odd shiver up your spine when she used it in conjunction with those big blue eyes of hers. But not my type. Now J - , one of the other two Watchkeepers, she was a different matter entirely. I had the feeling I was going to like Breighton very much indeed, even though I’d only been there just over a week.
“Sergeant S - ?” I said to him, “do you want to see her?”
(Bloody silly question, I thought, of course he did.)
“Well, if I could, just for a minute, if it’s no trouble.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I went back into the Ops. Room. Billie was purring at someone on the telephone and even then, unconsciously using her china-blue eyes expressively. Apart from her, there was only Margaret, one of the Int. Clerks, writing industriously. Billie hung up finally. I said, “Billie, there’s a gunner in the Int. Library would like
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a word with you.”
She wrinkled her nose just a little and said, “who is it, sir? Not that Sergeant P - ?”
“Don’t know his name,” I replied, “smallish chap, though, in Sergeant – ‘s crew, if I remember rightly.”
“Yes, that sounds like him, Johnny P - ,” she answered, with a faint sigh. She shrugged her shoulders and with a lift of her immaculately plucked eyebrows she said, “Would you mind, very much, sir?”
She sounded resigned.
“No, you go right ahead,” I said with a grin, “mind he doesn’t chew your ears off, though.”
She laughed quietly and went out, smoothing down her skirt over her hips as she went. Margaret was smiling quietly to herself and I cleared my throat rather noisily and started to sort out a pile of new target maps, mostly of Hamburg, I noticed. My tea had gone cold and I cursed it. Margaret looked up and laughed.
“Shall I get you some more, sir?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Margaret, there’s a dear.”
She went out into the little store-room-cum-kitchen between the Ops. Room and the Int. Library, which we had been told recently to empty as far as possible. This had intrigued us greatly, but we asked no questions.
Billie came back, patting her blonde hair and looking a little flushed.
“Well,” I said, “have you been fighting like a tigress for your honour?”
“Oh, nothing like that, sir,” she replied with a smile, and left it at that, which was fair enough. Nothing at all to do with me, really. Margaret came back with teas all round. The war could continue. Billie got behind her switchboard, handed me a cigarette and did her usual pocket-emptying routine in search of a comb or a lipstick or something, as I lit her cigarette. The stuff that girl carried around with her.
The moon period came around and there weren’t any ops for a few days. Funny to think that when I had been operating a full moon was popularly known as a “bombers’ moon”. Now it was shunned as
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being too helpful to the German night-fighters. We more or less caught up with the outstanding stuff; the Watchkeepers got the S.D. 300 slap up to date and Pam spent a bit of time in the Library putting up some new stuff on the notice boards and going over some bomb-plots with the crews from the photos they had come back with. She mentioned casually that one of the gunners seemed to be spending a lot of time in there. I merely said “Oh, yes?” and looked blankly at her.
I got to know J – a little better during this time, and I knew that this was it. I was very pleased to see that she didn’t have an engagement ring on her finger. Our conversations progressed imperceptibly from one hundred per cent “shop” to a slightly more personal level. I found I was looking forward more and more to the times when she would be on duty, and I tried to fiddle it so that I was on at the same times. I also found that I was looking forward less than usual to my next leave, which would take me away from her for a week.
One afternoon, when things were quiet, I asked J – how Billie was coping with Johnny.
“Well, he’s very persistent,” she said, “he wants a date with her, but she’s doing her best to stall him off. Poor kid, what he really wants is his mother, you know.”
I nodded thoughtfully; I hadn’t seen it quite like that.
“So is Billie going to date him?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know what she’ll decide,” J – said, “she’s tried her best to head him off, and all that, but he just shakes his head and keeps asking her to go out with him just once; what can she do?”
“Knowing Billie, I’m sure she’ll think of something,” I said, and we smiled at one another. I little suspected what in fact she was thinking of. Had I known, I would have slept less at nights than I was already doing, for various reasons.
Of course, I was thinking along the lines of asking J – for a date, too, but I was worried about rushing things. I had to pick my moment and I wasn’t sure just how to recognise when it had come. I would lie awake thinking it over, and thinking about J - , which just shows you what sort of state I was in.
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Two or three nights later I was on duty with Freda, the third of the Watchkeepers. Our aircraft had just gone off and we were relaxing a bit and wondering if we’d get any early returns. Freda had just finished phoning the captains’ names and take-off times through to Base at Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, along the road about eight miles, when the phone rang.
“It’s Billie, for you, sir,” Freda said.
“For me, Freda?”
“Yes, sir, she asked for you.”
I thought Billie must have forgotten to finish something on her last shift and wanted to square it with me, or get Freda to do it while she was on duty.
“Hello, Billie,” I said into the phone, “what’s the gen?”
“Oh, hello, sir,” came her creamy, purring voice, “can I ask you a favour?”
I still thought it was going to be something to do with work.
“Of course,” I answered blithely, little knowing that my whole life was in the process of being changed from that very second.
“Well, sir, I’ve got a date with someone tomorrow night, and to be perfectly honest about it, I’d rather make it into a foursome. So would you be willing to come along?”
“Hell’s teeth, Billie,” I said, “this is a bit of a surprise, isn’t it? But never mind, yes, O.K., you can count me in on it.”
“Oh, thank you very much, I knew you wouldn’t let me down, it’s such a load off my mind. You’re sure you’ve no objections?”
“No, of course I don’t mind, I’m game for anything,” I said brightly. “It isn’t Johnny, by any chance, is it?”
“Well, sir, as a matter of fact, it is,” she said confidentially. “I couldn’t very well get out of it and I thought it would be best if I tried to organise a foursome – the Londesborough Arms in Selby, if that’s all right with you. By the way, I’ve got some transport laid on from the W.A.A.F. guardroom to get us there, seven o’clock, assuming there’s a stand-down, of course, but we’ll have to make our own way back, so it’s bikes all round. We can push them on to the lorry to go to Selby.”
“Sounds bang-on,” I said.
Billie started to make end-of-conversation noises and was obviously about to hang up on me.
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“Just hold on a sec., Billie,” I chipped in quickly, “there’s just one small detail I’d like to get clear – who am I taking along?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, sir,” she said airily, “I’m sure I can find someone nice for you. Thank you very much indeed.”
She put the phone down.
I lit a cigarette and drank a mug of tea thoughtfully, letting my imagination give me a pleasant few minutes until we got a call from Flying Control that we had an early return coming back. So, for the time being, at any rate, I put the thought of my blind date aside. When the main body of our aircraft came back, one of the crews I interrogated happened to be that of Johnny P - . His pilot was a chunky bloke with a staccato manner. Johnny just sat there quietly smoking and saying nothing, but looking silently into infinity, as though he’d never seen me, or his crew, before. It was a bit weird. Finally, Pam, Derek and I got the Raid Report completed and bunged it off to Holme by D.R. I got to bed about 0400.
I was awake again with just about enough time to cycle down to breakfast. It was a miserable morning, ten-tenths low cloud and raining like the clappers. But J – was on duty and the day seemed to brighten when I saw here. Pam was photo-plotting as hard as she could and I got my head down, alongside her, over the mosaic photograph, about four feet by three, of last night’s target. No-one said very much. The blackboard had been cleaned off, in readiness for the next one. The photo-plotting took a long time, there was so little ground detail on the crews’ pictures due to cloud-cover over the target. About ten-thirty we got a stand-down through; J – phoned it around to those who were concerned. Buy lunch time we’d only plotted about half a dozen photos. One thing about the Ruhr – if you missed the aiming-point you usually hit something or other in the way of a built-up area. It was a consolation.
At lunchtime the rain had eased and there were even a few breaks in the cloud to the west. Derek took over from me about two-thirty and promptly plotted one of the photos to within a couple of hundred yards of the A.P., from a sliver of ground detail you could hardly see.
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“Beginner’s luck,” I said laughingly, and went off for a sleep. I hit the mattress and knew no more for a couple of hours. When I awoke, it took me a few seconds to remember that I was going on a blind date that evening, but suddenly I felt unreasonably, unaccountably happy, swept along by a wave of well-being which had me whistling “Tuxedo Junction” and singing snatches of “Sally Brown” as I got myself spruced up and into my best blue. I don’t know why I should have felt like that; possibly as someone once said, the mood of flying men changes with the weather, and outside, I saw that the sky had cleared to a beautiful evening.
“Sally Brown is a bright mulatto,” I sang,
“Way, hey, we roll and go –
“She drinks rum and chews tobacco,
“Spend my money on Sally Brown!”
Which started me wondering, again, who my date would be. I honestly hadn’t a clue, Billie had given me no inkling whatsoever, but I trusted her implicitly not to saddle me with some worthy but plain girl who would spend the evening painfully tongue-tied and twisting her fingers together. Never mind, I thought, it’s quite a change for me and at least we might all have one or two laughs together and try to forget about ops and casualties for a couple of hours. At five to seven I was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, twenty yards or so from the W.A.A.F. guardroom, and trying also to think up a convincing story to tell the W.A.A.F. (G) Officer if she should appear and want to know what I was doing. As I was looking at my watch for the third or fourth time I heard a soft, musical voice say, “Hello, are we each other’s date?” and there she was, there was J - , looking quite wonderful.
My heart skipped a couple of beats, I could feel myself blushing scarlet and I found I was grinning foolishly. I managed to stammer something trite, or perhaps merely stupid. Anyhow, J – laughed, and I laughed with her, more or less in relief. I felt a bridge had been crossed, or at least, built.
Everything happened pretty swiftly after that. Billie and Johnny P – cycled breathlessly up, a fifteen-hundredweight lorry with several
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assorted aircrew on board screeched to a halt, and accompanied by a chorus of piercing wolf-whistles, Johnny and I loaded the four cycles on to the lorry, helped the girls up and scrambled aboard ourselves. Loud cries of “Let’s get airborne!” and “Chocks away!” and we were off, racing over the wet roads under the trees, through the village, being thrown companionably and tightly against one another as the driver took corners at some speed, and away to Selby, the nearest town of any size.
It turned out to be rather a dingy little place, I thought, but the pub itself was clean and surprisingly quiet, no Breighton types, or indeed no uniforms at all, apart from ours, to be seen. The evening went by in a blur which was only partly due to the intake of alcohol. Billie was her usual polished and poised self and Johnny never took his eyes off her. He looked like a thirsty man approaching an oasis. Such an unremarkable little chap to look at, a mere five feet six or seven, mousy, rather untidy brown hair, slim built like we all were on wartime rations and high levels of stress, but with an infectious grin which would suddenly light up his plain features.
What J – and I talked about I cannot for the life of me remember; I was completely bowled over by the simple fact of listening to her cool, musical voice. I think we talked about books and cricket, but had we simply sat in silence, that would have ensured my complete happiness, merely to be at her side, in her charming company. Considering the rationing position, we had a very good meal in the small, half-empty dining room. I remember how spotlessly white the tablecloth was. Johnny demonstrated his talents as an amateur conjuror, palming small objects and plucking them out of our ears, and so on. We had all had two or three drinks by then and our laughter came fairly freely. He did one small, silly trick with the chromium pepper pot, holding it between his fingers and rushing it down towards the table in the representation of a bomb’s rushing it down towards the table in the representation of a bomb’s trajectory, with the accompanying piercing whistle. We all duly made “boom” noises when it hit the cloth – except that it didn’t, it was no longer to be seen.
Eventually it was time to go. We undid the locks on our cycles in the twilight of the summer evening, and by tacit agreement, split
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up into two couples. J – and I didn’t hurry, tomorrow could take care of itself and we never saw Billie and Johnny again that evening. On the way back we stopped at a field-gate by the edge of a copse and leaned our elbows on the top bar, side by side, to watch the sickle moon slowly rise. One or two aircraft droned distantly in the starry vault of the darkening sky and we followed the nav. lights of one of them until they vanished into the haze and all was silent again, except for some small animal rustling his nocturnal way through the undergrowth. We didn’t talk much, I think we were both content with the magic of the still night and with each other’s presence and new-found companionship.
As we stood there, I tentatively put my arm around her shoulders and that small overture was not repulsed. We talked about Johnny.
“Do you know any of his crew?” I asked J - .
“Some of them,” she answered, “they seem nice lads. Johnny’s lucky to have a crew like that.”
“Yes,” I said, “he is. It’s a very special sort of relationship, there’s nothing quite like it.”
She turned to look at me.
“Your own crew, do you keep in touch with them?”
So I told her. She put a hand on my arm.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, I really had no idea that had happened.”
We cycled back to Breighton. I felt a great peace stealing over me. We stopped at the now deserted road by the W.A.A.F. guardroom.
“It’s been a lovely evening,” J – said, “thank you so much for it.”
“I’m the one who should thank you,” I said, “for putting up with me.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t say that, please. Anyhow, I must go now.”
She hesitated. Her lips, when I kissed her, were cool and sweet, like dew on a rosebud.
The next morning Base Ops., in the shape of Flight Lieutenant Smith, came on the phone.
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“Is that you, Breighton?” he asked in his dried-up schoolmaster’s voice. He would seldom, if ever, call you by your own name, you were only “Breighton” to him. I sometimes wondered what he called his pupils and more especially, whether he called his wife by her surname. So I was always deliberately and exaggeratedly casual in reply to him, just to irritate him.
“Yeah, Smithy, this is the Acting Unpaid Senior Int./Ops Officer, at your service. What can I do you for?”
Smithy was not amused. He sniffed loudly.
“We’re sending you some parcels. Store them in your little kitchen place, or whatever you call it. Don’t open them. That’s important, but keep them under lock and key until you’re told what to do with them, and keep the key on your person at all times. Is that understood?”
“Cloak and dagger stuff, eh, Smithy?”
He sniffed again and went on.
“Expect them in about half an hour. They go under the name “Window.” Is that quite clear, Breighton?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
He rang off and I mused a little, wondering what on earth it could be that was so secret and new.
A sheeted-over lorry arrived from Holme and we started to unload the innocent-looking brown-paper parcels, the size of shoe boxes, and quite heavy, too. We all pitched in and got the lorry emptied eventually. By this time you could just about squeeze up to the sink in there to make the tea. Which one of the girls did, as we needed some by then. I dutifully locked the door on the bundles but I could see this was going to be a real bind, so we laid on tea-making facilities with the W.A.A.F.s in the telephone exchange, next to the Ops Room, and moved our few mugs and kettle and so on in with them.
When things had quietened down and I thought no-one would notice particularly, I slipped quietly in to the Window Store, as I was now mentally calling it, locked the door carefully behind me and took down one of the parcels. Very carefully I made a small slit in one corner of the wrapping paper so that it would look like accidental damage. I looked inside. There were hundreds, or perhaps thousands,
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of what seemed to be paper strips, about an inch wide and a foot or so long, matt black on one side, silvered on the other. My first thought was that they were some new form of incendiary device. I sniffed them – no smell. What on earth could they be? Was it something to dazzle the searchlights, then? In that case, why weren’t both sides shiny? I could get no further with my theorising, but as it happened I was somewhere on approximately the right lines. I carefully replaced the bundle and went back into the Ops Room, not forgetting to lock the door behind me as I left the thousands of bundles of Window. I put on an innocent expression and started to whistle “Sally Brown”.
“Quite a nice day out there,” I said. I wonder if I fooled them.
The mysterious Window wasn’t a mystery for much longer. A couple of days later we got a target through, quite early on, which was a sign that the weather was going to be settled. Hamburg. Hence all those new target maps. And when the operational gen came through, bomb load, route and timings and so on, right at the end was the magic word Window. It was to be carried by all aircraft. The number of bundles per aircraft was stated, as were the points on the route where dropping was to start and finish. The dropping height and the rate of dropping was stated, everything was laid down. Then we guessed it. It was a radar-foxing thing.
“Let’s hope it works,” we said to one another.
Derek did the briefing and I went along to listen, sensing that this might be an historic occasion. The Station Commander stood up on the platform first, and conversation stopped abruptly. He looked slowly around the blacked out briefing room in the Nissen hut. You could have heard a pin drop.
“Gentlemen,” he said, very slowly and quietly, “the intention of tonight’s operation is to destroy the city of Hamburg.”
The silence was so intense you could almost feel it. He went on to say that they would be carrying a new device which would save us many casualties if it was used strictly in accordance with instructions, and he told them about Window, which was designed to swamp the enemy radar screens with hundreds of false echoes, each one looking like a four-engined bomber.
Well, as far as Breighton was concerned, it worked like a charm that night. When the crews came back, and the Squadron’s all did,
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they were highly elated about the results of the attack and the lack of opposition. Few fighters had been sighted, flak was wildly inaccurate and spasmodic and the searchlights were completely disorganised and erratic. The photographs proved their elation was well-founded.
Three days later it was Hamburg again, and my turn to brief them. I caught a glimpse of Johnny, sitting about three rows back, still with that distant look on his face, as though this had nothing to do with him. I mentioned this to J – when we met on night duty, the first time I had seen her since the night we had gone to Selby.
“I’ve noticed it, too,” she said, “I don’t know what it is with him. Maybe it’s because of Billie, of course, he’s absolutely overboard for her. She’s changed too, she’s gone much quieter than she was.”
“Yes, I’d noticed that,” I said, “funny what love does to you, isn’t it?”
I gave J – a sideways look. She had coloured just a little, but smiled and said nothing. We were in the lull before take-off time. We talked about the possible effects of Window on this second raid on Hamburg. We did not know it at the time, of course, but this night was to be known as the night of the fire-storm, when hurricane-force winds, caused by the immense uprush of air from the fires, were to sweep their flame-saturated way through the city, even uprooting trees which had stood in their path. And there were still two further raids to come in the next week, plus an American daylight attack thrown in for good measure.
“Did you notice the bomb-load was almost all incendiaries?” I asked J - .
“Yes, I did,” she replied, “I wouldn’t be in Hamburg tonight for all the tea in China; imagine, almost eight hundred aircraft with full loads of incendiaries.”
“Make them think a bit,” I said. “You know, J - , what I can’t understand is why they just don’t give in now, surrender while they’ve still got some towns which are fit to live in; it’s quite obvious that we’re just going to work our way through the list one by one and flatten all his cities – I can’t think why he will just allow this to happen.”
We talked, smoked and drank tea far into the night. When they came back, the crews’ elation was now tinged with awe. No-one had
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ever seen such tremendous fires, “a sea of flame” was a common description by the crews, with a smoke pall towering to above twenty thousand feet; you could smell it in the aircraft, some said.
It was either on one of the big Hamburg raids or very soon afterwards that Johnny P – ‘s crew did not come back. I have to admit, in shame, that they were, as far as my feelings were concerned, just one of the many that we lost – all good, brave lads, but now almost anonymous in their terrible numbers, like the headstones in a war-graves cemetery seen from a distance. I knew only few of them personally; when it happened, I felt the pang of the loss, but the impact was not so great, God forgive me, as that of the loss of a crew on my own Squadron, of men whom I had been flying alongside, or with. Perhaps there is a limit to the sorrow one can truly absorb and bear, perhaps a saturation point is reached when the loss of men becomes a ghastly normality, where the mind begins to accept it as part of the natural order of things. But later – then it will suddenly all strike home in some unguarded moment, with full savage impact, as it has done, many times since.
When the last crew had been interrogated the night that Johnny went missing I saw Billie standing to one side, pale as chalk, gazing wordlessly at the faces around her, waiting for Johnny, who would never bother her again. I went over to her and touched her shoulder.
“Try to get some sleep, Billie,” I said, “he may have landed away, you know.”
It was all I could say. She nodded miserably.
She was on duty next morning, when we started the photo-plotting, tense, deadly pale, her eyes haunted by heaven knows what dreadful visions. I had given her a cigarette and taken one myself when the clerk handed me something or other and distracted my efforts to produce my lighter. Billie said quietly, “I’ll get mine,” and, typically, dumped a load of stuff from her pocket on to the desk. It wasn’t a lighter which she’d got out, though, it was a chromium pepper pot. I froze. She clapped a handkerchief to her mouth and rushed blindly out of the Ops Room as we sat silent and motionless.
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Later that day I met J – outside the village church.
“Shall we go inside?” she said.
We stepped into the dimness of the nave. My mind was still on Johnny.
“The way he looked,” I said softly to J - , “do you think perhaps he knew?”
“Perhaps,” she said, “perhaps he did.”
It was cool and quiet in there. J – knelt in a pew and bowed her head; I knelt alongside her so that our sleeves touched. Somehow, I felt I needed that nearness of her. A Prayer Book was at each place; there was just enough light left to read. I opened the book and came upon Psalm 91.
“Thou shalt not be afraid for any terror by night: nor for the arrow that flieth by day. A thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
J – ‘s face was calm, next to me, as I thought of Johnny, and of all the others. After a while I closed the book and slowly stood up. I took J – gently by the hand and we walked out, shutting the heavy oak door behind us, into the dim, evening green-ness of the churchyard and the faraway sound of engines in the summer twilight, as the first stars were beginning to appear.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Approach and Landing. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] APPROACH AND LANDING [/underlined]
With the inevitablity [sic] of an experience of déja vu, it unrolled itself with preordained certainty in my dream, as completely familiar as the action of a film one has seen often before, slowly remembering it in all its detail, and on waking and thinking afresh about it, I realised with some surprise that I had never written about, or even spoken to anyone about this particular event – since the time that J – and I talked about it, that is – one which both at the time it happened and since that time, I had always privately marvelled – and shuddered at what might have been.
At night in the Ops. Room at Breighton, once 78 Squadron’s Halifaxes had taken off there was little to do for whoever was on duty. Normally there was one Int./Ops. Officer – that is, Pam, Derek or myself – one duty Watchkeeper, a W.A.A.F. Sergeant, Billie, Freda or J - , and an Ops. Clerk. There was time to catch up on all sorts of things which of necessity had to be shelved during the process of assisting perhaps twenty or so aircraft to take off, adequately prepared and correctly informed, to bomb some target in the Third Reich. There was, naturally, time to chat, time to drink tea and to smoke endless cigarettes while the hours crawled by until the tension of the time of the first aircraft due into the circuit approached. And when J – and I were on duty together (and I took some pains to ensure that we often were) the conversations were naturally more relaxed, more personal.
It was on one such occasion, when the names of people one had known in the Service were casually dropped into the talk like snowflakes on to a pond, to exist for an instant and then to vanish and to be almost forgotten, that one name struck a chord between us.
I mentioned F – ‘s name quite casually, as that of someone I had known well by sight but not personally, a pilot on our sister Squadron at Binbrook eighteen months before, and who was the central character in a very highly skilled but very high-risk piece of flying which I had witnessed from, literally, a grandstand seat, and which, these many years later, was the subject of my dream.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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At Binbrook, when operations were on, it was necessary to have what was termed a Despatching Officer, one who was not flying on that operation. He was provided with a light van and a driver, and was to ensure that in this van there was contained every conceivable piece of necessary equipment which any member of any crew flying on the operation was likely to find to be unserviceable or to have forgotten prior to takeoff – articles such as flying helmet, goggles, oxygen mask, intercom. leads, the various essential maps and charts, and so on. In the event of a sudden radio call from an aircraft to the Flying Control Officer on duty in the Watch Office that some such was required. The Despatching Officer would be driven rapidly to the relevant aircraft’s dispersal to deliver the required piece of equipment.
On one particular late winter’s afternoon, although both Squadrons were operating, my own crew was not among those detailed. And I was designated on the Battle Order as Despatching Officer. There was, as it happened, no call for my services and the Wellingtons started to take off, using one of the shorter runs, roughly north-west to south-east and passing within two or three hundred yards of the Watch Office. Once that I was certain that nothing was required, I went into the Watch Office and up on to the balcony to watch the aircraft taking off, bound for some target – I cannot recall which – across the North Sea.. All had left the ground and were on their way, vanishing into the evening sky to the east, when there was a call over the R/T from one of them which had just crossed the English coast. It was that piloted by F - .
One of his main undercarriage wheels, the port wheel, could not be retracted. He was climbing away with one wheel locked into the ‘up’ position and one which would not join it. Apparently he could neither retract the wheel which was locked down nor lower again the wheel that was retracted. He was carrying a 4000 lb. High Capacity blast bomb, irreverently and casually known to us as a ‘Cookie’. His Commanding Officer, watching take-off from the Watch Office, called him up on the R/T and ordered him to jettison the Cookie into the North Sea, then to return to the aerodrome to attempt what would have been, in any case, a fairly hazardous
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landing with a full petrol load. But it was the only possible and sensible procedure in these unfortunate and unhappy circumstances.
But F – was very much his own man. I knew him, from a distance, almost as the reincarnation of a cavalier of King Charles’ day, dark, good looking, dashing, individualistic, the complete extrovert. He might well have served as the model for Frans Hals’ “The Laughing Cavalier”. He replied – to his C.O., mark you – that he intended to bring his bomb back with him. Then, apparently, Wing Commander K - , his C.O. and he exchanged words and observations of some sort. But F - , literally in the driving seat, was adamant and persuasive enough to have his way. We waited rather breathlessly for what might transpire, as well as what his C.O. might say to him, should he, in fact manage to return safely.
After a short while, all the aircraft operating having cleared the area, we heard the note of F – ‘s Twin Wasp engines, as noisy as four Harvards, which is saying something. He appeared on the circuit, a grotesque and unsettling sight. To those of us who have flown aircraft, especially Wellingtons, it is an almost unconscious reaction on seeing any aircraft in the air, to project oneself, as it were, into the cockpit, holding the controls, glancing at the blind-flying panel’s telltale instruments, and in this case, in F – ‘s case, seeing the wretched sight of one green light and two reds in the trio of small undercarriage warning light on the dashboard.
There were now five or six of us on the Watch Office balcony and we watched tensely as F – steadily made his circuit and, throttling back, commenced his final approach. His particular aircraft, in common with a few on both Squadrons’ strengths, had been modified to carry a ‘cookie’, which was essentially a railway locomotive boiler, thin-skinned and packed with high explosive. The bomb was too deep to be accommodated in the normal Wellington bomb-bay, so the modification consisted in suspending it in a rectangular hole like an upturned, lidless coffin without bomb-doors, in the underside of the aircraft. And the bomb was by no means flush with the aircraft’s belly, it protruded, throughout its entire length, by several inches, horrifyingly open to flak, machine gun bullets, cannon-shells – or a belly landing. The sensitivity of the weapon was legendary, the name “blockbuster” applied
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to it by the press was completely apposite.
So F – made his approach, one wheel up, one down, a grotesque and unpleasant sight, the cookie protruding ominously. Why we stood there watching, goodness only knows. Perhaps we were simply too fascinated to move or perhaps we were quite unthinking as to what the outcome might be, should there be an accident, a bad landing, and the cookie were to explode. If that had been the case, I would not be writing this. Or perhaps we were just plain stupid or reckless not to have sought cover.
The aircraft slowly slid down its final approach in the quickly-fading daylight. We watched and waited, almost holding our breath. I remember lighting a cigarette with a hand which was not altogether steady. Then, holding the starboard wing over the ‘missing’ wheel well up, F – touched down, it must have been lightly, on the port wheel only, the engines throttled back to a tick-over. Miraculously, he kept the aircraft straight. We hardly dared look at the protruding cookie. As the Wellington slowed the starboard wing slowly drooped, and finally, at the end of the aircraft’s run, the wing finally scraped the runway, the Wellington slewed around through ninety degrees to starboard and came to a lopsided rest. The fire tender and ‘blood wagon’ raced up, but neither, thankfully, were needed.
It would be trite to say that we breathed again but I am sure that there were some of us who in the final seconds of the touch-down and landing run were actually holding our breath. We stood there, the small group of us, on the balcony, potentially exposed to what would have been a blast-wave of killing proportions not only for us, but for many quite far distant from the runway. Perhaps the fact that we stayed to watch was even due a degree of professional interest in the expertise of one of our peers. But the visual memory of F – ‘s landing that evening has remained with me as something at which to marvel.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“Oh! Did you know F - , then?” J – asked, that night in the quiet Ops. Room at Breighton.
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“Only by sight” I replied, then I told her about the landing.
“I will never forget that, I assure you. You knew him, too, then?” I added. J – nodded.
“Oh yes, who didn’t? He was quite a character, wasn’t he?”
“’Was’?”
“Yes. Perhaps you didn’t know he had been killed at --- .” She named an aerodrome not too far distant.
Apparently F – had taken off on a non-operational flight. On board was also an A.T.A. girl pilot and the aircraft had, for some unknown reason, crashed, killing everyone on board. J – mentioned that there was a certain theory concerning something which might have been a contributory factor to the tragedy. I will not set down here what that theory was. But I shall continue to remember F – as I knew him at Binbrook, debonair, dashing, cavalier-like and above all, just that bit larger than life, and possessed of flying skills to which few of us could ever hope to aspire.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Knight’s move [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] KNIGHT’S MOVE [/underlined]
“One sang in the evening
Before the light was gone:
And the earth was lush with plenty
Where the sun shone.
The sound in the twilight
Went: and the earth all thin
Leans to a wind of winter,
The sun gone in.
One song the less to sing
And a singer less
Who sleeps all in the lush of plenty
And summer dress.”
“Casualty”
from “Selected Poems” by
Squadron Leader John Pudney.
Once I had seen the hangar, intact, black and huge, just over the hedge as I rounded the bend of the lane, everything seemed to fall into place, even after so many years.
Everything, except, of course, that J – was gone. I shut my eyes for a moment and forced my thoughts away from her. God knew what became of Pam, and as for Derek, I never heard of him for years after I left Breighton. But now I had, for the first time, come back. Seeking what? I could find no answer to that in my mind, except that I had obeyed some inner compulsion to revisit the place and that somehow it seemed to bring me some peace and calm of spirit to be back there amid the quiet hedges, the ruined buildings, the memories, and the silent, empty sky, where among so many losses I had, with deep feelings of the unique guilt of the survivor, found
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my personal happiness when so many had lost everything, for ever.
I walked down the empty road in the warm October sunshine, past what remained of the East-West runway, and marvelled at the utter silence. The little river at the edge of the road slipped silently over its green weeds and I remembered Gerry, how he had aborted a takeoff one night, smashed through the hedge and across the road and had finished up with the aircraft’s nose almost in that river. Amazingly, they had missed everything solid and had all walked away from it. I smiled to myself as I recalled how everyone in the Mess had kidded him about it the following morning.
The Mess itself was till there, pretty well intact. One or two broken panes in the windows, the buff-coloured walls reflecting the warmth of the sun, the porch by now overgrown with tall weeds around which a bee idly buzzed. Now, no bicycles leaned against its walls, there was no C.O.’s car parked, no battledressed figures walked in and out, calling to one another – there was just the brilliant sunshine and the utter silence. And then, as I visualised the inside of the Mess, its layout, its half-remembered faces; I thought of the events of such another day of sunshine all that time ago. I saw the interior of the anteroom, the small table with the chessmen on their board, the young bomb-aimer sitting opposite me, frowning with concentration as we played, then looking at his watch and standing up reluctantly, the cracked record, “I’ve gotta gal, in Kalamazoo”. “Shall we finish it tomorrow?” I had said to him.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
My part of the briefing came second, as usual, after the Wingco had told them the target and shown them over the route on the wall-map. Most of the crews weren’t really interested in the industries, population or the other standard Intelligence gen which I served up to them, and I didn’t blame them; their main concern was what the defences were like – and, privately, whether they would get back. They were silent when I pointed out the flak and searchlight belt around the target, and a few night-fighter aerodromes near to their route. There were one or two whistles when I told them
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how many aircraft were on that night; it was quite a big effort and craftily organised so that there were two targets, the stream of kites splitting up abreast of and between the two towns, then turning away from each other to attack their respective targets some sixty miles apart. There were also elaborate Mosquito spoof attacks to draw off the enemy fighters from the main force.
“We hope that will fox the defences,” I concluded.
When briefing was over I left the hubbub and snatches of nervous laughter from the crews and cycled down to the Ops Room in the summer afternoon to try to finish plotting last night’s bombing photos. One of our Halifaxes was on his landing approach, another was on the downwind leg with his undercart lowered. One of their engines was slightly desynchronised and it made a throbbing note above the steady roar. The sun was very bright, the trees were a deep green above the huts and the houses of the village and it was warm.
One of the bombing photos was holding us up. There was only a small fragment of ground detail, more or less one block of houses, visible in the usual mess of smoke, cloud, bomb bursts, flak and fires. Pam was having a go at it when I arrived.
“Any luck?” I asked, throwing my cap on the table.
“Not yet,” she said, “but it must be somewhere near the aiming point because there’s so much going on in the photograph.”
We stewed over the mosaic for a time, trying to fit the photo in, which would enable us to discover where the aircraft had dropped his load of bombs. Pam looked along the approach side to the A.P., I took the exit side. Finally, I had it placed.
“Oh, good,” Pam said rather wearily, and stretched.
I measured the distance carefully.
“Can you give him a ring in the Mess, Freda?” I asked the duty Watchkeeper, “he’ll be wanting to know. Tell whoever you speak to that they were about a thousand yards from the A.P., would you?”
After that, we generally tidied up from last night’s effort, and as far as we could, from tonight’s preparations. I did a last minute check that the Pundit was in the right place and set to flash the correct letters, and that the resin lights on the aircraft were the correct colour combination. About six o’clock I went down to the Mess, put my feet up and relaxed. There were several battledressed and white sweatered chaps clumping about in their heavy, soft-soled flying boots, trying not to smoke too much, mostly a bit pale and rather quiet.
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Dinner was much as usual, no-one had very much to say to anyone else, at least among the crews who were on. Derek came in and said he was going up to relieve Pam on duty.
“See you before take-off,” I told him.
“What the heck for?” Derek asked, “there’s no need – why don’t you get some sleeping hours in till they come back?”
“Oh, I don’t know; I might as well be up there,” I said, not wanting him to know that J – and I had a sort of thing starting. I hoped so, anyhow. She would be taking over from Freda about now. I’d taken her out a couple of times and I thought she was pretty wizard; we seemed to speak the same language. Had to be a bit careful, though, the R.A.F. was touchy about male Officer – W.A.A.F. N.C.O. relationships. You could easily find that one of you was suddenly posted to Sullom Voe or somewhere like that, and the other to Portreath, or worse still, overseas.
I went into the anteroom. Someone had the radiogram going. It was Glenn Miller and the Chattanooga choo-choo on Track 29. I settled down with Tee Emm at a table where someone had left the chess board and pieces, and was chuckling over P/O Prune’s latest effort when a voice said, “Do you play?”
I looked up. He was a P/O Bomb-aimer, rather stocky, darkish, with his name on the small brown leather patch sewn above the top right-hand pocket of his battledress, his white, roll-necked sweater and half-wing looked rather new, I thought.
“Sure,” I said, “but not very well, I’m afraid. I’ll give you a game, though, if you like.”
“I’m not very good myself,” he said.
As we were setting out the pieces, “Who are you with?” I asked. He named his skipper.
“He’s good; flies these Hallies like Spits!” he said, laughing. For an instant, the lines of stress on his face were smoothed out in the snatched and fleeting relaxation of the moment, so that instead of looking like a young man, he looked like a very young one.
“Yes, I know the name,” I said, “I think I’ve plotted one or two of your photos recently. How many have you done?”
“Six”, he answered.
There was nothing I could say to that. Thirty trips was a hell
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of a way off when you’d done six.
He chose white from the two pawns I held in my closed fists.
“Off you go, then,” I said.
He opened conventionally enough, pawn to king’s fourth, pawn to queen’s third, and so on, and as we played I could tell we were both about the same calibre, on the poor side of indifferent. After a while, he started looking at his watch a lot and I could see his concentration was beginning to fade, but his knight was going to have my bishop and rook neatly forked, so I knew I was in for a bit of trouble. He sighed and said, “That’s about it for now, I’m afraid, I’ll have to get weaving up to the Flights.”
I said, “O.K., then, shall we finish it tomorrow? I’ll make a note of the positions, if you like.”
“Yes,” he said, “fine,” and got to his feet. “Thanks for the game.”
“Enjoyed it,” I said, and gave him the usual and universal Bomber Command envoi, “Have a good trip.”
“Sure, thanks,” he said, gave a half-wave and went out.
I watched him go. He looked rather like a schoolboy who had been sent for by the Head. A slightly cracked record on the radiogram was now telling us that someone liked her looks when he carried her books in Kalamazoo. I wondered idly where that was. I made a copy of the position on the chessboard and went out of the Mess. It was a beautiful summer evening, the sun was starting to dip now and there were some streaks of altostratus in the north-west. A faint breeze brought the twittering of sparrows; a blackbird nearer at hand was giving a few clarinet notes, intent on practising the first bar of his eventual good-night song. A Halifax droned over, to the east, high, probably setting off on a night cross-country or a Bullseye. His engines made a hollow, booming roar in the clear evening air. Then the Tannoy came to life with a hum and with a leap of the heart I heard J – ‘s voice come over, telling someone he was wanted at his Flight Office.
I cycled up the quiet road through the hamlet, which was companionably and inextricably mixed up with the Station’s huts, and turned right at the tall gable-end of a house on to the narrow concrete road which, in a few hundred yards beyond the W.A.A.F. site, came to the Ops Room.
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The sentry gave me a cheery “Good evening, sir,” and I went inside to the strip-lighting, the huge wall-blackboard, the central plotting table and the long desk with the telephones. Derek, J – and little Edith, one of the Int. Clerks, were on duty. I saluted and said, “Hiya, folks, everything under control?” It was. Edith was finishing writing up the captains and aircraft letters on the big blackboard and it looked impressive. You started to imagine the bomb-load from that lot going down on to a built-up area, and what it would do. Then you stopped imagining. I got busy with some paper-work, tying up loose ends and amending some S.D.s, then the clerk made some tea. J – ‘s phone was pretty quiet – it usually was a couple of hours or so before take-off – she was writing a letter, I think, and Derek was sorting out the mosaics alphabetically and sliding them back into the big drawer below the table.
“Time we had a new one for Hamburg,” he said, “this one’s about had it.”
“So’s Hamburg,” I said, “if it come to that,” and we grinned.
We drank tea, smoked and chatted a bit, mostly about our next leave. Derek was whistling “Room 504” off and on, and rather badly. There wasn’t a lot to do now except wait for a scrub, which we knew wouldn’t happen when there was a big summer high over western Europe. Odd calls came in to J – requesting Tannoy messages; she put them out and logged them all.
I went outside for a while to look at the sky. The Ops Room was windowless and the lighting and general fug got you down rather after a time, especially as we all smoked like chimneys. It was about nine o’clock. I looked over the cornfield which was just outside the Ops Room door. The corn was ripe, grown high, ready for harvest; the sky was very beautiful, pale green almost in one place, some stars showing, complete stillness.
“Calm before the storm,” I thought, rather tritely. I breathed the cooling air gratefully. Somewhere in the distance the blackbird was firing his short bursts of evening song. It was all very peaceful and the war seemed a hell of a long way off.
The sentry seemed fidgety, he was probably wishing I would hurry up and go in again so that he could have a quiet smoke himself.
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“Nice night,” I said to him.
Back in the Ops Room I felt we were completely insulated from the outside world. Until the phone rang.
“Ops, Breighton,” J – said. She listened, then put the phone down.
“Flying Control,” she said to me, “they’re taxying out. First off should be any minute now.”
“O.K.,” I said, “I might as well chalk them up.”
I was feeling a little strung-up; it would give me something to do. In a little while the phone rang again.
“Ops, Breighton….. right, sir, thank you.”
J – turned to me.
“B – Baker airborne 2149.”
I chalked up the time opposite ‘B’. After that, the phone went at very short intervals, until they had all gone. In the Ops Room we never heard a thing, only the hum of the air-conditioning and the buzz of the strip-lighting.
I imagined them doing their gentle climbing turns to port and setting course over the centre of the aerodrome, the Navigators carefully logging the time, the gunners in their turrets watchful for other aircraft, then climbing steadily away towards Southwold where they crossed out for the North Sea, the enemy coast and whatever lay in wait for them beyond, on the other side.
When they’d all gone, the Wingco came in for a chat. He was a good type and we all liked him. He and Derek shared an interest in painting, and after a while he took Derek off to the Mess for a drink. There wouldn’t have been much for Derek to do behind his desk, anyhow.
“Can you cope?” Derek asked, as he went.
“Of course,” I said, hiding my elation that J – and I would be able to have a talk. The clerk slipped off into the Int. Library, I think she sensed that three was a crowd. After a while, the phone rang again.
“Ops, Breighton….. yes, thank you, I’ve got that.”
She turned to me again.
“Flying Control. Early return, F – Fox, starboard inner u/s. I’ll phone the Wingco in the Mess.”
While she was doing so, I went outside again. It was quite dark now, and countless stars were showing. They had put the Sandra Lights on for
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F – Fox. In a little while I heard him coming from the south, then he came into the circuit with his nav. lights on, flashed ‘F’ on his downward ident. light and slid down on to the runway behind the H.Q. huts, his three engines popping as he throttled back. In the stillness I heard the screech of his tyres as they bit the runway, then his engine-note faded into silence. In a minute or two I heard his bursts of throttle as he taxied into dispersal. He would have jettisoned his load, and most of his petrol, into the sea. J – had logged his time of landing on the board.
“I’ve told the Wingco,” she said.
We swopped childhoods, parents and early Service days for a while, then I decided to go and have a sleep in the Window Store, on the bench. I must have been tired and slept very soundly, because I was awakened by knocking on the door and Edith’s timid voice calling, “First aircraft overhead, sir.”
I shivered as I swung my legs down off the bench and on to the stone floor; I always shivered when I heard those words, wondering how it had gone. Had they had much opposition? That was always my first thought. Had there been much fighter activity? What had the flak been like, and the searchlights? I never thought much about the target; what seemed to matter to me was whether they were all back.
I went into the Ops Room and lit a cigarette, passing my case around. Derek was back.
“Here’s Rip van Winkle,” he said, “come to muck things up for us.”
“Get knotted,” I grinned, “and let’s have my fags back.”
He threw my case back at me and I disappointed him by catching it. The phone rang; J – answered it. The first one had landed safely. Derek said, “I’ll get along and start the interrogations, Pam’s on, too.”
“O.K., Derek,” I told him, “I’ll be down later,” and he left.
He still had “Room 504” on his mind and it still sounded no better. The phone rang again, it was another one landed. They kept coming in steadily and whoever was nearest the blackboard chalked them up. By quarter to six we had them all back but two. I took a quick
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look around. The clerk was in the far corner collecting empty cups. I said to J - , quietly, “Can you meet me tonight? Seven o’clock? We’ll go to the Plough, if you like.”
She nodded.
“Yes,” she breathed, and smiled briefly. She still looked wizard, I thought, even at six o’clock in the morning after a long night duty. For a while we let our thoughts take possession of us. Then the phone broke the silence again. One of the two had landed away, in 3 Group. That left just one outstanding.
The minutes ticked by. Then I said the usual thing, one of us always said it at times like this.
“He could have landed away, too, and they haven’t told us yet.”
But there was actually only fifteen minutes left before his endurance, on the night’s petrol load, ran out. I went outside, restlessly. The Sandra Lights looked desolate in a vivid and rigid cone above the aerodrome, waiting in the silence which had now enveloped everything. Dawn was starting to break. It looked like being another perfect summer morning. Far away, a door slammed and someone whistled, loudly and jauntily. Probably one of the returned crews, just off to bed. The sky, lightening, seemed immense, the stars had faded and the trees were motionless. In a little while I went back inside.
“Anything, J - ?”
She shook her head. I looked at my watch. Time was up, and more. We were quite quiet for a long while. Then I said, “I was playing chess with his bomb-aimer just before they went. Let’s hope to God they are P.o.W.s”. We still sat, waiting. When I knew it was quite hopeless I said to J – “You’d better phone the Wingco and the Padre. I’m going to see about the photographs. See you this evening, then, goodnight, J - .”
“Goodnight, or rather, good morning,” she said.
I walked out of the Ops Room into the early morning with a feeling of weariness and desolation. What was it all about? I thought. It was quite cool outside; I reached for a cigarette and my hand found a piece of paper in my pocket. It was the sketch of the chess board. I looked at if for a minute or so, then I said,
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“Good luck, wherever you are.”
I screwed the paper into a ball and dropped it into the waist-high corn, and I thought of the seven men who might be lying amidst the wreckage of their aircraft somewhere across the sea. It was growing light now and a faint breeze stirred the ripened heads of the wheat. Somewhere, the blackbird was starting to sing. The Sandra lights had been put out. There was nothing left for me to do. I shivered, and turned away.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
With an effort I dragged my thoughts back to the reality of the present, and I realised it was already time to go. The sun was dazzlingly low, but its warmth still lingered and there was a faint scent of late roses as I walked up through the hamlet, towards the gable-end and the road to the Ops Room. An old man was stiffly tending his patch of front garden, and looked up as I said “Good evening.”
“Been a fine day,” he said. He saw my rucksack. “Have you come far?” he added.
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve come a very long way,” and I walked on, into the silence and the shadows of the gathering twilight.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] A different kind of love. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] A DIFFERENT KIND OF LOVE [/underlined
“’Tis sure small matter for wonder
If sorrow is with one still”
(A.E. Housman)
Temporization, delaying tactics, putting-off. Call it what you will. I try to justify it be telling myself that whatever one calls it – and I am fairly certain we have all of us been guilty of it at some time – it is a human failing, and the guilt one feels, if one should feel guilt at some action or lack of action if it affects only oneself, has been felt by many another person. And should one indeed experience feelings of guilt if whatever the reason for the “putting-off” it affects only oneself? But I am afraid that in the circumstances which I have finally decided and brought myself to the point of describing, at least one other person must have felt some hurt, almost certainly deep hurt, and this is what has concerned me for a very long time. The thought and the concern I have felt is something which comes into my mind for no apparent reason at intervals of time, like the aching of a doubtful tooth which one knows will prove difficult and extremely painful of extraction. The moral points having been made, it is time for me to elaborate, sparing, I hope, no detail, least of all sparing nothing of the sad story of my own actions which undoubtedly started the whole business. These events, I know, will be re-lived in my mind, as they have been over the years, for days on end, producing invariably feelings of deep sadness and of ineradicable guilt.
I think it is worthy of mention that in the closing months of my career in the R.A.F. I was successively Adjutant of two units. The first of these was the unhappiest unit I had encountered, and the second, which followed immediately afterwards was without doubt the happiest one; one where I felt that those around me were like-minded. I went, at the behest of the powers-that-were in South East Asia Command, from one to the other on receipt of the appropriate signal, teleprinted on to paper, simply by walking from one tent to
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another on a crowded-to-capacity aerodrome near Rangoon, the Japanese surrender having thankfully taken place a few hours before. I met some of my new fellow-Officers and took to them immediately. First impressions were confirmed over the next days, weeks and months. On the final posting of my R.A.F. career I had arrived on a unit which was the most agreeable I had experienced in six years. I think that was understandable when one considers that I would wake in the mornings knowing that there was no war being fought, that no-one was going to be killed among those around me, no-one was going to go missing on operations and that one would not find an empty bed across one’s room in the morning, no empty chair in the Mess, no letters to be written to next-of-kin.
From the tented camp, where conditions were, to put it mildly, primitive, we were, after a few days, put on board a small paddle-steamer and left Rangoon for where we knew not. On this small ship I was to meet people with whom I was to work and play very happily for almost the last year of my service in the R.A.F. and with a few of whom I was to form enduring friendships, now alas, terminated by the inevitable and merciless passage of time.
It was on this ship too, where I first became acquainted with the music of Elgar. One morning as we were steaming southwards – we knew that much! – I was coming down a short flight of stairs leading to what, in terms of a house in England, would be described as a hallway or lobby. Some music was being played on a gramophone there and I was so struck by its grave beauty that I stood stock still on the stairway until it had ended. Then, moved by it and marvelling at its beauty I went up to the Equipment Officer who was playing it on his wind-up gramophone. This was at the time of 78 r.p.m. shellac records, of course. I asked him what he had just been playing and he was more than pleased to tell me that it was a movement from Elgar’s Enigma Variations, called Nimrod and explained the significance of that title. Little did I know that I was to hear the same music, in vastly different circumstances very soon, the recollection of which would have the power to move me deeply for years afterwards, not only because of the music itself, but because of the player of it and what the player meant – and still means – to me.
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We soon learned that we were heading for the island of Penang, of which most of us had heard, but that was all, as part of Operation Zipper, the British occupation, or rather re-occupation, of what was then Malaya, after the Japanese surrender and withdrawal. We were to be, in fact, the first R.A.F. unit to land in Malaya. And so it was. We arrived at the quayside of Georgetown, the principal town, under the massive shadow of the battleship H.M.S. Nelson, anchored next to us. Over the next few days we found our quarters in an old army cantonment on a wooded hillside, at Sungei Glugor, and took possession of the small aerodrome at Bayan Lepas in readiness for the arrival of a Spitfire squadron and a detachment of two Beaufighters from Burma. We hunted for furniture for the empty and deserted cantonment and found ample in the abandoned dwelling houses on the island. We readily imagined what must have happened to the original occupants during the Japanese occupation.
Within days we had the Station operating and thanks to the Royal Signals, in contact with our parent formations at Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. The Spitfires and Beaufighters duly arrived. We were an operational formation.
Now that I was settled into a permanent location I had the time and facilities to write a letter to J – every day, as she did to me. We had been engaged to be married for just under two years and there was a clear agreement between us that we would not be married until after we were both settled into civilian life again. Never did either of us doubt the promises made to one another and despite the time and distance which separated us, neither of us doubted the fidelity or behaviour of the other. J – was a W.A.A.F. Sergeant on an operational bomber station, now thankfully converted to peaceful purposes, and she was surrounded by some hundreds of both W.A.A.F. and R.A.F. personnel. As for me, my surroundings were peopled exclusively by men. The relationship between J – and I was firmly founded on mutual trust.
It had been decided that we should participate in a Service of Thanksgiving in one of the churches in Georgetown, and the arrangements were soon made, as were the arrangements for a victory march-past of all the armed services in Georgetown’s Victoria Park.
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I suppose there were over 100 of us to attend the service, which was held in the Chinese Methodist Church on a pleasant evening. A sizeable Chinese contingent were also present, men and women, all beautifully dressed in white. I was near to the right hand end of a pew fairly near to the front of the church, and as I took my place the organ was being played. To my amazement and delight I immediately recognised the tune as none other but ‘Nimrod’, which I had only recently come to know and which had made such an impression on me on the boat coming down from Rangoon. Smiling to myself, I looked up and to my right to see if it was one of our number who was the organist. My further surprise was that it was not anyone that I knew, but someone I took to be a Chinese youth in a white surplice. And then I saw that I was again mistaken; the organist was a Chinese girl in a long white dress. As she finished ‘Nimrod’ she moved almost seamlessly into a Chopin E Minor Prelude whose tune, full of yearning, almost brought tears into my eyes.
The service itself was jointly conducted by a Chinese clergyman about 50 years old and of almost ascetic appearance, and our own Methodist Padre. During the service an announcement was made that light refreshments would be served in the church hall afterwards and I determined to be there, partly from personal preference and partly because as Wing Adjutant it would obviously be my duty not to return immediately to the cantonment at Glugor but to show a degree of sociability towards the local people who were our hosts.
It dawned on me that since I had left England more than six months previously I had never seen a member of the opposite sex in that time, nor even heard a female voice. My mother, on my embarkation leave and J – immediately prior to my going on leave, had been the last two women to whom I had spoken.
I wondered, as, the service over, I went into the fairly crowded church hall, whether the girl organist would be there so that I could tell her how I had enjoyed and been moved by her choice of music. She was indeed there, one of those serving refreshments at a line of tables at one side of the hall. I was extremely pleased, went straight across to her, and smiling, spoke to her, complimenting
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her on her playing.
She smiled depracatingly [sic] and brushed away with her hand one side of the curtain of her collar-length black hair from her face, a gesture which, so characteristic of her, I have recalled very many times since. Her voice was soft, musical and charmingly accented, reminding me forcibly of J – ‘s own voice. She apologised for not having played well; she said she was out of practice. These few seconds were the start of an utterly delightful, all-too-brief, but quite unforgettable friendship. It became a friendship, and only that. Nothing more. During the time that I knew her I never once touched her, not even to shake hands when eventually I left Malaya for good. (‘For good’? I was in two minds about that. I felt I was being torn apart). My promises to J – were unbreakable and at no time did I think even of the possibility of breaking them. We were engaged to be married; we would be married as soon as it could be managed when I returned to the U.K. Strangely, I have only just discovered some poignantly applicable words in a chanson by the 14th century Guillaume de Machaut –
‘…. in a foreign land,
You who bear sweetness and beauty
White and red like a rose or lily ….
The radiance of your virtue
Shines brighter than the Pole Star ….
Fair one, elegant, frank and comely,
Imbued with all modesty of demeanour.’
I was not alone in making a friend in the local community; there were at least two other Officers to my knowledge who formed attachments of one sort or the other while we were on the island.
And at home? J - , in her daily letters to me occasionally mentioned going to dances on the aerodrome where she was stationed and I presumed that obviously she danced in the arms of men. But I trusted her as implicitly as I hope she trusted me. She mentioned two men, both Australian pilots, by their nicknames. One of them was killed, with all his crew, when they crashed within sight of the aerodrome on returning from an op. No reason for the crash was ever
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established. But to my discredit I could not help feeling a twinge - - perhaps more than that – of jealousy whenever I read their names in her letters. And some time after J – and I were married, while we were once talking about wartime days and nights, quite out of the blue she said, only half-jokingly, “If I hadn’t married you I would have married an Australian”. I remember that I smiled but said nothing. What could I say?
I find it difficult now to describe Chiau Yong adequately as I saw her then and as I think of her now, without using trite phrases or words which in this age of cynicism would be sneered at or greeted with unbelieving or sarcastic laughter. But then, and over the weeks which followed I was charmed by her placid nature, her smiling, childlike innocence, her undoubted beauty and her impish sense of humour.
That evening in the church hall, as I chatted to her, standing as we were at opposite sides of the table of refreshments, I felt a growing happiness which I had not known for a long time stealing over me and calming me, as though the war, with all the tragedies which I had seen and experienced, had never taken place.
When, regretfully, it was time for me to go I had learned her name and that she was the daughter of the clergyman whose church this was. I had also, hesitantly and tentatively, expecting nothing except possibly a polite rebuff, asked if I might see her again by coming to hear her organ practice, whenever that might be. She shyly consented and I felt, as I left the hall, that my feet were hardly touching the ground. I think I must have been smiling foolishly, but fortunately no-one commented as we boarded the gharries to return to Glugor.
As often as I possibly could I went to the church and sat in a pew near to the front, where I could see her sitting at the organ console, while she practised, content to listen to the music she made and to watch her as she played, quite unperturbed that I was there, a few feet away from her, listening and watching. Sometimes I went with her into her home, where she played the piano for me. And often we talked. Her English was truly excellent, somewhat reminiscent in her use of words and phrases of the Victorian era, but none the less lucid and charming to hear spoken
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in her soft, lilting voice. We talked about the music she played; she asked what sort of music I liked. We talked a little about our respective backgrounds. She was keen to learn anything about England. I mentioned one or two of my wartime experiences but asked for no details of hers or of her family’s under the Japanese occupation. I developed an interest to scratch the surface of knowledge of the Chinese language. Her own dialect, and that of her mother, who spoke no English, unlike her father and her sister, was Hokkien. She and her sister, who joined us on one occasion when we sat talking, amused themselves and entertained me by translating my name into written Chinese ideographs, which they pronounced as ‘Yo-min’. Whenever Chiau Yong wished to draw my attention to something or ask me a question, it was always prefaced by her saying ‘Mister Yo-min….’ . I suppose in her strict upbringing, which I assumed she had had, the use of my Christian name would have been seen as unduly familiar.
She taught me the numerals from one to ten and chuckled delightfully behind her small hand at my unavailing efforts to pronounce the words for ‘one’ and ‘seven’ correctly. To my ears they sounded identical; I am afraid that I was an obtuse pupil. I asked her about her own name; she told me that it meant ‘shining countenance’ which, I thought, could not have been more appropriate. As to her age, I never enquired. I would have put her as being slightly younger than I. I was 24 at the time, she would be possibly around 20, I thought.
I met her parents on at least one occasion. They very kindly invited me to come to their home for an evening meal, which I was glad and honoured to do. Two things stand out clearly in my mind about that occasion: the number of different languages spoken around the table and the sense of peacefulness which surrounded us. Her mother, a quiet middle-aged lady, simply dressed in black, spoke only Hokkien which, if she addressed me, was translated by Chiau Yong, as was my reply to her mother. Her father, the minister, spoke excellent English in a calm and measured manner. Her sister, Chiau Gian and her rather quiet younger brother spoke English too, for my benefit. Chiau Yong, who had told me that she was learning Mandarin, the classical Chinese tongue, spoke in English, of course, to me, in Hokkien to her mother and in Malay to the houseboy who appeared from time to time on his domestic errands.
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After I had visited their home on several occasions to see Chiau Yong and to hear her play, I was slightly surprised when one afternoon, as we were talking together, a pilot from the Spitfire squadron which had arrived came into the room. I knew D – P – well enough to talk to, but I thought, in my limited understanding of such things, he did not fit into my preconceived idea of what a fighter pilot should be like. He was, from what I had seen of him in the Mess, not only slightly older-looking than the other pilots, with somewhat thinning hair, but also of a quieter disposition than most of the others. However, a Spitfire pilot he was, whatever ideas I had formed about the differences between them and bomber pilots such as I had been. I gathered he had come to see Chiau Yong’s father, and not being interested in the reason for his visit I promptly forgot about him after we had exchanged polite enough greetings on this and on one or two further occasions when he came to the house to see Mr. Ng.
I knew that my time on the island and indeed in the R.A.F. must shortly come to an end. Being an administrative officer, as Adjutant, I could almost forecast when my time would come to ‘get on the boat’ and while others around me were obviously in a fever of impatience to get back to ‘civvy street’, as it was always called, I found my own state of mind to be more in the nature of calm acceptance, knowing that while I would be returning to J - , whom I loved and to whom I would be married, somehow, somewhere and at some time, I had spent a quarter of my life and almost all my adult life in R.A.F. uniform and would find things difficult or indeed incomprehensible.
At about this time our unit, 185 Wing, received orders to move across to the mainland, into Province Wellesley, to become R.A.F. Station Butterworth, leaving very good and well-appointed accommodation for something not quite so commodious. But there was a very good ferry service between Butterworth (which local people knew as Mata Kuching) and Georgetown, so I was still within easy reach of the town, its cafes, good sports facilities which were well used by us all, and above all, still within easy reach of Chiau Yong.
Towards the end of my service at Butterworth, on one visit to her, she suggested that we take a cycle ride to see some nearby parts
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of the island which were strange to me, and this we did for a couple of hours, along deserted roads, up hillsides, almost always under the cover of trees with their blossoms, so exotic to my eyes, with their birdsong, and the chattering and calling of monkeys and chipmunks.
The idyll had to end. I think my unconscious mind has, as a defence mechanism, obliterated the recollection of our goodbyes, for I can remember not one single thing about it. It is as though it had never happened. But it must have done, of course. I returned to England, a stranger to a strange land. Standards had changed, attitudes had changed, there was no longer the feeling of one-ness, of co-operation and togetherness which the war had engendered. It seemed now as though it were ‘every man for himself and damn the others’. I let a decent interval of two or three days pass as I settled in at home with my parents then I travelled south to be with J - . It was a happy but strange reunion. Strange to see her in civilian clothes, strange to see her leave to catch an early train to Brighton to work for the South Eastern Gas Board. All our talk was of when, where and how we were going to be married and where we would live. In the end, with the willing help of my parents, I found very basic accommodation in my home town, as I had agreed with J – that I needed to return to my old occupation and to obtain a necessary qualification as soon as possible.
J – and I were married in the autumn from her aunt’s home in Surrey and after our honeymoon in Edinburgh we were thrust into the realities of married life in cramped surroundings, comprehensive rationing, with a shared kitchen, and where even the basics of living necessitated stringent saving on my salary, with all of which J – coped amazingly well. I had to study hard in the evenings in the same small living room where J – was usually reading or knitting, deprived of the radio so as not to disturb me. Settling down at work was none too easy. My superiors were a man who had somehow missed the first World War and who was too old for the Second, his deputy, who had tried hard to dissuade me from volunteering for aircrew on the grounds that I would be probably be instrumental in killing people and who himself, had he not been reserved from military service as a key employee would have been compelled to describe himself as a conscientious objector. There were also two ex-R.A.F. men, who in six years of service had attained the respective ranks of Corporal
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and of Leading Aircraftman. Perhaps because I had outranked them it became apparent that any particularly physically dirty or awkward job was allocated to me. I accepted the situation as a continuation of military discipline, as I did when the office clerk, a lady of mature years, when I politely declined to do part of her far less than arduous work for her (so that she would have more time for gossiping, I suspected), told me rather angrily and unimaginatively that since “I’d been away” I had changed, which I thought was something of an understatement. I never talked of my wartime experiences and no-one asked me a single question. All they knew was that I had flown aeroplanes, been over Germany and finished my career in the Far East. The rest was silence.
Having neither a telephone nor a car I kept in touch with friends I had made in the R.A.F. by letter and rarely did a week go by without news from someone, either in the U.K. or some other part of the globe. My correspondents, of course, included Chiau Yong, whom I had told in a letter that I was finally married, and had given her my address. I certainly had not forgotten her and whenever I thought of her I smiled mentally at the remembrance of her charming company and her music-making.
At this time, although of course there was no means of knowing it, J – was sickening for a serious, potentially fatal illness, which within months was to take her into sanatoria for more than a year of her young life. Whether this slow decline in her health, coupled with the novelty of her surroundings and circumstances contributed to the short and low-key breakfast table conversation which took place between us I do not know, but I suspect it might have done so.
I remember vividly that it was a Saturday morning. There were two letters for us, one for J – and one for me, which, to my delight I saw was from Chiau Yong. We opened our respective mail at the breakfast table. The letter was typical of Chiau Yong’s nature – pleasant, equable, written in beautiful English and containing some mildly jocular reference to something I must have once said to her about settling down into civilian life. It contained no word of love; it ended without those conventional little crosses which were the well-known signs for kisses. I would have been astonished beyond measure if it had done so. J – had finished reading her own letter. I smiled across the table and said “From Chiau Yong. Read it, darling”.
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She took it without a word and read it expressionlessly. I had no inkling of what was to come as she handed the letter unsmilingly back to me. Looking directly at me, she said “I don’t think it’s right that she should be writing to a married man like that and I think you should tell her so”.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I was completely taken aback with shock and surprise. I had known J – for more than three years during which time we had seen eye-to-eye on almost everything and no word of disagreement had ever passed between us. But I recovered my composure quickly and knowing that one’s wife must come first in everything, I said “All right”.
I immediately left the table, got the writing pad and sitting down again in front of J – I wrote the cruellest words that I have ever in my whole life composed. My opening words are to this day burned into my memory.
“Dear Chiau Yong”, I wrote, “In England, a married man does not write letters to another girl”. And I continued briefly that the correspondence between us must now stop. It took about three minutes. I handed the letter wordlessly to J – who read it and gave it back to me with a nod. “Yes,” she said.
Chiau Yong’s name was never again mentioned during our married life, but I cannot and would not pretend that, happily married as we were for almost 40 years, I never thought of Chiau Yong. For I have thought of her often and I have been deeply and bitterly troubled that I must have been the cause of her suffering so much shock and pain so unexpectedly and, in my eyes, without any reason, and certainly not by any misdeed of hers, intentional or otherwise. I have prayed again and again over the years, and still do, that she might have eventually forgiven me. I never saw her again; I never heard from her again. Whether she is alive or dead, was or is happy or unhappy, I do not know, but I do know that she brought light and sweetness in unbelievable measure into my life and that our short and beautiful friendship was as innocent in every respect as any relationship could be.
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There is a curious and disturbingly bitter postscript to this unhappy episode in my life. J –‘s parents lived in Worthing and naturally she wanted to see them and her unmarried younger sister whenever she could. We had not much money, but by dint of hard saving we were able to spend two or three weeks every summer, usually during the Worthing Cricket Week, with her parents. One summer’s day, not all that many years before she died, J – and I were walking through the park near to the Worthing sea front. We left the park and crossed the road, going towards Lancing, still near to the sea. On the corner stood a church whose denomination I did not know – until I read on a notice board erected near to the church door, “Minister – D. P. –“ I looked away quickly before my shock and astonishment became too obvious. It could only have been the Spitfire pilot from Penang who used to visit Chiau Yong’s father, presumably for some sort of guidance or instruction as to his post war vocation. If things had been other than they were I would have gone immediately with J – to seek him out, to talk over the times when we first met, but of course Chiau Yong’s name would have come into our conversation. I walked on in silence, as though nothing untoward had happened, but with my mind in a turmoil. So J – never knew about D – P – , about his nearness and of the memories I still had of sunlit afternoons in the church hall in Georgetown where I would sit talking with that beautiful young girl in her long white dress.
Was I in love with Chiau Yong? Can one be in love with two people at once? Was that possible when I never stopped loving J - ? These are questions I have many times asked myself. The only self-convincing conclusion to which I can reasonably arrive is while there was no element whatsoever of the physical aspect of love in my relationship with her, yet I feel that the affection which I held and hold for her, whatever her feelings might have been for me, was more than mere friendship, that this was a different kind of love. Christ exhorted us to love one another. We were both Christians and I think that this is what He meant us to feel for one another.
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And so now, very often, while I have been writing this belated account of something which has haunted me for a very long time, and very often since I wrote that terrible, wounding letter, I remember with a sort of poignant gratitude and happiness, bitter-sweet happiness, the beauty of her nature and her innocent sweetness and I thank God for the gift of happiness which she gave me. But at the same time I feel a profound and bitter guilt and sadness, knowing that the dreadful hurt which she must have suffered and perhaps for years remembered was due to no fault of hers but was entirely due to me.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Mi querer tanto vos quiere,
muy graciosa donzella,
que por vos mi vida muere
y de vos no tiene querella.
Tanto sois de mi querida
con amor i lealtad,
que de vos non se que diga
viendo vestra onestad.
Si mi querer tanto vos quiere,
causalo que sois tan bella,
que por vos mi vida muere
y de vos no tiene querella.
(Enrique, d. 1488)
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[inserted] [underlined] Sun on a chequered tea-cosy [/underlined] [/inserted]
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O where are you going, Sir Rollo and Sir Tabarie,
Sir Duffy and Sir Dinadan, you four proud men,
With your battlecries [sic] and banners,
Your high and haughty manners,
O tell me, tell me, tell me,
Will you ride this way again?
(School Speech Day song, 1936.)
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[underlined] SUN ON A CHEQUERED TEA-COSY [/undelrined]
It was Zhejian green tea. I poured the water on, placed the lid carefully on the pot and took the tea-cosy in my left hand. The sun through the kitchen window shone brightly across its red and green checks. And stirred some memory, deep down in the recesses of my mind. Those checks had some significance, somewhere from a long way back. I stood there, looking down at the covered teapot and let myself relax until the realisation slowly dawned. I was looking again at the band around Ivor’s R.A.F. peaked cap when he was an apprentice at Halton, before the war, and I found myself thinking back to the times I had walked with him along the cliffs, hearing the gulls screaming overhead and wheeling in the sunlight, laughing with him as he sang “Shaibah Blues”, with the waves crashing on to the rocks below.
I never thought I would find myself in the position of trying to do a small thing to defend Ivor, after all this time, but, of course, there’s no one else left to do it now. Looking back over it, although so many years have passed since H – wrote what he did, it still seems to me that they were very cruel words to use, especially as Ivor had no means of defending himself, no right of reply nor of appeal. It was something so barbed that it eventually acquired, through its re-telling, the significance and nature of a legend, and in the perverse way of things it elevated Ivor to the status of a minor hero. But all the same, at the time it took place I could see it had made a deep and lasting impression on him, young and resilient as he was. And now, to me, at any rate, H – ‘s words about Ivor have acquired a poignancy which can never to expunged.
Ivor need not, of course, have let anyone into the secret; one didn’t do that sort of thing, very often, at school, in case it was thought that one was being sissy or trying to attract attention and sympathy, but it was sufficient to indicate to me, and to John, I believe, who was there at the time, how deeply it had struck home, when Ivor approached us one day on the Second Field, before school went in.
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It was the beginning of the Autumn term. The field behind the woodwork room looked bare and open without the cricket nets; the marks of the bowlers’ run-ups and of the batting block-holes could still be seen. The rugby pitch, away down the slight slope, looked very green and inviting with its newly painted posts and flawlessly straight white lines. During the winter months I lived for rugby and thought of little else; scholastic subjects took a poor second place.
As was the custom, about half the school were engaged in punting a single rugger ball around, more or less at random, before lessons started, competing with one another to catch it then punt it as far as one could again. It sounds, and looked, I suppose, pointless. But it was rare that anyone in any match missed catching a kick by the opposition, and no-one at all would dream of letting the ball bounce before he attempted to take it. I was squinting up into the sun at the flight of the ball when I heard someone call, “Hey! Yoicks!”
I turned to see Ivor. John, who was nearby, grinned when he saw him and came over, with his rather stiff-legged, rocking walk. Ivor and I exchanged the usual new-term greetings and repartee – where had we been, had we seen the latest laurel and Hardy picture, and so on. Then, surprisingly, for the old term was now but a hazy memory, Ivor said, “What was your report like?”
“My report?” I repeated in astonishment.
“Yeah, what was it like?” Ivor repeated, attempting a casual nonchalance.
I was surprised at his interest in that, because Ivor, more so than I, perhaps, was not particularly scholastically minded. He had the build of an athlete, taller than me by four or five inches, heavier by almost a stone, with dark, short-cropped hair, a freckled face and a pugnacious jaw. He moved with the natural athlete’s springy lope. He was a more than adequate boxer, a hard-working and aggressive lock forward and, during the summer, a forthright, attacking middle order batsman, as well as being a bowler of fearsome pace and hostility, if rather lacking in accuracy.
“What was it like, then, your report?” he repeated insistently.
To be truthful, I could hardly remember much about it; I took little interest in it, apart from my French result and the comments opposite “Games”. My parents rarely commented on it either, except to tell me, with some regularity, that I would have to pull my socks up.
“Oh, all right, I suppose,“ I said off-handedly to Ivor. “I was top in French,” I added rather smugly. He ignored that.
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“What did H – have to say – about your Speech Training?”
I looked at him in amazement. Speech Training? It just didn’t count; there was no exam., no placings, just remarks on the term’s progress, or lack of it.
For a short while around this period of time, the powers-that-were quite rightly decided that we should be put on the path towards becoming at least partly comprehensible in our speech to someone who might live more than half-a-dozen miles away. And Mr. H - , as a recent graduate from Oxbridge, was deputed to perform this function. It must be said that he did so with rather bitter sarcasm, delivered under a thin veil of feigned jocularity, which did little to impart in us either the ability, or indeed the desire to speak our mother tongue in a widely acceptable form. In fact, it had, in some cases, where the pupil concerned was either of a rebellious or strongly independent nature, quite the reverse effect, as toes were, metaphorically speaking, firmly dug in.
Into this category Ivor fell; he took very personally and very much to heart the barbed remarks directed at him during the rather tedious classes in Speech Training, and in the end, it was obvious to everyone that he was adopting an attitude verging on passive resistance to H – ‘s instruction. It seemed that Ivor’s was the proverbial duck’s back off which the pure water of H – ‘s tuition flowed unheeded.
Ivor seized me, in mock anger, by the lapels of my blazer.
“C’mon, c’mon!” he exclaimed in his best Humphrey Bogart accents, “Come clean, y’rat!”
“Well,” I said, rather tired of the subject by now, “if you must know, I think he said something like ‘fairly good’. I didn’t get myself told off by my parents, anyhow, so it can’t have been too bad. But why, anyhow? What’s all the fuss about?”
Ivor’s eyes narrowed and he looked around him before, dropping his voice, he said to John and me, “Do you know what the rotter put on mine?”
“No,” I said, somewhat obviously.
“Well, on mine, he said, ‘Seems incapable of sustained effort’, the so-and-so. My Dad played merry hell about it, threatened to
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stop my pocket-money and goodness knows what.”
“I say, it is a bit thick, though, isn’t it, H – saying a rotten thing like that? I mean to say – “
I left the sentence unfinished; I felt that H – ‘s remark was a bit much. Surely he could have simply said ‘fairly good’ or ‘could do better’? They were the customary form of words. But this, well, it was rather damning. Both John and I made sympathetic noises, then John passed around his wine gums. I let Ivor have the black one and we chewed them in thoughtful silence, each of us meditating on the rat-ishness of H - . The next time I caught the ball I passed it hard to Ivor and he gave vent to his feelings with a tremendous punt which almost cleared the fence by the Art School.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
At that age, memories are short, and mine was no exception. I cannot speak for Ivor, of course; I suppose that somewhere inside that stubborn, defiant head of his a resentment still burned, and as far as H – was concerned, while it would be quite unfair to say that he had it in for Ivor, it was apparent that he singled him out with some slight relish as the object of any cutting remarks he felt inclined to make concerning our defective pronunciation. But it was something which, to be honest about it, did not loom very large in my life. Perhaps twice a week, during the Speech Training lessons I would look covertly, with mingled anticipation and apprehension, at the scornfully sarcastic H – and at a reddening Ivor, his lower lip jutting stubbornly, as the temperature of the atmosphere rose between them. But my Autumn term was dominated by the fact that I was picked to play for the Junior House fifteen.
I knew, of course, that Ivor’s eldest brother was in the Royal Air Force; from time to time he mentioned him, proudly, and looking back, I realise that I never knew his first name, he was to Ivor, simply ‘my brother’. Somehow, it lent them both a great deal of dignity, I think. Ivor would also tell us the latest Station his brother was on, their romantic-sounding names supplying, as it were, a coloured backdrop to the anonymity of ‘my brother’ in his coarse, high-necked airman’s tunic and peaked cap pulled down on his brow,
[page break]
as I saw him in my imagination, marching in a squad of men – I did not yet know they were called ‘flights’ – across a vast parade ground.
“He’s on a course at St. Athan, just now,” Ivor would tell us, or, “My brother’s been posted to Drem,” or again, “He’s at Scampton.”
What his brother did, exactly, we never knew, nor thought to ask, it was sufficient that he inhabited and was part of a picturesque, far-off and dashing world, greatly removed in every way from our monotonous and rather dreary provincial town.
One day, Ivor came up to John and me and said, proudly, “My brother’s been posted overseas, he’s gone to Aden.”
John said, mischievously, “Will he be wearing a fez?” and had to dodge the powerful left swing which Ivor pretended to aim with serious intent at him. On the strength of that news, John and I took to calling Ivor “Ali”, but we could tell he didn’t much like it, and as he was still the target of H – ‘s jibes we thought he had sufficient to contend with, so we eventually dropped it.
It was during the Christmas holidays when I was, for want of something better to do, in our sitting room playing the piano rather loudly and very inaccurately, that my mother put her head around the door.
“You’re not concentrating,” she said, “I can tell, you know. But there’s someone here for you, do you want me to bring him in?”
“Who is it?” I asked, glad of the interruption.
“I think he said his name was Bradley,” she replied.
“Oh, it must be Ivor, then,” I said, feeling much less bored and getting up from the piano. I went to the front door. Ivor was standing there with an expression of elaborate unconcern on his face.
“Hello, Yoicks,” he greeted me.
“Hiya,” I said, “what are you doing here?”
I thought perhaps he might want to borrow a book, or something.
“I was just going for a walk along the cliffs – want to come?”
This surprised me slightly as he wasn’t by any means a regular friend of mine away from school; there were a group of five or six of us who lived near to one another and who tended to congregate
[page break]
on our bikes in our immediate neighbourhood; Ivor lived all of three-quarters of a mile away in quite another part of the town, separated from our district by a railway line.
“Sure,” I said, glad of the distraction, “just hang on, I’ll shove my coat on.”
As I was doing so, “Mother!” I called, “I’m just going along the cliffs with Ivor.”
“Mind you don’t get cold,” she said, “Have you got your coat on?”
I rolled my eyes at Ivor, who grinned understandingly.
“Yes, Mam,” I said, in a long-suffering voice, and shut the door quickly behind me. We strode away.
When we arrived at the cliff-tops, the cold easterly wind was smashing the rollers against the rocks below and tugged at our overcoats as we walked. Until then we had talked of the usual things, what we had had for Christmas presents, the “flicks”, as Ivor always called them – a word learned from his brother, perhaps? – and how we had been passing the time during the holidays.
“My brother’s in Aden,” Ivor said, “did I tell you?”
I said yes, he had told us, how was he getting along?
“Great,” he said, “but it’s bloody hot out there. They’re all wondering what this bloke Mussolini’s going to do, he keeps talking about – what’s its name? – Abyssinia, or some place?”
I wasn’t greatly interested in the comical figure of the Italian dictator, comical, that is, as he appeared to us, or as he was portrayed to us. So I merely grunted something non-committal.
Ivor said abruptly, “I’m leaving. I thought I’d tell you.”
“You’re what?” I shouted above the noise of the sea, “You’re leaving? Leaving school? But you can’t!”
“Oh, yes I can, though,” he replied with a grin of triumph, “my Dad’s been to the Town Hall to check up.”
“But what are you going to do?” I asked, now all agog. He used an expression I heard then for the first time, on that cold and windswept cliff path, one which, when I hear it, inevitably brings to mind Ivor, his freckled face pink with the cold, as he proudly said, “I’m going to join the Raf.”
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The penny didn’t drop. It must have been the cold.
“The what?” I said, “What’s the Raf?”
He punched my shoulder playfully. Fortunately he was nearer the cliff-edge than I.
“C’mon, yer mug, it’s the R.A.F., of course. What else did you think?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I replied, recovering my balance. “When’re you going, then?”
“Soon as I can. End of next term, prob’ly. I’m going to be a Boy Apprentice at Halton!”
He squared his broad shoulders. A vision of Oliver Twist with his empty porridge bowl held out in front of him floated into my head. ‘Boy Apprentice’ sounded rather like someone who was being exploited, ill-treated. I am sure I was wrong, but the picture remained. But I grinned and said, “You might get out to Aden with your brother.”
“Hope so,” he said wistfully, “but he’ll prob’ly be posted again before that. Anyhow, that’s what I’m doing. I’m leaving as soon as I can. No more speech training for me!”
We laughed. Two gulls wheeled noisily overhead, their screaming cut across the noise of the sea and of the wind. Ivor aimed his fingers, pointed like a pistol, at them and clicked his tongue very loudly, twice. He was good at that.
“Gotcher!” he exclaimed.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The Spring term came and went. Ivor, as they would put it nowadays, kept a low profile as far as H – was concerned, and worked assiduously at every subject, even Speech Training. At the end of term he quietly left us. I don’t even remember saying ‘cheerio’ to him. We were young, you see, and quite without sentiment. Then it was summer, and the nets went up again. To my surprise I was elected Junior House cricket captain and became rather insufferably swollen-headed about it. It was on a Saturday afternoon that summer when I saw him again. I was sitting at home, reading, when a shadow passed the window, there was the sound of heavy footsteps and someone knocked at the door. I heard the door-knocker flap loosely as my mother answered it, then the sound of conversation.
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“It’s your friend,” mother said, “the one in the Air Force.”
I hurried to the door. Ivor stood there, smiling broadly, resplendent in his uniform, heavy boots shining brilliantly, his cap carrying the chequered band of the Halton Cadet.
“Hiya, Ivor!” I said. (I almost called him ‘Ali’ and only just corrected myself in time.)
“Hiya, Yoicks! How about comin’ for a walk? I’m on a forty-eight.”
I had no idea what that was but I went to tell my mother where I was going.
“Isn’t he smart?” she smiled quietly, “he looks well in his uniform.”
We set off for the cliffs, in the sunshine. I noticed he did not lope along now, he marched. He seemed taller than I remembered him, bronzed and deep-chested, harder. We exchanged news. In one way he seemed to be very grown-up but in another, he was still my form-mate, furrowing his brow at some problem of Algebra.
“What’s a forty-eight, by the way?” I asked.
“Just a forty-eight hour pass.”
“You haven’t got much time at home, then, have you? All that way from Halton and you’ll have to be back again inside two days?”
“Sure,” he said, airily and confidently, “it’s a piece of cake.”
That was another new expression; I stored it for future use.
“Where’s your brother just now? Still in Aden?”
“No, he’s been posted to Shaibah; bet you don’t know where that is.”
I shook my head.
“never heard of it before,” I said.
“Middle East,” Ivor said proudly, “Iraq – getting his knees brown good and proper.”
He started to sing joyfully what I later knew to be the anthem of all overseas R.A.F. men, “Shaibah Blues”. Then he ripped into several verses of “Charlotte the Harlot”, and while, having been very strictly brought up, I didn’t know the meaning of some of the expressions, I gathered from their anatomical connections that it was not the sort of thing one would sing at home. At least not at my home. But I smiled rather sheepishly when he’d finished.
I said, “Do you like it, in the Raf?”
(I hadn’t forgotten.)
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“It’s great,” he said decisively, “bloody great.”
He slapped me hard on the shoulder.
“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken, Yoicks!”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, square-bashing, P.T., lectures – I’m going to be a Flight Mechanic.”
I could see he was as happy as a sandboy, it shone out of him. He was alert, confident, buoyant, a complete contrast to the rebellious and scowling youth who had reluctantly forced himself to stand and, red-faced, chant, “the rain in Spain.”
“that’s fine, then,” I said, “but we don’t half miss you in the scrum.”
He never mentioned H – ‘s name.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Then, of course, the fuse which had been smouldering in Europe for six years finally detonated the bomb, and everything blew up in our faces. Not many of us were at all surprised. Although I and nearly all our little crowd who lived nearby had left school and were settling into our various jobs, as soon as Munich had come along I pushed my studying to one side. I knew there was no point in it now. It was going to be, at the very least, somewhat interrupted. So I, and my friends, played a lot of games, went to a lot of flicks, cycled a lot, and, out of working hours, lived our lives to the full, as far as we could. I started to take a girl out. Her name was Lilian, and she was extremely beautiful.
When the Battle of Britain was on I went into the R.A.F. One of my leaves, much later, coincided with one of Ivor’s, and he called at hour house, out of the blue. This time, as we were men, we shook hands firmly. He looked me up and down.
“I’m bloody well not going to call you ‘sir’,” he said.
“You’d bloody well better not try,, either,” I replied, “or I’ll stick you on a fizzer!”
He swung a playful punch at me, which, knowing Ivor, I was half-expecting. I dodged it and clouted him in the midriff, hard enough to make him wince.
“You rotten sod!” he gasped, “come on, let’s have a walk on the
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cliffs!”
I handed him a Players’, we lit up and strode away. The cliffs were partly wired off as an anti-invasion measure but we managed to get near enough to hear the same waves crashing on to the same rocks, and to smell the salt air as we walked. Until I looked at us, I felt nothing had changed; then I knew it had, really, and that you could never, ever, put the clock back to what had been.
It was about this time that the inevitable, impersonal and cruelly clinical process of the dissection of our little crowd began.
Norman was unfit for military service because of his deplorable eyesight. He was working for one of the Government Departments in London when a German bomb killed him. Peter, who lived in the next house down the street, and whose father had been drowned at sea a couple of years before, went into the R.A.F., became a Navigator, and was killed when his Wellington, from Finningley, crashed one night. I visited his mother on my first leave after it happened.
She was in a state of near-hysteria at mention of his name, and bitter, it must be said, that everything seemed to be going well for me. She did not know, of course, about my crew. I left her staring into the small fire, locked in her private world of abject misery. Then there was Jack, who was also an only son, strangely enough, also a Navigator on Wellingtons, also killed in a night crash.
By the time Alan, whom I had met in London while I was on my Intelligence course, had qualified as a Radar Operator on Beaufighters, the Germans had ceased flying over England at nights and he was transferred to non-operational flying. George also went into the R.A.F.., qualified as a pilot, then, almost immediately, the war ended. He emigrated to the U.S.A., where he had been trained.
Connie and I had a few months together at Moreton-in-the-Marsh, until I was grounded for good. I left him there, bumped into him once more, on leave, then learned of his death. He had crashed his Stirling, towing a glider, over England.
When it was all over, I asked Alan to be my best man. I would have done so anyhow, but in practical terms I had no choice – there was no-one left in our crowd now but he and I.
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So much had happened since I had last seen Ivor that he rarely had entered my thoughts. There was little reason for him to have done so, as he was a Fitter, in a pretty safe ground job in the R.A.F. Like thousands of other friends, we had been separated by the war and we would either bump into each other on some R.A.F. station, or in some outlandish place in the Far East, or eventually, we’d see each other back in the U.K. When he did enter my head occasionally, I thought perhaps he might have met and married a girl from some other part of the country, or, like George, had seen service in foreign parts and emigrated. I visualised him in a fez, thought about John’s remark about his brother, and smiled to myself at the happy recollection. But gradually, Ivor faded out of my mind.
Until I bumped into a chap who owned a shop, and who had been in our form at school. He had lived within a few hundred yards of Ivor. He, also, had served in the wartime R.A.F., as an armourer, and strangely enough, he told me he had been on the nearest Station to Breighton, at the same time as I had met J – there. I don’t know how he managed it, but he was a mine of information as to what happened to the chaps in our form. Ivor’s name did not come up immediately, as, of course, he had left school before we had done so. But in a pause during his cataloguing of old friends and acquaintances I asked him, “Where’s Ivor got himself these days? I haven’t seen him for years.”
P – was solemn, bespectacled and deliberate in manner and speech. He looked earnestly at me through his thick lenses for a moment or two, as though sorting through some mental card-index and trying to decide whether I could be trusted to hear the information which he had in store there.
“Ivor,” he said slowly, “Ivor Bradley. Yes. he went into the Raf, of course – you knew that?”
“yes,” I said, “He was a Boy Entrant, a Halton Brat, as they were known.”
A smile flicked on to and off his face, like the headlights of a car signalling ‘come on’.
“That’s right,” he continued, then paused. “Yes, well he went missing, you know.”
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For a moment I could not think what he meant. Rather obtusely I said, “You mean he left town? Went off somewhere suddenly?”
“No, no, he was aircrew, he went missing on a raid over Germany,” P – said, looking more owlish than ever.
“But – he was a fitter, surely?” I exclaimed, with an awful feeling, which I had hoped never again to experience, beginning to overtake me. Then, as the light dawned, I said, “Did he remuster to aircrew?”
P – nodded.
“Yes, that’s what happened. I saw him just after he volunteered for aircrew – you remember we lived near to one another? – and he said he wanted to do something a bit more active. So he became a Flight Engineer.”
“Good God,” I said softly, I’d no idea at all. I never dreamed that Ivor would go – like that.”
He nodded again, solemnly.
“Well, he did, I’m afraid,” he said.
He shuffled through a few more cards.
“How long were you at Breighton, by the way? I saw your name in the Visitors’ Book in the Church there, on the day after you’d been in.”
“That’s remarkable,” I said, “what a small world, isn’t it?”
I remembered very vividly going into the church with J - , the day after Johnny P – went missing.
P – said, “You must call in again sometime. I’ll shut the shop and we’ll have a cup of tea and a proper chat.”
I said yes, I would do that, and I felt I should really have made more of an effort to do so. But I was a bit of a coward about the rest of his card index, I’m afraid.
It was several more years before I learned what had happened to Ivor. Searching through a volume of aircrew losses I finally found his name. He was lost without trace, with his crew, during a raid in a Pathfinder Lancaster in the summer of 1943.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I poured myself a cup of the green tea and took a sip as I looked out of the window. But it was terribly tepid, so I threw it all away
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and found I wasn’t really thirsty after all. The sun had long since moved off the chequered tea-cosy, and it was starting to get dusk. I shivered suddenly and found I was feeling extremely lonely and extremely depressed. I looked across at the white telephone and wished to hell that someone would ring, anyone at all, even a wrong number would have done, just so that I could have heard a voice. I sat for a while, waiting, but I knew it was a stupid thing to do. Nobody did ring, so I put on my anorak and went out quickly.
I walked around for a bit. I passed a lighted pub which looked very inviting and cheerful with people smiling at one another and chatting while they drank their beer. I wished I could go in and have a few beers, with Connie, like I used to. I stopped and thought about it, but I knew it would be no good, and as M – had said, it wouldn’t solve anything. So I kept on walking and feeling bloody miserable when I thought about Ivor and Connie, and about Jack and Peter and Norman, and all my crew. And about J - . Her especially. Then I had a strong craving for a cigarette, but I knew that would be a stupid thing to do, too.
It started to rain, so finally, I made my way back to the flat. It felt empty and cold, like somewhere someone had once lived, but didn’t any more. If no-one rings before nine o’clock, I told myself, I will ring M - , just so that I can talk to someone, for Christ’s sake. I sat and looked at the telephone again for a bit and thought about it. But nine o’clock came and I didn’t do anything about it in the end, because I knew it wouldn’t be very cheerful or very much fun for her, and as I was tired and cold I swallowed a couple of aspirin and got into bed.
While I was taking them it occurred to me that there was a stack left in the bottle which could be put to very effective use, but then I thought that wasn’t exactly any part of a pressing-on-regardless effort, so I shoved the bottle firmly to one side.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to go off to sleep after all this business, and I was damned right. I kept thinking about Ivor, then I started thinking about the crowed and how much I realised I was missing them. And about J - ; her, most of all. Then I thought,
[page break]
“My God, there’s only me left now, and I’m not much damn good to anyone like this, even if there were anyone,” which made things worse. I would have given a great deal if I could have turned the clock back, to have gone back to Breighton, to that lovely summer, to have started all over again, to be meeting J – for the first time, that wonderful morning when I saw her walk into the Ops Room, when she came to attention smartly and saluted and said, “Good morning, sir.” Little did I know, little did we both know what was to happen to us.
But this was getting me nowhere, so in the end I said aloud, “Oh, Christ, I just don’t want to wake up in the morning.” Then I said goodnight to J – ‘s photograph, in our own very special way, like I always had done, to her, once upon a time, when we were together, when we were happy.
And then I put out the light.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
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[inserted] [underlined] Photograph in a book. [/underlined] [/inserted]
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[underlined] PHOTOGRAPH IN A BOOK [/underlined]
“Frankie, do you remember me?”
(Late 20th century pop song.)
I realise it is very trite to say that the unexpected is always happening. Nevertheless I have to say that something completely unexpected happened recently to me, which produced, out of the blue, a violent cocktail-shaking of emotions which I thought were firmly and peacefully laid to rest.
I flatter myself that usually I am among the first to obtain, or at least to see, newly-published books on the subject of Bomber Command in the second world war, but for one reason or another, this was not the case in relation to a recently-published history of No. 4 Bomber Group.
4 Group included the aerodromes at Linton-on-Ouse, (my initial posting as an Int/Ops Officer), Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, to which I was moved when the Canadians were about to take over the northernmost aerodromes of 4 Group to form their own 6 Group, and Breighton, the satellite of Holme, where I was to meet, fall in love with and become engaged to J - , who, when the war was over became my wife.
I should have, to have been true to form, snapped up the book on its first appearing, but for various reasons, I did not. Instead, I heard reports – all good – of it from D - , an Ex-W.A.A.F., who features on a whole page of it, complete with her charming photograph, and with whom I had been corresponding. And I heard of it from Alan, a friend who was instrumental in having a memorial installed on the village green close to the place where Pilot Officer Cyril Barton, V.C., of 578 Squadron in 4 Group, sacrificed his life in bringing back his crippled and half-crewed Halifax after the disastrous Nuremberg raid. Alan was a schoolboy at the time and was among the first on the scene of Cyril Barton’s crash. He has, most worthily, devoted a considerable amount of his time and energy to ensuring
[page break]
that Cyril’s sacrifice will never be forgotten. It was as a result of this that, just before J – died, I met Alan, a very caring man, a man who has become a true friend to me. He was given the book as a birthday present.
He and I live in neighbouring towns. We speak on the telephone quite often; we meet whenever we are able and always find much to talk about, as Alan was also in the Royal Air Force. He was thrilled to receive the book, which, naturally, contains material concerning Cyril Barton. I had been searching bookshops for it, but without success; I had been waiting for the local Library to obtain it for me.
Early one evening there was a ring at my doorbell. Alan was standing there, cheerful as ever, a welcome sight indeed. He was carrying something flat in a Sainsbury’s carrier bag. With typical generosity he said that as he and his wife were shortly going on holiday, I might as well have the benefit of the book while he was away. I was grateful to him, and leafed through it while we chatted for a while before he had to leave to go to work. He showed me a picture in the book of Cyril’s wrecked aircraft and of Alan himself, as a schoolboy, standing near to it, very soon after the crash occurred.
When Alan had gone, impressed by the high quality of the book and by the photographs in particular, many of them amateur pictures taken by wartime aircrew members, I leafed through its pages, then worked through them systematically.
There were many poignant, familiar scenes. Of aircraft and their crews, of aerodromes and their buildings, targets in Germany and the occupied countries, pictures of people I had known of by reputation, people I had known personally, many I had never known. I found myself wondering how many of those young faces smiling at me from the pages were now, like myself, turning these same pages thinking, as I was thinking, “Oh, yes, I remember a scene like that”, or how many if them were no longer able to do this. A lump was gathering in my throat as I turned to a particular page and saw, among a group of captions, one which read ‘Interrogation for 78 Squadron crews as others await their turn, following the raid
[page break]
on Berlin on 31st August/1st September 1943.’
Reading it, I thought, “Well – I was an Intelligence Officer to 78n Squadron at that time.” Then I looked at the photograph and saw myself pictured there, in the far corner of the room, writing down the replies to my questions to the crew – heaven only knows who they were – at my table.
“My God,” I exclaimed.
I could not help it and I am not ashamed to admit that my eyes flooded with tears. I had no idea that the photograph had been taken; the author’s credit was to Gerry C - , who was a pilot on the Squadron at that time, whom I knew, and with whom I am still in contact.
I felt as though I had been wrenched back in time to that night, almost fifty years ago, as though the intervening years had never been, as though I were still at Breighton, working those long and irregular hours in the windowless Operations Room alongside Derek and Pam, with one or other of the W.A.A.F. Watchkeepers – Freda, or the attractive and much sought after Billie, or with J - . I felt, strangely, that all I needed to do was to walk out of the door of this cottage and I would find myself, miraculously, back on the narrow concrete road leading from that house in the hamlet of Breighton with its tall gable-end, along past the W.A.A.F. site to the Nissen huts of the Intelligence Library, the Window Store and the Ops. Room, where the armed sentry would be on duty, where the cornfield would be stretching away to my left, up towards the perimeter track and the runways of the aerodrome. I would return the sentry’s salute and his greeting and I would open the heavy door of the Ops. Room to see, on my left, the huge blackboard with the captains’ names and their aircraft letters already entered for the night’s operation. At the top, the target for tonight, perhaps Duisburg or Mannheim or Essen – or Berlin. The route written underneath that – Base – Southwold – Point A, with Lat. and Long. positions for the route-marking flares to guide the bomber stream to the target. The time of briefing, of the operational meals, of transport out to the aircraft, of starting engines, and of take-off. Of ‘H-Hour’, the time on target. On the wall facing me I would see the huge map of the British Isles, the S.D. 300, blotched in red with gun-defended areas, stuck with broad-headed pins and coloured threads carrying information
[page break]
about navigational hazards.
In the middle of the room the big map table where, after the raid, we spread the mosaic photograph of the German town which had been the target and would plot the crews’ bombing photos. And, to the right, the place where I shall sit, near to the telephones and next to J – who is there behind her switchboard and Tannoy microphone, ready for the night’s operation. If she had been born a man she would, I know, have been a member of a bomber crew, for she thought and talked of little else but bombing operations.
Except on stand-down evenings, in the twilight, when we met secretly in the village at a quiet angle of buildings on the main road, near to the bus stop, then cycled to the ‘Plough’ at Spaldington, the nearest village to the bombing range, where, amazingly, there were no other uniforms to be seen in its homely bar. Where we would spend the long, warm evenings over two or three beers, sitting in the high-backed, high-sided wooden seats made for two, made for people like we were then, people who were young and who had met and who loved each other deeply and desperately. And sitting there, talking gently together, we would hear, above the murmur of the farm workers’ talk, the drone of some aircraft, perhaps on a night cross-country flight, perhaps heading for the other side on a raid. Then we would both sit silently, listening, not saying anything, but I know we were both praying for its safe return to base.
Sometimes, when our own aircraft had gone on a raid and we were not due on duty until they returned, we would steal a precious hour together, sitting with our arms around one another in the darkness, on a low grassy bank under some trees, not far from the unmanned railway level crossing at Gunby, the Sandra lights from the aerodrome shining distantly through the trees, heavy with their summer foliage. For some reason, whenever I hear Delius’ ‘The Walk to the Paradise Garden’ I invariably and inevitable think of J – and I at that place and those wonderful, warm summer nights we shared in the countryside of East Yorkshire, around Breighton.
The tears which came to my eyes when I saw my photograph, and the sadness which overwhelmed me, were because now, that Interrogation Room, whose walls, had they been possessed of ears, would have heard
[page break]
small, unemotionally told tales, couched in the understated phrases of flying men, of achievement, of failure, of heroism, of desperation, triumph and tragedy, that Interrogation Room is now an unoccupied ruin, and the Ops. Room is no more, now part of an isolated dwelling house. I know, for I have been back there, where among so much tragedy, I was so happy.
And J - , now, is no more, except in my memory. I sat with her, taking her cold and unfeeling hand in mine, one beautiful summer morning, such as we used to have at Breighton, and I watched her life slip away from the loveliness that had been her. But we shall meet again, I know, she and I, and all the many crew members who came into our lives and went again, and were forgotten by us, like the many dawns and the many sunsets which we shared.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
[page break]
[underlined] GLOSSARY [/underlined]
Abort – to abandon an operation and return to base.
A.C.P. – Aerodrome Control Pilot, a ‘traffic policeman’ for those aircraft within visual distance.
A.G. – Air Gunner.
Alldis lamp – high-powered lamp capable of flashing Morse letters.
A.P. – Air Publication, usually a book; Aiming Point.
A.S.I. – Airspeed indicator.
Astrodome – transparent blister half way back along the fuselage of the Wellington.
A.S.V. – Anti-surface vessel.
A.T.A. – Air Transport Auxiliary, civilian aircraft delivery service.
Base – parent Station of one or more satellite aerodromes. Three, four, or even five Bases and their satellites constituted a Group.
base – one’s home aerodrome.
Best blue – best uniform.
Bind – (noun) nuisance, annoyance. (verb) to complain, tiresomely.
Bomb plot – plan of the target area annotated with the positions of each of the Squadron aircraft’s bombing photos.
Bombing Leader – senior Bomb-Aimer on a Squadron, responsible for instruction and training of other Bomb-Aimers.
Bombing photo – vertical photo taken automatically on release of an aircraft’s bombs, thus showing the point of impact.
Boost – petrol/air mixture pressure at the engine inlet manifold.
Buck House – Buckingham Palace.
Bullseye – bomber exercise in conjunction with friendly searchlights.
Circuits and bumps – take offs, circuits and landing, the staple diet of training pilots.
C.O. – Commanding Officer.
Cookie – 4000 pound High Capacity blast bomb, nicknamed by the press and B.B.C. ‘blockbuster’.
DC3 – Douglas Dakota twin-engined transport aircraft. Also known as a C-47.
Defiant – Boulton Paul single-engined fighter/night fighter. Two-seater, the rear seat being in a rotatable 4-gun turret.
[page break]
D.R. – Dispatch rider.
Drem lighting – aerodrome runway and perimeter track lighting, protected by metal dish-shaped hoods so as to be invisible from above. First used at R.A.F. Drem, Scotland.
Early return – (later knows as ‘boomerang’) aircraft returning from an abortive sortie.
E.F.T.S. – Elementary Flying Training School.
Erk – Aircraftman.
E.T.A. – Estimated time of arrival.
Feathering – device which enabled the pilot to turn the blades of a propeller edge-on to the direction of flight, thus minimising the drag on the aircraft in the event of an engine failure.
Flak – German anti-aircraft fire.
Flights – Flight Offices and crewroom.
Flying the beam – flying from A to B by means of an aural signal transmitted by B.
Fresher – a new crew; such a crew’s early operational flights; the target for such a crew.
Fizzer, stick (or put) on a – charge with an offence.
Gee – radar navigational aid which enabled an aircraft to fix its position. Had a limited range which just covered the Ruhr and was susceptible to jamming.
Gen – information, news, divided into ‘pukka’ (true) and ‘duff’ (false). (Meteorological Officers were invariably known as Duff Gen Men.)
Geodetics – aluminium girders formed into spiral basket-work construction which made up the fuselage and mainplanes of the Wellington.
Get weaving – get going, get started.
Glim lamps/lights – low-powered lights which formed the flarepath of an aerodrome.
Glycol – Ethylene glycol, liquid coolant.
Gong – medal.
Goose-necks – paraffin flares housed in watering-can-shaped containers. Supplemented Drem lighting.
G.Y. – Grimsby.
Gyro – gyroscopic compass.
[page break]
1 Group – Bomber Group in north Lincolnshire consisting of, originally, 4 R.A.F., 3 Polish and 2 Australian Wellington Squadrons, latterly, of Lancaster Squadrons.
3 Group – Bomber Group in East Anglia consisting of, originally, Wellington Squadrons. Converted to Stirlings, latterly to Lancasters.
Halifax – Four-engined Handley Page bombers with crew of seven. Nicknamed Hali or Halibag.
Hampden – Twin-engined Handley Page medium bombers, crew of three.
Harvard – single-engined North American Aviation Co. advanced fighter trainers. Also know as Texan or AT – 6.
“Have a good trip” – Between close friends on a Squadron this parting remark was occasionally varied by the addition of “Can I have your egg if you don’t come back?” This was part of the grim humour current among bomber aircrew.
H.E. – High explosive.
High – anticyclone, high-pressure weather system.
H2S – Radar device which showed a ground plan of the earth below an aircraft.
Ident. light – identification light, a small nose-light used for flashing Morse.
I.F.F. – Identification friend or foe. Radar set carried on an aircraft to identify it as friendly to British ground defences. Set to ‘Stud 3’ it gave a specially-shaped distress trace on ground radar screens.
Int. – Intelligence.
Intercom – internal ‘telephone system’ in an aircraft.
Interrogation – now known, in view of the current overtones of ill-treatment which have become implicit in the term, as ‘de-briefing’.
I.T.W. – Initial Training Wing.
Juice – petrol
Kite – aircraft.
[page break]
L.A.C. – Leading Aircraftman.
L.A.C.W. – Leading Aircraftwoman.
Line-shoot – boast.
Link Trainer – a simulator which gave practice in instrument flying.
Lysander – Single-engined Westland Aviation Army co-operation (originally) aircraft.
Mag drop – the reduction in r.p.m. of an engine when one of its two magnetos was switched out.
Mae West – Inflatable life-jacket which gave to its wearer the contours of the famous film actress.
Mosaic – collage of aerial photographs, taken probably at different times, but from the same height, making up a complete picture of a German town, and used to plot bombing photos.
Nav. – navigator, navigation.
N.F.T. – night-flying test.
Nickels – British propaganda leaflets dropped over enemy territory. To drop the leaflets was known as nickelling.
Observer – Navigator/Bomb-aimer in twin-engined bombers prior to the establishment of these as separate categories.
Occult – white flashing beacon showing one Morse letter whose latitude and longitude was carried by Observers or Navigators (in code).
On the boat – posted overseas, or, when overseas, posted to the U.K.
One o’clock – slightly to the right of dead ahead (twelve o’clock). Dead astern was six o’clock.
Ops – operations.
O.T.U. – Operational Training Unit.
Oxford – twin-engined advanced bomber-trainer, made by Airspeed Ltd.
Peri. track – perimeter track, a taxying track connecting the ends of the runways on an aerodrome, and having aircraft dispersal points leading off it.
Pigeon – homing pigeon carried in bomber aircraft to carry a message back to base giving the aircraft’s position in the event of ‘ditching’ (landing in the sea), when the aircraft would be too low for its radio transmissions to be heard.
[page break]
Pit – bed.
Pitch controls – varied the angle of the propeller blades and consequently controlled the r.p.m. of the engine.
Pitot head – (pronounced pea-toe) fine-bore tube facing forward which supplied air pressure from the movement of the aircraft through the air and showed this pressure as airspeed on a ‘clock’ in the cockpit.
P/O – Pilot Officer (not necessarily a pilot!)
Poop off – shoot off.
P/O Prune – a cartoon character in Tee Emm (q.v.), an inept pilot forever involved in accidents of his own making.
Portreath – R.A.F. Station in Cornwall
Prang – crash, wreck, break.
Press the tit – press the button.
Prop – propeller, more properly, airscrew.
P.R.U. – Photographic Reconnaissance Unit.
Pundit – aerodrome beacon, flashing two red Morse letters which were changed at irregular intervals. The beacons were always within two miles of the parent aerodrome, although their position was changed nightly.
R.A.A.F. – Royal Australian Air Force.
R.C.A.F. – Royal Canadian Air Force.
Resin lights – low-powered lights at the rear of an aircraft’s wingtips, illuminated over this country as a warning to friendly night-fighters. Colours were changed at irregular intervals.
Revs – revolutions.
Rolling the bones – gambling with dice.
R/T – radio telephone (speech).
Sandra lights – cone of three searchlights stationary over an aerodrome, to assist returning aircraft.
Scrub – cancel.
Second dickey – second pilot.
S.D. – secret document.
S.D.300 – wall-map of the U.K., kept in the Ops Room and maintained by the Watchkeepers, showing positions of all gun-defended areas, navigational hazards and convoys.
[page break]
S.F.T.S. – Service Flying Training School. (Stage following E.F.T.S.)
Spit – Spitfire.
Spoof. – feint.
Sprog – newly arrived, newly joined, raw, inexperienced.
Square-bashing – drill.
Stall – lose flying speed.
Stirling – four-engined bomber manufactured by Short Bros.
Stooge – boring, casual or haphazard flying.
Stud 3 – Distress frequency setting on I.F.F. (q.v.)
Sullom Voe – R.A.F. Station in the Shetlands.
Sweet Caps – Sweet Caporal cigarettes, a popular Canadian brand.
Tee Emm – Air Ministry Training Magazine. Humorously written and comically illustrated aid to safe flying and good navigation and gunnery. It was extremely popular with all aircrew.
Trailing edge – rear edge of mainplane or elevators.
Trimmers – (or ‘trimming tabs’). Small adjustable sections of the aircraft’s control surfaces, enabling it to be flown, when they were carefully adjusted, without undue pressure on the controls by the hands and feet.
Undercart – undercarriage.
u/s – unserviceable.
u/t – under training.
Vic – V.
W.A.A.F. – Women’s Auxiliary Air Force; a member of same.
W.A.A.F. (G) – Officer responsible for the discipline and well-being of all W.A.A.F. on a Station.
Watchkeeper – W.A.A.F. Sergeant who acted as a clearing house for all telephoned outgoing and incoming secret operational and other information, and who was responsible for its prompt and correct transmission to the appropriate person(s).
Wellington – twin-engined Vickers bomber with a crew of six.
Wimpy – Nickname for the above. Derived from the character in a ‘Daily Mirror’ cartoon – J. Wellington Wimpy, a friend of Popeye.
[page break]
Wingco – Wing Commander. (C.O. of a bomber Squadron).
W/T – wireless telegraphy (Morse code).
Y.M. – Y.M.C.A.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Loose on the wind
Description
An account of the resource
Starts with a poem and then a series of stories which together form the memoirs of Harold Yeoman, an officer who served in Bomber Command during the war, initially as a pilot on Wellingtons and then as an Intelligence Officer. He relates his activities both professionally and personally during this time and recounts the many friends and colleagues he lost whilst on operations. He recalls his flying training on the Tiger Moths at Sywell, then on to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada for further training. He was then posted to Bassingbourne O.T.U. to train to fly Wellingtons, before going to Binbrook on operational flying duties. Harold flew a number of operations before being grounded due to medical reasons. It was whilst he was grounded that his crew were reported as missing and subsequently recorded as killed in action. While waiting for his Medical Board, Harold was stationed at the Operational Training Unit at Moreton-in-the-Marsh ferrying brand new Wellingtons from Kemble and flying them to Moreton to hand over to pupil crews. He was then moved to ‘X’ Flight of the O.T.U and trained new pilots before being grounded again for medical reasons when he transferred into Intelligence for Bomber Command. He completed his R.A.F. career in Penang as an Adjutant.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
H Yeoman
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1994-11
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Multipage printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Text. Poetry
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Northamptonshire
England--Northampton
England--Devon
England--Torquay
England--Cheshire
England--Wilmslow
Iceland
Iceland--Reykjavík
Canada
Nova Scotia--Halifax
Nova Scotia--Cape Breton Island
Saskatchewan--Moose Jaw
England--Suffolk
Germany
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Netherlands
Netherlands--IJssel Lake
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Essen
England--Lincolnshire
England--Grimsby
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Germany--Cologne
England--Berkshire
England--Reading
Netherlands
Netherlands--IJmuiden
Germany--Essen
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Sylt
Germany
Germany--Helgoland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Germany--Lübeck
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Bochum
England--Gloucestershire
England--Yorkshire
Burma
Burma--Rangoon
Malaysia
Malaysia--Kampong Sungai Gelugor (Pinang)
Malaysia--George Town (Pulau Pinang)
Malaysia--Butterworth (Pulau Pinang)
England--Buckinghamshire
Wales--Vale of Glamorgan
Germany--Nuremberg
Saskatchewan
Nova Scotia
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-09
1942-05
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BYeomanHTYeomanHTv1
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
1 Group
12 Squadron
4 Group
578 Squadron
78 Squadron
air gunner
Air Transport Auxiliary
aircrew
animal
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
arts and crafts
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
control tower
crash
crewing up
Defiant
faith
fear
final resting place
flight engineer
flight mechanic
forced landing
Fw 190
Gee
Gneisenau
grief
ground crew
ground personnel
Guinea Pig Club
H2S
Halifax
Hampden
Harvard
In the event of my death letter
Ju 88
killed in action
Lancaster
love and romance
Lysander
Manchester
McIndoe, Archibald (1900-1960)
medical officer
mess
military ethos
military living conditions
military service conditions
navigator
observer
operations room
Oxford
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Bassingbourn
RAF Bawtry
RAF Binbrook
RAF Breighton
RAF Finningley
RAF Halton
RAF Holme-on-Spalding Moor
RAF Kemble
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Little Rissington
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Moreton in the Marsh
RAF St Athan
RAF Sywell
RAF Torquay
RAF Tuddenham
Scharnhorst
searchlight
shot down
Spitfire
sport
Stalag Luft 3
Stirling
Tiger Moth
training
Victoria Cross
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
wireless operator / air gunner
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/367/5780/PCavalierRG17010007.2.jpg
358b95ffba45824c9947d28cad1edee8
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
Cavalier, Reginald George. Album one
Description
An account of the resource
57 items. Photograph album showing pictures taken during Reginald George Cavalier's service as a squadron photographer. It includes material from his photographic course training in 1940, and service with 76 Squadron at RAF Middleton St George, and with 88 Squadron and 226 Squadron with 2 Group and 2nd Tactical Air Force at RAF West Raynham. The album also includes target photographs, images of Christmas parties, visits by VIPs including Eisenhower and the King, as well as captured German ordnance and aircraft in France, the Netherlands and Germany.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-04-10
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
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Cavalier, RG
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
Operations boards
Description
An account of the resource
Photograph 1 is of the operations board for 76 Squadron.
Photograph 2 is of the operations board for 78 Squadron 30 May 1942.
They are captioned: 'Operations Board, Target Cologne Germany, June 1942. 76 Squadron, 78 Squadron, Halifax A/C. R.A.F. Middleton St. George, Yorkshire'.
Photograph 3 is of the operations board for 226, 88 and 342 Squadrons. Captioned: 'Operations Board 10/11 June 1943. 226 Squadron, Mitchell A/C. 88 Squadron, Boston A/C . 342 Squadron Lorraine, (Free French) Boston A/C R.A.F. West Raynham, Norfolk.'
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-06
1943-06-10
1943-06-11
1942-05-30
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Three b/w photographs on an album page
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PCavalierRG17010007
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
Free French Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Great Britain
England--Durham (County)
England--Norfolk
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-06
1943-06-10
1943-06-11
1942-05-30
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Darren Sheerin
226 Squadron
342 Squadron
76 Squadron
78 Squadron
88 Squadron
B-25
bombing
Boston
Halifax
operations room
RAF Middleton St George
RAF West Raynham
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1085/22874/PPritchardA1704.1.jpg
9ef4666ce1158dc05fec4d6d19b79ba5
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
Pritchard, Arthur
A Pritchard
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Carolyn Pritchard about her father, Arthur Pritchard (2206806 Royal air Force) documents and photographs. He flew operations as a flight engineer with with 463, 467 and 97 Squadron until he was shot down. He was hidden by the French Resistance until the liberation of Paris.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Carolyn Pritchard 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
2017-08-23
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Pritchard, A
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Operations Briefing Room
Description
An account of the resource
Group of airmen sitting at tables.
Information supplied with the collection states 'Breifing [sic] Room RAF Waddington "Raid on Juvisy 18/19 April 1944" ' There is a banner with 'WC Kingsford-Smith'. he was the squadron's first commanding officer.
This item was sent to the IBCC Digital Archive already in digital form. No better quality copies are available.
Format
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One b/w photograph
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
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PPritchardA1704
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 Australian Air Force
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.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1944-04-18
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-04-18
1944-04-19
463 Squadron
aircrew
bombing of the Juvisy, Noisy-le-Sec and Le Bourget railways (18/19 April 1944)
briefing
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
operations room
RAF Waddington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/247/7439/PDorricottLW15090079.1.jpg
2d896f959547ca5b0f630f22fe342f33
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
Dorricott, Leonard William
Leonard Dorricott
Len Dorricott
L W Dorricott
Description
An account of the resource
72 items. An oral history interview with Rosemary Dorricott about her husband Flying Officer Leonard William Dorricott DFM (1923-2014, 1230753, 1230708 Royal Air Force). Leonard Dorricott was a navigator with 460 and 576 Squadrons. He flew 34 operations including Operation Manna, Dodge and Exodus. He was one of the crew who flew in Lancaster AR-G -George, now preserved in the Australian War Memorial. He was a keen amateur photographer and the collection contains his photographs, logbook and papers. It also contains A Dorricott’s First World War Diary, and photographs of Leonard Dorricott’s log book being reunited with the Lancaster at the Australian War Memorial.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Rosemary Dorricott 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
2015-10-07
2015-11-05
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
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Dorricott, LW
Access Rights
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Operations room
Description
An account of the resource
In the foreground of an operations room there are tables and chairs. In the centre is a lectern and on the walls are maps and information boards showing Pomigliano and RAF Glatton.
Format
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One b/w photograph
Language
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eng
Type
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Photograph
Identifier
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PDorricottLW15090079, PDorricottLW15090088
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cambridgeshire
Italy
Italy--Pomigliano d'Arco
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.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1945
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945
Is Part Of
A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included.
Dorricott, Leonard William. Folder PDorricottLW1509
Operation Dodge (1945)
operations room
RAF Glatton
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/628/27772/PPollockHAJ16060001.1.jpg
adeb4b63aba6ddae1db5332c1d0be82b
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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Pollock, Henry
Henry Pollock
H A J Pollock
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Pollock, HAJ
Description
An account of the resource
49 items. An oral history interview with Henry Albert James Pollock (b. 1924, 2220546, 187029 Royal Air Force) his log book, documents and photographs. Henry Pollock completed 36 operations as a rear gunner with 78 squadron from RAF Breighton. After the war, he served in the Far East.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Henry Albert James Pollock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-10-11
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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
Operations Room, Breighton
Description
An account of the resource
A view of the Operations room at Breighton. In the foreground is a table with a phone and on the wall is a board for aircraft operations, 78 Squadron.
Format
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One b/w photograph
Language
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eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PPollockHAJ16060001
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.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
78 Squadron
operations room
RAF Breighton
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/178/5758/MBriggsR1893726-160226-02.1.pdf
886aae8c2fdde98a626ebd9e713affc8
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
Briggs, Roy
R Briggs
Description
An account of the resource
24 items. One oral history interview with Roy Briggs (1893726 Royal Air Force), his logbook, service material, training material, official documents and 12 photographs. Roy Briggs trained as a wireless operator and flew four operations with 576 Squadron from RAF Fiskerton. He also took took part in Operation Manna and Operation Exodus as well as Cook’s tours over Germany.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Roy Briggs and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-01-28
Identifier
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Briggs, R
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.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] 1893726 F/S BRIGGS R [/underlined]
CLASS 61 A
NAVAL NO. s400
R.A.F. Form 619
ROYAL AIR FORCE
Notebook for use in Schools
[page break]
[blank page]
[page break]
[underlined] TECHNICAL [/underlined]
[underlined] MOLECULE [/underlined] Smallest part of a compound which can exist as that compound
[underlined] COMPOUND [/underlined] a combination of two or more elements.
[underlined] Element [/underlined] is one of 92 subtances [sic] making a compound
[underlined] ASTOM [/underlined] Smallest indivisible part of an element
Proton positive charge Electron is negative charge.
[diagram]
A substance with a large number of free elections is a good conductor of electricity, a substance with very few free elections is a bad conductor or insulator
ELECTRIC CURRENT
a uniform motion of free electrons in a conductor
OHMS LAW STATES THAT
the current is directly proportioned to applied force and inversely protortional [sic] to the resistance of the curcuit [sic], provided
[page break]
the temperature remains constant
[diagram]
[formulae]
[underlined] Ammeter [/underlined] always connected in series with curcuit [sic], and must have low resistance
[underlined] VOLT METER [/underlined] always connected in parallel with E M F to be measured. and should have a very high resistance
COULOMB = UNIT OF ELECTRICAL QUANTITY 1019
JOULE = UNIT OF WORK
The total work done in Joules = Coulombs x volts
WATT is the unit of electrical power Joules/SEC = watts or the rate at which work is done
Amp = Colilombs/sec Coulombs = amps x Sec’s. Joules = Amps x Secs x Volts WATTS = AMPS X VOLTS
[page break]
1 horse power is equal to 746 watts
W = V x I W = 12 x R W = V2/R
[diagram] is used to vari [sic] current
POTENTIOMETER or POTMETER
[diagram] is used to vari [sic] Voltage
PRIMARY AND SECONDARY CELL
Primary is dry and is only used once, Secondary cell are wet and are reused
[diagram] + Carbon – zinc
Electrolyte Sal Ammoniac 1 ammonium [deleted] clor [/deleted] chloride Voltage 1.5 Polarisation/Hydrogen film on cordon
[page break]
Manganese Dioxide is mixed with carbon powdered to depolarise, is used in pourus [sic] pot
[diagram]
1.5 VOLTS 15 M.A. (MAX CURRENT
Fuses are used to protect the power supplies to a curcuit [sic]
INERT CELL [diagram] for putting in distilled water
[diagram] inept use as Grid Bias Battery or in field Telephone
PRIMARY cell Disadvantages. cant be [deleted] Distill [/deleted] recharged, very small current [deleted] [indecipherable word] [/deleted] from it (15 min) for any time.
Local action. Advantages, portable (dry & can be stored (inert cell)
[page break]
Maxwell’s corkscrew rule [symbols]
lines of force in a Solenoid [diagram]
Electro magnetic induction or (EmI)
SECONDARY CELLS or ACCUMULATORS
Types lead acid and Nickel-Ackaline [sic]
LEAD ACID ACC [diagram] – is grey coulour [sic] + is chocolate Brown
When plates discharge they alter to lead Sulphate the discharged V is 1.8v
fully charged on charge 2.6 to 2.7
[brackets] fully charged off load 2.1V to 2.2V
on load 2V [brackets] 1.270 S.G
[brackets] Discharged on load 1.8
off load 1.85 to 1.9 V [brackets] 1.190 S G
[page break]
S.G. The weight of the volume of liquid, is the same as the weight of water
Specific Gravity 1.840 Sulphurate acid is diluted with distilled water S.G. used in the RAF 1.270
DIFFERENT TYPES OF RAF
GROU[inserted]N[/inserted]D STATION ACC lead acid
2v7AH celluloid container used with Wave meters
2v9AH Glass container for use with R1084
[brackets] 6v 80AH Black moulded composite container
12v 55AH [brackets] are M.T Accs
[brackets] 6v 180 AH
6v 230 AH
12v 100 AH [/brackets] Trolley accs aero engine starting on ground
A/c acc maximum capacity for minimum size and weight, capable of heavy discharge, and fitted with unspilable vent
[brackets] 2v 14AH 2 1/2 square
2v 20AH rectangular
6v 20AH 3 2v20 in Series
12v 15AH has wing nut terminals
12v 25AH Sleeve connections
12v 40AH [/brackets] A/c type B.
[brackets] 12v 25 lug type fitting heavyer [sic] Buss bar
12v 40 [/brackets] A/C type D
Type D capable of heavyer [sic] discharge and Heavyer [sic] S.G.1285 than type B 12.25 charged at three amps 12.40 5 amps
[page break]
initial charge, inspect acc for cracks etc very carefully, and particular attention to vent to see if seal is broken, (and saves hydration) if doing an initial charge get the makers instructions and obey them
1.840 to 1350
1840 seal distilled water, protective clothing and n[inserted]e[/inserted]utralizer for Sulphurate Acid, (Sodium [deleted] Carbate [/deleted] Carbonate and Ammonia) the mixing vessel should either be glass or glazed earthenware. or lead lined container. hydrometer & Thermoter [sic] and a mixing rod. never add water to 1840. Pour the distilled water into mixing vessel first then allow 1840 to trickle in slowly, and mix with mixing rod. temperature should be 60o Far (increased decreased S.G.) S.G goes down -001 for every 2 1/2o above Sixty
fill accs with Sulphr[deleted]ate[/deleted][inserted]ic[/inserted] Acid and allow to stand for at least twelve hours. all topping up must be done with Sulphur[deleted]ate[/deleted][inserted]ic[/inserted] acid during initial charge. plates must be covered by 3/16 of Sulphuric Acid
[page break]
[underlined] HYDROMETER [/underlined]
[drawing]
10 hr rate is the rate at which [deleted] an acc [/deleted] current can be taken from an acc to bring it from a fully charged to a fully discharged condition in ten hours to obtain maximum efficiency
Initial Supply source of Supply is a metal rectifier 36 v 50a DC rectifier 1800v type B charging board (Switch [inserted] fuse [/inserted] [deleted] Variable ammeter [/deleted] ammeter variable resistance terminals)
Type B [symbols]
Maximum number of cells on type B [deleted] be [/deleted] is twelve to a curcuit [sic], 36 2v 20 12 6v 80 6 12v 40 to a charging board. +/1 positive lead to be as short as poss. accs must be connected in Series with each other and
accs must stand on parrafin [sic] wax wooden grids, on lead covered benches, lead should be earthed. see that vare resistance is
[page break]
fully over to left. see that ammeter is in correct curcuit [sic]. switch on rectifier fully charge when cell begin to gas, when the Voltage is between 2.6 and 2.7 per cell. when the S.G is at the Value given by makers instruction and voltage and S.G have remain [sic] constant for one hour.
POSITIVE – NEGATIVE
Charged chocolate brown – Discharged lighter brown
Slate grey – Dark grey
use moving coil centre zero voltimeter centre zero moving coil double scale test each cell separately
[underlined] Sulphation [/underlined] is a formation of hard Lead Sulphate on plates of accs. (on charging acc, charge the acc until S.G is 1270 or 3)
Signs of Sulphation, when the S.G does not rise on charge, High voltage on charge. Plates have a white crystalline deposite [sic]
cause of Sulphate. By allowing the acc to stand in a discharged state to [sic] long. by persistant [sic] undercharging or by persistantly [sic] discharging to [sic] Slowly, it May be cured by a long slow charge. 1/4 to 1/3 normal rate
[page break]
[underlined] Shedding [/underlined] is the last of active material, caused by overcharging. iE charging at to [sic] high a rate, for to [sic] long a period or discharging at to [sic] high a rate
[underlined] Hydration [/underlined] is a deposit of impurities on the plates caused by exposing them to the air mainly though [sic] careless topping up. it can be cured by a prolonged charged [sic]
NICKLE ALKALI
Electrolyte caustic potash = potassium hydroxide + plate N1 (OM) 2 -ve Cd + FE
basis metal is Nickle steel container +ve plate is thickest of two. the positive plate is alway [sic] locking the container making of + potential S.G. not be below 1160 and not above 1220 S.G best S.G. is 1.170 at 60oF
V1.25 nickle alkali is stronger and more robust than lead acid cell. has much longer life. and doesnt [sic] suffer from [inserted] lead [/inserted] acc faults (sulphation hydration Shedding) recommended by makers to charge at ten hr rate. doesnt [sic] suffer so much from temperature changes (.001 for every 4o above or below)
Disadvantages low voltage, gasses as same as put on charge. only way to tell if its charged is by volt
[page break]
reading. Nickle alkali cells are clumbersome must not be discharged below 1v 7v on charged
[underlined] Milnes Unit [/underlined] is a 120 volt H.T. supply its capcity [sic] 600 m a hours. it replaces ordinary H.T. Battery on the ground. where high anode current may be required.
its [sic] the HT supply for R1084
composed of 96 nickle alkali cells are arranged in 24 banks of 4 cells in series the S.G. of the Milnes Unit should be 1190 at 60oF theres [sic] a layer of mineral oil a 1/4 of an inch thick in each of the 96 cells to protect the electrolyte from Carbonic acid gas
fully charged on charge 1.75v per cell
fully charged off charge 1.25v per cell
fully charged on load 1.1 to [deleted] [indecipherable number] [/deleted] 2v
fully discharged on load not below one [deleted] [indecipherable word] [/deleted] [inserted] 1V [/inserted]
[page break]
OSCILATORY CURCUIT [sic]
[drawing]
Carbon Microphone
[drawing]
Electro Magnetic Microphone]
[drawing]
Electro Magnetic earpiece
[drawing]
[page break]
SIMPLE RECEIVER
[diagram]
Radiations are know [sic] as Electro Magnetic Wave
Need freq of 40000 c/p/s (or 40 kc/s (approx.) and are known as Radio freq or R F
Audable [sic] freq are 30 to 16000 c/s
[diagram]
Only the audio freq comes out of the detector
HETRODYNING mixing of two freq to produce a thrid [sic] freq, which is the difference of the other two
[diagram]
[page break]
[diagram]
Super-sonic Heterodyning or Super Het getting a higher frequency from Mixer
[diagram]
You need a large number of tuned OCT as you cant [sic] use large number of controls, you change your Signal to fixed tuned CCTS
[diagram]
C.W. [symbol] RF only MCW [symbol]
R/T Radio Telephony
[page break]
[deleted] Advantg [/deleted] Advantages of Super Het. Selectivity
1084 LT is supplied from 2v90 power consum [sic] 2a, HT 120v consumtion [sic]30 m a [deleted] b [/deleted] 2 HT batteries in [deleted] par [/deleted] [inserted] parallel [/inserted] emergency or normaly [sic] a miles unit, or Mains Battery eliminator Type A [underlined] Note [/underlined] eliminator must be on and neon inside glowing befor [sic] set is switched on Grid Bias three 6v Batteries in Series giving 18v [inserted] Power supply 40 ma fuse in NT + [/inserted] Freq range 120 AAcs to 20 mes 11 sets of coils four coil in a set,
120 to 20000 Kcs
TUNE
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] insert correct coils
[underlined] 2 [/underlined] check power supplies
[underlined] [deleted] 3 [/deleted] [/underlined] Super het setting for M C W & R/T
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] Super Het switches in ([underlined] 2 switches [/underlined])
[underlined 2 [/underlined] Filter out (used for C.W.
[underlined] 3 [/underlined] Het osc off (used for CW on Super Het)
[underlined] 4 [/underlined] R.F osc on
5 S.F Volume con to Seven
6 RF osc Vol con to Maximum (8)
7 RF Vol con to Maximum (8)
[page break]
[underlined] 8 [/underlined] All S.F. switches except SF [underlined] 1 [/underlined] and Det [underlined] 2 [/underlined] to Standby
[underlined] 9 [/underlined] Set RF ganged condenser to chart
[underlined] 10 [/underlined] Set Second R.F trimmer to reading at Bottom of chart, first and third approx. same setting
[underlined] 11 [/underlined] /set RF osc to full line [deleted] of [/deleted] [inserted] on [/inserted] chart
[underlined] 12 [/underlined] RF osc fine tuning set at [underlined] 100 [/underlined]
[underlined] 13 [/underlined] Switch on
[underlined] 14 [/underlined]A[inserted]d[/inserted]just R/F main Tuning to max Signal
[underlined] 15 [/underlined] Tune R/F ganged condenser to Signal
[underlined] [deleted] 16 [/deleted] [/underlined] reduce S.F. volume control if to [sic] loud
[underlined] 16 [/underlined] adjust 1st 3rd & 2nd trimmers to Max Signal
[underlined] 17 [/underlined] Switch all S.F. switches to Tune repeat 14, 15, 16
[underlined] Tuning checks [/underlined] RF osc fine tuning at 100 and [underlined] max [/underlined] signal at 100, 1st 3rd & 2nd trimmers for Max [deleted] curcuit [sic] [/deleted] signal
[page break]
R1084
[diagram]
1ST SF = 40 Mcs
2ND SF = 167 Mcs
(180 Kcs on cons)
2 R.F.A.s 4 SFA and the Isolator are Tetrode
RF osc, mixer 2nd Det AF amp output
BFO are triode
[calculations]
[page break]
TUNEING [sic] R1084 straight for [deleted] WC6 [/deleted] [inserted] MCW [/inserted] & R/T coils and power Supplies as for Super Het
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] [deleted] SF [/deleted] Super Het switches out
[underlined] 2 [/underlined] filter out
[underlined] 3 [/underlined] Het osc out
[underlined] 4 [/underlined] RF osc off
[underlined] 5 [/underlined] SF vol con zero
[underlined] 6 [/underlined] F/F [inserted] osc [/inserted] vol con zero
[underlined] 7 [/underlined] R/F vol con Max 8
8 Set RF ganged condenser to chart
[underlined] 9 [/underlined] Set 2ND R/F trimmer to reading at bottom of chart first and third trimmer approx the same
[underlined] 10 [/underlined] Switch on
[underlined] 11 [/underlined] adjust RF ganged condenser 1, 3, 2 trimmers to max signal
R1188
[diagram]
[page break]
[underlined] Controls [/underlined]
X xtol gate selectivity control
[symbol] xtol phasing control should be adjusted to min back ground raise when x is in position [underlined] 1 [/underlined]
TR Transmitt [sic] receive switch when on Transmitt [sic] the remote TX is switched on RX is off
S R.F vol con max for R/T M.C.W. and used only on C.W.
left hand [symbol] Main tuning Control Dial in Mcs
(.54 mcs to 31 mcs Freq Range)
[inserted] R [/inserted] Wave change switch six ranges no [underlined] 1 [/underlined] the lowest
Y Aerial trimmer adjusted to Max Sig when Set is tuned in
[symbol] Band spread tuning used on Ranges 3,4,5,6. gives fine tuning [underlined] note [/underlined] main tuning is accurate when Band Spread tuning is at its high freq end
NFB AVC BPO Selector switch NFB – feed back gives high quality on R/T
[underlined] A.V.C. [/underlined] atomatic [sic] Volume Control used for normal R/T and M.C.W.
[underlined] B.F.O. [/underlined] Beat free osc used for C.W.
V off on off sw and Vol con operated for MCW and R/T, placed at max for C.W.
H Het osc con adjust the freq of Beat note
N noise limiter [inserted] on C.W. [/inserted] normaly [sic] off. is adjusted to a few degrees away from point at which it affects the signal – when interference and static is encountered
[page break]
Tuning to R/T switch on place vol con at 3/4 S to max TR to R
SIMPLE TRANSMITTER
[diagram]
PA is to protect MO from aerial, to increase power, and to mix RF from MO and [deleted] R [/deleted] A.F from modulator which amplifies the signal from Mic
Frequency Stability
[drawing] quartz has a Piero electric effect
El[inserted]e[/inserted]ctro Magnetic Earpiece
The diaphragm is permanently attracted by the magnet, and this attraction will be either increased or decreased according to direction of current i.e. according to the A.F current Thus it will vibrate at the freq of alternating current
[page break]
Electro magnetic Microphone
The diaphragm cut the magnetic field, or compresses it. as the diaphragm moves the Magnetic field moves and cuts the coil. we therefore get an E.M.F.
[table of Tx and Rx Diodes]
[page break]
T.R. 1196
[diagram]
Freq Range 4.3 to 6.7 mc/s
Communication Range Air to Air 35 mls and Air to ground 50
1p freq is H60 mcs
Power Supplies a motor generator input 24 output 6.3v L.T for Tx 7 Rx 275 v HT Rx) (250v Tx HT)
full A.V.C. on R.F amp and F.C. half on 9.F. amp
A.1134. is used as an [deleted] AF [/deleted] intercom amplifier on Bomber Aircraft.
Power supplies L.T. 2v20 HT 120v GB 4 1/2 v dry Battery which is kept inside the A1134.
The Af amp is a triode and fuels two output (Pentode). The two out puts are in a curcuit [sic] known as push pull which gives a large output
[page break]
[diagram]
SIMPLE GENERATOR
Strength of EMF depends on the speed of movement of conductor, strength of Magnetic field.
[page break]
V.H.F. or Very high Frequency [deleted] at [/deleted] RAF band of VHF 100 to 126 mgs
X tal Range 5.5 to 70 mgs/100 to 120 miles at 1
Advantage of VHF over H.F.
Practically no interference
Communication only over optical Range
100 miles with A/C at 1000 ft
Exclusive
1 Kc Fundamental or 1st Harmonic
2 Kcs 2nd Harmonic
3 Kcs 3rd Harmonic
[diagram]
INPUT Power supply 230v 50 c/s A/C
OUTPUT H.T. 300v & 1000v
L.T 6.3v & 7.5v
Emergency p.u: Meadows Petrol Electric Set
Power output 50 watts
[page break]
100 to 124
on Modulator unit reading 55 m g when [deleted] sk [/deleted] speaking it should go up to [deleted] 20 [/deleted] 150
G1 and G2 must not have a difference of 2 ma
[diagram]
Precautions before Tuneing
Close rear door
Switch to half power
Switch to local
see that plug Mic is out
Controls to zero except Neut
Check x tal 5.5 to 7 m c/s
Main facts
99 to 126 m c/s
40 – 50 Watts output
A.C. Supplies 230v 50 [indecipherable letter]
Remote Control
Checks after tuneing [sic]
(1) That C1YC2 = [deleted] 6 [/deleted] 170 m g (if not adjust couple)
Max dif C1YC2 = 6 MA G [indecipherable number] GR = 2 m/a
Switch to Mon 3 to 8 MA
(3) HT off and on Note mets reading
4 Local modulation quantity, quality
5 White lines on tuneing [sic] control must all be in approx. some [indecipherable word]
Loud speech 190 ma
Average 100 to 150 ma
[page break]
R1132 is a VHF ground receiver, is a Super Het
[diagram]
Pu Type 4A M.G. fun from 6v80AN acc output some [deleted] input to A1132 [/deleted] as type 3 input 6v 7 amps 220v 30ma 6.3 v 35 amps
PU type 3 used from mains input 200 to 250v
50 c/s AC output 200 to 220 v 50 to 55 ma (HT) DC
6.3v, 3.5 amps (LT)AC
R1188 (RCA – AR77E) later version R1556 (R CR, AR881)
[diagram]
freq 540 kcs 31 mgs a/c mains 105 to 250v
50 to 60 c/s power 70 watts
[page break]
TR1143A[diagram]
[page break]
type 5A test set used for tuneing [sic] Tx and Rx
[diagram]
A CE G J K are off B is Rx AVC D Tx anode
F Tx output [deleted] [indecipherable letter] [/deleted] H.T. Volts H LT volts M check oscillator
Test Set type II
[diagram] Tune for dip when you test for Modulation reading should go down
Power Supplies HT 60v DRY L.T 1.5v Dry
Test Set type 98
[diagram]
[page break]
[underlined] PANEL TYPE 4A [/underlined]
[diagram]
PANAL [sic] TYPE 3A
[diagram]
[page break]
TR 1143
TRANSMITTER
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] insert x tal & 5A meter plug – 5A to Trans anode
2 Select channel to be tuned 3 S/R switch to T
4 left P switch to release position 5 reengage P switch
[underlined] 6 [/underlined] turn meter sw to posn 1 and tune TC [underlined] 1 [/underlined] for max reading
[underlined] 7 [/underlined] repeat with 2,3,4,5, [underlined] 8 [/underlined] Turn meter sw to posn [underlined] 6 [/underlined]
9 adjust 4,3,2,1 TC for max in posn [underlined] 6 [/underlined]
10 turn TC [underlined] 1 [/underlined] clockwise to reduse [sic] reading by 10 per cent
[underlined] 11 [/underlined] If still above 50 reduce to 50, if below 35 in posn 6 u/s for air use [underlined] 12 [/underlined] left Psw to release posn
13 Turn controls fully clockwise tighten milled whales
14 Rv engage “P” sw [underlined] 15 [/underlined] Check that meter still reads the same sw off remove meter plug
Receiver
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] insert x tal 540 Kcs below Tx [underlined] 2 [/underlined] Insert Tx xtal in 50 – set 5A tuneing [sic] approx., vol con man, check osc:- minimum Reading 40 sw to Rx AVC. [underlined] 3 [/underlined] Insert meter lead select channel
4 left P sw, loosen wheels by not more than 1 1/2 5 re engage P sw, check that xtal in 5A is [deleted] 5 [/deleted] 40 Kcs above Rx
[underlined] 6 [/underlined] Set TC7 at mid way put on phones. [underlined] 7 [/underlined] rotate TC6 for a slight dip or note in phones [underlined] 8 [/underlined] rotate TC7 to give dip in meter or loudest note in phones.
[underlined] 9 [/underlined] reduce TC6 for further dip [underlined] 10 [/underlined] rotate TC8 for improved dip, if no change leave it in Same posn at TC7 [underlined] 11 [/underlined] [deleted] [indecipherable word] [/deleted] release sw tighten wheels
[underlined] 12 [/underlined] re engage “P” sw and check that signal is still heard [underlined] 13 [/underlined] sw off and disconnect and sw off type 5A
[page break]
RADIO [deleted] [indecipherable word] [/deleted [inserted] VEHICLE [/inserted] TYPE 105A
Mobile DF waggon used as fixer or homer has in vehicle [deleted] to [/deleted] Panal [sic] type 7A R1132A TR1143A six v accs 12v accs charging board, petrol electric set, [inserted] Dipole [/inserted] Aerial System, Power unit type 4A, Prismatic compass, 5 wooden poles, P.U. Type 15 60 ft steel tape measure, and Six inch ordance [sic] map
INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE
four strokes if the piston equals to revolution of shank shaft which equals one cycle of operation
the strokes are [symbol] 1 Induction Stroke [symbol] 2 compression [symbol] 3 expansion [symbol] 4 Exhaust the strokes in detail
Induction Stroke
1 inlet valve open
2 exhaust valve closed
3 piston moving down
4 gasses being [inserted] shown [/inserted] into cylinder
5 the crank shaft completed 1/2 revolution
[deleted] Expansion [/deleted] Stroke Compression
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] with valves closed
[underlined] 2 [/underlined] piston descending
3 gasses being compressed
4 near top of stroke spark occurs
5 the crank shaft has completed one rev
[page break]
[diagram]
[page break]
Expansion
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] both valves closed 2 gas ignited and expanding [underlined] 3 [/underlined] piston being forced down 4 near bottom of stroke exhaust valve open 5 crank shaft completed 1 1/2 revs
Exhaust
[underlined] 1 [/underlined] exhaust Valve open [underlined] 2 [/underlined] inlet valve closed
[underlined] 3 [/underlined] piston moving up [underlined] 4 [/underlined] burned gasses being forced out 5 crank completed two revs
black smoke from exhaust denotes a rich mixture blue smoke from exhaust denotes oil being burn [sic] in combustion comber, spilling at carbu denotes a weak mixtures
[page break]
[diagram] [calculations]
[diagram]
[page break]
STEEL IRON [inserted] COBALT [/inserted] ETC FERROUS METAL
(copper anti Magnetic)
Magnet have a north and South poles. Like poles repel and unlike poles [deleted] attack [/deleted] attract
Magnetic lines of force move from North to South
Permeability Soft Iron strengthens magnetic field, hard Steel lowers Permeability
Retentivity the holding of magnetic free soft Iron low, Retentivity of hard Steel is High
Flemings Left hand rule, first finger in direction of current flow 2nd finger in direction of magnetic field and thumb shows the mo[inserted]ve[/inserted]ment of conductor
[deleted] Field [/deleted] MOTORS
FIELD [symbol] PERM E. Mag
Armature
Commutator
Brushes
[page break]
if winding clockwise current in polarity South is nearest
[diagram]
Galvanometer or aglvo
[diagram]
[table]
[page break]
[blank page]
[page break]
[blank page]
[page break]
[underlined] R/T [/underlined]
[underlined] PROCEDURE [/underlined]
[underlined] R/T messages [/underlined] three main parts HEADING TEXT ENDING
[underlined] HEADING [/underlined] call, Precedence Designation, Transmission Instructions, Address, Group Count
[underlined] TEXT [/underlined] SUBJECT
Vectors Direction to fly Angels height
a/s air speed 250 followed by any further instructions, and then any further information
Vector one two three angle twelve a/s two fifty
[underlined] ENDING [/underlined] Over Out
[underlined] Pilots Personal Number [/underlined]
Given to pilot on arrival at Station, always a number between fourteen and ninety nine. When under training pilots are given numbers over 100, numbers under 14 are given to V.I.P’s. Pilots relinquishes number when leaving a Station.
P.P.N is only used between Air and ground, and is [deleted] sko [/deleted] spoken as two separate numerals.
CHOICE OF R/T CALLS SIGN
O/S should have two syllables [circled 2] should begin and end with explosive consonants. [circled 3] must not be names of places or towns etc
[page break]
ACKNOWLEDGING R/T MESSAGE
[circled 1] REPEAT message back [circled 2] Roger [circled 3] Wilco
“Roger” I have received and Understood your last transmission
“Wilco” I have received your last instructions and Will comply
When pilot receives Vector Angles A/S he will always repeat back.
P pitch (pitch voice slightly higher than normal)
A accuracy (make sure you know what you are going to say
R rhythm
I intensity
S speed
D/R POSITION
is a weather report
V isability in miles
A amount of cloud in [deleted] th [/deleted] tenths
T Height of top of cloud in thousands of feet
B of cloud in thousands of feet
DARKY ORG[deleted]Z[/deleted]ANIZATION
Hello Darky (3) this is Major Dog (3) are you receiving me (2) Hello Major Dog (2) this is Darky (2) Hello Nemo (2) this is Darky (2)
[page break]
CODE WORD ABB
SCRAMBLE scr Take off and [deleted] orbit [/deleted] [inserted] circle [/inserted] Base
SCRAMBLE 234 scr 234 Take off and [deleted] set [/deleted] [inserted] fly on a [/inserted] course of 234o
ANGELS A Height in thousands of feet
ORBIT [symbol] Circle and search (usually Port or STBD)
VECTOR V Change direction to … (followed by 3 figures)
VECTOR PORT V prt Change direction left (number of degrees given
VECTOR Starboard V Sta Change direction Right (number of degrees given
Steer str Set magnetic course [deleted] indicated for home [/deleted] [inserted] (used only when homing [/inserted]
Quilt qlt above [inserted] the [/inserted] cloud
Popeye pop In the cloud
Mattress mat Below [inserted] the [/inserted] cloud
[deleted] pancake [/deleted] pk [deleted] Return to base refuel and rearm [/deleted] Land
[deleted pancake ammo [/deleted] pk ammo [deleted] I am going to land owing to shortage of ammo [/deleted] [inserted] Land and rearm [/inserted]
[deleted] Pancake fuel [/deleted] pk fuel [deleted] I am going to land owing to shortage of fuel [/deleted] [inserted] Land and refuel [/inserted]
[deleted] Pancake hurt pk hurt I am going to land because I am hurt [/deleted]
[deleted] Bandit (S) bt (S) Identified enemy a/c (usually bomber) [/deleted] [inserted] type unknown [/inserted]
[deleted] RAT (S) rt (S) Identified enemy fighter aircraft [/deleted]
[deleted] Hawk (S) hk (S) Identified enemy dive Bomber [/deleted]
[deleted] Snappers snp (S) Identified enemy fighter bomber [/deleted]
[deleted] Bogey Bogies bg Unidentified A/C, Investigate with caution [/deleted]
[deleted] Tally Ho T/H Enemy Sighted (never acknowledged [/deleted] [inserted] A/c and identified as hostile [/inserted]
[deleted] Booty bty Protected shipping or convoys [/deleted] [inserted] Convoy or protected shipping [/inserted]
[deleted] indecipherable word] tst Unidentified A/C detected by sea bound Radar [/deleted] [inserted] located ship [/inserted]
[deleted] Teamlines tls Standard [/deleted] beam approach
[deleted] liner lin fly at most economical cruising speed [/deleted]
[page break]
fly as slowly as possible without loseing [sic] height
[deleted] saunter [/deleted] san [deleted] fly at lowest speed to maintain height [/deleted]
[deleted] Buster [/deleted] bus fly at [deleted] maximum cruising [deleted] [inserted][deleted] normal full [/inserted] [/deleted] Speed
[deleted] Gate [/deleted] gat [deleted] fly at maximum speed (no of min given not more than five [/deleted] [inserted] [deleted] increase speed flat out for maximum of 5 min [/inserted] [/deleted]
Oranges Sweet osw Weather [deleted] is good [/deleted]. at Base is good
Oranges Sour osr Weather [deleted] is bad [/deleted] at Base is Bad
[deleted] Pigeons [/deleted] pig [deleted] you course from base and distance in miles is … [/deleted] [inserted] the magnetic bearing and distance of your Base from you is – o – mls [/inserted]
Base B Home Airfield
Roger R I have received and understood your last transmission
Wilco W I have received and understood your last instrucion [sic] and will comply
R Code of Signal strength
R [underlined] 1 [/underlined] Hardly perceptible – [deleted] Undr [/deleted] Unreadable
R2 Weak – readably [sic] now and then
R3 Fair – Readable but with difficulty
R4 Good – Readable
R5 Very good – Perfectly Readable
WUN
TOO
THUR – EE
FIY – IV
SIX
SEV – EN
ATE
NINER
ZERO
[page break]
rurm are you receiving me
rulc receiving you loud and clear
rur 4 receiving you Strength 4
msg message
s/off off Switching off, off
L/O Listening out
ksl Keep sharp look out
nft Night flying test
a/b Airborne
A/c Aircraft
u/c Undercarriage
A/s Air Speed
U/S Unserviceable
S/by Stand by
Imm Immediate (ly)
vic Vicinity
xmt Transmitt [sic]
xmn Transmission
T/xmn Tuning Transmission
s/a Say again
sn Section
flt Flight
sq Squadron
prt Port
sta Starboard
req request requested requesting required
[page break]
app approach ed ing
em Emergency
pr Practice
inv Investigate
r/w Runway
proc Proceed (ed) (ing) procedure
bmb Bomber
formn Formation
fr from, friendly
ech Echelon
pat Patrol
ch channel
dis disperse (ed) (ing) dispersal
rep repeat (ed) (ing)
yr your
as assist ed ing assistant
coop co-operate ed ing
ov Over (not the ending over
und understand ing understood
pos position ed ing
F/P Flare path
F/B Forward Base
F/L Flood light
H/B Homing or Home Bearing
S/L Search light
P/L Patrol line
C correct
[page break]
A/A Anti Aircraft
B/B Balloon Barrage
L/ab line abreast
L/ast line astern
L/[deleted]AH[/deleted][inserted]ah[/inserted] line ahead
SBC Signals Book Correct
N Log when no answer is received
? Logged when what is received is not Understood
SQUADRON ORG
[organisation chart]
[page break]
4 sections [organisation chart]
6 Section [organisation chart]
[inserted] Point to Point [/inserted]
Precedence (pro word) a word used to take the place of Pro-sign as used in other method of communication, [underlined] RESPonce [sic] [/underlined]
an answer is what is made by operator when a signal is sent to him
reply a message arriving out of previous acknowledgement a message to indicate that a previous message has been received and understood, Receipt indication that signal or message has been received
[page break]
Pancake pk Land
pancake ammo pk ammo Land rearm
pancake fuel land and refuel
Bogie bg Unidentified a/c approaching and investigate with caution
Tally Ho T/H A/c sighted and identified as hostile (never acknowledged
Boaty bty convoy or protected shipping
Toast tst Unidentified a/c located by ship borne radar
Tramlines tls Beam approach
Liner lin Fly at most ecomical [sic] speed
saunter san fly as slowly as possible without losing height
Buster bus fly at normal full speed
Gate gat increase speed flat out for maximum of 5 min
pigeons pig the magnetic Bearing and distance of your Base in – o – mls
Bandits bt identified enemy A/C type unknown
Rats rt identified enemy fighter A/C
snappers snp enemy fighter bomber
Hawk hk dive bomber
Priorities
[page break]
14 fighter groups split up into Sectors
TYPICAL SECTOR
[diagram]
Difficult Communications
[list of numbers and letters]
[page break]
[underlined] FIGHTER OPERATION ROOM [/underlined]
[diagram]
[page break]
[underlined] Fighter operations Room [/underlined]
The deputy controllers have panell [sic] type 4A, ([underlined] 1 [/underlined]) conducts all practic [sic] flights, (2) gives initial vectors to a/c before handing over to controller. Ops A has a telephone to group, receives all operational information from group, writes information down in form “A” which she hands to the controller.
Ops B receives form a from Controller and (one) Tannoys squadron to scramble (2) files form A (3) she gives all operational information [deleted] from [/deleted] to group (4) is in communicatio9n by landline with homer D.F. (5) she supervises the tote
D.S.O. he has panel 10A He is responsible for all radio equipment
TRUE [deleted] Magnetic [/deleted] Bearing black marking on loop used for fixing
Class 1 2o 2 4o class 3 6o
TIME QUADRANT C/S BEARING class SERIAL No
H/B read on Red scale [deleted] true [/deleted] [inserted] magnetic repisnicol [/inserted] Bearings
first fix 2 1st bearing 1st bearing 2nd fix 3rd fix if no first bearings
[page break]
VHF EQUIPMENT LAYOUT IN A FIGHTER SECTOR
[diagram]
Channel allocation of TR1143 in day & Night fighters
DAY
A offensive sweeps [inserted] opps room for /inserted] offensive sweep ops [underlined] 1 [/underlined]
B D/F Homer & flying control tower ops 2
C Groupo guard
D CONTROLLER & Fixer
GROUP SECTOR ops Room
NIGHT
A D/F Homer [inserted] Flying control [/inserted]
B GCI
C World guard 116.1 mc/s
D Controller & D/F fixer
E Group guard (1)
F Group guard (2)
G GCI adjacent sector
H 2nd (sector adjacent second)
[page break]
Priority
[underlined] Most immediate [/underlined] OU a member of air council or A.D.C.
No time delay
Emergency Air att OA any body who is in charge
no time delay
O emergency G.C. and above
15 min at each Station
O-P immediate a.c. adj can authorize
30 min at each Station
P Important S/L rank
45 min
Realtime
D [deleted] Defeff [/deleted] Deferred 48 hrs to overseas or 9 O/C next morning in this country
[underlined] Transmission instructions [/underlined]. Do not answer Read back. Relay to. [underlined] Address [/underlined] to Action [symbol] Information [symbol] [underlined] Date line [/underlined] Group Count
[underlined] TEXT [/underlined] Subject, Acknowledge
[underlined] Correction [//underlined] means when correction is being made to previous message, Correct Version
[page break]
All befor [sic] or All after used for part of messaged [sic], Disregard this xmission out (figures or numerals. I spell. Silence generally Control Station: Unknown Station c/s Verify Wait if [deleted] yo [/deleted] used alone, used for few second, long wait. Wait out. Words twice
Signals Office Organisation
Traffic [inserted] office [/inserted] clerk, signals officers, room cypher operating room. T/P room. PBX
Date place stamp. priority stamps. NODECO. Acknowledge
PERSONAL to be delivered to officer only named in address. Signal Service, not to go outside Sig organisation
For Exercise NOT W/T not to be sent by W/T or R/T along any part of journey. Not W/T secret by T/P lines only.
FORM 797 MESSAGE LOG
DATE PLACE
[table]
METHOD
OUT
W/TT/P
Signature & remarks
P cypher
[page break]
Form 2526 1A is a message form.
Security Classification
TOP [deleted] SERE [/deleted] SECRET always sent by cypher. Decoded only by officer
SECRET, Confidential, Restricted may be sent by P/L along any [inserted] land [/inserted] line, if land line is secure enough. if land line not secure enough messaged [sic] must be cypher up and sent by W/T
[deleted] Unrestricted [/deleted], [inserted] Unclassified [/inserted] can be send [sic] by P/L by any means. either so important that time cannot be spent coding or so unimportant that it doesnt [sic] matter
Originators Instructions
O.T.P. one time progress means only one cypher to be used. To provide a permant [sic] cypher to safe guard another cypher
[diagram]
[diagram]
[page break]
IN operator 1, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 15, 3
Superintendant [sic] 7
Traffic Clerk 4, 5, 6, 19
OUT
Originator 7, 8, 9, 10, 4, 11, 12, 13, 14.
Traffic clerk 18, 19, 5, 5, 3.
Superintendant [sic] 2.
operator 16, 17
If message goes by two route, operator uses 17.
A through message, if in & out by W/T
in operator 1, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 15
Super 7, 2
[deleted] Traffic [/deleted] out operator 16, 17.
Traffic clerk 6, 5, 19Traffic clerk in message 4,5,6,19 4 5 6 19
out 18,19, 6, 5, 3 3 5 6 1819
through message 6, 5, 19 5 6 19
[page break]
R/T GROUND TO AIR CALL SIGN
with certain exceptions noted below, the use of code names as airfield R/T ground to air call signs is to be discontinue forthwith
In futer [sic] the R/T ground to air civil call sign will consist of the Airfield place name followed by suffic [sic] denoting facility offered. Where a place name proves unsuitable a shorter version of the name [deleted] must [/deleted] may be engaged and H.Q informed
Tower – Airfield control FIXER – VHF Stn
Homer VHF D/F Homer Station
[deleted] NAVIAD [/deleted] NAV AID VHF D/F Stn providing vectors, but not suitable for use as fixer or homer
Director – GCA stacking and marshalling of A/C
Talkdown – GCA final landing
Approach VHF approach control
Caravan Air field controller caravan
Quadrant R/T Radio Range
Target Air fixing and bombing range
Marine Control surface craft in landing area at flying boat Bases
MET Transport command and VHF meteorological channel
Code name will continue to be imployed [sic] in fighter command for the control
[page break]
of aircraft in Sectors, and in flying training command for normal training purposes. In overseas commands code names will be employed at the discretion of A.O.C. But on channels used by transport, place names will be used.
Classe
Dificulty [sic] not in immediate danger
W/T OP
Emergency with help may be OK again
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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Roy Briggs training notes
Description
An account of the resource
A notebook containing Roy Brigg's handwritten notes. It covers electrical theory, batteries, radio transmitters, radio procedures and fighter operations.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Roy Briggs
Format
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30 handwritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Training material
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MBriggsR1893726-160226-02
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Tricia Marshall
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.
operations room
training