1
25
10
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2454/43719/PThompsonJ1810.1.jpg
d13d0b1910a7969762b81bcefab0ec64
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2454/43719/PThompsonJ1811.1.jpg
329c0befa2bf4bc71633c8a3d6a888bd
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
Thompson, Jean
Howe, Jean
Description
An account of the resource
Eight items. The collection concerns Corporal Jean Thompson (b. 1920 Royal Air Force) and contains photographs. She served as a WAAF at Bawtry Hall, 1 Group RAF Bomber Command Headquarters.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Stephen Howe and catalogued by Benjamin Turner.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-03-27
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Thompson, J
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
Airmen outside station headquarters
Description
An account of the resource
A group of RAF personnel outside station headquarters. On the reverse are the date "July 1941" ant the signatures: B S Burgess, R W Jaad, J.Thomson, [indecipherable], Weni Dwels, Twiddle, L Gow, W Mackenzie, Y G Grant, F Levias O’Rillp, D E Peylis-Handel (Panda), W V Reece, H King, W D Laing, J Storey, B Skeew, K Ruqcromistope, FJ Wiol, Wm Fraser, J Macleod, [indecipherable], L E Stubbs, T Chadwick, Jack Boal, Monty Schwartz, J S Sherry- “Jock”, W R Fleuy, G W Gell [George William Gell] , C Fawcett, W Goldsbrough [William Goldsbrough], A Elmoulder, [indecipherable], L Trogg, M J Smith [Maurice James Smith], B A Haldane (Mitten), G Blake, F W Cole [Frank William Cole], Don Pavey [Donald Louis Pavey], I Meecham, D A McDonald, Gordon A Walley, R. Lovis, Gilbert G Northam, T Foulkes, [indecipherable], S G Harries, H G [indecipherable]
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1941-07
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941-07
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Language
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eng
Type
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Photograph
Format
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One b/w photograph
Identifier
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PThompsonJ1810, PThompsonJ1811
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
William Cragg
Paul Baguley
aircrew
pilot
station headquarters
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1664/27100/PStreetM2001.2.jpg
fff6293c76379d8f86e7f4061dc99162
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1664/27100/AStreetM200727.2.mp3
ede1ebe552a32226917ae9b0f4199566
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
Street, Gillie
Maude Street
M Street
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2020-07-27
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
Street, M
Description
An account of the resource
One item. An oral history interview with Gillie Street (b.1920), who was stationed at various RAF stations in England as Women’s Auxiliary Air Force member and worked with Donald Bennet.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
JH: Morning, this is John Horsburgh. I’m in the lovely town of Orange in central New South Wales, Australia, it’s the 27th of July 2020, and today I have the privilege of interviewing Gillie Street, who was a WAAF in World War Two in the UK, and the interview is part of the International Bomber Command Centre in Lincoln, the Oral History Project. Good Morning Gillie. Can we start right at the beginning, such as, where and when you were born?
GS: Well, I was born in Aglionby, a small village, near Carlisle in Cumberland.
JH: Is that on the, near the border with Scotland?
GS: Er, roughly yes.
JH: Yes, I know it, and tell me, tell me something about your childhood?
GS: Well, my father died when I was only eighteen-months-old, and eventually my mother married again, a gentleman who was twenty years older than she was, and we went to live on Tyneside.
JH: Ok, that was a big move.
GS: Yes, it was a very big move, er, I remember as a four-year-old, roughly, going on a train and that’s all I remember about it, but I spent my early years on Tyneside, and at eleven we went back to Cumberland because my step-father retired.
JH: Yes, and I think you told me before, at some stage, when you were growing up you actually flew, there were some Barnstormers in the area, and your mother arranged a trip?
GS: Yes, that was after we went back to Cumberland.
JH: Back to Cumberland, yes.
GS: Yes, and I went to a grammar school in Brampton, which was a small town, went by bus every day, and it was at Brampton that the Barnstormers came.
JH: So, what, what were they doing?
GS: Just flying and showing off generally, you know, and you could, they’d take you for a flight.
JH: Yes, so what did you think of that?
GS: And my mother, of course my mother was there, my step-father wasn’t but my mother was there, and she said I could have a flight, so I took one, naturally [laughs].
JH: That’s where you got the bug.
GS: Oh yes, I think so, probably, I don’t know.
JH: So, so you left school, left grammar school.
GS: I left grammar school.
JH: And I think you then headed to London at some stage?
GS: Well, when you, in those days, university was practically impossible if you didn’t have money, because you had to do another year at school, to do your entrance exam, and er you know, I wanted to be a vet but there was no chance of that. So, so anyway, you either went to university, you were a nurse, or you were a teacher, anyway, or you were a secretary, you know, and I took the secretarial training.
JH: So, you did some training, locally or in London?
GS: Oh yes, locally in Carlisle, and then you took your exams, your service exams, you know civil service, and I finished up in London with two other girls from Carlisle, and er, we all were in together, and you know, we were all in a hostel in London.
JH: So, this is just before the war?
GS: Just before the war, ‘38, 1938.
JH: Yes, in the civil service. So, tell me how was it that you volunteered for the WAAF’s? I know that you’d had a flight, in the Barnstormer's?
GS: Well, when the war broke out, they sent all the staff of the health department, of the area that we were in, they sent us to Birmingham.
JH: Ah.
GS: And we had to take our typewriters with us, as part of our luggage, and they were heavy [laughs].
JH: Yes, was this evacuating London?
GS: Evacuating, yes.
JH: Because of the blitz?
GS: Yes.
JH: Oh, I see.
JH: Oh, it was before the Blitz started, right at the very beginning, and that first summer, first winter, was the coldest winter in years, the first winter of the war, it was terrible and Birmingham was awful [emphasis].
JH: A bit bleak?
GS: Oh, bleak town yes, and I thought you know, gotta be something better than this.
JH: Yes, yes, so when you, when you volunteered for the, um -
GS: So, I volunteered for the WAAF.
JH: Were, did some of your friends also volunteer?
GS: No, no, they didn’t. The two girls who I was with, one went back to Carlisle because her mother was ill, and the other went back to her family in Keswick -
JH: Yes
GS: Er, afterwards, you know, after some time.
JH: The Lake District.
GS: But no, I joined the WAAF and we went down to somewhere near London, I can’t remember where, and did six weeks training.
JH: Was that square bashing and marching up and down?
GS: Oh yes, yes, the usual things, yes, the usual things. I mean it was all new to us but, you know.
JH: Yes, so presumably you passed, with honours.
GS: Oh yes, well I passed [laughs].
JH: And how, what was the next thing that happened? How were you assigned to a division in the air force? What happened there?
GS: Well, most of my postings were to the, to the station headquarters, which is where the main clerical staff were. So, my first posting, posting was to somewhere on the, somewhere on the North Sea, on the North Coast of Britain.
JH: Durham, would it be?
GS: Somewhere round Durham, somewhere between Durham and Newcastle, I don’t think the aerodrome is there now, but they were coastal command.
JH: Coastal, yeah, operating in the North Sea, obviously.
GS: But I didn’t stay there very long and then I was sent down to um -
JH: Was it Middle Wallop?
GS: Middle Wallop, yes.
JH: Yes, which was a fighter base?
GS: Yes, it was still being built, it wasn’t finished but the aerodrome and the men’s quarters were finished, and the mess was finished, the rest was being built.
JH: Yes, so were you -
GS: We were in married quarters, the WAAF, we took over the married quarters.
JH: Ok, yeah, and erm, of course it featured in the Battle of Britain.
GS: Yes.
JH: And, I believe it was part of the German offensive, they actually attacked Middle Wallop, and you experienced that?
GS: Yes, well first of all they attacked the coastal, just the coastal and all the radar stations along the coast, and then after, maybe a week, or two weeks, or something, they started moving inland to the aerodromes, just in from the coast.
JH: Yes, this would be 1940, we’re talking?
GS: 1940, yes. So, we were sort of part of the second, the second lot of attacks.
JH: Yes, yes, tell me, tell me what happened, there was one day, a fairly violent attack?
GS: Well, well, well, it was totally unexpected, we weren’t expecting to be attacked, and I was with my -
JH: So, you had no warning?
GS: I was working with the adjutant then, you know, the head of the station and I was his clerk, and we heard the commotion going on, and we, both of us rushed out to the front of the headquarters, to see a Jerry coming straight down to attack the guard room, firing as he went of course. Which meant that we retreated hastily back inside, and took cover [chuckles].
JH: So, from what you’re saying, you didn’t have shelters, or?
GS: No, not at that stage.
JH: At that stage.
GS: No, well, any that were, were just, erm, Anderson shelters, which were just covered with dirt, and we weren’t near any of them, the buildings were better positioned.
JH: Yes, so you’re inside, I guess you’re all trying to get under a desk, or two, was there a bit of a squeeze there?
GS: Yes, and I lost to my adjutant, who was rather a portly gentleman [laughs].
JH: Yes [laughs].
GS: He was a sir, somebody or other, I can’t remember now what.
JH: Yes [laughs]. So, I think, you did tell me that they came back, the Germans?
GS: Yes, they came back at the same time, every day, which was just on midday.
JH: Yes.
GS: They never varied.
JH: Very punctual.
GS: Very punctual so all the planes took off before they came, after that, any that were able to, they did a lot of damage the first way round.
JH: Yes, so did you organise your lunch around the German attacks?
GS: So, what we all used to do then, was to make sure we took an early lunch, and got our lunch, and then we went down to the basement of the, of the dining room.
JH: My goodness, and erm -
GS: So, we made sure we were fed [chuckle].
JH: Yes, I believe a couple of your WAAF colleagues weren't so lucky, they in fact were killed in one of the raids?
GS: No, as far as I remember, one of them was - In the first raid the, erm, hanger door was blown off, and I think she was an aircraft woman who was doing maintenance, you know, and she was, she was killed in that, she got the door. I can’t remember her name or anything now, but there were a few casualties.
JH: Yes, and also, I think one of your jobs was to go around with your erm, your commanding officer inspecting the bomb damage craters, and you had to take notes?
GS: That was, that was the, erm, what would he be now, he’d be the engineer wouldn’t he?
JH: Yes.
GS: The engineering officer, who had no help, you see, so he got me to go and take notes for him, to walk round with him, and the last, or the last one we were at, it was at the airman's quarters, just in at the foundation of the quarters, and he climbed down into this hole, and had a look at the bomb, and he literally turned white, and said ‘get out of here, it’s still live’, scrambled out and that was the - [laughs].
JH: You broke the record for a hundred yards probably.
GS: I can’t remember, I can’t remember what happened after that, but obviously they must have dealt with it, but I wasn’t there when it was dealt with.
JH: So, Gillie, did you continue for a while with fighter command at different bases, or, when did you move over to bomber command?
GS: I can’t, look, I can’t remember, I moved around quite a lot.
JH: Yes.
GS: Erm, but I was commissioned in - Unfortunately, I didn’t put a date on that did I?
JH: You were commissioned as a section officer, so you went through the ranks, didn’t you?
GS: ASO, you started as an assistant, ASO.
JH: ASO, yes.
GH: Yes, ASO.
JH: Well, look it doesn’t matter, but I think last time you mentioned you were up in Number 3 Group in Durham at some stage, and also Newmarket?
GS: No, Newmarket that is.
JH: Newmarket?
GS: Yes, that was Bennet.
JH: Ah, yeah tell me a bit about that?
GS: No, you see I went - I was - eventually went right through the ranks and was a sergeant, and when I went to 3 Group, I was a sergeant then.
JH: Ok.
GS: And that was Bennet, Air Vice Marshall Bennet.
JH: And not only that, you were mentioned in despatches, MID?
GS: No, that was the end of the war.
JH: That was the end, yeah, ok. So, tell me about your experience with Bennet?
GS: Well, with Bennet, I remember this civilian coming and, very hush-hush, and it was, I’ve already forgotten his name.
JH: Bennet?
GS: No, no, the bomber, the man who made the bombs?
JH: Oh, Barnes-Wallis?
GS: Barnes-Wallis, yes. He came and, very hush-hush, and I only found out really after the war, well not after the war, very much later, that he was the one who was, and Bennet obviously was going to supply the, the planes to do it.
JH: Yes, so Bennet was involved in that? Yes, so, so Bennet took over, I think it might have been in ‘42, command of the Pathfinders, was that when you were involved with Bennet? Do you remember that, when he was posted to, er?
GS: Well, certainly it was ‘42 when I was there.
JH: Mm, that was in ‘42?
GS: Yes, certainly was ‘42.
JH: Yes, and er -
GS: The end of ‘42 that would’ve been.
JH: Ok, well, what a, what a thing to experience that.
GS: So, look, I just cannot remember, I was at a station in - [pauses] I was sent to a – No, I can’t remember, I know I was stationed near Cambridge.
JH: Yes.
GS: That was a bomber station of course, but what it was called?
JH: Was it Wyton, RAF Wyton?
GS: No, no.
JH: Um, there’s Warboys, Gravely?
GS: I doubt if I'd remember its name even, nothing, nothing rings a bell, you know? And I didn’t keep a record of any of them.
JH: Yes. So, it sounds like you were moving around quite a bit, er, at that stage?
GS: Yes, I think wherever, wherever, they needed somebody, and I always went to the group headquarters, and, usually -
JH: Yes.
GS: Usually to the adjutant because he was the one normally who needed someone, you know?
JH: Yes. Now tell me how you, what was the stage when you ended up in High Wycombe, in the Bomber Command headquarters?
GS: Well, after I, after I – after I was commissioned, that was my first job, so as an officer, that was my only job [chuckles]. I was at High Wycombe.
JH: Right ok, can we backtrack? You were married -
GS: Oh, yes, yes.
JH: - before that, to Morris Gilbert, Royal New Zealand Airforce, I believe he was a navigator?
GS: He was a navigator, yes.
JH: And erm, so how did you meet Morris? Where did you meet Morris?
GS: I met him before the war.
JH: Ok, when you were working in London?
GS: When I was in London, yes, there was a whole lot of them, came over, erm, he was an optician though and he’d come over to do an English exam, you know, but he was with a whole lot of others, who were destined to Canada, to train, so that’s how I met all the New Zealanders, and of course, he went back to New Zealand, and then went back to Canada to train, and finished up as an observer, then came back.
JH: Observer, navigator, yes, yeah same as my father. Ok, so back to High Wycombe, erm you were a PA to the senior, the commanding officers there?
GS: The second, second in command, yes.
JH: Yes.
GS: As far as I remember, Air Vice Marshall Sir Robert Sornby.
JH: Sornby yes. What was it like working there? What sort of, tell me a typical day, at High Wycombe?
GS: Well again, we were in married quarters, or, well of course we were in officers’ married quarters, we weren’t a big, I can’t remember how many there were, but there weren’t a lot of us.
JH: Was that close to the headquarters, or was that in High Wycombe?
GS: It was, oh no, it was separate from High Wycombe.
JH: Yes, it was a little village wasn’t it?
GS: It was - I don’t know what it was used for, whether it had always been an air force base, or?
JH: I’m not sure?
GS: I’m not sure myself, but it was all, the married quarters were there too, and we had married quarters.
JH: Yes, yes.
GS: Erm, and the - Well, the airwomen too, they were in married quarters as well, so -
JH: Yes, so you just used to walk to the headquarters?
GS: You had to walk, yes, walk through the beech trees [chuckles].
JH: Yes, yeah, and so, what would be a typical day?
GS: Er, you had to be there by eight o’clock, I would often see my [pauses] not Sornby, but my third one, who was Walmsley.
JH: Walmsley, yes.
GS: He would be walking through and sometimes we’d walk through together, he was very approachable.
JH: Yes.
GS: Whereas Sornby wasn’t.
JH: He wasn’t?
GS: No, I mean he was your boss, that was it, he wasn’t unpleasant or anything.
JH: Yes, yes, ok.
GS: But he’d drive past you in his Rolls-Royce and he wouldn’t pick you up [laughs]. Oh, I shouldn’t say that, you better rule that, take that out.
JH: [laughs]. Oh, I don’t think it matters now.
GS: No, take it out [both laugh].
JH: And now what about?
GS: Well, you’d do that and you’d have rotation, or whatever was going you know, files, and files to get, and files to take, files to get around. Generally, odd body, you know that’s what -
JH: Yes, so, would there be the reports of the raids the night before coming through? And you’d have to go through those? Like the losses?
GS: They went to, they went higher, they went to Harrison, through his PA, his PA was a flight officer.
JH: Yes, and I believe one morning, terrible morning, you had the news there at the office, you saw your, your husband's name?
GS: Oh no, that was in 3 Group, when I was in Bennet’s.
JH: Oh, that was in Bennet’s, 3 Group?
GS: That was ‘42, yes. That was in ‘42. No, we just went on. It’s just, they were long days, I mean you never knew when you were going to finish.
JH: Yes, like if there was a raid on, they would, well, let's say most raids they’d be leaving, eight, eight p.m., ten p.m., coming back three or four in the morning, did you have to be there at night?
GS: No, no. That was taken care of by the, by the, you know, the station, that they were on, they did all the interviewing, and sent the reports back.
JH: So, did you encounter Harris often? Was he very approachable, or?
GS: I mean, I’ve seen him, you know, but you might see him going to his car, or something like that, I don’t think I ever spoke to him.
JH: Yes, oh I should imagine the security must have been very high there, especially as you would be seeing a lot of information?
GS: Especially on D-Day, especially prior to D-Day, there was very tight security then.
JH: Yes, and ok. Well, I’d like to ask you, still talking about High Wycombe, how you met your second husband?
GS: Ah, well, that was [chuckles]. It really is nothing to do with Bomber Command.
JH: But I think, what I was trying to think of was, I believe on a Sunday the WAAF’s would have a special lunch?
GS: Yes, we had a half a day off a week, which was a Sunday, from Sunday at midday, a half a day off and we, about once a month, had a sherry party at midday on a Sunday, and we’d invite, you could invite people in from outside as long as they were escorted to you and escorted back again, you know. So, we had a WAAF, a New Zealand WAAF, called Bunty Watts, who, I'm not quite sure what she did, but she had, she had lost, or she eventually lost four brothers in the war, the last of whom was lost on D-Day -
JH: That’s astonishing.
GS: - flying a glider into Arnhem, for the landing at Arnhem. Anyway, she invited, some obscure way she knew Australian airmen so she decided to ask, they were somewhere near High Wycombe, Freddie and his mates, because they’d come to get the prisoners of war but of course the war didn’t finish -
JH: So, he was Australian army -
GS: Yes, Australian army.
JH: - and he was over here, I believe he was a doctor in the commandos in New Guinea?
GS: Yes, but he was medically unfit then, so he couldn’t be employed, they were looking for something for him to do, and they were all, this little group of them who were all medically unfit, and they were waiting for the prisoners of war to come out. So, they were, she invited them anyway for this sherry party, and of course I can remember seeing these, there were three or four of them I think, I can’t remember now but I can still see Freddie with his hand like this, saying, ‘Where’s the beer? Where’s the beer?’, which of course there wasn’t any [chuckles], and they wouldn’t have liked it anyway because it would’ve been warm [emphasis].
JH: [Laughs] He wasn’t too keen on the sherry I take it?
GS: No way [emphasis]. So that’s where I first met him.
JH: Yes, oh that’s interesting. So, back at High Wycombe, you know what I’ve read, the Bomber Command tactics were very much area bombing and then the Pathfinders came in, it was more precision bombing, and there’s been this controversy about area bombing ever since, when you were working there, were you aware of these discussions going on, amongst the command?
GS: No, no, I was aware of when the Americans came in, and they had quarters at High Wycombe and, I knew that there was a lot of argument then, about bombing in daylight, they had the fortresses to bomb, but they had no fighter support.
JH: Yes.
GS: And they were warned that they would have horrible losses.
JH: Which they did.
GS: Which they did, and there was a great [emphasis] kerfuffle going on then about whether they would pull out, or whether they would continue on.
JH: They nearly went home, you mean?
GS: Yes, they nearly went home, they nearly pulled out, but they wouldn’t take any notice what anybody else said, they knew better.
JH: Yes, did the Americans have a separate HQ at High Wycombe, or was it all combined?
GS: Oh yes, completely separate.
JH: Completely separate, yeah.
GS: Nothing to do with us at all, just we saw some of the officers, of course, we saw some of the people who were there, they used to come to our sherry parties [laughs].
JH: Yes [chuckles].
GS: A bit more civilised [laughs].
JH: Yes, and, maybe I can ask you if there’s anything else you can recall from High Wycombe, in those days?
GS: Not really. It was pretty routine work, and long, long days, quite long days, it could go on, you know, because I was there when my boss was there, but not overnight, I wasn’t expected to be there at night.
JH: Yes ok. Now I believe you ended up in a DC-3 over Berlin? Can you tell me how that happened?
GS: Erm, that was after the war ended, and they were doing a photographic reconnaissance more or less, over various areas, and my, one of my bosses, er, said I could go, so of course I jumped at the chance, so we flew over Holland and we saw all the areas where the, where they bombed the dykes, you know, and the water had all gone through, we saw that area, and er, we went over Berlin, and we went over, I don’t know.
JH: Was that a non-stop flight? You didn’t land in Holland?
GS: No, we didn’t land - No, we couldn’t have gone over Berlin, that’s too far, but we did Holland and we did all the sort of areas down through the -
JH: The Ruhr, maybe?
GS: Yes, I’m sure we were over Emden, and which was the one that had the firestorm?
JH: Dresden?
GS: Dresden, yes.
JH: But not Berlin?
GS: No, I don’t - I can’t remember now but I don’t think- It wouldn’t have flown, wouldn’t of been -
JH: Um?
GS: DC-3? It might’ve done?
JH: Might’ve done, yeah, anyhow it might come back.
GS: I can’t remember being over Berlin.
JH: Let’s say you did fly over Dresden, can you remember what you thought when you were looking down to see all the damage, the bomb damage? Were you shocked?
GS: I think I thought how efficient the Bomber Command had been [chuckles].
JH: Yes, you weren’t shocked? You thought, well -
GS: No, no because I’d seen the damage in London, you know we - I was in London one night, for something, I can’t remember what, when they were bombing and that was terrible [emphasis], I mean that was scary, really scary [emphasis].
JH: Yes.
GS: But, that was the war.
JH: Yes, I always ask in these interviews, with aircrew, or whoever, what they thought about the area bombing, do they have any misgivings now? Or did they think it was total warfare? Most people I've spoken to, believe it was justified, and total warfare.
GS: Yes.
JH: Yes, and you’d agree with that, that’s how you feel?
GS: I would agree with that, yes. After all they started it [chuckles]. And, you know, if they’d continued on a bit longer at the Battle of Britain, they would have invaded Britain, because we just about got to the end of our aircrews. Not so much planes, but people to fly them, their casualties were so [emphasis] heavy.
JH: Yes, were you, at High Wycombe, were you aware of the high casualty rates in Bomber Command?
GS: Oh yes, yes.
JH: It was um -
GS: You were lucky if you did your thirty ops.
JH: Yes, yes.
GS: You were very lucky if you did your thirty ops, and then a lot of them went on to be Pathfinders, and that was even worse.
JH: Yes, which is even more dangerous, yes.
GS: Yes, more dangerous, but then of course we got our night fighters.
JH: Yes, the Mosquitos, didn’t they do a good job.
GS: They were wonderful [emphasis] planes, oh, they were really wonderful planes. They could take a bomb load the same as a Fortress, and they were fast.
JH: Fast, high, yeah.
GS: Yes, and they could fight, you know, they could staff as well, so, they were really- They made a great, great [emphasis] deal of difference so. We called them the grey ghosts.
JH: Yes. There’s a chap in Sydney, I interviewed, Frank Dell, he was a Mosquito pilot, and was shot down, unfortunately his navigator was killed, and he - The Dutch farmers hid him in a barn, until the British forces came through. So, well let’s talk about, here we are in Orange, before that you were in the UK, how did you end up in Orange?
GS: Well after the war, eventually, I married Freddie, that was 1947 we were married, because he took his discharge in London to do his surgical degree, his English degree. Which he did, and I worked down there as well, I worked in London for a little while.
JH: Yes, so where did Freddie come from in Australia? Was it Orange?
GS: Sydney.
JH: Oh Sydney, he’s from Sydney.
GS: He was Coogee.
JH: Oh [pauses]. The Shire, down there, a Coogee boy.
GS: Yes, he was a surfer, not a surfer, a surf lifesaver.
JH: Yes, so you came out by boat?
GS: Oh yes, six weeks. Yes, the only way to come out, it was the only way you could come.
JH: Yeah, and what were your first impressions, in Australia?
GS: Hot.
JH: [Laughs] Yes, yeah.
GS: Yes, hot.
JH: Were you homesick?
GS: Erm, not really because I’d been wandering around, I hadn't been home for a long time, not since 1938. So, I really had plenty of time not to, you know, except it was a little bit different this time.
JH: Yeah, so you settled down in Sydney?
GS: That’s it, yes, we settled in Sydney.
JH: And started a family, yes.
GS: But I didn’t work after that.
JH: Yes, and erm, so how did you make the move to Orange? What was that story?
GS: Well, we - Freddie had patients from around this area, around Yeoval and that area, of course he was a children’s surgeon, and we more or less became friendly with them, and then he got the idea he’d like to farm [chuckles]. So, they looked around and they saw this little property was for sale, but of course there was no house or anything down there.
JH: Yes, it was all farming down here.
GS: This was well and truly - That was a dairy next door to us, anyway - And this was a dairy too. So he decided that we’d buy this, which we did in 1964, and our neighbour, that way, was a very good stockman, very good horseman, and he agreed to look after it during the week and we came down at weekends. I came down one weekend, he came down the next. So we did that until he retired, and he decided he’d had enough when he was fifty-eight, he thought he’s not going to work anymore in Sydney, he’s fed up with it. So, we, then bought our bigger property, which Ian is on now.
JH: Yes, near Cudal?
GS: Yes, well yeah, Cargo, between the two. And we moved up here. Left the three of them, that was Ian, my daughter and Neil, the youngest one, Anne was then a nurse, he was doing law, which he didn’t like very much [chuckles]. And, erm, we left them in a little semi at Coogee which was good for them, and we came up here and I started to work [emphasis], really hard [chuckles].
JH: What did you do, working on the farm?
GS: I had to do everything. What did Freddie do?
JH: Yes.
GS: He, as soon as he got up here, the base hospital, the old one which is over there, had lost their medical superintendent, so they rang Freddie and said, ‘Do you think you could just fill in for a few months until we get somebody?’, ‘Oh yeah, yeah, but I’ll have to leave every day at three o’clock, because I've got work to do,’ you know? Well, of course, it never happened.
JH: Yes, I bet.
GS: And he stayed for three years. So, I was left to run the fifteen hundred acres out there, and [emphasis] this place [chuckles]. Never having ridden a horse, or done anything.
JH: Tell me Gillie, these days do you keep in touch with, like the RSL, erm, ANZAC Day celebrations and so on?
GS: Oh yes, we had a very strong women’s association here, ex-services association here, and we’ve always, we’ve always marched. We’re down now, there are, what [pauses] really only two active members, the third member is totally blind now so she is - Well I mean we still get her, well we did, get her and go and have lunch once a month or so.
JH: Yes, marvellous.
GS: But there are only two of us left now.
JH: Yes, well Gillie that has been fantastic.
GS: That’s about all isn’t it?
JH: Yeah, we well – First of all I’d like to say this incredible lady, on the 7th of July, celebrated her hundredth birthday [emphasis].
GS: 8th of July.
JH: 8th of July was it?
GS: 8th of July, yes.
JH: Ok, which is fantastic, now it’s been a real pleasure to interview you, and thank you very much for that.
GS: Thank you, for the opportunity.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with Gillie Street
Creator
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John Horsburgh
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2020-07-27
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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00:37:44 Audio Recording
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AStreetM200727, PStreetM2001
Description
An account of the resource
Gillie Street was born in Aglionby, Carlisle, and spent her early childhood in Tyneside before moving back to Cumberland aged eleven. Street recalls attending grammar school in Brampton and her first flying experience on a Barnstormer. Upon leaving school she undertook secretarial training, completed civil service exams, and found employment in London. Met her future-husband there, Morris Gilbert, a navigator of the Royal New Zealand Airforce. Her department was evacuated to Birmingham where she volunteered for the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force following the bleak first winter. After training in London, Street was stationed at RAF Middle Wallop during the Battle of Britain. She describes the shock of the first attack, organising an early lunch for the reoccurring raids, sheltering in the basement, and a close call with a live bomb while surveying damage with the engineering officer. Street recalls being promoted, working with Donald Bennett, and the secretive atmosphere surrounding his involvement with Barnes Wallis. Street also talks about life at RAF High Wycombe and describes observing disagreements regarding the American bombing tactics; having a half-day off on Sundays; and the monthly sherry party where she met her second-husband Freddie, a doctor in the Australian Army. After the war, Street recollects flying on a C-47 over Holland, the Ruhr, Dresden, and Berlin, her reaction upon viewing the devastation, and explains her belief that the Bomber Command operations were justified. Finally, Street talks about her post-war life including marrying Freddie, moving to Australia by boat and living in Sydney, before buying and working on a farm in Orange in the 1960s.
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Birmingham
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Hampshire
England--London
Germany
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Dresden
Australia
New South Wales
New South Wales--Sydney
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Warwickshire
Contributor
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Tilly Foster
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Temporal Coverage
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1940
1945
Language
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eng
Bennett, Donald Clifford Tyndall (1910-1986)
bombing
C-47
Cook’s tour
ground personnel
love and romance
perception of bombing war
RAF High Wycombe
RAF Middle Wallop
shelter
station headquarters
Wallis, Barnes Neville (1887-1979)
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1663/27089/SHughesCL1334982v10003.2.pdf
08ae9fec717fd1a57bc6a38669a9749f
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Title
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Hughes, Clarence. No 1 Officers Advanced Training School
Description
An account of the resource
37 items. Precis of subjects covered at No 1 officer's advanced training school at RAF Cranwell in June and July 1945.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-02
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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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SHughesCL1334982v1
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[date stamp of No. 1 OFFICERS ADVANCED TRAINING SCHOOL JUNE 1945]
3A5/KS
[underlined] OFFICERS ADVANCED TRAINING SCHOOL
PRECIS: STATION ORGANISATION [/underlined]
Reference: A.P. 1301 Chap. 1 paras. 4 – 23.
[underlined] Introduction [/underlined]
1. When Air Force Units of any kind are assembled on a permanent or a semi-permanent basis, they are generally known as stations and on every such station an officer is appointed as Station Commander who is responsible for its general administration and functional efficiency to the next higher formation.
2. He will have to assist him a number of subordinate commanders, on certain stations they may be unit commanders with full powers of Commanding Officers delegated to them by the Air Council. In addition, he is provided with a staff of administrative officers who form his station headquarters staff. His principal assistant is known as the Station Administrative Officer and as Station Commanders have considerable operational or training responsibilities, much of the administrative routine is normally delegated to the S. Ad. O. The Adjutant, Assistant Adjutant, Senior Accountant Officer, Senior Equipment Officer, M.T., Medical and Catering Officers form the remainder of his headquarters staff.
[underlined] Dual Aspect [/underlined]
3. On all units there is a dual aspect – the functional and the administrative. Thus on a station there may be two or three flying flights which would be the functional side, and a headquarters flight, which, with certain ancillary services, is the administrative. This principle applies to stations and all higher formations up to the Air Ministry itself.
[underlined] Station of two main types [/underlined]
4. (a) Self Accounting Stations.
(b) Non Self-Accounting Units – satellite airfields, signals units and other small units which may be housed in requisitioned premises.
5. Stations can, broadly speaking, be divided into the two foregoing types. Those which are large and self-accounting are to a greater extent independent, than those which are small, subsidiary and non self-accounting units. These latter are often of a highly specialised nature and may be physically detached and independent as far as command and functional control are concerned, but dependent on a parent station for administrative services. In the former case the station is static, clearly defined and easy to control, in the latter improvisation has to be resorted to frequently and success is often dependent on the personality, common-sense and initiative of the Commanding Officer.
[underlined] Station Structure [/underlined]
6. In formations throughout each level in the R.A.F., although they are diverse in character and function, the basic principles of organisation are the same, but as the scale descends the complexities decrease. A C-in-C is served by an Air Staff and an Administrative
/Contd……
[page break]
- 2 -
/Contd…
Staff which are repeated on a lower scale at Group level; a station has a Commanding Officer who is served by the O.C. Functional Units, S. Ad. O., Adjutant and Specialist Officers who are counterparts, in a lesser degree, of the officers of Group and Command Staffs. For ease of control the work is decentralised in the same manner at each level. It is this standard system of organisation which by competent administration enables the R.A.F. to operate as an efficient and co-ordinated whole.
7. The principles of station structure are simple and straightforward. The functional side of the station is divided, as the circumstances demand, into Wings, Squadrons and Flights, the Headquarters Unit into administrative sections such as Equipment, Accounts, M.T., Communications, Messing, Catering and Medical. The present tendency on flying stations is to divide into three wings: Flying Wing, Technical Wing and Administrative Wing. Officers being appointed to command each, but usually with powers of subordinate commander only, the Station Commander in effect being O.C. of each wing himself.
[underlined] Specialised Services [/underlined]
8. In addition to the Sections already mentioned which form the universal administrative services for all units in the R.A.F. there are certain specialised services appropriate to the functions of the units which they serve. Examples are signals, armament, photographic and meteorological services which are the functional servants of the units, but come under the Station Headquarters for domestic administration.
[underlined] Non-Operational Stations [/underlined]
9. The majority of non-operational stations in this country are connected with training, maintenance and transportation. With certain exceptions they are permanent or semi-permanent stations falling into the self-accounting category. Their structure usually consists of a number of independent wings commanded by senior officers with full powers of commanding officers delegated to them by the Air Council. The usual administrative services are incorporated in the Station Headquarters Unit as opposed to the functional aspect of the wings, which provide the link to the next higher formation.
[underlined] Control of Stations in Operational Commands [/underlined]
10. The problem of fully co-ordinating function with administration is a considerable one. The present system of controlling a number of stations from a parent base has proved successful. Different terms are used for the base as a connecting link between the Groups and Stations in the various commands, but the principle is much the same. In some instances the control is purely operational and in others it is both operational and administrative.
[underlined] Bomber [/underlined]
11. Previously bomber stations with their satellites were directly controlled by Group. As these increased in number with a corresponding increase in squadrons, groups could not handle the vast amount of detailed work. Bases were formed consisting of three stations, Base Headquarters being set up on one, which was then called base Station; the other two being known as sub-stations, each of the three having its own Station Commander. The Stations, whilst controlled operationally from base, have their own independent domestic organisation.
/Contd…..
[page break]
- 3 -
/Contd…
On the other hand, the Base Commander has certain control of administrative matters affecting operational efficiency. Stations are divided into three wings, all daily servicing personnel now being centralised in the Technical Wing, leaving only flying personnel on Squadron strength.
[underlined] Fighter Command [/underlined]
12. Sector Stations have operational control of forward fighter stations which are self-accounting units. Both Sector and Forward Fighter Stations may have satellites under their control.
[underlined] 2nd T.A.F. [/underlined]
13. A group consists of separate wings, each made up of a number of squadrons. Operational control passes from Group through Group Control Centre to Wing Headquarters. Wing Headquarters is virtually a fully mobile station.
[underlined] Coastal [/underlined]
14. There is no intermediate control level between Group Headquarters and Stations.
[underlined] Amendments to this Precis: [/underlined]
[page break]
[underlined] OFFICERS ADVANCED TRAINING SCHOOL
QUESTIONS: STATION ORGANISATION [/underlined]
1. What is meant by (a) the functional and (b) administrative aspect of a R.A.F. Station or Unit?
2. What is the difference between a self-accounting station and a non self-accounting unit?
3. How is equipment and pay obtained in a non self-accounting unit?
4. Outline briefly the structure of a station which is a School of Technical Training.
5. Outline briefly the system of station control in,
(a) Bomber Command
(b) Fighter Command
(c) Coastal Command
(d) Tactical Air Force
6. What specialised services are on your station?
7. What is a base?
8. What is the difference between a Forward Fighter Station and a Satellite?
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
Officers advanced school - station organisation
Description
An account of the resource
Covers introduction, dual aspect, stations of two main types, station structure, specialised services, non-operational stations, control of stations in operational commands, bomber, fighter command, 2nd T.A.F., coastal, amendments and questions.
Publisher
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No 1 Officers Advanced training school
Date
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1945-06
Format
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Four page typewritten document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Service material
Text. Training material
Identifier
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SHughesCL1334982v10003
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Temporal Coverage
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1945-06
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Tricia Marshall
Conforms To
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Pending review
military service conditions
RAF Cranwell
Second Tactical Air Force
station headquarters
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1073/24368/BPickeringEPickeringv1.1.pdf
8e3104798fa0ddf49e4902bc0cb8c6ca
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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Pickering, Eileen
E Pickering
E Gascoyne
Description
An account of the resource
27 items. An oral history interview with Eileen Pickering (b. 1922, 483863 Royal Air Force). She served as a signaller in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force at 5 Group Head Quarters at Grantham and at Bletchley Park. the collection includes memoirs, a poster, photograph, bible, drawings and mementos. Two sub collections containing cards and drawings.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Eileen Pickering and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-04-22
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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Pickering, E
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR EILEEN PICKERING NEE GASCOYNE [/underlined]
Do you ever feel that god has double crossed you or maybe you shouldn’t have been born? ….. that is how I feel.
Born an unexpected twin doesn’t give you much of a start ….. my brother, older than me by twenty minutes always getting preferential treatment in all things, didn’t help me one bit. He was considered brighter than me (which he was, in maths and remembering dates in history) but of course boys in those days were given priority (girls were nothing really ) i was always dressed up prettily (had some lovely clothes) but had best clothes and school clothes and never the twain shall meet …. couldn’t wear any new clothes on a Sunday if it was raining, a big disappointment if you had to wait another week to wear them 7 days was a long time … quite an ordeal in fact.
I always tell people that i was born in u.s.a. which really means upstairs in the attic … which is true, my parents were living, at the time of our birth, with my auntie and uncle and two cousins, so it was quite a houseful …. when we were six months old a house to rent came up and my auntie got on her knees and prayed that my parents would get the house in order for her and her family to get back to normal … bingo! Someone at the rent office took pity on my mom and she got the house for us much to everyone’s relief …. We hadn’t been in it very long before mom found bugs underneath my brother when he was in bed and she went berserk and the whole house had to be fumigated .. all the wallpapers stripped off (and there were several layers of them) …. And the house done up from top to bottom.
.my father worked in the steel works and had a lot of unemployment (on the dole really) so mom had to supplement the housekeeping by cleaning for other people and decorating too …. She also used to knit and sew for people and sometimes didn’t get the money in that quarter either … she was a very had worker was my mom.
My dad was a marvellous dancer and used to m.c most of all the big firms annual dances at the Sheffield cutler’s hall there used to be 2 dance halls one for modern and the other old time my dad dealing with the latter and in one of the big banqueting rooms they used to hold whist drives to which my mom occasionally went into and once won the first prize of a full 12 seater tea service and they had to have a taxi to bring it home (it was a lovely tea service) …..! Never had a lesson on how to dance it was inbred in me and i was dancing at the age of two … my brother and i went to our first dance at the ripe old age of six months .. everyone taking it in turns to nurse us …. more often than not when my mom and dad went to a dance we were left in the care of the next door neighbours Mr. And Mrs. Sprigg and more often than
Not we were not in bed when they got home ‘cos the Spriggs liked to have us in their house with them. Mom made me so me [sic] lovely dresses to go dancing in and i was never allowed to put the dress on until we were ready to set off to the dance and i remember that on one occasions i was wearing my lovely underskirt and one of my friends came to borrow my
[page break]
skates which were kept in a cupboard ….. guess what? …… i got some oh. [sic] Off the wheels of the skates on to the underskirt and didn’t i get a clip for that. Mom was furious
And i cried of course ‘cos you see the dress was made of crepe de chene [sic] and the underskirt showed through it, so did the oil from my skates.
My brother and i attended the same school and we were in the same class until junior school, at the age of seven when girls and boys were segregated. He being more intelligent jumped a year ahead of me so he was the shining light, so to speak. At the age of 10 he sat the scholarship exam (a year early) and won a place at the grammar school of his choice but my dad was out of work at the time and couldn’t afford the needs for such an education so it had to be turned down …… the following year when the exam came around we both sat the same exam and when the usual forms were being filled in, my brother was given the choice of schools and of course chose
The one he should have attended the year before … i had no choice … the school nearest, his choice was decided for me so that he could take me (i was treated as if I was at least 2 years younger than him, always)
At school i liked most lessons but especially swimming, dancing, sewing, drawing, didn’t like history or geography very much yet i gained a distinction at the merit exam when i was 14 .. one thing i didn’t dig very much was mental
Arithmetic, ugh!! …. ! Was in the rounders team dancing team and netball team (the latter occasionally because i was so small) i loved doing all those things and the travelling
Around to visit other schools. I remember on one open day the dancing team did the usual performing and the teacher had told us to go in a plain simple dress and how embarrassed i became when my mom decided that i could wear one of my best dresses for the occasion i daren’t tell her what the teacher had said so i stood out like a sore thumb (in my opinion) i don’t suppose anyone noticed but me.
I was proud of my swimming achievements having gained a medal for life saving at the age of 14 and my brother couldn’t even swim …… but (wait for it) he started to go for lessons at the ripe old age of 13 and by the time he was 14 had become the Yorkshire schoolboy breast stroke champion and i once more went in to the background. We both sat the merit exam and passed but naturally he did much better than i did (another good mark against his name) those days a boy was more important than a girl when it came to doing well so it didn’t matter about me (any sort of job would do for a girl) we eventually said goodbye to school days and started looking for work in order to bring in a few pennies for the household … and had to go to what was then called the labour exchange and “sign on”
[page break]
Location of story: Bletchley Park
Background to story: Royal Air Force
Contributed on: 20 October 2005
PEN DRAWING OF A TYPICAL HUT AT BLETCHLEY PARK – RAF Church Green.
[drawing]
Not just HOW but WHY? …….. I will tell you the best I know how.
First of all, prior to Bletchley I was stationed at 9th. Troop Carrier Command, Grantham (which was originally No. 5 Group Headquarters) ….. I was posted there just as the Yanks had started to work there … we were more or less teaching them the job ….. Gradually long after “D” Day they took over the signals completely and our posting came through …. 5 to Uxbridge and the rest of the girls to Bletchley approx. 30 … I was posted to Uxbridge but because one of the girls was getting married to a Yank and wanted to be nearer home I volunteered to exchange postings .. much to my regret.
Whilst we were working with the Yanks we received their P.X. rations and it was like having Christmas every week .. lots of cheap cigarettes, choc, biscuits and many other things besides .. imagine how disgruntled we were when we had to go back to N.A.A.F.I. rations.
Because I had exchanged postings I had to wait for my railway warrant so the others set off before me …. I went down to the railway station to see them off and on the way back to camp a lorry pulled up and told me to get aboard .. they had seen to my kit and off I was sent …. a very timid lonely W.A.A.F. The others journeyed via Nottingham, I had to go via London .. and I had never been there and was a wee bit scared. I eventually arrived at Bletchley Railway Station and on presenting myself to the R.T.O. was informed that the others hadn’t arrived and was pointed the way to the camp .. I ignored all that and waited for the others.
We landed at Church Green and placed in to hut 129 .. what a dismal camp it was …. not a bit pleasant and we were even more disgruntled when we found out that it would take 3 weeks to Vet us and we were given some very unpleasant duties …. My friend and I were put on Ablution cleaning .. not at all
[page break]
our cup of tea but we had to put up with it. I’ll leave it to the imagination what the state of some of the toilets were in .. ugh
During the weeks we were waiting we had lectures etc. and I remember we were given one by an R.A.F. Officer who spelt out the whys and wherefores and do and don’ts emphasizing the need for speed and (no errors) … he was speaking to the initiated …. our machines at Grantham had almost set on fire on and around “D” Day (no errors) … when he asked for any questions one of the corporals stood up and gave him a slight lecture ….. we all enjoyed that.
The time came for us to be introduced to the Park …… all of us in hut 129 were put on “A” Watch ….. the watches were 2 days 16.00 – 23.59
“ “ 12.00 – 20.00
“ “ 8.00 – 16.00 ….. 48hrs. stand down.
We had a pass which we had to show on going in and out.
We duly arrived for the first session in the Teleprinter Block not knowing what to expect and on reflections I feel sorry for the girls who had never known any other than the Park, having gone there straight from Radio School, at least we had had experience of a working station, so to speak ……. it was just like walking in to a factory just loads of machines and neon lights which were always going on the blink which didn’t help the eyesight one bit.
We were each given a section of machines to look after and all we did all the time we were on duty was walk around keeping watch over the printers that we had been allocated just signing for the signals, tearing them off, folding them in half and placing them on the conveyor belts to their respective destinations … this we did for the whole of the watches and then after stand down we were given another section to look after ….. boring, boring, boring.
All this went off day after day, week after week, month after month.
I was only 5. ft. tall and was picked on a lot which depressed me and what made matters worse, I developed Scabies and was shunned by quite a few people .. I had the last laugh though because the others in the hut had dysentery and had to have their blankets fumigated
I am not knocking the cookhouse because we had some decent meals but I started to be sick after most meals and couldn’t bear my collar and tie on and eventually my friend told me that if I didn’t report sick she would disown me so off I went ….. given tablets (I can only think that they were sleeping tablets) which I had to go to the sick quarters for each day to have one administered.
[page break]
Having been vetted the only way out of Bletchley was to volunteer to go abroad which my friend did …. She duly had a medical, was found to have T.B. was sent off to hospital and never came back … this made me very sad and lonely …. And even more depressed.
I can’t descibe [sic] how ill I felt ….. but the job had to be done and I soldiered on .. even managing to pass a trade test ….. We occasionally got to send signals but those machines were few and far between.
On one of my Watches a group of civilians came thru on their way to another department and I couldn’t believe my eyes ‘cos coming toward me was a girl I went to school with but we only just had time to ask “What are you doing here?” when she was moved on … I never saw her again, (she was a boy and girl twin just like me) .. small world isn’t it?
I befriended a girl in the next but one bed to me and she came from St. Neots and was able to get home on her S.O.P. and she took pity on me and I used to go home with her occasionally it was so kind of her family to take me in like that because they had a houseful, Mom, Dad, Aunty, Joyce herself, her brother and three land army girls so it was very kind of them to accept me as one of the family and they were such a lively lot it helped me a great deal Sheffield where I came from was a bit too far really although a corporal who lived there and I did once try going home on a 48 hrs. pass but we had a struggle getting back to Bletchley and I became sick which didn’t help matters especially when we were a wee bit late for duty however we didn’t get put on a charge which was a blessing.
To cut a long story short I eventually was sent to R.A.F. Halton to face a Medical Board and had to travel in a corridor less train with a Sgt. who I had heard played her violin at midnight .. so I wasn’t too happy about that arrangement .. however all was well although she refused to wear her cap so didn’t salute an Officer who just happened to be passing the station entrance when we arrived at our destination she was reprimanded if I remember, and I was held up as an example of discipline …. a feather in my cap I must say.
After facing the Medical Board and answering lots of questions I was informed that I had a nervous throat and given to choking (I am to this day .. difficult when visiting the dentist). I was offered my discharge which I refused so the alternative was that I was posted to R.A.F. Norton. Sheffield the idea being that I worked on the camp in the signals section but lived at home in order to have food cooked by my Mom .and this arrangement lasted until my demob at the end of 1945..
I left B.P. silently two days before New Year’s Eve 1944. and was put on duty immediately New Year’s Day 1945..
[underlined] My war time experience at 17 by Eileen Pickering nee Gascoyne [/underlined]
Contributed by Eileen Pickering nee Gascoyne
People in story: Eileen Pickering nee Gascoyne (Halfpint), Jack Pickering
Location of story: England
[page break]
Background to story: Royal Air Force
Contributed on 20 October 2005 Photo 0
Photo Of 21 year old EILEEN GASCOYNE
[black and white photograph]
I was 17 yrs. of age when declaration of war was announced, from the pulpit. in Church during the Sunday service. To say we were a little afraid of the unknown is an understatement war was expected, sandbags and Anderson shelters had sprung up all over the place and black-out curtaining was being bought by the yard. We had the first siren warning almost immediately but. thankfully it was a false alarm. Black-out was upon us and we carried our little boxes containing gas masks, all the time.
Life carried an [sic] normally for a little while but friends and workmates started to he [sic] called up for active service and a [sic] family circles gradually diminished.
Dec. 12th. and 15th. 1940 (Thurs. and Sun.) Sheffield, where 1 [sic] was born and bred, suffered a Blitz ….. it was dreadful. Wave after wave of bombers almost all night and we were couped [sic] up with neighbours, in the shelter, almost below ground. My Dad had built bunk beds for my twin brother and me but we never slept in them, it was too crowded to lie down because all the neighbours in the yard wanted to be together. The only light we had was one candle and I remember the old lady next door to us sitting next to me drinking the brandy which was supposed to be for medicinal purposes only. The next day we had to “Shank’s pony” to and from work, walking 3 to 4 miles each time, in to the City (no excuses those days) and that went on for weeks. All form of transport ceased and we had to walk in all weathers over rubble and dripping water mains, through a district that had had a lot of damage it was a nightmare
My boyfriend (who is now my husband) used to call for me and we would walk to work together most days
[page break]
Jack had volunteered for the R.A.F. and in 1941 was called up for service and sent to S. Rhodesia for Pilot training supposedly for 9 months but he was held back as an instructor and didn’t return until 1945.
In 1943, just before my 21st. birthday, I was conscripted into the services and was lucky enough to have my choice to join the W.A.A.F. I did my square-bashing (Drill) at R.A.F. Innsworth. Gloucestershire and at the end of the course we had to put on a show. I could tap-dance (and still do) so was roped in for the chorus and a solo …… Dress material being almost none existent. [sic] The producer went in to Gloucester and came back with some patriotic serviettes which we sewed 1to [sic] our issue bras. and made little skirts to wear over our Air Force Blue “bloomers,” we thought we looked great and everybody thought the idea a good one, we just had to make sure that we didn’t tear them, good thing they only had to last for the one performance.
From Innsworth, along with quite a few more “sprogs” (new girls), I was posted to Whitley Bay in Northumberland, a hellish journey, having to stand up or sit. on our kit-bags all the way. Being a short-hand typist, I was put to work in the Orderly room of Station Headquarters and eventually promoted to the Adjutant’s Office, even though I was still only ACH/GD (Aircraft hand/general duties) at the time.
We had a Pig of a W.A.A.F. Officer and when she came to inspect us had us drilled on the lower prom facing the sun which reflected on to the sea, not very pleasant. I remember her once saying “Now I know what it is like to drill 70 wet, dead fish all said and done for the benefit of the holiday makers who came to watch us. There were a lot of barbed wire defences all over the place and she took great delight in marching us -towards them and not giving the order to about turn until we were about four aces away, she was not very popular.
After about three to four months we were allowed to re-muster and I applied to be a T/P/O (Teleprinter Operator). I had quite a Problem with the aforementioned officer, to let me do this because at the time said 1 [sic] that I would like to go into Safety Equipment
(parachute packing etc.) as far as that was concerned she said “NO WAY” she would have me scrubbing the cook-house floors first. I stood my ground and in the end she agreed for me to apply to be a T/P/O. I was accepted and was sent to R.A.F. Radio school at Cranwell College. in Sept. 1943. It was a 10 weeks course, on shift work, 6 p.m to 2 p.m and 2 p.m to 10.0 p.m. alternate weeks, if my memory serves me correctly. We had to take a test at the end of each fortnight before being allowed to move an [sic] to the next step Of the training and if you didn’t make the grade you were either moved back a fortnight or scrubbed altogether and sent to train as a cook. At the end of the 10 weeks we sat an exam and I passed ok which meant an upgrade in my pay to 2s. 2d. per day.
From Cranwell I was posted to Grantham to a place called St Vincent’s House which was gradually being taken over by the Americans (it had been No. 5. -Group Headquarters of the Dam Buster era). We shared watches (duties) with the Yanks and as some of them were new arrivals from the States we had the task of training them an [sic] a one to one basis, more or less. Because we were attached to their unit, so to speak we were allowed the P.X. (stores,) rations and it was like having Christmas every week. Plenty of gum, choc bars and biscuits as well as other small items such as face cloths, pens etc. We were allowed 140 cigarettes a week Camel, Chesterfields, Lucky Strike to name but a few. Being a non-smoker I used to send mine in the laundry parcel I sent home, for my Dad to have. The Yanks had plenty of money too and were over generous to the girls who dated them but a lot of us refused to allow this to happen too often, it did not seem right to take advantage of their good nature; most of the ones I worked along side were gentlemen..
[page break]
On New Year’s eve, those of us who weren’t on duty were collected by truck and driven to Cottesmore camp and we had a whale of a time dancing the year out, jitterbugging and feeding our faces with food we hadn’t thought existed anymore. It didn’t matter that we had a long uncomfortable ride back in an army lorry and on duty the next day, we were tired but happy.
Our watch arrived for 8.0 a.m duty on June 6th. (D Day) 1944 to lots of shushes and “Don’t talk to each other” orders from the R.A.F. Sergeant in charge of us, stupid man, all signals were in code anyway! We were kept very busy, sparks almost coming out of our machines. We’d had a suspicion something was afoot ‘cos a few days beforehand all leave and passes had been cancelled. However, this did not deter my friend and I from getting up early on our day off, walking to the outskirts of Grantham and hitching a ride to Sheffield. I had written home to say we would visit
(no telephone for us) so we kept our promise. We had to come back the same day otherwise we would have been put on a charge. How we managed it all in the one day I don’t know, I had no sense of direction and there were no signposts, but make it we did. There was one worrying moment on the way back when the truck driver stopped and got out of his cab (it was a transport lorry) and left us for what seemed ages and we had no idea how much further we had to go or even where we were. We were also starting to wonder as to whether we would be back in time for our 23.30 duty. I remember we were late but can’t think what excuse we gave but luckily we got away with it. How we made it through the night I don’t know but we were young and managed not to fall asleep during the long hours of pounding our machines.
The Yanks eventually took everything over and we were posted en bloc. to Bletchley Park in Buckinghamshire. I should have gone to Uxbridge but exchanged posting with a Londoner; worse days work I ever did.
Bletchley Park was known as Station X, very hush-hush so, as they sang in one of the war-time songs “We won’t talk about that”. All I can say is that before we could work in the Park we were vetted and as this took about three weeks we were put to all sorts of menial tasks. Unfortunately for me and my friend, we were put on ablution duties …….. cleaning toilets etc., it was awful. Despite discipline and hygiene lectures there were still the add [sic] bods who broke the rules and on occasions our duties weren’t exactly pleasant.
The W.A.A.F. camp left a lot to be desired (there were Army, Navy, Air Force and Civilians at the Park). Navy and civilians were looked after the best, living in private homes etc., Army and R.A.F. personnel had to put up with concrete huts with bitumastic floors, very sparse, and what seemed miles to the toilets and baths.
(enclosed copy of the hut next to mine, to give you an idea of living conditions, this was drawn by a friend of mine who I recently discovered at a W.A.A.F. re-union).
Conditions weren’t good at all and the only way out of the place was in a “box” on medical grounds, or by volunteering to go to India, which my friend did but at her medical, was found to have suspected T.B. and was posted to hospital for treatment. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, morale was pretty low, and illness overtook some of us. The whole of our hut had dysentery (35 girls) except me. I was greedy and had scabies and the treatment for that was horrible. I had to go to sick quarters every day, have a bath and scrub myself until the sores bled, dry myself off and then the orderly with a brush, slapped an [sic] some sort of paste which stung and had to dry slowly before I could get dressed again. I felt very degraded and was spurned by everyone. They assumed that I was dirty, which made me very depressed. Sickness and depression dogged me all the time I was stationed there and eventually 1 [sic] had to face a Medical Board which entailed a trip to
[page break]
R.A.F. Halton Hospital. I was offered a discharge an [sic] medical grounds, but refused it. The alternative was a posting to R.A.F. Norton, Sheffield where I was allowed to live at home, attending camp only for duties and pay parades, etc.
I remained at Norton until my demobilisation in October, 1945 and during that time, my fiancee [sic] came home from S. Rhodesia and we were married just after V.E. day on 19th May, 1945. That is another story.
A SYNOPSIS OF my WARTIME EXPERIENCE
Mrs E Pickering (nee. Gascoyne)
483863 L.A.C.W.
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Title
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Three articles about Eileen Pickering and her wartime experinces
Description
An account of the resource
Three articles in the same document. The first 'About the contributor Eileen Pickering nee Gascoyne' describes early life, growing up as well as describing parents, school and success at swimming. The second article 'A story of her work at Bletchley Park' which includes a drawing of a typical hut and account of her time before Bletchley, journey to Bletchley and routine including description of her work there once she arrived. Continues with account of a friend she met and her medical discharge. The third article 'My wartime experience at 17 by Eileen Pickering nee Gascoyne' includes a photograph of Eileen in uniform at 23 years old which tells of life at the beginning of the war in Sheffield including being bombed. Writes of being conscripted in 1943 at 21 years old. Gives account of training at RAF Innsworth and posting to Whitley Bay. She follows with description of re-mustering as a teleprinter operator and posting to 5 Group Headquarters at Grantham including events on D-Day. Concludes with a little of time at Bletchley Park.
Creator
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E Pickering
Format
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Nine page printed document
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BPickeringEPickeringv1
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
England--Sheffield
England--Lincolnshire
England--Grantham
England--Gloucestershire
England--Buckinghamshire
England--Whitley Bay
England--Northumberland
England--Milton Keynes
Temporal Coverage
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1940
1943
1944
1945
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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Tricia Marshall
5 Group
arts and crafts
ground personnel
medical officer
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
RAF Cranwell
RAF Halton
RAF Innsworth
station headquarters
training
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1376/24329/MFordTA1585520-170411-14.2.pdf
0acf2c189aab6d3d793b1066ff56da7a
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Title
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Ford, Terry
Ford, T
Description
An account of the resource
135 items. The collection concerns Terry Ford. He flew operations as a pilot with 75 Squadron. It contains photographs, his log book, operational maps, letters home during training, and documents including emergency drills. There are two albums of photographs, one of navigation logs, and another of target photographs.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Julia Burke and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-03-13
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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.
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Ford, T
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Permission granted for commercial projects
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[Drawing of an aircraft flying over a single gravestone]
The Flying Gopher
SEPTEMBER 1942
[Page break]
[Advert for the Dickson Hotel and Café]
[Advert for Rialto Billiards]
[Page break]
Officers’ Mess
Gossip
CENSORED
Space donated by …
WARREN’S DRUG STORE
1
[Page break]
[Advert for Commercial Café]
[Advert for Walker Fruit]
[Page break]
[Drawing of an aircraft flying over a single gravestone]
The Flying Gopher
The Journal of The Royal Air Force, No,41, Service Flying Training School,
Weyburn, Saskatchewan, Canada.
Published by the Kind Permission of Group Captain E.C. Emmett, M.C., D.F.C.
VOL. 1. SEPTEMBER, 1942 No. 4
Editorial
[Drawing of a thoughtful gopher with writing quill at a desk]
There are some changes this month – as doubtless you have noticed. Changes both apparent and inward have affected the production of the fourth edition of your Flying Gopher. Note the cover, for instance, which we hope will have more appeal to the casual eye. It’s a plain cover, we admit, but it has caused almost as much headache as all the inside pages put together. We were loath to part with the vastness, and yet our title required more punch. There you have it, and if anyone has any further ideas, bring them along.
Turning to the first page, the reader will notice that the seed catalogue which graced that prominent place is conspicuous by its absence. Names are boring at the best of times and we are sure that the contents page was merely a waste of space – you don’t pick your articles, you read the lot, don’t you, dear readers?
Further along it is to be noticed that more variety is embodied in the make-up of the pages. Like the idea? We do wish you would let us know. There must be a good deal of improvement which can be made if everyone’s minds were turned to it instead of just the few who edit the magazine.
Finally it was suggested that while we were making sweeping changes we might as well cut out the editorial. But no, a place to let off a little steam is a good thing to have here, and anyway, by omitting the editorial we would be forced to throw away the cut of our Editor-in-Chief, the Gopher and we think it’s such a lervely picture…!
THE EDITORS.
3
[Page break]
[Advert for Duncan & Russell]
[Page break]
Doc Vyse Forgets
[Drawing of a doctor with stethoscope and syringe]
The title may seem a strange departure from the reminiscences which have appeared opposite the rather compromising cartoons firmly incorporated in recent issues of The Flying Gopher, but don’t let the title mislead you.
Any man who sits at a service office desk knows that a small oversight may start a long chain of complaints descending upon his head by telephone and expedite signal until nearly every section at the station is involved. So forgetfulness doesn’t pay. My experience has been an exception. I recall with chagrin the occasion some two years ago when S.M.O. Group visited the Sick Quarters I was nursing. In the excitement of night calls to the Tarmac and ministering to an exceptionally sick padre, I forgot the approaching S.M.O’s. visit, and with the result that lamp shades, overhead office shelves and doorway ledges didn’t get the extra polish they had the right to expect. After what I thought was a pretty satisfactorily conducted inspection, the S.M.O. planted himself in front of the office fire and summarized, “Well, Vyse, I can’t congratulate you… ,” an anticipatory smile must have crept over my face as he continued, “Yes, I must congratulate you on having the Filthiest Sick Quarters I have ever seen.” Incidentally I did not forget this incident when I visited this S.M.O. twelve months later when he was a patient in hospital.
However it is generally accepted that one forgets unpleasant incidents in one’s life, which probably explains the delusion under which certain people labour when they assert that their school days were the happiest in their lives. My opinion is that the honest man who is interested in his job will admit that there is no time like the present. Maybe it is difficult to count our blessings until afterwards, but I have a shrewd idea that in years to come many of us will be talking as warmly of our visit to Canada, our stay in Weyburn and our weekend visits to Regina or the Lake and certainly our friend, the Gopher, as we now fondly recall the rain of Manchester, or the rumble of London. And I don’t think the apparent change of heart will be entirely due to the pint of “old and mild” that may accompany the reminiscing.
[Signature]
5
[Page break]
The R.A.F. Comes to the Wild West
Let us consider Weyburn as it was before the blue of R.A.F. uniforms began dotting the streets of our illustrious city. The burg is bereft of its young men, its old men, its middle aged men,- in fact of almost anything given to wearing long trousers, excluding masculine-minded females. Our life is a mere existence, and a drab one at that – rising in the morning to do our small and dolorous daily tasks – wandering down to the Inevitable Club for a Coke – trying to lend an appreciative ear to some slapstick comedian on the radio or a jitterbug jive – listening with longing ears to a broadcast from our boys in the services.
Then came rumours, floating here and there through the district, carried on “I-don’t-know-whether-it’s-true, -but-that’s-what-I-heard” wings, and soon spreading thick and fast in the female-filled city, to the effect that the R.A.F. were soon to fill with their charm the inconspicuous city of Weyburn. Some disbelieved, some elaborated, others patiently waited, until one day all these surmisings were resolved with the arrival of --- (number censored) “blokes” to our then under-construction airport.
Weyburn took on a new appearance, and a very distinguished R.A.F. blue one at that.
At first the Old Country brogue was like a Babylonian jargon to us, but as acquaintances grew this obstacle was overcome in the face of their charming manner, their story-telling ability, and – a characteristic common to many of them – their wavy, sleekly oiled hair.
At dances, these boys’ popularity never wanes. The uniform perhaps, so scarce during the summer months, was a call to arms – the arms of girls, ladies, women, dames, hags, sacks, and what would you. Where such vast numbers of the fairer or not-so-fair sex came from will always remain for us a sixty-four dollar question still unanswered.
However, these jives and jitterbugs, or nervous wrecks set to music, began their task of dancing with gentlemen so cultured, so well taught in the art of ballroom dancing. We found ourselves two beats ahead of our partners in a slow fox-trot, two feet lagging in their slightly quicker style of waltzing, and generally falling over ourselves when our well-meaning assailants tried their feather steps and palais glides. As time wears on, our compromise in styles is markedly successful.
To us, too, the eagle-crested chaps have brought a station band, held in very high esteem, and appreciated especially by those who know that a waltz does have a definite tempo, while a quickened step has another.
A Hostess Club has come into existence to entertain the boys, and it is unnecessary to tell of the pleasure which we derive from providing this home-away-from-home. We have enjoyed many a quiet get-together in these home-like surroundings, helped on by the smiles of the hostesses.
The bowling alleys, the theatre (or cinema), the swimming pool, the football field, each has donned a new atmosphere of bustle, excitement, and a good-time-was-had-by-all air.
For this we can thank our winged service men. They have brought home to us something of how the other half of the world lives, they have given us their companionship, they have brought with them memories of their forefathers, and for all this we salute them.
And without them too, I know that I, as well as many others in category Female No. 1 Single would now be sitting at home, knitting sweaters for Cecil.
FEMALE CITIZEN.
[Page break]
Prairie Vista
[Photograph of a serviceman sitting on a block in a field, looking pensive]
We offered prizes for pictures illustrating Weyburn, and here you see what happened. We point out that Weyburn really is a quiet place at times and that those we have chosen for this issue merely tell one all about the undulations of the scenery round about.
If those fellows laying claim to these photographs will call on the editors, they will hear something to their advantage.
[Photograph of a railway line heading to the distance]
[Photograph of Weyburn Fire Station]
7
[Page break]
Gremlinology
After a variety of reports from a highly skilled assortment of u/ts now flying with “D” Flight, we record this warning to all pilots and pupes on this station. We have long suspected this, and now it has been definitely established. We can wait no longer. We must give you the terrible news.
The Gremlins are operating here on the Prairie ! ! !
Wait, reader! Don’t dispose of this with an airy shrug and turn over the page. This is pukka gen. Both the long-experienced pilots on this station will already be familiar with the Gremlin, but for the benefit of the uninitiated we may explain that gremlins are the little folks of the air who are responsible for all those minor mishaps which occur while you are airborne. They sit quietly on the mainplane for a while, and then, when you are beginning to feel that you really can fly, they open up. What do you think it is makes for a heavy landing? Your flying? Never! It is the gremlins jumping on the deck, lifting the runway up about ten feet, and then dropping it back while you are holding-off. Decent types, in fact.
We believe this is the first appearance of gremlins in this country, and at first we thought we had discovered a new species, the Prairie Gremlin, but after careful investigation, we can state with certainty that they are of the British variety, Gremlin Mk II, a very unpleasant species, stowaways on the U.S.S… It may be that the gremlins are only operating on “D” Flight kites, but we give this warning in case they should migrate to lower forms of station life.
Our first experience of the Gremlins came soon after our course had started, when we were smitten with a plague of ground-looping. This was obviously no fault of the pupes, and we realize now that the Gremlins jumped from our kites on to the runway just as we were landing, and pulled down a wing on to the tarmac, then clambering back on to the kite and chuckling with glee at the efforts of the pilot to extricate himself. It is on record that one of our instructors, particularly popular with the Gremlins, booked himself out for “Exercises 8 and 9 ground-looping”.
Only yesterday a certain sergeant from the Nav Flight, distinguished for his frequent reversion to his habits of recent Tiger days in switching off Harvards in fine pitch, was emitting a sigh of relief and surprise at making a reasonable landing when a group of gremlins planted a large area of mud dead in the path of his aircraft …
Take heed to our warning, then you fliers, and profit by our experience.
A word to our instructors. If you have noticed some slight errors on our part, landings with the undercart up, or taking off full flap, don’t blame us. It’s those Gremlins at work again. And a last word to fellow pupes. Next time you write off an aircraft, don’t let it bother you, just tell your Flight Commander it was the Gremlins, and he will give you another kite straight away. After all, what’s a few aircraft at a time like this? Think of all the Gremlins you may have written off too.
H.W.F.
[Boxed] Wanted
In this edition appear several items of interest from people outside the camp. These missives were received by the staff at various times during the last month and, since they show a remarkable insight into the life and living of No. 41 S.F.T.S., the less libellous paragraphs are littered about our pages.
The Editorial staff makes this public appeal to the writers to come out into the open and reveal their identities. We should like to express our appreciation of these witticisms and establish a closer liaison …
The anonymous contributors were all ladies of Weyburn and its surrounds … [/boxed]
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[Advert for Gold Seal beer]
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[Advert for Kempton’s Book Store]
[Advert for Lee Sing Laundry
[Advert for Bill’s Café]
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Romance in Regina
(A tale of the wide open spaces)
By “Prairie Oyster”
[Drawing of an airman with his arm around a pretty girl] “She thrilled as she felt a hand on her shoulder.”
WHAT’S HAPPENED UP TILL NOW:
Mary Anne Svenson is still a slip of a girl; sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Her faithful chum is Penelope Picklove – a dusky young beauty. In spite of the vivacious zest for life, and all that goes with it, shared by the two girls, they are closeted in Saint Agatha’s Convent for Good Girls Only, in Regina, Queen-of-the-Prairies. This, of course, is the biggest, smartest and best Finishing School north of the American line.
Already Dan Cupid has struck deep at Mary Anne. She is going steady with a handsome Old Country aviator called Patrick Alexander. But, alas, the girls of the Convent are only allowed one late pass each month, and then only till 22.30 – so courtships are slow. But not with our heroine, Mary Anne Svenson.
However, nothing daunting, the dashing lovers keep secret trysts. Where there’s love there’s a way. But now both are in trouble – serious trouble. Patrick is about to be court-martialled for roaring low over the terrified convent-girls, and blowing kisses to his own true-love. And now, horror of horrors, Mary Anne has been summoned by the cruel matron, Sister Immaculata, who caught her behind a bush with her dearest Patrick.
“Tomorrow,” roared the dread matron, “you will be publicly expelled. They are in need of a practitioner at the Weyburn Mental.”
NOW READ ON IMMEDIATELY, DON’T WAIT A MOMENT:
Mary Anne, looking more than ever like a scented rose at dewy dawn, felt cold all over. Creeping from the presence of the terrifying ogre-matron, she sought the faithful Penelope. Finding her peeking thru the keyhole as she left the room, she staggered sobbing on her shoulder. “Worse than death,” she whispered hoarsely.
The faithful Penelope soon soothed our crestfallen heroine with a bag of liquorice all-sorts and a story from True Confessions. As there was no school that day owing to all the instructors being on a 48, she persuaded the damp-eyed Mary Anne to take a stroll towards Regina’s famed lake. There the pair sat on the grassy sward, gazing thoughtfully into the deep watery stillness.
Meanwhile Patrick had returned to camp, his hopes of being able to be an ace with the Canadian and British airmen overseas being dashed to the ground. One thought only saved him from immediate suicide – the thought that soon he might see his beloved prairie flower once more. As he fell to pondering over the blissful tryst of the previous nite, he became less browned off and the light shone in his steel-gray eyes once again. That night he was to play center-forward for his team in the Semi-Final of the South Sask. Soccer League. As he thought of the evening soccer game (Old Country fashion), he resolved that he would leave his mark as an ace footballer, even if he was not to be an ace-aviator.
Mary Anne stared wistfully into the lake; her impending public expulsion
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From Saint Agatha’s, and the consequent wrath of her stern Puritanical parents, steady farmers at Expanse, Saskatchewan, cast a somber cloud over her usually sunny disposition. Like a flash the one and only solution to her troubles crossed her turbulent mind. She must escape from the toils of the dreaded Immaculata. Escape she must; and escape at once.
By the time faithful class-chums had returned to the convent at near-dusk, Mary Anne had decided on a plan of action.
At the same time, Patrick had played his last game for his station. It was a ding-dong struggle, and the pent-up spectators held their breath as his station struggled with Medicine Jaw for the lead in the S. Sask. League. The score was 1-1 when the ball came to our hero. (Square 4.) Like a second Babe Ruth he dribbled it up to the field (Old Country style) and scored a magnificent goal a second before the whistle shrilled for the end of the thrilling match. In what had been the greatest game ever seen in the three Prairie Provinces, Patrick had lead [sic] his station team to victory; repeat, victory. Everyone was happy. Even the S.W.O. smiled. The C.O. personally congratulated Patrick, as he (Patrick) was held shoulder-high by his more-than-delighted team-mates.
That night as the team was celebrating in the Y with milk-shakes and bubble-gum supplied free by the Imperial Daughters of the Empire, a lone figure made its way through the shadows surrounding St. Agathas.
Patrick, as we already well know, was a man of action. It was only the work of a trice to corner the young sport-loving C.O. after the Celebration Dinner. With the aid of many “Big Chiefs” and the thought of his timid blondie, Mary Anne, he poured out his sorrows to the understanding Group Captain. At first he, the Group Captain, was unimpressed and dwelt at some length on the importance of discipline and Section 7, Para 3, of C.A.P. 100 and the Stockbrokers Gazette. But as the merrie evening wore on he loosened up and at dawn he left Patrick promising to make him acting Pilot Officer unpaid, and furthermore promising that he would instruct his lawyer in Watrous (Prairie Regional) to buy up all the evidence against Patrick.
Meanwhile Mary Anne tramped the streets of Regina, wondering what might befall her. She stopped in at the Dominion Hotel to spend her last nickel on a cup of ersatz coffee. Staring into her coffee cup in a deep reverie, she suddenly noticed out of the corner of her eye a small placard, “Good-looking assistant wanted.” Immediately applying to the manager, she was given the job at the same pay as an ACH G/D. (K.R. & A.C.I. para. 2295).
By this time the whole convent was in an uproar. Even the calm Immaculata was in a flat-spin. Even Penelope Picklove had no idea of the whereabouts of beauteous Mary Anne. All feared the worst.
All the following day Mary Anne toiled in the Drug Store, frying eggs and cutting sandwiches. Late that evening just as she was serving a David Harum to a Lance Corporal in the S.S.R. she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her heart leapt with girlish excitement. Could it be Patrick. She was scared to look round for fear it might be some forward stranger. But it was Patrick; as handsome as ever in sky-blue with glittering brass buttons. Soon he had persuaded her to slip away from her drudgery, and to go dancing with him in the Silver Dell.
The nite, as usual, sped by blissfully for both. Finally, as dawn broke over the golden wheat fields outside of the city, Patrick took her home to the Dominion Hotel. As the couple entered thru the swing doors, Mary Anne Swooned into her lover’s arms; for who should be standing in the foyer waiting for her, but her wrathful parents, Mr. and Mrs. Svenson.
* * * *
That’s all this issue. Buy the next issue to find out where on earth the faithful Penelope has gotten herself to, and what Mr. and Mrs. Svenson have to say about their daughter’s capers.
FILLUP
You’ve heard of the airmen’s canteen,
Where they say the language’s obscene,
You’ve heard of the Corporal’s place
Their dances they say, are “Disgrace”
You’ve heard of the Sergeant’s bar,
Where they drink too much by far.
…BUT! Have you heard of the Officers Ball
When it ended up in a “free for all.”
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[Photograph of a man in uniform on the telephone]
Key Men No.1
The Adj.
No, this is not the Mental Hospital. You must have the wrong number. … What is it? The Royal Air Force, of course … No, not the R.C.A.F. That’s something different. This is the English one. We’re all English here … Yes, that’s why I talk with a frog in my throat … What do we do? Oh, teach people to fly … No, we can’t give you a joy ride. Certainly not … No, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. I must ask the Flight Sergeant … Dammit, what else do you want to know/ I’m a worried man … Do we wear spotted ties? Most certainly not.
Weyburn Newsfront
So many of our readers have written in asking us how The Flying Gopher manages to score its numerous newsbeats over its competitors that a word of explanation might be interesting.
Events move so quickly on the camp these days that every available means of communication must be utilized in order to give our readers “stop-press” news. Not trusting the telephone (the enemy has many ears), Flying Officer Rogers, in shorts, may frequently be seen rushing up the road with the latest watch tower reports, followed by a gust of censored weather.
Formerly, news from the remote reaches of the station require several weeks to reach the editors, coming by means of camel train (now discontinued since Flight Sergeant Tillman is unable to supply the beasts with retreads, sampan (requisitioned to ford the floods of last spring), dog team, and finally, pogo stick (to keep the carrier’s head above the mud on the main roads).
It is now suspected that Flying Officer Colchester will be using a carrier service to forward his news, since, whenever sports are mentioned, he invariably replies, “That’s my pigeon.”
Red-hot news is conveyed by AC. Rowing-Parker on the station fire-tender.
Corporal Rae, our postman, brings highly secretive news, but unfortunately we are unable to use any of it since all his letters are invariably addressed to someone other than the editors. He is apologetic about this, but when the hell is he going to bring something, even if it’s just a letter from the girl friend?
Finally, there is one method of transmission which is faster than Flying Officer Rogers in his shorts, Rowing-Parker on his fire-engine, AC. Harrison with his signals, faster than Aldis lamp. radio or television. The method has been perfected beyond any other system for getting news spread farthest to the mostest, and only one little kink needs to be ironed out – the method is utterly unreliable. We refer, gentlemen, to Rumour.
No, the Flying Gopher does not have to use Rumour to scoop the news-beats of the world!
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Society Page
Night Life on a Prairie Airport Can Be Fun
The well-sleeked hair of RAF airmen glistened brightly in the light of the photographer’s flash bulb as he took these pictures of dancers enjoying a quiet evening in the Airport “Nightclub.” Accounts Section as always appears to be well to the fore – notice “Stinker” Simmons and “Flash” Morgan – while closer scrutiny reveals that the Flights, Maintenance and Equipment Sections have all sent their representatives along.
[Photographs of a dance]
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More Archaeology
In our last issue we deserted our serious research into the life and existence of the Men of Raf to enquire into their sports and pastimes. We now return to our examination of their Social Order, and perhaps it is time we paid a little attention to their monetary system.
It seems the Men of Raf had risen, if only a little, above the system of Barter, and each member of the community received reward for his labours. Again the characteristics of tribal life are evident and we find that the task of organizing and carrying through this complicated system of remuneration was the responsibility of the Klan of Akkownt, verily a learned Tribe.
That this was appreciated by the other Men of Raf is borne out by documents recently recovered, in particular a letter from a member of the Klan of Kwip to a brother Kwippite situate [sic] in the distant land of Ukay in which he states “verily, the Klan of Akkownt are wonderful men; strange and mystic are their ways. According to the High Chief of the House of Rek I did stand in favour with the God Kred to an amount of Fifteen Bob, but lo, and behold, now I am arrived at the Land of Wey, the High Chief Jaycee doth tell me that the God of Deb does frown on me to the extent of Two Bucks Two Bits!” Reference of this matter to the disciples of Einstein has confirmed that the problem, though abstruse, can be solved by the application of sufficient Relativity; hence the motto of the Klan of Akkownt, “relatively speaking – “.
Here is should be mentioned that the Klan of Akkownt was a divided tribe. Years and years ago the Klan of Akkownt did arrive at the strange Land which they found already in the possession of the Tribe of Kwip. Now both being learned Tribes and having great respect for each other’s qualities it was natural they should arrive at the conclusion that the life then lived by the Men of Raf was too, too simple to be continued. Hence the Heads of the two Tribes did sit in conclave for many moons, formulating mystic rites and customs to improve the social organization of the Men of Raf.
And that is where the trouble started. The Klan of Kwip were convinced that the system of Barter would prove the best. The greater part of the Klan of Akkownt were in favour of making use of a new element they had just found and which they had christened Munny. Munny’s the time they were to regret that decision.
Apparently the idea of the Klan of Kwip was to issue each man with the necessities of life in regular quantities on prescribed dates, thus: “Notice to the Men of Raf – Be it known that on the sixteenth day of the month of February, the amount of labour performed by the members of the community having at last reached that determined by the High Priest of the Klan of Kwip, there shall be issued to each man the following –
Quantity, one: Article, Paste, White, Dental, Effervescing, Airmen for the use of.
Quantity, enough: Article, Liquid Blue, Copper, Sulphate, Bath, Foot for the filling of, Airmen for the use of … - and so on.
Here the Munnyites in the Klan of Akkownt did object that the wants of each and every man did differ, and hence the system of barter would give much encouragement to the underground worshippers of the evil God Aakket, in whose honour Men would perform the rites of Swop and Swipe. But there were several of the Klan of Akkownt who were in favour and to their fellow tribesmen they became known as Kwip Akkownts, or, in times of stress, Twip Akkownts. This section it is which also imbibes vast quantities of the Dish of Vowcher. A nasty habit, and one apparently which stimulates queer dreams and ambitions.
Some members of the Klan have been known to aspire to membership of the Klan of Ayr, in the tribe of Wop, trade of Gunner, and have roamed through the mighty places of the Klan singing “Oh for the wings of … “ before being brought to account. Yet others of the Klan were taken with a strange sickness and did wander around in a dazed condition continually chanting in the manner of Kroon, which was indeed a bad thing for the men of Raf, but when these
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[Advert for Burge’s Meat Market]
[Advert for Weyburn Hardwar Ltd.]
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afflicted creatures did encounter the totem pole of the Men of Raf, known as Myke, in the presence of which their voices did acquire greater strength if not sweetness, then was it night unbearable!
May we ask our readers to avoid confusing the insignia Myke with the mystic drink Mikky. Both seem to have had an evil influence on certain sections of the Men of Raf, but I think it can be safely concluded, from the evidence we have, that Mikky had a far wider and much more general effect. (In this connection I refer you to Chapter XXXIXXVII, para 12345 in the “History and General Treatise on the Habits of the Klan of Sarj,” which informative volume I regret will not be found in the Station Library).
The crucial point in the history of this Section of the Men of Raf arises as a result of their migration from the Land of Ukay to the province of Wey in the Land of Kan. It was quite natural that they should bring with them their own Gods and Deities, one or two of whom we have mentioned above, and for quite a time they lived a peaceful and undisturbed life. Tribute was regularly paid to the Gods Kred and Deb, and many members of the various Klans had occasion to be honoured with the Noble Order of Ritoff. It was therefore a great shock to them to find that the Land of Klan was ruled by High Authority known as Cas, with its partners Afhq and Rcaf, often called the Terrible Three.
One never-to-be-forgotten day these Three did smite the Klan of Akkownt and shake them from head to foot, abolishing all their old Deities, in particular the Gods of Kred and Deb, and making it a law that all the Men of Raf, on each Festival of Pay should bow their heads to Sine; as a result of which many members of the Klans of Erk, Lak and Korp did discover with amazement that they still had knowledge of the Art of Riting, even if, in many cases, they were not fully conversant with the Art of Spelling. It is noted that rumour indicates that, consequent to the initiation of the tribute to Sine, many of the Klans had to unearth the old tribal records to discover hereby a true knowledge of the Names accorded to each member, in order that he might not commit offence in the eyes of the new Deity.
In closing it should be mentioned that the Klan of Akkownt was one of the few Klans to devote its whole energies to the task allotted to it in the social order of the Men of Raf. Each year they were allowed a period of absence wherein to recuperate from the strain of their labours, but if reports are to be believed they joyfully spurned this chance to rest, and did travel many hours to the West, to the East, to the North and to the South, only to continue the fascinating study of Figgers. There can be np doubt that Figgers are and will continue to be, the beginning and, in many cases, the end of the Klan of Akkownt.
Medical Meanderings
A man goes sick on M two five,
And feels he’s only just alive.
The M.O. looks, and hums, and he
Places the man on M. & D.
But some are not so fortunate,
Or so they think, at any rate.
Their troubles here have just begun,
They are put on forty-one.
They saunter through the office door,
And answer questions, one or more.
The twerp presiding gives a look,
And puts partics in a little book.
And then the fun begins, they say,
If M.O. looks the other way.
The orderly, with eyes agleam,
Makes him happy it may seem.
The patient, he is sore depressed,
His work on others now will rest.
They bring him coffee in a cup,
And send old Bliss to cheer him up.
So Bliss comes in with hook in hand,
When patient is in sleepy land.
He wakes him up, says “Hello mate,
What is your enlistment date?”
He then is placed on two four o,
And written in for a day or so.
But office twerp, he wants some gen,
So wakes the patient up again.
Once more he tries to go to sleep,
But office gen, it will not keep.
The office twerp comes in with mirth,
And wakes him for his date of birth.
And so he asks for his discharge,
He’d rather be with the boys at large.
He walks out of the dock with zest,
And goes to billet for a rest.
F.C.B.
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Weyburn Has A Library
Certain very puzzling questions keep coming into the mind of the Librarian – questions which she can never answer. She will be most grateful for any assistance in the matter of solving these highly perplexing problems.
It might be only fair to state here that any resemblance to you or anyone else in any of the following remarks is highly coincidental.
Now, as to the questions.
Why do you airmen, or at least some of you, persist in thinking that the library is financed solely by the takings from the R.A.F.? There seems to be a common misapprehension that the librarian lurks behind the bookshelves waiting to pounce upon innocent airmen victims. If any of you, as yet uninitiated into the solemn rites of membership of the W.P.L., have heard that ugly rumour, please ignore it. It is true that certain of the fellows have been most generous in the extent of their contributions, but this is due only to the fact that they will insist on ignoring the Librarian’s grim warning that horrible penalties will be exacted from him who fails to return his books on the prescribed date.
Why, again, do some of you insist on making unpleasant insinuations as to the integrity of the staff? “Did you have a good time at the Fair with my fine money?” That sort of remark is calculated to make a more sensitive person quail.
Then why do you so consistently ignore the polite little reminder cards which are sent out? They should, of course, be regarded as a friendly gesture, for their sole purpose is to prevent the fines from mounting higher and higher. Still, there is always the fear lurking at the back of our minds that someone may try to abscond with a book, which of course would lead to serious repercussions, the extent of which is unpredictable. Certainly it would bring down the wrath of the Librarian on the heads of the offenders, and that wrath is indeed a great wrath.
And this brings us to the ultimate Why, the crux of all our Whying. Why don’t you bring your books back on the due date? Life would be so simple if only you would look at the date stamped on your card in the back of the book.
Last of all, why don’t more of you use the Weyburn Public Library? If anything you have read in the above tends to frighten you away, please ignore it. We really do like to do business with the R.A.F.
G.N.G.
Archimedes
look forsooth
see a youth
writing a letter to his love
can’t find a rime
spent lots of time
can’t find a rime
for amelia
goes to bed
with aching head
inspiration
light
see the officer of the law
rat-a-tat at the door
see the judge
we must stop these violations
of the blackout regulations
ten pounds
says the judge
pays the fine
pleasure’s mine
because i’ve found the rime
i wanted all the time
listen
or fair and beautiful amelia
i like you better than celia
eureka
eureka
wedding bells
F.R.S.
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[Drawing of a beautiful girl on the telephone] “But mother, the Airman here says it’s not true about those gooseberry bushes.”
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The Padre Ponders
[Photograph of a padre and two women sitting]
“Padre – you’re posted to Weyburn”
Weyburn! For was not Weyburn in the district in which I had ministered as a civilian priest of the Church of England some few years ago; a district with headquarters at Milestone?
I remember arriving in that town, which has shown some excellent hospitality to the men of this Station, and wondering how anyone could exist, let alone live, in such a desolate and flat district. But, as the months passed by, I realized that “man does not live by bread alone.” For the prairie, so drought stricken, taught me that common hardship and suffering can bring out the finest qualities in man. The people found great joy in that which is so necessary to-day, e.g., co-operation. Co-operation with God; and co-operation with our fellow-men.
I am once again the district and I am pleased to be here at such an interesting stage in the development of 41 S.F.T.S. Just as in civilian life, so in Service life there must be that oblation of self to God and to the welfare of our fellow-man if we are to possess a truly happy Station. Ways and means are daily discussed and are being put into operation to attain this end. The prairie will not look half so grim, especially in the winter, if we each give whatever talents we possess to the Station, both spiritual and social.
I leave you with a thought – “The people who make no roads are ruled out from intelligent participation on the world’s brotherhood.”
Sincerely,
THE PADRE.
The Padre Acts
A play which has enjoyed a long run at the Old Drury Theatre in London, must possess outstanding qualities of entertainment. Such a play is “French Leave,” to be produced in the near future by F/Lt. Clarke (Chaplain).
Casting is not yet completed for this hilarious three-act comedy, but we have a spot of news for you:
Inside information: The female parts will NOT Be taken by hairy-legged Airmen, but by members of the fairer sex from Weyburn. The cast will be announced later. It’s anyone’s guess.
“French Leave” is a good story, well written in the dramatic sense. Our director has had considerable experience, with the added advantage of having already produced this play at Carberry and Winnipeg.
Here is an opportunity to co-operate in a worth-while venture. The padre is looking for volunteers, for acting parts and to assist in the stage production. Let’s make a go of this!
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[Advert for Fred Barber’s Man Shop]
[Advert for Anderson’s Café]
21
Bus Ride
I had just received my ticket from the conductor as the bus stopped at Marble Arch. The usual mixed crowd of London bus passengers jostled each other on. It was then I noticed her … she sat directly opposite, just inside the bus where the seats face each other. I couldn’t believe it – a glance told me she also recognised, but could no more understand than I. She was exactly the same, tall, fair, with that expression of determination which camouflaged a certain nervousness; the very same expression that had caused me to look twice on the night of March 8th, 1941, when I first met her in a little café in Old Compton Street. I had gone to the café to rest and regain control of my distressed mind for I had been dragging people out of the Café de Paris, … the aftermath of a direct hit.
It all came back to me, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. I had sat smoking in that little café, endeavouring to compose myself, for I was badly shaken; blood and dead bodies had no part in my life previously. It was then I saw her for the first time. She was just the same, tall and fair with that same expression which was so attractive and yet pathetic. She brought me a coffee and withdrew quickly behind the counter. I was fascinated, not so much by her beauty, for indeed she was beautiful, but by this unique expression; I was unable to take my eyes off her until forced by the counter which rose some six feet in the air, and I lost sight of her, the counter, and everything, as I sailed through a plywood window, which would have been glass but for a previous raid.
Slowly human life took shape again, and I realised someone was speaking to me in a strained, pathetic voice …no! it wasn’t to me for my name is not David. Then full realisation came to me, as at the same time a gas main ignited and the whole scene was made visibly clear. There she was, lying on a stretcher not two feet away from me, and as I saw her I was mentally aware that I was only shaken, but she was obviously badly injured. Almost inaudibly she commenced to speak, and then the words became clearer: “David, David, forgive me, kiss me and say you forgive.” Some kind of impulse made me, forced me to comply with her wishes …
As I drew my face away from her, I was touched on the shoulder by someone standing at my side, and a masculine voice said, “Your wife? I’m sorry.” “No,” I replied. “Fiancee?” “Yes,” I lied, for then I felt guilty of my actions. “Too bad,” he said, and then added, as if in consolation, “There’s no pain.” During this short conversation my eyes had not left her face, which was now beautiful in the full sense of the word; for her smile was one of supreme happiness. I took her hand in mine to comfort her and as I did so I knew she was no longer with me …
…And yet here she was in the seat opposite, reading the advertisements above my head.
P.D.C.
The New Arrival
Squadron Leader “A” was browned off. He had waited twenty minutes for a taxi, and he was particularly keen to get back to the mess … someone had had a baby or something, and he was licking his lips in anticipation. Eventually the taxi came, and, seated beneath three or four erks, he travelled back to camp. “Never again,” he muttered as he extricated himself from the taxi at the camp gates, and fumbled for his share of the dollar. “Never again,” he muttered when he hurried into the Mess to find the celebrations at an end. It might be a long time till someone else had a baby, and his throat was very dry. What with the R.C.A.F. accounting procedure, and the S.A.O. a bit peeved about the tire shortage, you had to go a bit carefully these days.
“And you really do recommend this one?” “Yes, sir, I am sure this specimen will give you every satisfaction.” “Right, I’ll take it. Wrap it up, will you?”
And lo and behold a beautiful yellow bus at the camp gates, straight from the Army and Navy Store at Regina, wherein we travel to and from the city at regular hours and in considerable comfort!
Thank you Squadron Leader “A”!
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[Advert for McKinnons]
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Legal Laugh
Maintains Our Resident Attorney
Everyone loves a legal story. The judge who innocently asks “What is nagging?” never fails to stimulate us. The smart-tongued witness, standing up to counsel, always gives us joy. The obstinate client, the advice of whose solicitor was taken much too late for it to have been any value, for ever brags about the futility of consulting lawyers on commercial matters. Yet lawyers flourish.
The layman, primed by his daily paper with full details of the latest murder, would feel disillusioned if he knew how little most solicitors know, or even care, about such matters. But the layman listens attentively to all that falls from any lawyer’s mouth concerning it, for all men love to see behind the scenes. The trappings of the law can thrill, and they who put them on command respect. So much for lawyers in real life. And when we turn to fiction we still find that, on the whole, a lawyer’s ways are stern.
Gray hairs, ill-fitting for a fool, all lawyers long for. Proudly, at thirty, bowler-hatted, I had mine. Man thought me forty-five; at least I hoped so. For the lawyer, forty-five seemed to me to be a very desirable age, for one is then old enough to have experienced everything, but not too old to like to do new things.
Law in the Services usually concerns punishment. But a solicitor in general practice spends his time dealing with problems and people, arising out of every conceivable combination of curious circumstances, and living in almost every class of society. It was only comparatively lately that I began to appreciate the never-ending interest which can, at any moment of the day, be found in simply carrying out one’s work as a solicitor.
I took up Law as a sedative, after War Flying. In the whole of my peace-time career, I never handled any case concerned with aviation. The nearest approach was when a lady consulted me about the arrangement for her approaching marriage. She believed that her intended husband had an ample fortune. Ought she to insist that substantial trust funds be settled upon her, prior to surrendering herself?
I promised to look into the matter. It was the Wednesday before Easter.
Late next afternoon I wired to her as follows: “Your fiancée ex-R.A.F. Officer. Exercise extreme caution.”
P.R.
Ich Dien
This is the tale of AC. Sprog, who sailed the mighty seas.
He slept in ancient blankets which scratched furrows in his knees;
His collar was as black as ink, he smelt like ancient cheese –
He was serving his country and his King.
Early in the morning you would find him at the rail,
A-feeding if the fishes, and at evening without fail
You would find him at the rail again, in sunshine, wind or hail,
Nobly serving his country and his King.
They set him peeling onions, they sent him up to guard
The upper deck, though the wind was blowing very hard,
And Sprog obeyed them gladly, and his chest stuck out a yard,
For he knew he was serving his country and his King.
Sometime Sprog would peep inside the Sergeant’s Mess, and there
He would contemplate the scene of ease, and sigh and tear his hair,
To think how distant was the date when he would take his share
In such noble, glorious service of his country and his King.
- SIGMA.
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True Yarn
As everyone knows, when the Royal Air Force began to expand in 1938 hundreds of ex-officers were given commissions and posted to ground jobs.
And so, in a burst of zeal, and confident that a large-sized war was in the offing, Peter Robinson, who had served in the 1914-1918 mess as a commissioned officer in the Royal Regiment of Artillery, and later in the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Air Force, offered his services, in September, 1938, to the Air Ministry.
In due course, our “hero” was summoned to Adastral House to appear before a Selection Board and about three weeks later he received a short note to the effect that he had “been found fit for employment.”
And so, Robinson, who was running quite a tidy business, handed over to his wife and prepared to get back into uniform.
After a lapse of some weeks, he was ordered to report to Cardington for a Balloon Course and so for ten very weary weeks, poor Robinson pulled balloons about, drove lorries and winches, climbed all over balloons, inside and out, and finally passed the examinations with flying colours. In his innocence, Robinson thought he would then be posted as a Balloon Officer, but oh no! He was sent to a brand new Station, not nearly completed, as Adjutant! At least, he did all the work of and Adjutant but was only graded and paid as an Assistant Adjutant, since in those far-off piping times of peace, on a Station which had a Squadron Leader Admin, the establishment allowed an Assistant Adjutant only.
His first office was a contractor’s hut and as the buildings were completed, the Station Headquarters successively occupied an N.C.O.’s bunk in a barrack hut, a portion of the Seregant’s [sic] Mess, the Station Sick Quarters and on a never-to-be-forgotten day in July 1939, moved into the Station Headquarters building with all his staff, i.e., three clerks, G.D., two civilians and a runner.
During his trekking period, Robinson had been sent to Rollestone to attend the Anti-Gas Course and duly completed a very pleasant three weeks. On his return to his Unit he became Station Anti-Gas Officer, and by the outbreak of war, he was Adjutant, Assistant Adjutant, Anti-Gas Officer, Officer i/c M.T., Officer i/c Sergeants’ Mess, Messing Officer, Fire Officer, and Code and Cypher Officer. Oh yes, he had done half an hour’s course on Codes and Cyphers. On the 3rd September, 1939, he shed most of his jobs and for months he did nothing but test respirators and bob in and out of a gas chamber.
Then, the practical joke department got busy, and he was posted to a Group Headquarters in Scotland as Armament Officer, his sole qualifications being the fact that he knew the difference between a Vickers and a Lewis gun. And so he spent many months in Bonnie Scotland, very happy since he was out of doors most of the time, but scared stiff that his A.O.C. would find out his total lack of knowledge of all the thousand and one gadgets which constitute “Armament”.
Our Robinson was then bold enough to apply for an Armament Course – after ten months in Scotland – and the practical joke department at the Air Ministry stirred themselves again and sent him on the Junior Administrative Course at Loughborough! Another happy three weeks followed with lots of golf and visits to that very nice hostelry at Quoon, and then another branch of the practical joke department woke up and made him a Squadron Leader in Command of a Training Wing not a hundred miles from Warrington.
And so we leave him. By this time I expect he is either an Accountant Officer, or perhaps an Equipment Wallah.
E.T.
MORE FILLUPS
A Squadron Leader we’ve christened chips,
Spends hours in workshops making bits,
He built himself a bedside table,
Then found he was so very able,
He started on a set of chairs,
When thro’ the window C.O. stares.
He quickly donned an airman’s tunic,
And looked just like the Station Eunuch.
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[Page break]
[Advert for Forteath Cabins]
[Advert for Four Star Taxi]
[Advert for Weyburn Bottling Works]
[Advert for Lee Lang Laundry]
[Page break]
Wakee Wakee
The gentle click of a switch, then a scream of WAKEE! WAKEE! from an enraged Sergeant. Some of us fall out of bed in surprise, others with lower numbers hardly stir. GETOUTAVIT! and with a bellow of rage the Sergeant hurls someone out of bed, a top bunk. Then with a crash of the door which knocks off half of the clothes off their pegs and breaks two lamp bulbs, he is gone. Muttering curses of “He ought to be shot!” everyone scrambles back to bed, and within five minutes if soring peacefully …Another day is dawning.
Time sweeps by, and five minutes before the end of breakfast some early worm yells “EGGS.” With a mighty shout and a “Why didn’t some fool wake us?” we are up and charging at the door. The last but one slams it. It is anticipated that, on his discharge some months hence, the last one will be repatriated. With mugs flying, we dive into the Cookhouse and race up to the counter. Some little squirt a foot in front of us moves off to a table with the last egg. There is a muttered rumble of “Who said ‘EGGS’?” from the corporal i.c., and we followed him back to our stye, hungry, dirty and discontented, … ready for sleep.
[Drawing of a sign with Corporal Stripes on]
Corporals’ Club Comments
This month we cannot report the appropriation of animals by club members. The billiard table has not yet arrived and there is really a pronounced lull on the twin striped front. The “last on the right” is a very staid and stolid residence these days. Of course it is summer and apart from fellows going up there to visit the canteen section they appear to be preferring the great open spaces to the confines of a club room. But, in the words of George Formby “winter drawers on” and it is expected that great things will come of our club in the winter months.
There is one lecture which is outstanding in its popularity – the fortnightly dance. That is by now quite an institution both on the camp and down town – even though we do say it ourselves – and far from the cautious preparations which preceded initial functions they now more or less “run themselves.” – We have quite good numbers up there.
It is not the intention of the writer to name the comings and goings of members of the Corporals’ Club during the last month, suffice it that we wish departing members luck in their new abodes and extend a welcome to the several who have either been made up” [sic] or arrived on the Unit since the last publication.
Of Much Interest
The competition for a station motto has been won by the Padre for the following:
“Gopheres magnopere gopherimus.” (“We gopher the gophers in a big way”).
Who was the U-T pilot who thought that the so much talked about second front was something out of a Met. report?
Flight Sergeant Snooks, a member of the R.A.F. No. 41 Service Training School at Weyburn has been transferred to Ottawa. He was a most popular member of the station, and he will be missed by both his friends, who will also have missed their promotion. In anticipation of his posting he has recently been passing babies.
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[Drawing of a sign with Sergeant stripes on]
Sergeants’ Mess Gen.
Farewell to W.O. (Columbus) Grundy and W.O. (Sebastian) Earp who having been posted left Navigation Flight after a short spell on “binding” Cross Countries. We shall miss these corpulent and genial pilots.
Surprise item of the month is the excellent piano playing of W.O. Campbell who distinguished himself by joining Sgt. Ryckman in Duets after the Officers v. Sergeants Soccer Match. As regards the latter, the least said the soonest mended. We are still wondering how the Officers managed to beat us the first time …
Sgt. Johnny Love has now settled down in Dauphin, and elsewhere in the “Gopher” you will read of the romance between ex-Sgt. “Jock” Leeming and Sgt. Love’s sister. Sort of Love is the sweetest thing.
Back from a hectic leave is Sgt. Hal Jones, who managed to take in New York and Chicago, whilst Sgt. Norman has also returned from a spell in Detroit.
They both say that it is swell to get back to the peaceful life on the prairies. I know that Sgt. Tom Riby definitely boobed in Toronto; opinion is, he thought that the parade was in honour of the select company present.
How are the queer people in Port Hope? We ask of W.O. Kavanagh.
Sgt. “Torchy” McCartney has resigned his post as frog trainer, and he is still looking for the infant that strayed in the Quarters the other day.
Will someone tell us why Sgt. “Johnnie” Johnson didn’t send last month’s issue of the “Gopher” home, and who was that Squadron Leader who wrote from Ontario asking awkward questions?
Sgt. Tom Collinson, a stalwart of the Soccer Team, has now passed his course and we lose yet another fine player. We wish Tom good luck.
F/Sgt. Ayres made a fine job of the drumming in the Station Orchestra recently when he walked into the show at the last moment and took over in his usual competent manner.
Surprise for lots of airmen when they saw the S.W.O., W.O. Mallinson, playing soccer. He played a straight-forward game and shook the troops with his speed.
Lost … Sgt. Richardson.
We would like to see Sgt. Mays dancing the Tango, and Sgt. Collick leading a Male Voice Choir …
That’s all…
Correspondence
Sir,
I have never been wont to complain, but more silence would drive me insane. I received my last wash looking all clean and posh, but I found to my sorrow when I came on the morrow to undo the package to dig from the wreckage, some odourless footwear, the good lady had put there some thick strands of cotton, which I thought was rotten.
Now, dear Mrs. Este, please do not get testy when I thus decry the way that you tie my gent’s natty half hose (with holes in the toes) with knottings divine in pieces of twine. I know all socks shrink when given a drink (a thing which your daughter blames on Weyburn water), and its quite comme il faut for only one toe to find room to arrive where there used to be five.
But although cogitation makes this explanation seem fairly near truth, I still hold, forsooth, that to spend hours just sitting and merely unknitting isn’t really much fun, and, in fact, Isn’t done.
That’s all there is to it. Mrs. E, please don’t do it.
In deepest distress,
Yours, etc.,
P.
[Page break]
Who’s Who?
WHO IS:
The fair corporal who “gives out” in a deep bass voice an accompaniment to a certain group of singers scheduled to meet at regular intervals on the corner of main street? He must have thought they needed some moral support to be so willing to join their throng.
WHO IS:
The party of four that awakened the neighbourhood from a very peaceful snore at the unoriginal hour of 1.30 a.m. by kicking cans down one of the main streets of the town. Of course, we don’t mind them having their fun but we hope that next time they pick a more respectable hour.
WHO IS:
The P.O. now becoming very interested in milking machines. Couldn’t be he’s taking up farming as a sideline. Oh, no!
WHO IS:
The airmen besides Stinky Miller who believe in sprinkling all the fair roses of the town with Ben Hur or Sweet Pea perfume.
WHO IS:
The airman who refused to pay the charges on the hair restorer that came C.O.D. Better try “Neet,” it works much better.
WHO IS:
The Corporal who instead of exiting a taxi via the door, tried “going out” the windshield? Thinks it’s not such a good idea after all.
WHO IS:
The LAC. “Bobbie” who for the love of – well not the camp, - goes on Jankers, not once but twice in the past three weeks.
WHO IS:
The R.A.F. chap who might like to submit an ad similar to the one below:
FOR SALE: Lines: - fish and otherwise, complete with tackle of pukka gen. Reason: Complications. Explanation given below.
After telling my friend of my prospective marriage to an out of town girl, date, Wed., Spet.2 this friend promptly sent a telegram of congratulations to the address and on date given, much to the surprise of the addressee who was still to be told of the event.
Moral: No more lines complete with gen to be sold, lent or given.
WHO IS:
The airman who asked a young lady at the dance if she had any spare tires. The fair femme now wonders if he had a car or if he just had a flat tire.
WHO IS:
The fellow who, at the corner of main street, tried to ride a borrowed bike but was unsuccessful. Reason: Only one pedal. We know!
THE EYES AND EARS OF WEYBURN
The above from a Weyburn Wag. – Ed.
Works and Bricks
If you want a gadget fixed
Just telephone to Works and Bricks.
You’ll hear a voice, so gentle fair,
But don’t forget what needs repair.
Just exercise your vocal organ,
And ask the girl for FO. Morgan.
Then if you’re lucky and he’s out,
To her your soul you may pour out.
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[Drawing of a chequered flag] Flight Notes
B
Until now, “B” Flight has been inarticulate. The outstanding qualities associated with us have been strength and silence, coupled with an efficiency which has been reflected only in our football, the success of which, we hope, has produced apprehension in “H” Flight. Admittedly we share the personnel of the team with “A” Flight, but they can safely be left to shoot their own lines.
However, we have now swallowed our dislike of the effete practice of literature, and have decided that a certain amount of self-advertisement is necessary, as we have imported at no cost whatever a tame scribe from “C” Flight, who had endured him just as long as was humanly possible. So that until we too get tired of him, the evil chuckles of Sgt. James will echo through the pages of the “Gopher,” as well as striking terror into the instructors’ hearts, and Cpl. Westwood’s pipe will smell foully to a larger audience.
The activities of the permanent members of the flight have included latterly the absorption in a competitive spirit of a certain about of liquid in connection with the passing of No. 54 Course; a detailed account of proceedings would be revealing, if not edifying. We are, however, not prepared to go into the matter in detail, but we will add that the occasion was one of celebration too, for the promotion of “the Boss” to the exalted rank of Flight Lieutenant, and the rapid slide through the ranks of the warrant officers made by P.O. Dixon, and we pause for a moment to wonder if Tubby Dyson’s inactivity on the football field was occasioned by his saving himself for the “do.”
Life has been made more interesting by the pleasantly cosmopolitan character of No. 62 course, and by the vagaries of the new inter-com. We are looking forward to forced landings, too, for by the time we start teaching them, we should be able to tell the direction of the wind by means of the rippling of the grass in the garden. Unfortunately, Sgt. Dakeynes’ hair will not serve to usual purpose in that connection, as it was cut, according to schedule, at the end of the last course.
P.S. We train only Flight Commanders for the U.S. Army Air Corps.
D
Yes, shamefacedly we admit it, we were too lazy before to write in the “Flying Gopher.” But now pangs of remorse smite us in the breast, and we borrow a pen and set to work.
Suggestions are pouring in from all sides, but above all the tumultuous shouting, the voice of AC “Taffy” Tomlins bursts upon the ear drums, “Tell ‘em about our Soccer team.”
At this point a general argument starts, led as usual by “Taffy” and involving “Will” Harris, “Ted” Horrocks and “Sniffy,” Eventually we arrive at the conclusion that, up to the time of writing, we have a good and promising team, bolstered up by members of 58 Course (loud cheers from the end bed), and we are expecting some good results. To aid us in our fight we now go about our daily tasks wearing furious scowls and practicing blood curling oaths. We notice that, since his kick on the shin whilst playing against the cookhouse team, Ted Horrocks has acquired strong views on Soccer, and for the next few minutes we are treat-
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ed to a general discourse on players, referees, football fields and spectators. The Greeks had no word for it, but Ted has, and we listen admiringly.
We take this opportunity of congratulating Cpl. Ward on his promotion and his wife on her safe crossing. We hope Mrs. Ward’s crossing was better than ours.
Since the arrival of the SE.s life has been fairly easy compared to the days of the old Annie and we have even had a bang at gardening. We planned a garden comprising a border of flowers surrounding a swimming pool, to be used as a safe retreat from the “skeeters” in the summer and converted to an ice rink in the winter. After reviewing the amount of ground to be dug to a depth of six feet we hastily amended the plans and substituted a goldfish pond. But when the first three spadefulls had been dug up, all ideas of pools were promptly forgotten.
So now we have just a plain garden with plenty of grass seed on it, and we hope, some flowers. The flowers have yet to make their debut and the lawn rather resembles Smiffy’s chin … but we live in hopes.
F
We welcome Flying Officer Whiteside who succeeds Ft.Lt. Henley as Flight Commander, and Flight Sergt Hudson who takes over from Flight Sergt. Brockington, who is sweating (and how!). We wonder whether Brock also handed over his address book together with “all relevant publications.”
We are now in the market for a large lawn mower as the lawn is becoming positively jungle-like. For a small fee we may even consider allowing personnel from other Sections to come and sunbathe.
We would like to ask Cpl. Lothario of the Other Flight on this side of the hangar to tell his lady friends his working hours. Of course, we are always willing to lend a helping hand in such a deserving cause, but it becomes rather difficult at times to explain that the Corporal isn’t in the hangar and really we don’t know WHERE he is.
We have discovered a new type of Gremlin. To the uninitiated we might explain that a Gremlin is a being which haunts the upper reached of the atmosphere and causes all the little troubles for which pilots are not responsible.
The new branch of the family amuses itself by breaking Harvard windows, and we never can nail the blighters for a report.
- F.T.R.
H
We must apologise for our failure to write any notes last month, but must plead pressure of work in trying to attain the elusive line and get 52 course out on time. The high pressure work necessary is best illustrated by a pupil’s remark to the Flight Commander when asked if he was on the night flying programme. “I am never on the ground long enough to read the notices.”
Another amusing episode occurred at dawn one morning when the kites were sent for just one more circuit, and the A.C.P. noticed one rush down to the Christmas tree, do a circuit of 800 ft. and come into land before anyone else had taken off. Deciding to teach him a lesson, he was given a red, which was followed by a circuit at 500 ft. so another red. Afterwards the conversation went something like this: “What was the big idea?” “I only had 10 gallons left.” “Well why didn’t you blind your rear lights?” “The battery was flat and the nav. lights weren’t on.” “Anything else wrong?” “The flaps would only come down 20 degrees and there was a mag. drop,” Wonderful crates the old Annies.
Having got them away to time, our instructors had to learn all the vices of the new “buzz- boxes” that were to replace our trusted (?) twins, during which time “G” flight undertook to get our pupils solo. Many thanks to you, as you probably saved us a few ground loops.
Don’t our pupils appreciate the sterling qualities of our Flight Commander? They make frequent efforts to blow him out of his office in a shower of dirt, and though the voluntary contribution is stepped up each week they still find it worthwhile.
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[Page break]
[Advert for Club Café]
[Advert for Weyburn Motors]
[Page break]
One day when the “coke” flag was put up, a questionnaire elucidated the statements that extra speed was used on the approach on a windy day so that you got to the aerodrome more quickly, and in a glide approach so that the plane descended at a reasonable angle and didn’t just float around.
I wonder if “F” flight are still complacent on the success of their soccer team. They certainly are a lucky side, fancy getting three goals against us.
X
What a busy month it has been. Airmen, pupils – even instructors have de-digitised. “We MUST finish before the snow comes” … “The Flight will be a credit to the Station” … “Do you think HE will notice it?” are among the many remarks overheard in the crew room. The identity of “HE” can only be surmised from the hushed tones in which the word is uttered. The product of the proverbial bull has been widely sought after to hasten results. F-Lt. Goon gazed from his window between cups of tea and looks for people running up in front of “My Office,” his little-tin-box in his hand jiggling reminiscently. A certain “Middleton” has been discussed with great reverence, but perusal of nominal rolls has failed to reveal the Section honoured by his presence. You may be under the impression that we are striving to get the course out ahead of time – but have I mentioned flying? A mere detail. We MUST finish the garden first!
- L.W.
G.I.S. Jottings
Amongst one of the periodic showers of paper delivered to the G.I.S. the other day was a memo which commenced with those all too familiar words “Your contribution is now due.” This was duly passed to those who sit in judgement and authority and finally found its way back to me endorsed “Pass to Stooge for action.” Same old story – voluntary compulsion!
There is, of course, little to report. There never is. Pupils come and P-Os and Sergeants go. I may even make an odious comparison by saying that the G.I.S. may be likened to a sausage machine. True it is that mysterious ingredients are put in! The output in our case consists of a very fine line of Pilots duly burnished by Flying Wing! To a small cog in the machine it is all very inspiring.
Highlight of the month must be the sudden removal of our N.C.O. Discip. Unlike his Irish predecessor he did not return to the Emerald Isle although he is much nearer to it than he was. We regret that we are a little extravagant on Discips and will, in future try to make them last a little longer at least.
No. 56 Course are in the process of “Passing Out.” Many of them passed out quite early on and the remainder are wondering how “So few can repay so many.” The passing out celebration is to be held in the privacy of the telephone pay station in the Y.M.C.A. Our heartiest congratulations go to this course who may consider themselves the most select course we have yet had.
The phrase “What’s Cooking” really does mean something to us. One of our busy Navigators now does a little plotting on the Diet Sheet. It is extremely interesting to be right in the “gen” and to know what one HAD for dinner.
One of the Armament Instructors recently returned from an aircraft recognition course. He has since spent hours pinning up posters on the walls of the entire building, missing not even the most unusual places. We hope that these posters will be of great INSTRUCTIONAL value.
The Airframes and Engines instructor recently returned from Detroit. He said that he had had little sleep during his stay. Asked why this was so he replied in his broad Scots accent that he was afraid of missing something.
At the time of writing, Sgt. “Hal” Jones id still on his official visit over the border. Someone said that his visit was in connection with lion shooting. We THINK they said “lion.”
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[Page break]
[Advert for Charnell Studio]
[Advert for Expert Dry Cleaners]
[Advert for The Sun Café]
[Page break]
Lease-Lend Dept.
Accts. Forwarded - - - Transition Period
One fine summer morning, as is not his wont, the writer awoke when the sun’s rays were at a slant, and finding the desire for slumber had mysteriously disappeared, he sought to occupy his mind usefully, with what success the read [sic] may judge thereafter.
In the August issue, brief reference was made to the far-reaching and paper-consuming changes recently made in Accounts procedure. For example, if AC. 1 Plonk’s wife in the far-off Motherland presents his father with a grandson, or LAC. Budd blossoms forth as P/O. Prairie Flower, extra shipping space is needed to convey the required forms so diligently prepared by our now so-bumff-hating stooges.
Prior to and during the transition stages the contents of Big Chief Two-and-a -half-ringer Culbertson’s in-tray assumed abnormal proportions. Thereafter it became at times almost the hourly channel of communication of fresh “gen” and amendments are still coming in. How familiar became the words, “Coming over! More Bumff! No Bumff!” accompanied by some expletives suited to the occasion. Little Chief Where’s-it-laid-down’s desk shuddered at the impact, ink splashing right and left as the tomes landed with a thud – a dull, resounding thud, somehow suggestive of impending overtime. The thud usually caused the lighting system to fail, heralded by weird and wonderful noises from the Telephone Exchange opposite.
While the Big Chief consumed these bulky products – perhaps indigestion resulted and might explain certain remarks on messing – the dupe and tripe copies were passed by the most direct manner as described above, to Little-Chief-Stooge. Then, unless they had already swiped a copy, to either Chiefie A.M.Os., who, like the mosquitoes, gets results. Uncrowned-Three-Striper Pass-the-Buckman, or Sergeant Acquaintance Roll(ey) for information, consumption, necessary action, and onward transmission to the Lesser Stooges who do the donkey-work.
The “New Order” requires that the Stooge A.O., now keeper of the moneybags, shall be referred to as the “Responsible A.O.” Any reflection on the character of previous holders of the money-bags in hereby refuted. The possibility of more time being available for Bridge at first appeared, but such fond hopes have long since been dismissed.
Odd Points
Little-Chief-Stooge Where’s-it-Laid-Down’s secret desire is to let all personnel on the station help themselves to the money-bags on pay-day. What’s his size in bowler hats? They never did suit him, anyway, and it is thought that he would lose his “responsibility,” so perhaps he must curb his altruistic desires after all.
After the loss of the Accounts Sections’ laundry, the idea of having a washing line of our own was mooted. It had, however, to be abandoned, because the AC1. Sergeant-Air-Gunner shot a line which was unsuitable for the purpose.
We hear of a certain Corporal who will insist on bursting forth with “Deep in the Heart of Texas” at the slightest provocation. Why don’t the Corporals, with their wealth of musical talent, teach him at least one other song? – or perhaps they would prefer him to forget the one he HAS learned? At the time of writing, we await the return of another Corporal from his trek down south. Gosh! Supposing HE returns with a “Deep in the Heart of” complex! ‘Orrid thought!
-v-
LOST – Ronson Lighter. Engraved. “Bill from Laura, 22-9-41.” Valued as a keepsake. Finder please return to Mrs. V.M. Tomlinson, Weyburn. Reward.
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Minor Bottlenecks
Having a few spare moments from the onerous task of keeping A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H and Navigation flight aircraft serviceable, (Why the ‘ell can’t they do it themselves or are they just too busy gardening?) we have decided to contribute a few notes to the Station Magazine.
We welcome Sergeant Haskell to our Section; he is being initiated into the skilful art of “Where can I get one” by our inimitable “Sandy.”
We have noticed that a certain Senior N.C.O. has been very busy the last few days – they say e has changed his name to “One Splice.”
Is it true that a certain red headed Fitter is going to move his kit into Weyburn?
A few of our personnel spend their weekends on farms in the district – are they getting the harvest in or do they just Mou-land?
Our F-Sgt. Has joined the happy band of the Pensioner brigade and, although he despises crutches, he is pretty good on stilts.
Upon reading the August issue of the Flying Gopher, it was noticed that the Minors football team had been omitted from the League table. Why, Ed? We are not as bad as that – or are we? Congratulations to LAC. Williams in making the Station Soccer team – nice work “Ginger.”
Ed. – Error regretted.
Maintenance Changes
In the Orderly Room, Sergt. Jack Lloyd has taken over the duties of F-Sgt. “Ginger” Ayres, the latter as Chief Clerk now occupying that worthy seat in the Holiest of Holies – Station Headquarters.
Providing there is an ample supply of “FLYded,” the new Sergeant is determined to see that no flies are observed in his Orderly Room.
He wants to know if it is true F-Sgt. Ayres shouted “Come in”, to a knocking on the door last winter, and a bear nosed its way into the office.
The roster for Duty Crash N.C.O. now includes the names of three new arrivals. Also one additional Flight Sergeant who will no longer chuckle gleefully when the list next appears in D.R.O’s. Allowing for leave and other contingencies, this duty should permit the lady friend to take a night off once in every three weeks.
More Accts. Sec.
Squadron Leader name of Cox
Keeps all our money in a box.
Credits he is loath to pay,
Even on our “Eagle” day.
What’s he do with all our dough?
That’s what we all want to know.
Says our credits go to blighty,
His girl’s got another new Nightie.
Postal Rates
The Flying Gopher can be sent to people in England under present postal rates for 2 cents if unsealed, or 7 cents if sealed.
Join!!
We know all these jolly little committees which have been springing up right and left during the past few weeks? Well, someone came down from the S.W.O’s. office the other day binding something awful because he had been told to warn someone he was on the Sewage committee or the Cat Welfare Committee or something, and he couldn’t find him anywhere. And he showed us a list, at the bottom of which was “LAC Artetta” …
[Page break]
[Advert for Wilson Pharmacy]
[Advert for Service Hardware]
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[Drawing of two men dressed for gold and fishing]
Fort Qu’Appelle
Fort Qu’Appelle offers many attractions for week-ends or longer leaves. It is 75 miles north of Weyburn on a chain of lakes in which good fishing may be had. Boats may be hired at 25c per hour. There is an excellent swimming beach and a nine hole Golf Course with grass greens on the outskirts of the town.
The hotel is comfortable and cheap. Fort Qu’Appelle may be reached quite conveniently by train or ‘bus.
Small Ads
WANTED – By Service Police. One pair of thick rubber soled boots; one deer stalker’s cap, and a dog called Tinker.
WANTED – Retired Donkey to eat super-abundance of carrots. Box WEY. 5.
WANTED – By Cookhouse. Mincing Machine, to replace one written off by VERY fair wear.
WANTED – Secondhand lift. For use of tired airman occupying top bunk.
WANTED – By P.T.I. Officer. Two fitter Britains (or Rigor Mortis) to undergo short course.
EXCHANGE – Two permanent early dinner chits required. Would exchange for anything useful. Box WEY. 2.
LOST – Between Padgate and Weyburn, 7 days pay, a lot of kit, and ring (gold).
PERSONAL – S.M.O. “What price the stork?” C.N.I.
PERSONAL – S.A.I’s. “Are you Grand Arch-Cardinals yet?” L.T.I.
FINALLY WANTED – One seaworthy vessel. By one thousand airmen, must have room for at least one hundred. With stationary decks. Price to include delivery to Weyburn.
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[Advert for The Leader Store]
[Advert for National Musical Supply]
39
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[Advert for McDonald’s Show Store]
[Advert for Arnett Electric]
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Etter Plugs the Jive
The two already run off were surely great successes, weren’t they? The committee in charge of the dances is anxious to have you have a good time., fellows, so let’s have constructive ideas on the subject. These efforts are carried on each second Wednesday evening in the Recreation Hall. Tickets are on sale the Saturday previous in the Y.M.C.A. Because the capacity of the Recreation Hall is limited, the number of tickets available is now limited to 150. Come along early and get your tickets. Good prizes are given each time to the winners of novelty dances, the Swing Commanders play for dancing which starts at 9.00 and ends at 12.30. With the bus running regularly there is no reason why Airmen here can’t make these one of the outstanding events of life on 41 S.F.T.S.
Recreation Reviewed
With the Fall, outdoor activities will be curtailed for the personnel of No. 41 S.F.T.S. After an enthusiastic season, soccer is coming to a close, with only a few plaster casts around to remind us of many strongly contested matches. Cricket and swimming have not long to live, and already skating and hockey are waiting for the freeze-up.
Our Flying Gopher has been examining his burrow to see if he will be comfortable for the winter. Unlike his hibernating brothers of the prairie, he refuses to lie dormant – therefore he wants to know “What’s cooking?” So, sticking his nose into the lair of the Central Committee, he has unearthed a program of activities on the station which will keep him happy digging until spring.
The editors have sifted the mound of information piled up outside their den and here present an analysis of its contents.
Of interest to every man on the station, this program is designed to provide as much variety as possible. There will be no need for any man to be bored and this winter will be a very different affair from the last.
Certainly no town of similar size could have shown more hospitality than has Weyburn to the men of No.41. Weyburnites have taken many men into their homes and entertained them with typical western conviviality, and as for the home cooking, well – we know where we can get apple pie just like mother used to make. The Canadian Legion and the attractive Hostess Club along with other organizations, have made us feel right at home in Weyburn. We are very grateful for all this and wish we could repay some of the hospitality.
But where the number of men on a large military station almost equals half the population of the nearest town, as it does in this case, there will be many men who feel as Tootles when he goes to town, bored and a little disillusioned, unless the men themselves have an organization on the station for providing their own recreation.
We have the organization now, a complete program arranged by the Central Committee for the Fall and Winter. There are activities to satisfy the most varied interests. Through the P.S.I. funds all the necessary sports equipment ahs been provided and more will be forthcoming as the demand grows. Art Etter’s “Y” plays a valuable part in this program.
Romantic Spree
The latest news from the Officers’ jigs,
Where they stuff lemons in little pigs,
Is Flight Lieutenant D.F.C
Embarked upon a romantic spree,
He talked to a maiden fair and twenty,
Of loving cup he had drunk plenty.
He thrilled her with his hectic life,
Then found she was the Padre’s wife.
41
[Page break]
Grand Impending Sports Meet at Weyburn
No. 41 S.F.T.S., August 30th. – Alarm is expressed in Service Police quarters here at the violent partizanship which is developing between different factions which will participate in the Giant Sports Day to be held in the Weyburn Stadium on Wednesday, September 23rd. Corporal Neathway, S.P., usually unmoved by anything short of invasions warns that delicate women and children should be chaperoned by husky airmen, since it is rumored on good authority that two factions intend to rub each other out with cream puffs at ten paces! The spectacle of members of the fairer sex cheering for their favourite airmen competitors is likewise not calculated to make this a dull affair. A promising feature is the hair-pulling contest between two girls each with an airman in the 440.
In spite of this, or perhaps because of this, we expect that hundreds of the people of Weyburn will attend. By permission of the Commanding Officer, the station will be shut down for the afternoon in order that the R.A.F. may be out en masse.
All Invited
This is an open invitation to the people of Weyburn and the surrounding district to attend.
Proceeds from the small admission charge will be devoted to the purchase of sports equipment for the men of this station.
Teams from other R.A.F. stations and from R.C.A.F. stations have been invited to compete in a program which will last about two hours. All preliminary heats will have been run off previously and only final events will be contested.
Dance At Night
To round out the Sports Day entertainment, a Station Dance will be held in the Drill Hall on the same evening. The hall has been specially decorated and the Station Dance Band will be augmented for the occasion. The Y.M.C.A. is catering for the evening, and this dance should be the highlight in a very full day.
Sports Officer Lets Cat Out of Bag
Browsing through sports equipment the other day, our reporter was startled to discover, framed between a festoon of boxing gloves and tennis racquets, George, The Moustache. Behind whom resided the genial features of Flying Officer Colchester, our Sports Officer.
“Ah, ha,” he exclaimed, “just the man I’m looking for. Take a look at that?”
“That” was the sports program for September 23rd, at the Weyburn Stadium. Here, at last, was the long awaited news. We give it to you now – the main events for Sports Day –
SPRINTS: 100 yards, 220 yards and 440 yards.
DISTANCE: 880 yards and one mile run.
FILED EVENTS: High jump, long jump, pole vault, discus, javelin and shotput, and hurdles (if priority can be obtained for lumber to build them).
OBSTACLE RACE.
LADIES RACE and comic events.
Well, there it is. The halt, the maimed, and even the binders are expected to turn out and practice for these events on order to turn back the invasion from outside stations. Let it never be said that No. 41 could not put up a good effort when its very reputation was at stake.
42
[Page break]
At Your Service
Sports Department
[Photograph of a man with a magnificent moustache] ED COLCH. Now in Weyburn.
Hello, Fellows! Maybe that’s the snappiest way to greet youse all. It certainly is the dandiest thing to be allowed to write you a piece in the “Gopher” and to be able to tell you all what a swell bunch of chaps you are, and why I am here at all. Now, don’t forget to say “hello” to me on the streets of 41 when you see that browser mustache [sic] and line-shooting tea-cosy with a football badge on the front. As the great bard said, I guess “A kiss without a mustache [sic] is like a hamburger without dills.” You see I sure do wanna get together with all you great Old Country boys.
The sports department is for sports, don’t please ever forget that fact. Those of you who have been here some time will have some idea of where my office is. Just drop in for a coke with me any time you have some little personal sporting problem you want to thrash out. I’m usually there blowing up footballs in the morning – and always at your service. However tricky your problem don’t hesitate to step right in and have a talk with the Sports Supervisor. The name is right there on the door.
It is my aim to give you all a body like mine, and make the square the gathering-place for all you lads, on Wednesday mornings in particular. We are flat out to make the square a reely [sic] attractive spot; and I certainly am going to make sure that a first rate decorating job is done there. I guess I’m not speaking out of turn if I tell youse fellows the “Y” is going to lay down some really snappy carpets, and put flags up all around the joint.
Say, bo; let me be your father. I am here to jazz up cricket and drill you for you all. Just buy a tiger skin and drop in.
Your one and only,
ED. COLCH.
Tail Piece
From the Diary of an R.A.F. Hurricane Pilot in Malta, Aprl 6, 1942.
“There was a short service for readiness pilots outside the dispersal hut. The hymn was “Fight the Good Fight.” This struck a chord in my memory. When I was confirmed, the Bishop of Kingston gave as his text, “Fight the good fight of faith,” and that same evening when I opened a book sent to me by my aunt, the first words I read were identical with the text. And now they recurred again. I mentioned this to the Padre afterwards. The coincidence comforted.”
43
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[Advert for Standard Garage and Machine Shop]
[Advert for Co-op. Dairy Products]
[Advert for The Hi-Art Theatre]
44
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Ice
If a good many RAF chaps at this station are eating off the mantlepiece this winter it will not be from riding horseback but probably from taking the bumps at ice hockey. The enthusiasm with which fellows who had never skated took to the narrow blades last winter augers well for the sport this season.
A new rink is being built behind the recreation hall, largely for hockey, but another rink will also be constructed for straight and figure skating. Sonja Henie, look out! By the end of the winter No. 41 S.F.T.S. may be touring the country with the Weyburn Ice Follies. At any rate, a public address system will be installed to provide music for the skaters. There will no doubt be Visitors’ Nights when AC Tootles will be able to show his colourfully dressed girl friend how well he can waltz with only a few spills for punctuation marks.
As for organized hockey, we are fortunate to have a good coach in Lieut. Bigelow of the Dental Corps. It is hoped to organize a Service League but that depends on how well the players develop. We may not have any Wally Stanowski’s from the Maple Leafs, but it should be a good effort.
Basketball
We are sorry, but you are wrong. Neither soccer nor horse-racing draw the biggest total number of spectators in sports, but basketball. Started over thirty years ago by a Dr. Niran, who used peach baskets for the first hoops, the game now has the largest fan following of any game in the world. Hundreds of teams compete in national competitions in the States and many thousands of spectators attend games from the high school tournaments to the national finals.
Yes, the game has something. It is very fast – requiring the peak of physical condition in the players in order that they might stand the pace. But, it is a game which can be learned in easy stages. Already at No. 41 S.F.T.S. we have quite a few enthusiasts – it is expected that organized games will take place nearly every night in the Drill Hall. Want a new sport thrill? We can recommend basketball.
Boxing
“Come on now, keep them up, keep them up! That’s better. Don’t signal your punches.”
Sound of leather on hard chests, the shuffling of feet, quick gasps from straining lungs. It might be Cpl. Wheel or Cpl. Farley or AC Rowing-Parker coaching a lad in the art of self defense, but whoever is the coach or whoever the pupil, they are having a cracking good time, literally.
The boxing ring is completed in the Drill Hall, with mat and ropes. There are plenty of gloves available. Practises already reveal promise of future Dempseys to uphold the honor of No. 41 S.F.T.S.
Maybe you are a dark horse, already experienced in the ring, or maybe you have had no experience but would like to cuff AC. Tootle’s head up a peak (probably he feels the same about you). In any case, come out for boxing and have a good work-out.
Badminton
This sort of thing has got to stop. This chap Burkeman (F/Sgt. Burkeman, know him?) is getting to be too much of a good thing. The guy is getting too chesty. What I want to know, is there any game the bloke can’t play and play well? The other night we thought we had him – we would be able to smear him at badminton, anyway, but no, this Joe Burkeman wore us down to a grease spot and he was still smiling at the end as unruffled as you please.
For heaven’s sake, won’t someone come out and pin Joe’s ears back? He tells us he will take on all and sundry. (Joe’s a right nice guy really, but we have to make him the villain of this piece in order to have a story).
Anyway, Flying-Officer Colchester will be only too pleased to supply you with badminton rackets and “birds” whenever you want a go at this fast game. There are four courts in the Drill Hall – you can easily arrange a game, with any type of player.
A Wing Commander very fly,
Is sometimes called the C.F.I.
His Flight Commanders hover round,
With useless pupils they have found
He interviews them one by one,
A second glance he gives to some,
But see him at a graduation,
This really is a revelation.
45
[Page break]
“A and B” Flights Win Armit Trophy
In Hard Fought Final
When the soccer team from “A and B” Flights met “H” Flight on Wednesday evening, it appeared that half the Station had turned out to watch the game – the other half learned of the score before the evening was out. The occasion was a momentous one in Station Soccer for it was the final of the League Championship, the winners being the first to hold the Armit trophy. Both teams have been hot contenders for the title and truly the game was a battle royal. It had all the ingredients of an English cup-tie game – the highly partisan crowd, grand football, with first class tackling and heading, an eventual penalty, a last minute goal, and, finally, the players being carried from the field shoulder high.
Excitement ran at high pitch throughout the whole game. It was clean and openly played. “A and B” truly deserving their victory of 2-0 by reason of a fine show put up by their forwards. Thompson at centre was a constant menace with his clever rushes down the centre of the field and his accurate distribution of the ball.
After a very even first half, in which neither side scored. “A and B” forwards, aided by their half-backs, dominated the play from the restart and it appeared obvious that a goal was soon forthcoming. “H” Flight made a quick reverse, however, and for a while it seemed that they would be the first to open the scoring. Charles, however, was unfortunate in shooting over an open goal.
First blood was drawn when, during pressure by “A and B” forwards, Corporal Wallace, “H”, handled the ball in the penalty area and gave Molloy a chance to score the opening goal of the match from the kick. This unexpected point caused excitement to rise to high pitch and fast and furious play ensued as “H” tried hard to wipe off the setback with an equalizer, but their forward line could not get going against the close play of their opponents and in the last quarter minute of play, LAC. Lord, a pupil, clinched the issue with a smashing goal from the inside right position.
The team was fully deserving of the applause it gained for a brilliant game. As for the losers, they were a plucky side, hindered by the injury, early in the game of LAC. Cook and this loss undoubtedly was responsible in some measure for their lack of smoothness. Their forwards were too often off side and it was unfortunate for them that they could not find the smooth team work which enthused their opponents from start to finish of the match.
Last Month’s Crossword
[Answers to the crossword clues]
The first correct solution opened was sent by Miss D. Bakstad, 405 Government Road, Weyburn, to whom a cheque for $5.00 will be forwarded as soon as the Editor returns from leave … or it may have to be deferred until the following pay day. Anyway, Mis Bakstad, you shall have your $5.00.
The Flying Gopher is published on the 15th of each month by and for the entertainment of the personnel of No. 41 S.F.T.S. (R.A.F.) at Weyburn, Saskatchewan, Canada. Printed for the Publishers by the Weyburn Review.
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[Advert for Pilsner beer]
47
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[Advert for Stinson-Powers Lts.]
[Advert for the Royal Hotel]
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[Advert for R.H. Williams & Sons]
[Advert for Snelgrove’s Sundaes]
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[Advert for The Lounge]
[Advert for Victory Cab]
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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The Flying Gopher September 1942
Description
An account of the resource
This edition has adverts, an Editorial, reminisces by Dr Vyse, an appreciation of the arrival of the RAF at Weyburn, photographs of Weyburn, stories about Gremlins, a fictitious love story, photos of dances, Weyburn library, poems, love stories, a story about one man's postings, odd goings on around Weyburn, Notes by the different Flights on the base, light hearted station news and sporting news,
Creator
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41 SFTS Weyburn
Date
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1942-09
Format
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52 printed sheets
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Identifier
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MFordTA1585520-170411-14
Coverage
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Royal 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.
Contributor
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Anne-Marie Watson
Spatial Coverage
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Canada
Saskatchewan--Weyburn
Saskatchewan
Temporal Coverage
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1942-09
aircrew
entertainment
gremlin
Harvard
love and romance
sport
station headquarters
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/834/18749/MGeachDG1394781-160401-06.1.pdf
ca98f1b8b466efa09ded2313b64ec41b
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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Geach, David
D Geach
Description
An account of the resource
<a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/218400/"></a>52 items. The collection concerns Warrant Officer David Geach (1394781 Royal Air Force) and contains his diaries, correspondence, photographs of his crew, his log book, cuttings and items relating to being a prisoner of war. After training in Canada, he flew operations as a bomb aimer with 623 and 115 Squadrons until he was shot down 24 March 1944 and became a prisoner of war. He was instrumental in erecting a memorial plaque to the Air Crew Reception Centre at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London. <br />The collection also contains a scrap book of photographs.<br /><br />Additional information on his crew is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/218400/">IBCC Losses Database.</a><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Harry Wilkins 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
2016-03-14
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Geach, DG
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DAFOE Harry
DIGEST
[Picture of an aircraft]
NO. 5 B & G SCHOOL – DAFOE
‘XMAS [RAF Crest] 1942
[Page break]
[Boxed] A Word from the Editor
We present for your approval, the first issue of DAFOE DIGEST. Before you start to read it, may we take time to explain to you something of the policy of this issue.
It is intended that this shall be a monthly publication, and in this, our first issue, we have made an attempt to give you a general introduction to our station. You will find herein a report from almost every section on the Station. We have made an attempt to make these reports general so they will act as an introduction. Naturally this procedure could not be continued in future issues, so it is our intention that, from now on, the news will be more current and personal.
We would like to thank our Commanding Officer, Wing Commander P.W. Lowe-Holmes for his gracious patronage; LAC Morrison for his fine work in designing our first cover and each and every one of those who have contributed to this issue.
In closing, might we take this opportunity to wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and may the new year bring Victory and Peace, so that we all may soon be home with our loved ones. [/boxed]
[Page break]
THE DAFOE DIGEST
Published by the Kind Permission of our Commanding Officer, Wing Commander P. W. Lowe-Holmes.
Managing Editor – TOM MacDONALD, (Y.M.C.A.)
Associate Editors
F/L E.N. MORRISON
F/L/ J.M. CRUISE
F/O H. WAUGH
F/O E.E. McCALLUM
P/O W.L. JONES
P/O I.F. LUMA
Art Editor
LAC W.H. MORRISON
Photographers
F/S E.R. BARRETT
SGT. R.K. ARNOTT
Circulation Manager
F/L W.H. DUNPHY
VOLUME 1 – NO. 1 DECEMBER, 1942
Commanding Officers Message … 4
Headquarters … 5
Accounts Section … 6
Station Hospital … 7
The Wireless Operator Air Gunner … 8
Small Canteen … 10
Fire Hall … 11
Dental Clinic … 12
Handing Over Ceremony … 13
Air Bombers … 16
Station Workshops … 17
A Message from the Padres … 18
Works and Buildings … 19
The Gremlins at Dafoe … 20
The Control Tower … 21
A Note from the W.D.s … 22
Introduction from the Parachute Section … 23
Equipment Section … 26
Y.M.C.A. … 18
R.C.A.S.C. … 29
Sports Headlines … 30
Gunnery Flight … 32
Bombing Flight … 33
Drogue Flight … 33
Wireless Section … 34
Trophy Winners … 35
Beneath the Southern Cross … 36
Airmen’s Mess … 38
From the Education Office … 39
M.T. Section … 40
Maintenance … 41
Photographic Section … 42
M.P.O. 1206 … 43
Security Guard … 44
Chronological Summary … 45
Bust Road Incident … 46
Aussie Doings … 48
[Page break]
4 THE DAFOE DIGEST
[Boxed] Commanding Officer’s Message
[Photograph] Wing Commander P.W. Lowe-Holmes
I hope this magazine will be read in many homes and in different parts of the world. Its production is a triumph and a good indication of industry and ingenuity on the part of the editorial staff.
If this magazine gets the support it merits, regular monthly issues are contemplated.
A Happy Christmas and Prosperous New Year to all at Dafoe.
[Signature] [/boxed]
[Page break]
THE DAFOE DIGEST 5
Headquarters’ High-Pressure
By Foreign (Eastern Canadian) Correspondent
“Exigencies of the Service” (and in particular this publication) seem to demand that Station Headquarters (Administrative, of course) be subjected to the doubtful advantages of being verbally pictured. Notwithstanding the opinions of some of the inhabitants (natives) of that lofty seat of decision, however, it is felt that the consummation of any such dali-ish inclinations would be utter nausea. However, to the infernal glorification of Building No. 1, No. 5 B. & G.S., as well as for the consumption of the more hardy of our readers (if any), we shudderingly tender this boring epistle.
Headquarters is, in its better moments looked upon by the remainder of the Station as the “ne plus ultra” in information bureaus. Regardless of the remote logic by which any problem is related to administrative matters, it seems inevitable that the matter finally devolves into the wastebasket, or onto the desk of, one of the satellites or lesser constellations in H.Q.
In particular however, this thesis will deal with what the Orderly Room, Records Branch and Central Registry, in particular are responsible (used under advisement) for. It is not to be interpreted as meaning that we actually do these things. And so in reverse order ….
Central Registry—The Nervous Centre of the Station
This doubtfully reasonable facsimile of an office-boy’s desk in any good civilian firm is our mailing department. Through its devious channels pass the frenzied outpourings (reduced, of course to mere words) of staff officers and A C 2’s alike. Everything from the crisply official “envelopes, manilla, O.H.M.S., R.C.A.F.,” to those smoking “billets d’amour” penned by the more sentimental of our personnel, are accorded the best of receptions by our clerks. In addition they are more or less employed otherwise in everything from juggling the stamp account to the satisfaction of our Accounts Section, to the handling (and mishandling) of those peculiar collections of typescript, manuscript and just plain script which fall within the categorization of the Station filing system. Reputedly, our staff can locate, within a matter of mere days usually, everything from the last Inspector-General’s Report to the application that A C 2 Jerk J. made for a sleeping-our pass that wasn’t granted. (N.B. – It might be well to mention that, to obviate anyone interpreting this to mean that we are in possession of a select bunch of “meanies” making decisions, A C 2 Jerk was refused such pass on the technical grounds that he was not, as yet, possessed of the necessary adjunct, to wit, a wife and/or family). The staff of this most prominent section of our fair organization comprises, at the moment, Miss M.E. (Billie) Howard of Lanigan, Sask. (to whom congratulations are in order on her imminent marriage); L.A.W., E.J.N. (Emily) White of Saskatoon and A.W.2 J.G.P. (Julia) Maffett of Regina and New Brunswick.
And so we leave C.R., with its waving palm trees and the myriad morasses of mail and memos, and continue our H.Q. travelogue in the direction of---
Records Branch—the Gestapo of Dafoe
Our “F.B.I.” as personified by the Records Branch, is responsible for and does (to some small extent at least) maintain a complete (much to some people’s disgust and regret) record of all and any personnel on the Station. So complete are these records that our F.L. McBeth , at the recent series of Officers’ and N.C.O.’s Administrative lectures, was prompted to remark that “I sometimes marvel at the way some
(Continued on Page 14)
[Page break]
6 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Accounts Section
By Sgt. O’Leary
[Photograph of a group of men and women in uniform]
Two years ago great minds (if there were any) gathered together on a wind-swept, desolate, alkali part of the earth which has oft been spoken of as “God’s Country” (Bless the Indians!) It is said that they had a great star to guide them, but alas, these wise men for they must have been wise men, were also good men and it is said of the good that unto them no harm must come (such as being posted to Dafoe).
These wise men had – CENSORED – and thus was formed what was destined to become one of the most sought out, most popular (we have fourteen W.D.’s and Miss Evelyn White) sections on this Station, namely the Accounts Section. Perhaps some of you have never heard of us, if not, you are invited to attend our family get togethers – we usually have (at least) two a month. All that is required from you is your number, rank and name, and here, so help us, is a plug – NUMBER – RANK – NAME.
Enough of this, let’s face facts and write something. We could tell you all about our W.D.’s but you would not be interested. “What’s that; Ha! Ha! Yes, we guess you could tell us about them PERIOD. Anyway we will gladly give you their number if it is requested.
Of late the Accounts Section had been denuded of males. There are only six left and God knows they are not the best examples of the “Atlas type”. The current boys are Squadron Leader Broughton, late of C.N.S. Rivers; Flying Officer Moffatt (who luckily escaped with his life from a harrowing experience and whose heart now “pants” when stepping to and from taxi cabs); Flight Sergeant Hamilton (claims he is from Canada – wherever that is); Sgt. Pattinson, a drip of scotch, pardon that slip, we meant drop; Sgt. Joseph Bruno, Felix, Leonide, Chretien, Free Irish; and last and least, Sgt. O’Leary, French Sinn Feiner.
We are just recovering from the loss of a very wonderful personality, namely, Flight Lieutenant Jim (to his friends) Morton. He was a real good egg and you know how short we are of those these days. With Flight Lieutenant Morton we also lost Pilot Officer Norman, R.A.F., who came all the way from England to see Dafoe. He has now returned to his native haunts (I hope not).
SEE YOU PAY DAY
[Page break]
THE DAFOE DIGEST 7
Station Hospital
[Photograph of men and women, some in medical uniform]
The Station Hospital thrives and expands in importance under the able guidance of S/L R.N. Lawson (the well known hunter), Fl/Lt. W.J. Boyd (Smiling Bill), and Fl/Lt. A. Paterson (also known as the Station Vet). We see everybody come and go – shades of inoculations and blood groupings.
Admissions are duly recorded by F/S G.A. Glacken, and then received in the ward by our ever smiling Nursing Sisters, Ruby McSorley and Violet Taylor. It’s amazing how we ever manage to get anyone out of the Hospital. Since the last issue of this magazine the Hospital along with all other sections, has been improved by the arrival of the W.D.’s. Were they received with open arms? Incidentally they still are by many.
The Hospital is proud of its record and has established quite a reputation among other Air Force Hospitals. In the past month, we have been “At Home” to thirty five M.O.’s from other stations. Their greatest source of wonderment is “How and where does Dafoe get all the equipment?” Fellow M.O.’s at other stations, that’s a deep dark secret. Personally the writer thinks the explanation lies in the fact that when S/L Lawson begins talking and explaining why he needs something, the easy way out is to give it to him. You’ve heard the saying about “talking the hair off a brass monkey” but maybe that’s getting personal.
Here in the hospital we find the real inside life of a person; more heart moving love scenes, usually during visiting hours, and the cranky obstinate scenes in the early morning hours, during which many a true confession is told, would if published in book form, reap a fortune.
The important folk in the hospital, however, are the patients and they’re the best in the world. We can’t avoid mention of LAC’s Ron Ward and Mike Bowen, now of International reputation. They have given us all a lesson on ”How to take it”, during the past four months. However they’ll soon be up and around. LAC Harris was also part of the inventory for five months, and tho he has now left the service, we still think of him as one of us. Good luck Gordie! We hope you like that old job again.
What about the Staff you ask? Now you should know them well, but for those unfortunate healthies who are uniformed, here’s the roster –
S/L Lawson – “Curly” to his intimates, and the best scrounger in the service. Must be related to Frank Buck, if it’s not fastened down, he’ll bring it back. Mayor of Boom Town for 19 months.
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8 THE DAFOE DIGEST
F/Lt. Boyd – What a “cutter upper” is Willie James! He’s always ready to operate but don’t mention “open house” to him. Fond of ice cream – known in the mess as “Three Scoop Willie”.
F/Lt. Paterson – The red haired California Scotchman who can cure anything from the left front radius of a canine to the exhuberations of a canary. Good old “Pat” lends his ready wit and genial personality to all station social do’s.
N/S McSorley – “Our Ruby” the brightest jewel in our crown. Never knows when to stop working and represents the acme of her profession.
N/S Taylor – Hi, Vi! Why are you so damn good looking! When you arrived, the wolves were at once on the prowl, but “Frankly” they hadn’t a chance.
F/S Glacken – He maintains the orderly room in peace and quietness, or what do you think? We’ll never know why it is called the “orderly room”.
Sgt. Cullen – In our dispensary you will find him there to fill your wants in the way of pills and potions. Specially fond of canaries.
Sgt. Mason – To whom we bid welcome, is a little too good looking to have control of the W.D.’s.
Cpl. Hedderson – Will see through you so don’t try pulling the wool over his eyes.
Cpl. Henley - The best “all round” cook, we know. There’s only one answer to the question, “where are the best meals served on the station”.
Cpl. Paddle – Who said those night slippers of yours were “Sneakers”?
LAC Marshall – “What attraction does the Linen cupboard hold, Marsh”? As a suggestion an armchair might be an asset.
Cpl. Cook – A flip to Regina was bad enough, but woe, what about T.C.A. to Vancouver, you can’t take a bus back this time.
LAC Kells – Music may soothe the savage beasts, but not the patients at 6 a.m.
AC2 Beaulieu – Welcome, hope you’ll like us as well as Yorkton.
AW1 Farmer – If she doesn’t want to walk someone will always “Wheeler”.
LAW Simpson – With all these late passes could it be that our school ma’am is tutoring a certain S.P (that does not mean Sergeant Pilot).
LAW Farrell – Good at her trade, but rumours say that she would be a much better street-car conductor. (Re Bessborough Hotel).
LAW Schwengers – The blonde bomber – where’d you get that hair-do Kay?
LAW Sinclair – “The Belle of Foam Lake” – with Winnie on duty there is never a dull moment.
LAW Winnik – “An unco-operative patient” but a good hospital assistant.
LAW Sneddon – Since her drill test she’s even changing beds by numbers.
AW1 McDowall – Code and cipher will be a cinch after trying to fathom our treatment book.
AW1 Cassidy – Rather funny a red head hooks up with the fire department.
AW1 Morgan – Yes she really is alive, just drop in to a W.D.’s dance for verification.
AW1 Cohen – When the cat’s away the mice will play – or do their damndest – what about it Nat?
LAW Gaucher – Our little man hater, but why all those tears after your 48’s.
LAC Stewart – Methodical “Stew” but really a whizz with the women.
The Wireless Operator Air Gunners
Ever since the first Course of W.O.A.G.’s arrived at this station early in 1941 there have always been a number of these students in and around G.I.S. The eager attitude of the average WAG is easily explained. After long months of guard duty or its equivalent and still longer months of training at a Wireless School these airmen come
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 9
[Drawing of a Wireless Operator]
to No. 5 for the last lap – at the end of which come the wings and hooks to indicate that the trainee is ready for advanced or operational training. This enviable reward is handed out by the Commanding Officer at the end of the course.
What about a glimpse at an average day of an average WAG during his stay at No. 5? First of all there is the little item of getting up, cleaning up and filling up. After breakfast we SHOULD find our hero on morning G.I.S. parade where after a spot of P.T. his Course Leader will suggest that lectures are in order. During the next two hours Willie Wag may be in his own classroom hearing the inside story on turrets or Brownings or pyrotechnics or angles of deflection or points of harmonization or something. Only with the super-student are all of these topics dealt with at the same time. It is now the third hour of the umpteenth day of our WAG and very likely he is in the dark – physically of course – studying the humps and bumps of certain aircraft so that he will not shoot down more than his quota of allied planes. Rumor [sic] has it that mistakes in recognition are frowned upon in operations so Willie is wide awake in the dark. To finish off the morning in a profitable way the student will likely do some Morse – just to keep up his terrific speed against the day when the examination comes along.
In the afternoon of your average day Mr Wag is slated to fly and so reports at 1300 hours to the Gunnery Flight. He dons flying clothes from boots to helmet, draws a parachute and harness signs for a few hundred rounds of ammunition and awaits orders from ‘Pat’ Despatcher. Presently Willie is airborn [sic] along with Bolingbroke, a pilot, other classmates, a turret and plenty of ammunition. During the next few hours our trainee is shooting the drogue full of holes (he hopes) while learning some of the tricks in loading, handling and clearing Brownings in sub zero weather while travelling at a high rate of speed in a turret that is not winterized. Ask Willie, he knows. Well after defrosting and having a smoke the young hopeful may go up for another exercise to finish off the afternoon. After all, his stay is short and most evenings are spent with the one hundred and nineteen pieces of the Browning. And so to bed.
Of course our typical day couldn’t include everything. During his Couse the trainee is destined to spend many hours manipulating the different types of turrets – the types he will use overseas. Still further he will find his way to the ranges a few times during his stay at No. 5. At these points he will learn the fine old art of gun cleaning as well as firing many hundreds of rounds from turrets. Seriously, Willie is convinced that in operations the serviceability of his guns that counts the most. He should know more about his guns than any other person on the squadron.
And so the Wireless Operator Air Gunners are trained for a highly specialized job in which there is practically no room for errors. G.I.S. handles all of this training except the air exercises and puts forth every effort to give the trainee what he will need most in operations. Good luck to you, Willie Wag, and to all your brothers in aircrew.
o o o
M.O. – The best thing you can do is give up smoking, drinking and women.
AC2 PATIENT – What’s the next best thing?
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10 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Small Canteen
[Photograph of an eating area with tables and chairs]
The Small Canteen offers you a comfortable homelike atmosphere in which you may work or play. It is conveniently located and well furnished with writing desks, armchairs, piano, radio, rugs and numerous reading lamps as well as an open fire place which makes it a popular place in the evenings.
It is the headquarters of the YMCA which organization contributes greatly to the welfare of the men by placing writing material and library facilities at their disposal.
The Small Canteen also harbours the offices of the Chaplains; the “Y” Supervisor and the Educational Officers. These people are always ready and eager to help you. Get to know these fellows as it will help to make your stay at Dafoe more pleasant. Let us briefly introduce them to you. First we have Father Dunphy, a jovial good natured fellow who is a tonic for depressed spirits. He has a way of making one see the bright side of the picture, and rumour has it that he is an expert on matters pertaining to the fuel supply. Then we have Padre Morrison, a serious but kind and friendly fellow. He has been an AC2 and through his wealth of experience in the service can offer words of advice to you who are new. He is the steadying influence in the Small Canteen. Next we have F/O Brown, the educational officer. Bill is a great fellow; an allround athlete and a great teacher. He is always ready to chat with you and to discuss your problems of remustering and further education. Education is important. Get to know F/O Brown. We know that Bill has only one vice and that against justice for he once stole spuds from F/O Carr’s potato patch and loaded them into the “shirts” car. Since the day that the educational officer took over his duties here, the work has expanded greatly and today we find two educational officers. The new arrival, Pilot Officer Jones is a great asset to this work. We all think
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 11
that he is a great lad. He is really fitting in well and Bill Brown says that he is OK. Assisting in some of the clerical work is our little WD; LAW Pope. Winnie, apart from her work with the library, helps the educational officers; the padres and even Tom. Gee, Father Dunphy got a surprise the day Winnie arrived. He had not met her at the time, but Tom told him that Pope had arrived. He replied “from Rome?”
Now we come to Tom McDonald, the “Y” supervisor. Tom is a happy fellow and his good humour is contagious. Many of the boys say that he is always ready to laugh at their troubles, and strange to say, Tom has the cure for many of them. Tom tries to stay well within the law, but once he went a-shooting and got caught. (S/L Lawson can explain.) His happy disposition stands him well in his present occupation and we do not hesitate to say that Tom is one of the best supervisors that can be found anywhere. (Of course they are few Pat).
Now fellows you will see why we suggest that you get acquainted with the Small Canteen and its personnel. Make it your headquarters for letter writing, study and reading and also for meeting your friends in the evening.
Merry Xmas from the Small Canteen and come to our Xmas party. We almost forgot to say we have one of the best care takers on the whole camp. Good old Alex.
FIRE HALL
What goes on behind the scenes in a fire fighter’s life is very seldom known to the public. Here is a general idea of what a fire fighter has to do and what is expected of him at Dafoe.
First, they have some 50 odd buildings and 650 pieces of fire equipment to inspect and maintain daily.
Second, they have to drill the fire picquet daily in ladder and hose drill and instruct them in the use of all fire equipment.
Third, they have to instruct all service and civilian personnel on the station I the use of all fire equipment.
Fourth, they have to have their own drills three times a week and five lectures a week on fire prevention and fire fighting.
Fifth, they have the job of training the crash crew in the use of the equipment on the crash tenders and what to do when a crash occurs.
Sixth, they have to see that al fire orders are adhered to and the everlasting job of teaching and fire prevention.
Then to top it all off they have the job of protecting our neighboring city known as Boom Town and see that the airmen’s families are not burned out of house and home. A fire fighter has to be on duty 24 hours a day, whether he plays cards or fights fires. Fire waits for no man.
We also have the job of making the ice for the winter sports so that the lads who have their days work finished can enjoy themselves while the lads whom they have so often criticized for being lazy are on duty waiting for the every lurking enemy FIRE.
So wouldn’t some of you lads like to be a fire fighter so that you can get up out of your nice warm beds and help us slug lines of frozen hose around.
Granted it has never happened here but it CAN happen, so all we have to do is keep our vigilance in fire prevention and don’t take any chances with fire.
Thanks, lads and girls, for your co-operation, and in keeping down the fire loss at this station. As you all know, we can protect ourselves from an enemy we can see, but we cannot from one we can’t see and never know when and where he is going to strike next.
F/S J. Weibe, Fire Chief.
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12 THE DAFOE DIGEST
The Dental Clinic
[Photograph of a dental consultation]
The Dental Clinic at No.5 B & G. School, is staffed by two operators, Captain Neptune, Officer in Charge, Captain Shapera, two N.C.O. chair assistants, and an orderly.
The main objective at the clinic is to have every man, who is posted overseas, 100 per cent dentally fit. It is of prime importance that Air Crew arrive overseas with no dental trouble.
Emergency work is given prompt attention and we want the personnel of the station to feel free to come to the Clinic at any time for dental treatment.
The Clinic appreciates the whole-hearted co-operation received, and while it is the last place anyone usually wants to visit, the personnel, on the whole, have been excellent patients.
Wea re proud of our equipment and supplies, and we are glad to render dental service to the R.C.A.F.
We take this opportunity of impressing on the personnel the importance of reporting to the Clinic at the first sign of sore or bleeding gums.
THE ARMAMENT SECTION
Greetings from the Armament Section! Here is a hard working group of airmen who are making an indispensable contribution to the whole training programme of the station. They are few in number but are doing a big job. Consider the guns, ammunition, bombs, pyrotechnics and other highly specialized items of armament equipment required at a school of this nature, and you will appreciate something of the task that is theirs.
Located in Gunnery Hangar, you will find the section a most interesting and friendly one to visit. Flight Sergeant Cook is in charge, and is ably assisted by a very fine staff of Armourers (Bombs) and Armourers (Guns). Cpl. Ritchie supervises all machine gun repairs and the cleaning of guns and equipment. An expert with factory experience, LAC Stewart looks after the power-operated turrets that are mounted in the gunnery slips. Cpl. Hamm on the bombing line supervises the fusing and inspection of the practise bombs before having them attached to the carriers.
Much could be said in regard to the work of our sections; still more about the men who perform its varied tasks, but this will be enough to show something of its interest and importance on the station. To the Commanding Officer and all personnel of No. 5 Bombing and Gunnery School we of the armament section extend heartiest wishes for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
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Handing Over Ceremony
[Two photographs of a senior officer in uniform]
On Saturday, August the First, 1942 an event of importance in the history of No. 5 Bombing and Gunnery School took place. On the Parade Square in the presence of all station personnel, Group Captain, R.A. Delhaye, D.F.C.; the Commanding Officer from the inception of the station, handed over to Wing Commander P.W. Lowe-Holmes, the new Commanding Officer, the responsibility of command.
[Photograph of three men in uniform, one signing a document]
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14 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Headquarters High-Pressure (Cont’d)
people conduct themselves, knowing full well that their every action, you might say, good or bad, is kept track of …”.
Paramount among such responsibilities are the handlings of leaves, promotions, remusterings, reclassifications, the maintenance of documents, etc. to say nothing of such distasteful tasks as transcribing conduct sheet entries and making “logging” entries for our wayward ones.
In general Records Branch can be entombed with the blame for anything from not getting a leave pass signed to being late in the delivery of clearance certificates when, and if, some fortunate member of our happy family obtains his parole.
To make this brief story even briefer, Records’ motto is deigned to fill the bill: “If it was done, and you did it, we know it; and if it wasn’t done, we did it!”
Noted among the unfortunate presently penned into this portion of petrified prairie are: Cpl. P.E. (Ed or Pudge) Winott of Kingston, N.S.; AW1 M.F. (Marg) Sager of Saskatoon and Chilliwack, B.C.; AW2 W.M. (Wendy – no relation to Peter Pan) Dalzell of Montreal, Que. and our recent addition Miss U.B. (Ulah) Beaton of Viscount and Humbolt.
But time is short – and this column should be shorter (regrets, gentle reader) so we doff our parkas, eskimo-suits and hand-chewed moccasins and in a respectful slow march bid a fond farewell to “Records” (Phone 4 r 2). Leaving the land of the Midnight Oil behind us we journey far and across the Trans-Headquarters highway to our mecca ….
The Orderly Room
(Any similarity between this and the normal interpretation of “orderly” is purely – we mean it – co-incidental).
“Never in the history of human endeavour have so many been browbeaten so much by so few”. (Except, perhaps, in the gl-l-l-lorious Third Reich)
Anyhow, this might well be a direct quotation from, say, Maintenance or Training Wing or, for that matter any section of the Station when Headquarters O.R. “goes off the deep end” so often as they opine.
Actually, we are a very nice bunch of people, broadly considered.
Unfortunately, however, a sad fate inevitably befalls Orderly Rooms as a whole and in particular, Headquarters’. We are the Charlie McCarthy’s on the knees of the powers-that-be. It matters naught what normal reactions are, but H.Q.O.R. has a positively amazing faculty for getting inundated with the blame for any apparently “radical” idea that first sees the light of day in, or around, Station Headquarters.
As a note of explanation to those unfortunates who have, from time to time, found it necessary to make personal appearances in what is usually a fruitless endeavour to straighten out some “little” point, we would offer these few “bon mots”. In other words, it is wellnigh impossible for Headquarters Orderly Room to predict D.A.P.S. on matters of postings, promotions, remusterings, etc.; therefore, it will be appreciated that we cannot possibly KNOW:
IF your application for compassionate (passionate) posting to … (CENSORED) has been approved,
IF we are going to get special leave to celebrate the advent of the fifteen year locusts,
IF there is any truth in the rumour that we are commencing the New Year, to get a forty-eight and a seventy-two each week, with Saturdays and Sundays off,
IF, when the weather gets colder, as it does in this province in January and February, we are going to be issued with electrically heated blankets made into parkas for the convenience of runners, etc. (For this one we would refer you to the Equipment Section).
IF it is true that the government is paying a bounty on all members of the Service who want to get married (with or without permission).
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 15
However, if you want to know anything about anything, everything, or nothing, ask the Headquarters Orderly Room – you will always get an answer correct or incorrect, civil or profane, but we will never give an answer that can be quoted as an authority.
Nevertheless (and vide para so-and-so above) we are, as noted, a “by-and-large” nice bunch of idiots. Noted among this collection are the following: WO2 R.B. (R.B.) Eaton of Winnipeg and the Coast; Sgt. K.M. (Morg) Morgan of Ottawa, Canada; LAC L.A. (Lorne) Wood of Biggar, Sask., (Native); LAW E.P. (Drunkard) Bible of Edmonton; AW1 M. (Green-eyes) Carlisle of Wapella, Sask.; AW2 A.J. (Jean) Hamilton of South Devon, N.B.; and Miss H.P. (Helen) Putnam of Watson, Sask., (‘nother native).
Let that, in itself, suffice to introduce you briefly to the H.Q.O.R. – and since we will not want to linger any longer than necessary – we will, hurriedly, bid the joint a fond farewell.
And now, last but not least, to our outside offices – and out best (?) publicists ….
The Runners!
Anyone who is anyone around Dafoe, and who has their eyes open cannot but have noted our “ripper-arounders”. At present (and this is subject to change without notice – courtesy of the Priorities Board) we have, numbered among these, LAW V. (Vern) Farrow of Toronto, Ont.; AW1 A.E. (Hey you!) Knight of Swift Current, Sask.; and AW1 D.R. (Newfie) Young of - well, you guess! Although we could go into the utmost of detail concerning the varied and diverse duties of our “runners” (or walkers, as it seems) suffice to say that their major accomplishments to date has been “Newfie’s” incomparable knack for winning when it comes to flipping quarters with the personnel she meets (and she meets almost everyone) along the way. For this we refer you to Flying Officer Ducharme, late of Maintenance, who, we understand, was a “plunger” and who has since retired to a quiet haven (Newfie-less) on the West Coast to drown his sorrows.
So-o-o-o-o-o, at long last, we will allow you , gentle reader, to turn the page unmolested, and depart, with the literally winged feet of Mercury from this apparently incurable bunch of maniacs who we boastfully consider as “staff”. So, with just a parting shot in the direction of our hallowed and inhumanly lucky alumni, we bid our adieus and flitter gracefully in the imaginary wings.
Noted, some time back, among us were the following who have since departed upon their ways to, we hope, bigger and better things (what am I saying?):
Cpl. Hotson, A.G. of Tavistock, Ont. – enroute (the last we heard) to an ocean rendezvous.
LAC R.F. Watson of Winnipeg – headed for a “Vulcan-izing”.
LAC R. Wragg of Oshawa, Ont. – creditors please forward all bills to Mossbank.
LAC F.A. Rodberg of Edmonton, Alta. – now helping the C.O. run the “X” (mysterious, isn’t it) Depot at Kamloops.
LAC N.E. Boyd of Toronto, Ont. – departed, the lucky stiff, to Toronto.
AW1 B.E. Martin (Sprinter) – headed for 6 “M” Depot, Toronto and the W.D. Admin Course.
AW1 P.H. Yeomans (latest departure) – for 7 “M” Depot and subsequent posting to Washington (in the interests of Pan-American unity, of course), and
Miss E.E. (Edie) Hughes – who also crossed the border enroute to middle-aisling it with S.Sgt. Pilot K.T. (Dusty) Blakely of the U.S. Army Air Corps (recently Sgt. Piot of Dafoe) at Columbia, S.C. Lotsa luck, “Porky” and congratulations.
ISN’T THAT ENOUGH MR. EDITOR? FINIS.
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16 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Air Bomber
The Aircrew is a team – a fighting group of specialists – each highly skilled in his particular job – and an important member of that team is the Air Bomber.
[Picture of an Air Bomber in his crew position]
Sometimes we here at Dafoe become wrapped up in our own particular work and do not realize that the sole purpose of this station is to turn out students who will be capable of doing their job in a bomber team overseas.
In order that we may better know our trainees’ problems, and by so doing further the value of our work here, let us follow the progress of an Air Bomber through his course at this school.
Arriving here after many weary weeks of study at Depots and I.T.S., our Air Bomber starts in at G.I.S. on the most important phase of his work, the study of the theory of bombing and the manipulation of the bombsight. Solid weeks of study – theory – problems – more theory – back to school, not interesting ‘tis true, but every Air Bomber knows that only those who have a thorough knowledge of this theory will be able to drop their bombs on their target every time.
Then to test out their new found knowledge on the bombing teacher, that marvel of wheels, gears, lights and screens that allows a student to do everything on the ground that he can do on a bombing flight except get air sick. He learns to navigate, find winds and eventually to drop bombs with deadly accuracy – all on the ground. Hour after hour, daytime and night-time our student will be found practicing on the Bombing Teacher – for he must pass all test here before he is ever allowed to go into the air.
Then the great day arrives, he is declared ready by G.I.S., and he climbs into one of our bombers for his first practice bombing run. His school work does not end here however, many hours are spent in G.I.S. with competent instructors analysing the errors he has made in the air – learning about new equipment he will eventually use overseas – bombing devices – fuses – detonators – bomb carriers – pyrotechnics and explosives. And so on through the more advanced phases of his air work, the different types of bombing, flying this morning, school this afternoon, flying tonight, school to-morrow, till he passes into the final stages of his training – gunnery.
Now more intensive ground training in G.I.S. Browning guns – the why’s and the wherefores of all its pieces – its faults and their remedies – its care and its uses. Then many hours of turret work – of firing machine guns on the ranges in the daytime and at night – and finally the student is ready for air exercises in gunnery.
And so into a turret in one of our gunnery aircraft goes our air bomber – and realises after a few tries that he still doesn’t know all there is to know about turrets, machine guns, and stoppages, and so through the various phases of his gunnery training from one kind of attack to another till he becomes a dead-eye Dick when looking at a drogue and makes the required percentage of hits to pass his gunnery course.
Meanwhile any spare time our Air Bomber might have had is used up studying aircraft recognition or practicing sending and receiving with the Aldis Lamp – all preparing for the great day of final examinations in bombing, gunnery, signals, aircraft recognition, turrets, etc. Many have fallen by the wayside at this point, but the high standard of training that No. 5 has established throughout Canada must be maintained.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 17
At last graduation day arrives, and we no longer have a student, but a highly skilled bombardier and air gunner, ready to take his place, after further training elsewhere, as a member of a bomber crew overseas.
And as we see him receiving his graduation certificate from our Commanding Officer, we who remain here at Dafoe, cannot help but feel proud that we have all played some small part in making him better able to fight our battles for us overseas.
STATION WORKSHOPS
“We mend everything but the break of dawn”
Somewhere on this station there is an unimpressive but important building upon whose staff (existence) hangs the welfare of this training center. It is to this building that all broken parts are brought for repair. Here parts are fitted carefully together and through the untiring efforts of those who toil within are once more able to be used where they are most needed.
Let us enter the building and find out for ourselves how this important unit functions. In the north-east corner of the building there is an invaluable piece of machinery where the carpenters prepare the fundamental materials for cupboards and filing cabinets. The general shape of plywood to be used in the repair of aircraft is also cut here. The machine is known as the circular saw. Nearby is another conspicuous machine known as the jig-saw. It is indispensable because of its ability to turn out fine pieces of material with very intricate patterns. This instrument was designed and constructed at this station under the supervision of G.W. Smith who is to be recommended for his successful completion of the machine. Near the jig-saw is a small but efficient machine, the steel lathe where all the metal turning is done.
Across form this is the steel metal shop which is always busy modifying cowlings, baffle plates and other such necessary parts. Also many items of various design are modelled here and used in the aircraft for the benefit of the pilot.
In the back of the shop we find the spark plug department. This is a complete unit within itself and is separated from the rest of the shop by a small barricade. The duties of this section are to clean, repair and maintain a continuous supply of spark plugs for all aircraft.
Another self-sufficient unit found near here is the welding shop, where there are two welding outfits in continuous use. They do the work for the entire station.
Last, but not least, there is the fabric department. Like the spark plug department, it is entirely self-reliant. It is shut off from the noise and bustle of the building and performs its duties under expert leadership of the members of the Women’s Division.
And so from this center of activity comes a hearty approval of this station magazine and wish for its success in months to come.
RIFLE CLUB
No. 5 B. & G. Miniature Rifle Club is affiliated with the “Dominion Marksmen” who supply the targets, a series of proficiency pins and an “Expert Shield”.
The club was formed early this summer and the response has been very good. There are now over 100 members, including a number of W.D.’s.
Firing on our 20 yard range in Drogue hangar takes place on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Two “Spoon Shoots” are held each month, at which the members compete for sterling spoons with crests and engraving.
To date several of our members have acquired “Dominion Marksmen” proficiency pins, and two, Sgt. Ladd and LAC Chipman, have qualified for the Expert Shield which requires a score of at least 5860 out of 6000 , and must be fired from prone, sitting and standing positions.
Inter-Station competition via the postal method has been tried, the team from No. 4 S.F.T.S. proving a little too strong for our team who are now busy practicing and looking for a few more crack shots to help out in the next competition.
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18 THE DAFOE DIGEST
A Message from the Padres
H/F/L W.H. Dunphy H/F/L E.N. Morrison
“LOVE ONE ANOTHER”
With the advent of the anniversary of one of God’s great acts in the economy of Salvation, it behoves us, His Followers, to turn our hearts and our minds to a greater than ever incitation of love, one for another.
The old philosophy, “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” has been found wanting and has been supplanted with love for one another, in the coming of the new Dispensation. We, therefore, creatures of God, objects of His love, must be amiable to those who are worthy of His perfect love.
The echoes of that first Christmas chant proclaiming the coming of the New-Born King “Peace on earth to men of good will” must resound down the aisles of time and find a responsive note in our souls.
Our recent victories have come as “glad tidings of great joy” to the hearts of all sympathizers of the allied cause. With them must come the thought of the end of this conflict, Peace. And if we are to have a genuine peace we must have love; a great love; love of our enemies as well as love of friends. We, in the magnanimity of our heart, can justify this love for forgiving them “for they know not what they do.”
Thus entering upon this festive season of the year with love in our hearts, we will partake of that peace, - that old and genuine peace to men of good will.
Station Chaplains
Station Drum and Trumpet Band
[Photograph of a band with instruments in front of an aircraft]
Under the capable leadership of Drum Major J.S. Young, the station Drum and Trumpet Band, starting from scratch last July, has since developed to the point where it is decidedly a credit to our station. It is composed of 28 people. 14 of them airmen and the rest airwomen. These people were all (with the exception of the Drum Major) novices at the time of the organization of the band, and their present standard of excellence is the result of long hours of diligent practice. To the members of the band we say “Hats Off”.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 19
Works and Building Section
[Photograph of a group of men in uniform]
The boys of the Works and Building Section are a group of highly specialized workmen under the general and able supervision of Flight Lieutenant Rogerson, Engineer in Charge.
This section is usually the “happy hunting grounds” for the scroungers of scrap lumber, paint, putty, nails, electrical equipment and the occasional borrowing of a plumber’s wrench. (When the Electricians return them).
The Tractor Operators under the capable direction of Corporal Hack are a very efficient staff. It is the duty of their section to maintain the airport roads, runways and dispose of snow which would endanger the take-off and landing of aircraft. These men also operate the crane used for handling aircraft damaged during forced landings. Corporal Hack’s men annoy him by whistling while they work. Flight Sergeant Bishop says that they just whistle.
The Carpenters Section is supervised by Flight Sergeant Bishop and Sergeant Lamothe. Under the watchful eyes of these N.C.O.’s the buildings are kept in a perfect state of repair for Officers, N.C.O.’s W.D.’s and Airmen (mostly Officers, N.C.O.’s and W.D.’s).
Paint is used extensively in this type of work and to the painters goes the credit for the clean, well decorated buildings.
Perhaps the station plumbing can be compared with the finest, and the honors go to the Works and Building Plumbers for the care and maintenance of this intricate system. The plumbing department is supervised by Flight Sergeant McKenzie, who cuts inconveniences in plumbing down to a minimum … (when he remembers to bring his wrench on the job-.
Two other very important divisions located in this Section are the Electricians and Firemen. These are in charge of Corporal Colley and Flight Sergeant Mathias, ably assisted by Corporal Smyth, Corporal McCallum and Corporal Lawson, who operate the heating plants and boilers on the station.
Our office staff ranks with the most efficient. The office boy is very intellectual and the stenographer is “Hm, Hmmm, some class”.
But perhaps if it wasn’t for the assistance given by our Works Foreman Flight Sergeant Cambridge (have you seen the plumbers, carpenters, electricians, painters?), our branch would not operate so smoothly.
If you should doubt our efficiency, just phone us. “Service with a smile” (maybe).
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20 THE DAFOE DIGEST
The Gremlins at Dafoe
By A.D.
Lately a great deal of attention has been paid to the little-known Gremlin, and, as information on this subject is so scarce, this article is dedicated to the types of gremlins particular to Dafoe.
In order to gain information, a typical Dafoe gremlin was interviewed. He turned out to be somewhat older than the other gremlins, and had a very serious (you might even say poker-face) expression. This was a short commissioned gremlin, and he was sitting on the engine of an aircraft. He carried a spanner in one hand and some chewing gum in the other and was frantically applying both to the motor before him. His customary sangfroid had been destroyed by the obvious importance of the job before him, and upon our approach his usually expressionless face took on a scowling look. Upon trying to approach him I was rebuffed and informed that he was much too busy to try to get one-even one-aircraft serviceable for the morning’s flying. He finally broke down and wept like a gremcub (baby gremlin) “I became so discouraged”, he cried, “for you reporters continue to print articles on all the bad gremlins and there are so many of us who are the good type”. “Take myself for instance,“ he continued, “it’s my lifetime job just repairing these so-called engines as fast as my destructive relatives make them unserviceable.”
“You know there are a great many more types of gremlin than this world dreams of, and so far only our flying unit has received any attention. Possibly you remember ‘Black Friday’ as we called it last summer. Well, ever since then our flying personnel wont [sic] even talk to the rest of us, and they continue to flaunt their log books at every opportunity”.
By this time the grease grimed gremlin had warmed to his subject and, seizing me by the arm, exclaimed: “I want you to meet the ace of the flight that was on duty on “Black Friday”. He led me into the cockpit of a nearby aircraft, where a dark handsome gremlin was intently studying the instrument panel. On being introduced, he flashed a dazzling smile and exclaimed, “Buenos notches senor” – indicating that he had spent some time in a land where the Spanish tongue is spoken. With a gleam in his eye he confided, “I was on duty on Black Friday, and was posted to an aircraft with a pilot making his first solo circuit. When we came in to land he put down his undercarriage, and when we were about one hundred feet off the ground, I fixed the indicator to show the wheels were up. He became flustered and raised his undercarriage up once more, so we made a belly landing and washed out an aircraft.” He chuckled savagely and stuck out his chest displaying the wings and decorations he had won that awful day. He told us some more of his experiences, and soon became absorbed in thought-planning nefarious methods of fooling pilots.
So we passed on through the various hangars and shortly came upon a tall, handsome gremlin officer drilling the gremlin duty flight. My guide who had now become “Gus”, began a very enthusiastic description of this officer. “You know”, he remarked, “we find that since our work parallels that of the airforce so closely, it is most satisfactory to arrange our ranks like theirs. For instance, I am a Flight Lieutenant, that officer is a Flying Officer and the men he is drilling vary from AC1s to Warrant Officers.
Gus’ voice took on a puzzled tone, and he observed, “That Officer is a man of the wide open spaces, you can see that just looking at him, and yet the airgremlins don’t seem to appreciate his drill periods whatever”.
“To be frank”, Gus continued, “there is a great similarity between the Air Force and our Organization, for with us it is also the air-gremlins who know nothing but do everything; the Sgts. who do nothing but know everything and the officers who know nothing and do nothing.”
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 21
As we rounded the corner of the next hangar a strange sight met our eyes – for we were confronted with a most distinguished looking gremlin carrying a bow in a hand, sailing majestically over a hangar in pursuit of an arrow.
Gus chuckled quietly to himself and remarked that Cupid was taking his exercise early today.
So we left the hangars and proceeded to walk around the rest of the camp and very soon we met a rather singular gremlin who wore his collar backwards. We stopped and chatted for a short while and I couldn’t help but notice how plump and well-fed this dumpy gremlin appeared.
We continued on our tour and in approaching the next building Gus’ features lighted up and he remarked: “This is our hospital unit, and although there are wonderful opportunities here for both the bad and good types there is no doubt that the good types are definitely in the majority. They have done very well, and have made quite a name for themselves here at Dafoe. In fact I think they are all good types in here with the possible exception of that curly one down there, about whom we sometimes have our doubts”.
Proceeding to the last building in the camp, Gus resumed his worried look, “See here”, he stated, “if I don’t get back to my hangar those bad types will have all my aircraft unserviceable – so we will look in this building and then I must leave you”.
“This is the guard house”, he continued, “where the gremlins who are framed (Gus spoke out of the side of his mouth) are kept for varied amounts of time.”
We inspected the guard house and found only one prisoner – not a gremlin as you may think – but a human. His beard touched the floor; his uniform hung loosely upon him; he was chained hand and foot to the wall and presented a deplorable appearance.
“This prisoner”, Gus explained in hushed tones. “has been here a long time – years before I came to Dafoe. His is a sad case, for it seems he wrote an article for the Dafoe Digest concerning the various types of gremlins at Dafoe – way back in 1942.
THE CONTROL TOWER
Unfortunately, to many, particularly newcomers, the chief duties of those in the Control Tower are misunderstood, being considered more or less as spotters for infractions of flying regulations.
While it is true that we must endeavour to see that flying regulations are enforced, in so doing we are working in the interests of all flying personnel. Their safety is our first objective and at the same time to control traffic in such a manner as to eliminate confusion as far as possible.
It is only through 100 per cent co-operation of all those engaged in flying activities that our objective can be accomplished and to those who fail to co-operate – you are not only making our task more difficult but creating confusion among your fellow airmen and possibly endangering the lives of many.
In our everyday activities some of us forget the importance of the mission we are on. “The winning of the war”. Every act that hinders or makes more difficult our successful operation is helping our common enemy and any damage to aircraft, other property or injuries to personnel through gross negligence is nothing short of sabotage.
Those in charge of the Control Tower will always welcome constructive criticism from any member of the R.C.A.F. regardless of rank, and, should you at any time feel that we are not working in the best interests of the majority, do not complain to your pals, but draw it to our attention, as misunderstanding only breeds discontent and unrest, resulting in curtailment of our war effort.
Little drops of water and little grains of sand make the Mighty ocean and form the Mighty land.
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22 THE DAFOE DIGEST
A Note from the W.D.’s
You know us. We’re the W.D.’s. Just about six months ago fifty of us marched on to the station and you groaned and said “what did we do to deserve this,” or “Dafoe was bad enough before but now …”. There have been more and more of us coming since then and now there are … And you aren’t really sorry we came at all. Or are you?
We’re the people who own the Barrack Block at the far end of the Station. You don’t see very much of that Barracks except at night when you take us home from the movie … and then there’s apt to be a pesky corporal nosing around with a flashlight. There’s no justice at all, is there!
We manage to have a lot of fun in those Barracks. Of course we’re a bit crowded now. That gives us a few inconveniences to grumble about…but then we have to have something to grumble about. We have to hurry home after supper to get at the showers first cause the hot water always runs out about 7 o’clock. And they won’t let some of us turn on the lights when we get up at four cause there are some sissies around that don’t go to work till eight … and they seem to like sleeping. But you get used to sweeping your bunk in the dark. And you get used to a Barrack Block where “if you want privacy, shut your eyes”.
There’s always something crazy going on in those W.D. Barracks. Just now it’s quite likely to have a Ouija Board connected with it. That thing predicts anything form the results of the Trade Test Board to the winner of the next Kentucky Derby. The corporals are unreasonable about that too. They insist on putting it away at lights out time. As if we’re sleepy!
And we’re those crazy people who took a dog on sick parade. But the M.O. put the plaster cast on his paw and now he hobbles around on three feet. When he’s better we’re going to make him an official resident and guardian of the Barrack Block.
We gripe about being stationed at this last outpost just like you do. “Why did they ever send us here,” we say. But every time one of us is posted we go tearing up to Headquarters Bldg.
[Photograph of women in uniform on parade] Dafoe Precision Squad on Review in Winnipeg
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 23
and tell A/Section Officer Darte “We don’t want to go. Can’t you send someone else?” Criminal isn’t it!
But you do see quite a bit of our Canteen. It’s not a bad place. You come down any evening to play ping pong or Chinese checkers and drink cokes with us. And lots of you come down on Wednesday nights. We like that cause we can dance till midnight. We all agree the music could be better (except when the orchestra obliges), and the refreshments could be improved on (if we have any at all). But you can’t gripe too much cause its free – except when we take up a collection to buy wax for the Barrack Room floor. And you wouldn’t begrudge us a couple of cans of wax, would you?
So now we’ve been here for six months, and you’re quite used to us. You’re used to finding a couple of us in every section of the Station from the guardhouse to workshops and the Control Tower. You’ve got over the shock of finding people who like drill enough to form a Precision Squad and take it to Winnipeg. You aren’t really surprised any more when we confess that we like to shine our buttons.
You agree now that we can be of some use in the Air Force, that, surprisingly enough, we can accomplish a lot of work. And you’re sort of glad we came to Dafoe. Aren’t you?
Introduction to the Parachute Section
[Photograph of women packing parachutes]
If you walk north on ‘Bust Rd’ until you come to ‘F’ hangar you will find our well-equipped parachute section. You can’t miss the place because right out in front, where all can see, there is coal, coal and more coal. To the left of the door there is a small sign, reading, rather humorously, ‘KEEP OFF THE GRASS!’. I say humorously because there really isn’t any grass there.
As you open the door you are apt to think that you are walking into a showroom instead of a place of work; everything is so neat and orderly. The first thing that strikes the eye is the row of parachutes hanging from the ceiling. They are periodically hung out this way to air.
Running parallel with the windows is a long table, the top of which is highly varnished to prevent the snagging of the silk canopy while the ‘chute is being packed.
Now for some pertinent information on the personnel who operate this essential section. LAC Davidner is the ‘bloke what runs the place’. If you can’t find Hy in the section he is almost sure to be in the target room, busily patching up drogues on the sewing machine. Then there are AW1 McLeod, AW1 Armitage, LAW Nekorak (a budding wireless operator) and last but not least AW1 McNutt. Pam is now resting up in the station hospital, having injured her ankle recently. Don’t take my word for it but I heard that the incident occurred whilst Pam was trying to beat the rest of the section to pay parade.
If anyone doubts the efficiency of the packing done in this section I would advise them to communicate with WO2 Haggert who is the only airman on this station who has tried ‘hitting the silk’. He swears by ‘em.
[Page break]
[Double page of photographs depicting life at Dafoe]
AUSSIE ANTICS
W.D. ORDERLY ROOM STAFF
PRINCESS ALICE VISITS DAFOE
STATION DANCE
AFTER THE BALL
SPORTS DAY
IT COMES OUT HERE
SHINING UP FOR WED. NIGHT HOP
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26 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Equipment Section
Equipment is the Life-Line of the Service
[Photograph of people in uniform across a desk]
Everything from an aircraft (complete as per inventory column six) for a new button for a uniform passes through the different sections of stores on your station. Few people realize the enormous amount of articles and materials covered by that one word ‘equipment’, without which the R.C.A.F. simply could not be. Quite a procedure is required to take care of an article and its covering voucher from the time it is received in I. & R. Section until it is issued to the section or person demanding. This procedure is completely outlined in C.A.P. 10, R.C.A.F. Vocabulary of Equipment, in sixteen parts. This publication is the book and bible of every equipment assistant.
There are fifteen equipment assistants on No.5 B. & G. School including the N.C.O.’s Sgt. Stevenson, Cpl. Anderson and Cpl. MacMillan. All personnel work separately in their own sections yet work together as a unit to make equipment one of the smoothest running sections on the station. All this complicated procedure goes under the able direction of F/L Jamieson who has taken over the responsibility since the recent posting of F/Lt. Winter to Saskatoon. F L Jamieson is ably assisted by F/O Logan who is well known to everyone, and to one and all he is tops, in the lingo of the Air Force.
All equipment upon arrival is taken to the I. & R. – Issue and Receipt Section. There all the necessary unpacking, checking and voucher action is taken by Cpl. “Ed” MacMillan and LAC Chantler. The words “necessary voucher action” covers a lot of work, voucher numbers are allotted from the different voucher registers and to the uninitiated the language spoken here is like Greek. From the I. & R. the different types of equipment are taken to the different sections to be taken on charge, binned and issued when needed.
In clothing stores, considered by many THE section of equipment the many different articles “airmen for the use of”, are taken on charge by LAC Young or LAC Edwards. Soon after a new shipment of clothing has arrived a crowd can be seen both within the section, overflowing through the door and out on Bust Road as the personnel of the station replenish their depleted wardrobes; depleted through “fair wear and tear” of course. Clothing parade is the most popular parade on the station and if one wishes to remain a smart looking airman or airwoman it is one parade that should never be missed.
Airwomen made their debut in the equipment section on this station at the end of June and since then have won the confidence and praise of the men with whom they are working. Six girls arrived on the station at the time but now, owing to AW Baggaley winning her stripes as an Admin. Corporal and the marriage of Bea. Lehman to LAC Bill Chantler in September there are now four of the six augmented by the latest arrival AW1 Ruth Parr.
Ruth may be found in Publications, dozens of books and not a good story in the lot. Here are found all the important manuals, reference and hand books which are so necessary to the many different subjects which must be known to “keep them flying”. Here also is kept all the stationery, pencils, paper, ink and erasers. Ruth knows where they are to be found and issues them to the demanding party with a cheery smile.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 27
Another section under the supervision of a W.D. is Barrack Stores. Here LAW Vi Houck takes care of the cleaning utensils, cleansers, cups, saucers and cutlery, the hundred and one things that make life worth living on a station.
Gasoline and oil for the aircraft and M.T. vehicles are issued by LAC Dewey Huart and LAC Ted Love. These two can usually be found somewhere on the station chasing an elusive gallon of gasoline or quart of oil. They are never seen without their inevitable note book or paper and are busily figuring volume and temperature.
The nucleus of the equipment section is the Orderly Room which is always a hive of industry. LAW Harris can always be found with her red head buried in some ponderous tome which contains ‘tally-cards’, on which is recorded all the stock held on charge on the station. Here too LAW ‘Butch’ Bailey takes care of the innumerable registers and books in which are kept the records of the movements of all the covering vouchers. If not in the orderly room ‘Butch’ is searching for some voucher which seems to have taken a wrong turn somewhere on its long journey.
It is in Technical Stores, better known as Tech. Stores, where we find all the aeroplane parts, from the largest component down to the smallest nut. These parts, known as major equipment are taken care of by Cpl. ‘Andy’ Anderson and LAW Toseland, known as ‘Tosie’ to everyone. These two make sure that each plane has a motor, the proper number of props and all the other parts necessary to keep a plane in a serviceable condition and in the air. Here also are “C” class stores which are “consumed in use” in the many building and repair projects that go on about the station. These are under the charge of LAC MacNab. The fine instruments found in the different aircraft are also kept here under the strict supervision of Sgt. Dick Stevenson and LAC Barney Shaw. Tools also come under these two men.
LAC John Brooks is another member of our happy family and is in GIS Stores, while LAC Bilokieli is in Maintenance Stores. These two recently changed sections as happens occasionally to give one a working knowledge of the different sections.
Also part of the equipment section although not equipment assistants are AW1 Margie Robb and AW1 Pam Griffin, our clerks and hard working typists. Margie handles the typewriter in the I. & R. Section and Pam in the Orderly Room. LAC Potvin who is also in the I. & R. Section is also an essential part of our set up.
There have been several recent postings from the station. Our congratulations go to Archie Morrison, now P/O Morrison, upon receiving his well deserved commission and his posting to parts unknown. Three of our boys also received overseas postings lately, these are LAC Tanney, LAC Goodwin and LAC Herriot, we miss the boys on our daily rounds and wish them the best of luck and God speed on their ventures. We lost our Flight Sergeant to Trenton during the month of November. It was a sudden move and everyone misses ‘Pudgy’ Munro from clothing stores. It will be a loss on clothing parade not to see his smiling face behind the counter when one is having difficulty with a
(Concluded on Page 39)
[Photograph of a group of men in uniform beneath an aircraft]
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28 THE DAFOE DIGEST
[Canadian Y.M.C.A. Logo]
Tom Macdonald
Supervisor
Office in Small Canteen
The “Y” representative has one function on this station – To be of service to you. His office is situated in the small canteen. For the information of those who do not already know
1. We have a reading room which is one of the nicest in the R.C.A.F.
2. We have a library of over 2000 fiction books. LAW (Winnie) Pope is in charge.
3. Magazines are distributed through the “Y” office.
4. Stamps may be purchased here. (Winnie again).
5. Cables and wires sent anywhere. (once more its Winnie).
6. Writing paper and envelopes are supplied free.
7. Pressing irons are available. (See Winnie).
8. Small games of all kinds.
9. Home entertainment in Saskatoon on 48s is arranged.
10. Ping pong balls are supplied.
11. Bus and train information is available.
12. All of the material for wrapping and sending parcels is available. (Winnie again).
The “Y” representative is secretary of the sports and entertainment committees, and would be happy to talk to you is you are interested in any particular phase of either of these.
The “Y” movies are shown every Friday night in the Rec. Hall. They are free of charge and everyone is welcome. This show is always billed for 8 o’clock but we are sometimes a little late in arriving , due to the fact that the movie is first shown in the hospital, and sometimes takes longer than is anticipated. This might be a good time to commend you lads and lassies for the good spirit you have shown in cheerfully accepting the delays so caused in the past.
We would also like to take this opportunity to wish you each and everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
DAFOE Y.W.C.A. HOSTESS HOUSE
The Hostess House operated by the Y.W.C.A. and under the supervision of Miss A. Black, can truly be described as a friendly place to meet. Situated at the entrance to the Station, its facilities are available at any time between 10:00 hours and 22:30 hours every day of the week.
Here you may meet your wife or visit with your friends; you may spend an enjoyable evening in pleasant surroundings, or a quiet afternoon writing letters home; you are invited to enjoy games, sing songs, or have a friendly chat over a good cup of tea or coffee served with some delicious cake or cookies.
Information may be obtained in regard to a good place to spend your next 48. Or if you wish to have your family near by, information may also be given regarding accommodation in Boom Town or one of the neighbouring towns.
The Hostess House was officially opened January 21st, 1942, by Miss Black, assisted by Mrs. N. Muir. It’s attractive furnishings were chosen by the Saskatoon Y.W.C.A. Committee, under the leadership of Miss Roxanna Smith as convenor.
The present hostesses, Miss A. Black and Mrs. A. MacKillop welcome you to the Hostess House as a “Home Away From Home”.
SUMMARY OF ACTIVITIES OF LADIES AUXILIARY
Since January 1942
1. Sent 1112 packages of 25 cigarettes overseas.
2. Donated $91.70 to Red Cross.
3. Auxiliary members collected the sum of $60.20 from residents of Boom Town for the Red Cross during their last drive.
4. Donated novelties to Dafoe Carnival which netted $11.80. Proceeds going to Red Cross.
5. Made up and sent the following articles to the Red Cross Society: 16 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of mitts, 14 pairs of gloves, 7 sweaters and 10 complete layette sets. In addition a number of socks and sweaters which are now being knit are to be turned in by the end of December.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 29
[Photograph of five men beneath a sign RCASC]
It now behoves us to answer the ever recurring question, “What are you, the Army doing at Dafoe?” The book says we are responsible for the receipt, custody, issue and accounting for food supplies – in short we are the boys that dish out the rations. We also have the social obligation of being “At Home” to the Ration Board at 10 o’clock every morning. This is a friendly little gathering of Officers who discuss everything from the weather to the latest news on the milk situation. The big problem under discussion at present is, “Why are the hens laying only one egg in the mornings”, we hope to have the answer soon. The work ration is an all embracing term which includes some sixty different commodities. We must ensure that all these commodities are correct as to weight, quality and condition. Included on this list are chicken, turkey, apples, oranges, grapefruit juice and what’s more important a very generous ration of tea, coffee and sugar. This indeed is a far cry from the “beans and bullets” serves our fathers in the last war. We belong to that portion of the army called the Royal Canadian Army Service Corps whose motto is “Nothing Without Toil”.
We, the RCASC would like to take this opportunity of wishing the rest of the station a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and we hope you like the turkey.
ENTERTAINMENT
The work of the entertainment committee has been carried out during the past year under the direction of three different chairmen, F/O Carr was the first and was succeeded by F/L Langdale who in turn was succeeded by our present congenial little President F/L Patterson. “Doc” takes a real interest in it, as he does in everything he sets his hand to, and under his guidance the entertainment committee is functioning smoothly and well.
During the past year the entertainment committee has arranged some 10 airmen’s dances and one station dance. These are very popular and the entertainment committee is due for a lot of credit for arranging them in the face of all the difficulties that naturally present themselves on an isolated station. Also directly under the supervision of this committee are the following –
Weekly informal dances in the W.D.’s recreation hall.
Weekly social hour in the Small Canteen.
Concert parties (these are brought to the station as often as possible).
Amateur hours.
Dramatics.
Graduation parties in the Small Canteen.
Y.M.C.A. movies in the hospital and Rec. Hall on Friday nights.
These are the regular features of the station entertainment but the committee is interested in any form of entertainment that is available for the station personnel.
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30 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Sport HEADLINES [drawing of a hockey player]
By F/O A.H. Edwards
Dafoe has advanced rapidly in the realm of sport during the last six months. Against all the worst those over-sized rats the gophers could do, the P.T. Department (with the help of the Duty Watch) have finally put into shape one baseball diamond, two softball diamonds, a running track and a soccer field. At the time of going to press our own dear Drill Hall is having its face lifted. There are many rumours going around that when it is finished a veritable sports palace will be opened to the personnel with great pomp and ceremony. A swimming tank filled with nice clear filtered Dafoe water will be the feature attraction. Showers and lockers for Airmen and W.D.’s are to be attached. Recreation and lounge room will be available in side lean-tos. In offices, there to welcome you, will be the Padres, the Educational Officer, the Auxiliary Officer and last but not least the P.T. and Drill Officer (Who said that?).
A sports room well stocked with all the necessary equipment for all types of games to be played on the main floor will be available. This calls for a plug – Can you resist those beautiful W.D.’s and the money boxes they held at monthly pay parades? – A baby gopher has it that a bowling alley will be there also. Gophers are funny animals! Could it be true? Only time will tell. Now to cover the main sports.
Soccer
Under the capable leadership of LAC Magson, Course 60 Air Bombers came out on top if the station soccer league. In the play-offs, Sgt. Andrews led his Sgt. Pilots to noble defeat by extending Course 60 to their utmost. During the season the Officers captained by the C.O. gave the Sgt. Pilots quite a few hard tussels. Padre Dunphy played exceptionally well as goalie for he didn’t need to use his hands.
Softball
The softball league got off to a poor start twice, for when the lads weren’t busy swatting mosquitoes they were trying to keep the rain drops off. During lapses in the attacking swarms, the officers team pitched by F/O Peglar managed to emerge victorious from many a hard fought game with the Sgts. The chagrin of the Sergeants knew no bounds, when after being beaten by the officers 18-7 at the last game of the season, they had to play hosts to the victorious team at their mess. A good time was had by all and may this rivalry continue next year. So say we all.
Baseball
Due to the difficulties of transportation, the baseball team could not play many outside games, but under the guidance of LAC Mitchell and F/O Carr, a good team was built up and several games were played on the station against visiting teams and on some of the towns in the surrounding district.
Cricket
The Sgt. Pilots under the capable Sgt. Pilot Wheeler played hosts to a visiting team from Copeland. A bumping pitch didn’t prevent the Sgts. From coming out on top. This game started quite late in the season but next year it is hoped, that since
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 31
equipment is now available, it will get away to an early start.
Volleyball
The volleyball court behind the Small Canteen came in for a great deal of use, especially by the Tarmacs. The court back of the W.D. Canteen was used extensively by the W.D.’s and Airmen but it is a question whether the volleyball was the chief attraction as far as the Airmen were concerned.
Station Sports Day
The day was sunny and so was the disposition of most of those on the station, for it was July 14th and they had an afternoon off. An extensive afternoon and evenings entertainment had been planned and thanks to the efficient and enthusiastic work of the Sports Day Committee led by F/L Padwick, it proved to be a tremendous success. Maybe because the W.D.’s being stationed here gave the lads a chance to show off their athletic prowess.
The monster parade organized by F/L Langdale, started off the day. Maintenance carried off the first prize of $15 cash with their clever imitation of a Fairey Battle, or was it a Kittyhawk?
The 23 track and field events under F/O Edwards and his P.T.I. staff, Sgt. Martin and Cpl. Taylor got away to a good start with the running of the sprint events. The Station was divided up into units namely: Observers and Gunners, Bombing, Gunnery and Drogue, G.I.S., Headquarters and Maintenance. The Observers and Gunners proved themselves worthy of aircrew by flying away with the Station Trophy with a total of 38 points.
The picnic lunch after the events was a novel idea and well received by the personnel, judging by the rapid disappearance of the huge piles of sandwiches and cakes prepared by F/S Mawattere and his staff.
The concert in the Recreation Hall received quite a hand, particularly the Hula Hula Dance by a group of station officers. It was whispered that an urgent invitation was extended to them by Earl Carroll to become members of his Follies.
All in all it was a great day. Dafoe can really do things and I don’t mean perhaps.
Badminton
Although the Sports Committee has provided adequate equipment for this popular sport, the tearing up of the drill hall floor has destroyed our Badminton courts. Two courts are being marked in the Rec. Hall, and it is hoped that under the leadership of WO2 Eaton and Sgt. Morgan, a somewhat curtailed tournament will be held in the near future. Worthwhile prizes are to be given and it is hoped that a good many will enter.
Boxing and Wrestling
Under the leadership of Sgt. Steinhauer the new P.T.I. it is hoped that quite a few matches will be staged for your entertainment in the near future. Adequate equipment is available and Sgt. Steinhauer is anxious to meet those who are interested in this form of athletics.
Hockey
With the first-rate ice surface which is now available a station hockey team and flight teams are in the process of organization. If you are interested contact F/O Edwards. More about this game in another addition. [sic]
Skating Rink
A skating rink for your pleasure has been prepared on the side of the hockey rink. A limited supply of men’s and women’s skates are available. Another baby gopher was overheard to say that skating parties with real music were being contemplated. Should this be a sufficient hint for you to have your skates sent to you from home. Perhaps the jolly old gentleman, Santa Claus, could help here?
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32 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Gunnery Flight
GUNNERY FLIGHT is sometimes called the ‘melting pot’ of No. 5 B. & G. School; what with the varied nationalities (New Zealanders, Englishmen, Canadian and Americans) and the odd accents, one might imagine himself in New York City. However, the absence of bright lights, and the scarcity of beautiful girls dispels the illusion from ones mind.
The close co-operation that exists among these “fighters for freedom” is an example to all the Allied Nations.
The pilots of Gunnery Flight have indeed been honoured in that they are entrusted with flying the almighty Bolingbroke. Now, this “hotship” is considered very good time in a pilot’s log book.
If one were to walk into the pilot’s room of Gunnery Flight he wold [sic] be amazed at the enthusiasm shown by the boys in their endeavour to get in flying hours. If it were not for the spirit of good friendship that is so apparent in this flight, there would be many an argument over who was to take up the next aircraft. However, all the boys are working together with only one thought in mind; “get the exercises done”.
To give credit where credit is due, we must not overlook the all important ground crew who are doing an excellent job in keeping things humming around the flight. Their avid interest in their work is surpassed only by their desire to do a better job.
Nor must we forget the eager students for whom the Gunnery Flight is really run. They are keen to finish the course and zealously execute their duties in the air and on the ground. We have great respect and admiration for our air gunners, for these are the men who are to shoot our enemies out of the sky.
Our boys are firm believers in the old adage “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”. Between flips you will see them relaxing at ping pong tables, and on any washout day they may be found on the rink engaged in a fast game of hockey. It is a sight for sore eyes to behold the first attempts of the boys from ’down under’ in the gentle game of ice hockey. If it were not for the stout hockey stick which is used more as a support than as a weapon, there would be many a ground loop on the ice.
The interest the boys have in their ‘home’ is best illustrated by their work in redecorating the pilot’s room. Every man is pitching in with brush and paint to make his room the cleanest and brightest on the station.
Our N.C.O. in charge of the orderly room is one of those men you just can’t do without; he is an ever present source of information and doctor for all our troubles. And how would we log our correct flying time if it were not for two very obliging W.D. timekeepers.
Last but not least, we must mention our Flight Commander, Pilot Officer Dagnon and his assistant P/O Luma, who have taken over the job of running the flight, and we are doing well, thank you. The threat of “stern disciplinary action” brings out the best in all the men and consequently we have a smooth working organization.
All in all, Gunnery Flight is acquiring the reputation of being the best flight on the station due to the esprit de corps of all the men. Such devotion to duty is truly a criterion by which all working units of the station should abide, and by doing that we shall all be working for Victory.
o o o
SELF CONTROL
He determined to pass by his favorite tavern on his way home. As he approached it be became somewhat shaky, but after plucking up courage, he passed on. Then after going about fifty yards, he turned and said to himself: “Well done, Pat, me boy. Come back and I’ll treat ye.”
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 33
Bombing Flight
This flight should be known as the ‘International Squadron’ for who shall say that thirty-two pilots are not enough to be called a squadron, besides these thirty-two come from all corners of the globe – Americans, Canadians, Englishmen, Frenchmen and New Zealanders. Notice how diplomatic one must be in dealing with such temperamental aviators as these; even to the point of referring to them alphabetically so there will be no argument as to who ranks first…
Our ground crew, a most important part of our flight also claim various nationalities, in fact there are a few of them I am told who do a very good Red Indian dance when their “spirits” are right.
Talking of dancing we are fortunate in having in our midst a famous English tap dancer and crooner, one Dyre-Mathews by name, who was persuaded to give a charity performance for the privileged (?) people of Watson.
The female element is provided by two very popular time-keepers, LAW’s McIlveen and Pickford, who are chaperoned by Corporal McDonald, a rather onerous job as these Dafoe “wolves” are very persistent.
Just in case you don’t know it we would inform you that “Bombing Flight” is the hardest working flight on the station, bar none. Night flying quite often goes on till daybreak. Day or night there is hardly an hour that a ‘Mighty Anson’ is not tearing the skys [sic] apart with the roar of its powerful twin engines. Let it be known to all that the pilots of our flight are not “fair weather pilots”. While others stop flying “when the birds are on the ground” the Anson boys keep flying until the birds can’t keep their feet.
Congratulations to W/O “Pat” Heaven on his recent promotion, to P/O Tomlinson and P/O Witney on obtaining commissions. We miss W/O “Bill” Haggart, S/P ‘Duncan’ McMartin and S/P “Howard” Spiers who have recently been posted. W/O Haggart and S/P McMartin were both members of the world famous Caterpillar Club.
This would not be a complete flight description without mentioning Bob West our O.C. of Englishmen.
BOMB GONE, MASTER SWITCH OFF.
o o o
Drogue Flight
Drogue Flight means Lysander (Lizzies), Targets, Lizzie Pilots, all the boys of the flight who “keep ‘em flying” – plus LAW Patrick Maxwell.
Credit for the fact that we constantly fly the cleanest aircraft on the station, also for the excellent serviceability, goes to our ground crew.
The purpose of Drogue Flight is to supply Gunnery Flight with aerial targets. These targets are towed on a cable behind the aircraft. We don’t expect the student gunners to miss far enough to riddle our Lizzies, but when gunnery pilots come down with stories of students who wanted to know “Do we fire at that striped aircraft ahead of us?” – Well we wonder.
It seems lately that we have supplied another target. We believe that at the end of the month the hangar inspection committee go into a huddle and decide something like this – “Gunnery Flight has done a good job this month considering their Bolingbrokes and turret problems; Bombing Flight has completed an exceptional number of exercises with the number of aircraft they have. What about Drogue Flight? How many exercises have they done? The answer is “None”. We don’t do exercises. So another direct hit is scored with a beautifully carved dumbbell which adorns Drogue Flight office for another month.
All kidding aside, the members of Drogue Flight would like to take this opportunity to wish all the rest of the personnel on the station a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
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34 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Wireless Section
We extend the Season’s Greetings to Wing Commander Lowe-Holmes, his staff of officers and to the personnel of every section on the station and hope that all the good results of the past will be even better in the future.
Although not taking an active part in the bombing and gunnery exercises we consider that we are just as important in the successes up to date, as any other branch, in as much as the team work between members of the crews of the aircraft would not be possible if it were not that the communications between them were in perfect order. As many have already found, when the intercom’ or radio “go on the blink”, the feelings of futility and blasphemy push their ugly heads to the fore, and it is natural that anyone in such a condition is not “in the groove”.
The members of this section, working in three shifts, remedy faults, overhaul and install equipment in aircraft which are newly arrived. It is no simple occupation, as a full knowledge of the principles governing the transmission of sounds over wires, or across the ozone, is essential, otherwise a hopeless tangle will result, with the ensuing loss of an aircraft until remedied.
In fact there is an officer of repute who considers that he can call “Garrick 4” from his aircraft when miles away from the drome without using the orthodox transmitter-receiver used by other pilots. (We will mention no names). We also have an aircraft which insists on getting its intercom’ wiring changed from the time it leaves the ground until it lands. (This is undoubtedly due to Gremlins).
We would welcome any wireless fan to drop in and see just what sort of a place we have.
Just a word to users of our transmitters in the aircraft, PLEASE – if you MUST remind yourself of your ancestry – turn your transmitter off.
Instrument Section
The Instrument Section was born many months ago at No. 5 B. & G. School, Dafoe. As pioneer of this Section at this airport, it is presumed that in any headaches pertaining to instrument work, go ask Corporal Schmerling. So when this bit of a Joe job came along, ye ole N.C.O. was sought and sunk with it, only it is not instrument work. It is as a reporter that I was roped in.
This is the best Instrument Section built in any school in the air training scheme. We can do any instrument job on any type of aircraft presented to us. We have maintained an assortment of fifty different types of instruments. From Link Trainer, bombsights, camera units down to the cheapest $3.50 variety of a-c instrument – and we haven’t been stumped yet.
Many of my old instrument gang have been posted, a few to the two coasts and some overseas. To the boys overseas, LAC Winberg and LAC Ramage, we hope that they will do as good a job there as they were trained to de here. Good luck boys.
As N.C.O. in charge, I would like to say Good Luck, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Instrument Section.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 35
Trophy Winners to Date
[Head photographs of airmen in uniform]
LAC EARLE J.
LAC SINCLAIR D.J.
LAC EDEN
LAC VAN METRE
LAC DARIS C.A.
LAC SHORTTS F.C.
LAC ASHDOWN
LAC MOORE R.I.
LAC PEARSON T.W.
LAC GOLD G.
LAC TAYLOR D.A.A.
LAC KEHL LAC COUPE R.
LAC PARKINSON
LAC McDONALD
LAC STEVENS G.F.
LAC AMOS H.E.
LAC DESMARAIS B.
LAC LAIDLAW R.W.
LAC JOHNSON R.R.
LAC HOWLETT A.D.
LAC PAYTON A.D.
LAC JACKSON
LAC WATT W.D.
[Photographs of trophies]
AIR FIRING AND BOMBING TROPHY
Presented to the Air Observer or Air Bomber who makes the highest average score in his gunnery exercises and the lowest average error in his bombing exercises while at this school.
AIR FIRING TROPHY
This trophy is presented to the member of an Air Gunners Course who makes the highest average score in his gunnery exercises while at this school.
These trophies, donated by the Station Institute Committee were first presented on May 25th, 1942 to the courses graduating on that date at the suggestion of W C Lowe-Holmes. They have been competed for by every course graduating since that date, resulting in the students and pilots taking a far keener interest in their air exercises. This keenness has been mainly responsible for Dafoe attaining the highest results in air exercises for any B and G School in Canada.
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36 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Beneath the SOUTHERN CROSS
Aussies are once again at No. 5 – so now let this bunch tell you a little about their impressions and a little about themselves. It has not taken us long to find out why letters from Australians who had come to Canada before us have been written in such glowing terms. Everywhere we have been, invitation far more numerous than we could accept have been offered us, and hospitality far greater than we dared hope for was extended to us.
We have made many friends, so that now we have address lists a lot longer than those with which we left Australia, and, before our first home mail came we were receiving letters from our new friends here.
Coming from a land where most parts rarely have a winter temperature below 45 above, naturally we are going to feel the cold of your winter. Even now when we remark on the cold we merely get in reply a laughing “wait till it gets 60 below” – well we’re waiting, we have to. We’d like to take you to Australia and turn the heat on a little. But then just as you take us skating to warm us up (all but our ears and noses), we could take you surfing to cool you down. Surfing is to Australia what skating is to Canada.
Canada has shown us some wonderful scenery – the rugged grandeur of the Rockies, clothed in stately pines, snow-capped; hills on the West Coast where maples, gold and red in the fall, mingled with the pines; the sweeping prairies, and something which few of us had seen before, the calm beauty of a snow-covered landscape. These things we will never forget.
But how different is all this from Australian scenery. Down there are vast sunburnt plains, dotted with gaunt sentinel gum trees. And mountains which seldom if ever see snow; blue low-lying mountains, covered with gums where deep gorges conceal sparkling mountain streams. These flow into coastal rivers which pass through green and fertile land into the ocean. This same ocean sweeps in long curling breakers onto sandy yellow beaches – Yes, I think you’d like Australia.
Two important things to conclude – we like Canadian girls very much, but we don’t like Canadian beer. Well, what can you expect when Confucious say: “Australian beer is a potent brew; Made from hops of Kangaroo”.
o o o
AUSTRALIANESE
For many years a distinctive form of English has been in use in Australia. Our slang is unique, but it is so much a part of our everyday speech that we have compiled this short list of the words in common use amongst us.
bagman – hobo, who carries hit kit in a bundle.
bananalander – Queenslander.
bludger – scrounger.
by cripes – by golly.
bonza = super.
billabong – crescent shaped lake.
boong – Australian aboriginal.
cliner – girl.
chewing the rag – lengthy discussion.
cobber – close friend.
corn stalk – New South Welshman.
cow cocky – dairy farmer.
crow – homely female.
crow eater – West Australian.
Digger – Australian soldier.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 37
drongo – R.A.A.F. rookie.
fossicker – queer old chap.
giggle house – deserted house used by hoboes.
gin – black woman.
gibber, goolie – stone.
goonskin – R.A.A.F. overalls.
fair cow – nuisance.
hooray, hooroo – goodbye.
having a lash – trying something new.
handed the raw prawn – led up the garden path.
hump the bluey – on the track.
jumbuck – sheep.
jackeroo – station (ranch) hand.
like a gin at a christening – awkward.
mulga – rumour.
on the blue – out of luck.
on the wallaby – see ‘humping the bluey’.
plurry – native swear word.
scrub – n. bush country. v. washout.
Sweet Fanny Adams – nothing, not much.
sheila, sort – see ‘cliner’
stone the crows, starve the lizards, stiffen the bats – wouldn’t it?
strike me handsome, strewth – blow me down.
stonkered, knocked up – exhausted.
trimmer – see ‘bonza’.
tucker – food.
o o o
An Aussie airman was sent to Canada. The cold was so great that soon he froze and died. The body was taken to the crematorium and placed in the incinerator. Two hours later the attendant opened the door and was horrified to see the Aussie still there and shouting at them: “Shut that dam door, this is the first time I’ve been warm since we arrived”.
UNFOLDING LIFE
A scorching sun hurls down its smouldering heat
Across the plain.
A hot, perspiring jackeroo exclaims,
To curb the mongrel at the leader’s feet,
“You black bitch; come behind!”
The gates of peace clang shut. We next behold
Recruiting drives.
Our jackaroo is on the Air Reserve;
A budding pilot, dreaming wings of gold;
He buys and [sic] Air Rec. book.
“Hey! Rise and shine!” ‘All out you drongo coots!”
“Tell off by flights!”
“No bludging droob!” “Get in the flaming queue;”
“C.B. for me; I’ll bet my ruddy boots.”
Why yes! It’s I.T.S.
The posting’s come; a fortnight’s Pre-Em leave;
And Smith is paid.
A sea-trip; Frisco – Rockies – Manning Pool –
A pep-talk – lunch – and then M.O.’s parade.
In short – an S.A.P.
A timid bulb peers through the Arctic gloom
Of Dafoe snow;
And Smith exclaims, as Time impels him on
To his ecstatic, cruel, “White Christmas” doom,
“You white bitch; come behind!”
Teacher: Willie, this is the fifth time I have had to punish you this week. What have you to say?
Willie: I’m glad it’s Friday.
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38 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Airmen’s Mess
[Photograph of people in uniform] Princess Alice Inspects the Mess
For years the master minds of the world have been chasing that will-o-the-wisp – perpetual motion, in all the corners of the earth but Dafoe. The writer believes we have it right in our own Airmen’s Mess.
Every hour of the day this unceasing movement goes on in the preparation of well balanced menus served on time to the multitude of ravenous mouths that file through its many portals. We can well be proud of our mess and the efficiency of its entire staff under the able direction of A/S..O. H.M. Smith and F/Sgt. Mallaterre. Not only do they fill the bill during regular hours but those unavoidable, though schedule-upsetting, early and late lunches are also taken in their stride. All this says nothing of course, about the generous manner with which they tackle the refreshment problems of our various teas, dances and social events on top of their busy daily routine.
Still, the odd funster insists on murmuring, “Never have so many stood in line so long for so little”. ‘Twas always thus.
We are happy to give space to the recent wedding of one of our staff, AW1 Skidmore (nee Skuce) which was solemnized in the Y.W.C.A. Hostess House in November. We heartily wish “Skid” an icefree road through life.
Recent postings have deprived us of two well known faces; AW1’s Tomlinson and Jones, who are now at McLeod and Vancouver respectively. Here’s for success in their new environment.
In conclusion may we express our sincere wish that “Dafoe Digest” will continue to great things.
[Photograph of people preparing food]
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 39
From the Education Office
When Socrates, the famous Greek philosopher was condemned to die for ‘poisoning’ the minds of Greek youths, a little group of his most intimate friends gathered around him as he prepared to drink the fatal hemlock. They asked him to leave them a final message of guidance and comfort. His message was, “I would have you look to yourselves”. This message we would pass on to all personnel who would seek to better their education by the correspondence method of study, for it is essentially an individual method and demands from the student much personal responsibility and self-direction. They set for themselves a worthy goal and are prepared through self-discipline to achieve that end.
Unfortunately we have become the victims of a traditional misconception as to the real meaning of education. We speak of it as something that can be “imparted”, something that can be “taught” by one to another; but in the last analysis all learning is individual. No one can “give” you an education, you become educated through your own efforts, mental and physical. The best of teaching only serves to facilitate the learning process. However, the correspondence method offers no short cuts to education and it is not a substitute, it is the real thing. Although making rather heavy demands upon the student, it pays off handsomely. It enlists in its service the highest and best of human qualities – determination, independence, resourcefulness and will power. It demands a high, but not disproportionate price, and it never defaults on its payments.
Now to get down to cases. Provided by the Canadian Legion War Services, there is available to all personnel a complete and varied list of subjects that might be had free of charge. Too numerous to catalogue here, they include: Introductory Courses which are on the level of the upper Elementary School, Grades VI, VII and VIII; Secondary Courses which are set out as Academic, Commercial and Technical. In addition, by our Canadian Universities there are offered to service personnel remarkably rich curricula which include all the regular university classes. Other institutions from which correspondence courses may be had are: The Certified Public Accounts Association of Ontario, The International Accounts’ and Executives Corporation of Canada, and the Nova Scotia Agriculture College.
For information, advice and assistance concerning correspondence courses, remuster classes, study groups, remustering to trades or to aircrew, library facilities and related affairs, come to the Education Office in the Small Canteen.
To all and sundry we sincerely wish the Compliments of the Season and Health and Success in the future.
o o o
BARRACK STORES
The Barrack Stores, a compliment of the equipment section, plays an important part in the daily life of any station. At this station, this department of supplies in under the direction and supervision of Barrack Officer James Lee, a Captain in the last war. It is true that this unit does not fight in the war technically but it contributes and plays an important part in supplying many essentials to those who do. From the barrack stores are issued sleeping comforts, cooking and dining utilities, furnishings for offices, equipment for lecture rooms, provisions for quarter and work rooms. The responsibility for the care of the station laundry falls into this section.
o o o
EQUIPMENT SECTION
(Continued from Page 27)
pair of shoes or tunic that does not seem to fit properly. In this connection we take this opportunity to welcome our new W/O.
These then are the members of the equipment section on No. 5 B. & G. School and one and all join in wishing the other personnel of the station and all others who have been kind enough to read this far, A Very Happy and Prosperous New Year.
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40 THE DAFOE DIGEST
M.T. Section
Greetings folks! from the good old M.T. Section – the backbone of No. 5 B. & G. No doubt there are some people who are even going to have the nerve to question that statement and might even suggest that if such is the case, then poor old No. 5 has a pretty weak back. But let us assure you, such is not the case. Where else can you find a crew on duty 24 hours a day, ready and willing (if not always able) to co-operate with any section on the station? And tell us if you can how any section can work any length of time without direct aid from M.T.? No folks, we feel pretty important around here and are sticking to our guns so don’t try and talk us out of it.
It’s really an education in itself to look into the daily routine of the section. Calls for M.T. vehicles can originate at many points of the station. A half hour over our dispatcher’s shoulder will substantiate this point. The chief difficulty that normally presents itself to a dispatcher, is to find the required vehicles on the establishment to perform the needed transport duties.
Besides our daily routine runs such as mail, freight, rations, garbage, etc., a sample of what can be expected of M.T. if the powers that be decide to send up one plane for one bombing exercise, might be interesting to note. An M.T. tractor pulls the plane out of the hangar, our gas tender has to see that it is full of gas. Before it takes off our crash tender and ambulance must be available for any emergency. Before it gets to its target the M.T. must have crews at the different ranges. Considering everything goes O.K. the bomber can now carry out his exercises but think what we can go through is something goes wrong and the plane crashes! From then on from the C.O. down through the O.C. Flying, the O.C. Training, technical officers, medical officers and maintenance crash crews expect the M.T. to pull trucks out of hats.
Also to be considered among our numerous complaints is the situation of the station and the beautiful cow paths leading to it from all directions. Located as we are, equidistant from the metropolis’ of Dafoe and Watson, the nearest rail centers to the station. M.T. vehicles seldom if ever, leave the unit’s gates for less than a thirty mile return trip. Does this add up to an enormous mileage? Our records answer this to the tune of an aggregate monthly mileage of approximately 25,000 miles. Brother, that’s a “heap of distance” and you can easily imagine the amount of maintenance work and records necessary to keep things running over these roads.
So much for our work. Our strength at present is just two-thirds of our establishment. However, that is quite an improvement in the past six weeks and we have hopes of being even better in the near future. We have had the honor, this past month, of welcoming four more of the fairer sex to our section, making a total of eight and boy, they really are pitching in and doing a fine job. Some of the boys have been here so long they are trying to sell shares on the place. For instance folks meet Cpl. Bob Burke. He was the first airman on this station and is now making arrangements for his third Christmas in Dafoe.
Congratulations are in order to “Bob” though, and also to Cpl. George Hannah. They both appeared the first of this month wearing the two bar chevrons.
I suppose we had better draw this to a close before we take up the whole magazine, but before we go let us congratulate the people who put forth the effort to make this magazine possible and may it go on record that the M.T. Section is behind any move to improve old No. 5 B. & G. The next time though, you feel like cussing M.T. just count ten and remember we have our worries too.
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THE DAFOE DIGEST 41
Maintenance
[Photograph of an aircraft as a float from a parade] Maintenance Entry “Ambrosia” – First Prize in Sports Day Parade
Aircraft maintenance is very important at any time, but during the winter months at a school like No. 5 B.& G. almost a twenty-four hour per day is imperative. The maintenance is organized on a flight system with the various flights doing their own daily inspections and minor running repairs within the facilities at their command, while ‘A’ Hangar under Flight Sergeant Luker’s direction takes care of major repairs, engine changes, etc., and ‘B’ Hangar accommodates two shifts – one day and one night – the day shift on minor repairs, of which there is a never ending stream, and the night shift concentrates mainly on periodic inspections, acceptance checks, etc.
F/L Laidlaw is the Maintenance O.C. with F/O Klassen, F/O Low and P/O Topham as engineering officers. Sergeant Majors Armstrong and Yellowlees are the WO2s and are the direct supervisors of the whole maintenance system. They have a vast amount of work and discipline to account for. No wonder a Sergeant Major is supposed to be everything from a mother to words unprintable.
Winter brings on a never ending battle to the maintenance ground crews. Engines won’t start, hydraulic systems fail and you can’t handle a wrench with mitts on, but the flying programs must go on. All in all the ground crews from maintenance and flights have the coldest jobs on the Station.
Most of the riggers and fitters spend many months at the Technical School in St. Thomas, Ont. and emerge with a ‘C’ group. Then after several months experience, if they show ability and willingness are rewarded with a higher grouping. Not all are born mechanics, however, but the smart make up for the lesser group and it is really astonishing how lads right from farms and with comparatively little training in a pre war sense are able to step in and keep Bolies, Battles etc. in tip top shape. The N.C.O.s have to be mechanics, dicips, physiologists, etc., as well as knowing air force administration, and the whole plan and smooth running success really depends on an efficient N.C.O.
A shortage of spare parts, tools, etc., is always a bug bear of maintenance, but there is usually an answer so that serviceability can be kept up.
Team work is as much a requisite on the ground as in the air and it combines the effort of all the fitters, riggers, instrument makers, electricians, workshops, etc., to keep up an operating serviceability standard.
o o o
Hubby: “What are we having for dessert tonight, dear?”
Wife: “Sponge cake, I sponged the egg from Mrs. Brown, the flour from Mrs. Smith and the milk from Mrs. Jones.”
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42 THE DAFOE DIGEST
Photographic Section
As this is our first attempt at so-called journalism, perhaps an introduction to the personnel of the section and a brief (I do mean brief) outline of our duties and activities would serve best as a beginning.
First, and always foremost, may we present F/L F.E. Rader, O.C. of the section, and for the benefit of those who have not yet made his acquaintance, he can best be described as a splendid officer, and in the vernacular of the R.C.A.F., “a right guy”. In order of rank, we next have Shorty (you ain’t kiddin’) Sgt. Bob Arnott, who, it is said, has a “cold front” toward photo scroungers. LAC Picard, G.E. – Ted to almost everyone comes next. He’s the chap one sees dashing thither and yon transporting a formidable looking instrument called a Camera Ground View. (It looks like a modified piano accordian on stilts, the camera we mean). A recent addition to our staff is Miss “Pat” Holden, one of the W.D. personnel, a graduate from the latest course at Rockcliff, and rather keen about the whole thing. Last, but certainly not least, we have LAW Boriskewich, M. (Marie, for short), formerly of the Officer’s Mess staff, where, we are told she is sadly missed.
Now arises the question of where the photo section fits into the program of our school. Upholding our section, of course, and contrary to common belief, a wide variety of work keeps us definitely on our toes. In keeping with all intent and purposes, Camera Gun exercises receive our first consideration, and it is our responsibility to supply, process and deliver the completed exercise films to G.I.S., where they are projected for the benefit of the trainees. To fill in any spare moments that we might have, we putter about with class pictures, station record and progress shots, equipment modifications, copy jobs, identification photos, social events, visiting celebrities, publicity photos and what have you, not to mention the odd aerial job thrown in. And so you have it.
As this is the season of the year when greetings and good wishes are in evidence, may we take the opportunity of extending to W/C Lowe-Holmes, Commanding Officer, Officers, N.C.O.s, Airmen and Airwomen of No. 5, our Heartiest Seasons Greetings and Best Wishes during the coming year.
O. R. Timekeeper
There are probably more interesting jobs than keeping time, records and checking log books, but we time clerks have our interesting moments too, especially at the end of the month when it comes time to check the Pilot’s log books. Strange how two people can take figures from the same log sheets and have entirely different totals, but it happens at Dafoe. Go to Sergeant Crook or Sergeant McKenzie, D.S. for particulars. Their books have a particular habit of being a few hours out, and of course the poor time clerk gets the blame. With much figuring and a few headaches, we get them all straightened out some way and believe me, we don’t have any dull moments, and certainly no lazy ones.
[Page break]
THE DAFOE DIGEST 43
Post Office M.P.O. 1206
[Photograph of Post Office personnel at work] “Any mail for me?”
On June 9, 1942, M.P.O. 1206, opened for business on this Station, under the direction and supervision of the Canadian Postal Corps, later to be assisted by the R.C.A.F. W.D. personnel of the station.
Equipped with all the facilities of a city post office, this department renders all the services offered by the Postal Services Department, including Savings Bank Division. It actually hums with business from the opening hour 8.30 hours until closing hour (1900 hours).
The personnel of the Station Post Office consists of Sgt. Craig, Cpl. Hance and Pte. McCormick of the Canadian Postal Corps and Edith Roswell, Margaret Jessiman, Vivian Dow, Carol Pinner, Doris Blaine and Connie McGregor of the Women’s Division.
RULES FOR BOOM TOWN RENTERS
1. Do not pay more rental than the law permits. If you do, severe penalties will be imposed on you as well as the landlord. In case of doubt verify your rental by consulting the Station Adjutant.
2. When you vacate tour accommodation hand your Maximum Rental Decision form to the incoming tenant or leave it with the Station Adjutant for subsequent delivery to the new tenant.
3. If you rent by the month the landlord can require you to give him a month’s notice when you vacate. To avoid any trouble have a definite agreement with your landlord that you may vacate on a day’s notice, a week’s notice or such other notice as will be mutually satisfactory.
4. Your landlord cannot require you to vacate on less than three months notice unless you have not paid your rent, are damaging the property or are otherwise misbehaving.
5. To be legal he landlord’s notice to vacate must meet four requirements:
(1) It must be in writing.
(2) It must be given at least three rental months notice.
(3) It must specify the reason for which it is given.
(4) The specified reason must be one of the reasons mentioned in the Rental Regulations. (See Section 16 (3) of Order no. 108). Your Station Adjutant has several copies.
6. Under no circumstances whatsoever can a landlord increase his rental without approval of a Rentals Committee. Such approval when given, is always evidenced by a Maximum Rental Decision form.
7. If you are renting a furnished accommodation the landlord cannot remove the furniture or any part of it while you remain in occupation. If you vacate and the furniture is then removed the landlord cannot rent the accommodation unfurnished without first applying to a Rentals Committee for the fixation of a new maximum rental.
[Page break]
44 THE DAFOE DIGEST
The Security Guard
The Security Guard and the Service Police wish to extend their Christmas Greetings to the Commanding Officer and all personnel on the Station. We wish to send an extra hearty wish to all those well meaning Airmen we have had the pleasure to entertain during the past year. By the way, some of our guests failed to sign the recommendation and suggestion register.
We have been unfortunate in losing the services of Flying Officer Gilbert, whom we congratulate on his promotion to Flight Lieutenant. Others we should like to see still in our midst are F/S Millbank, Sgts. Williamson and Trotman and Cpl. McClurg.
We would be very interested of the Equipment Section would advise us as to the future tenant of Sgt. Williamson’s summer issue.
Newcomers to the Unit are Flying Officer Holland the D.A.P.M. and Sgt. Hicks., Provost Sergeant and Cpl. Fiddes. Congratulations to Sgt. Hicks. We hear a member of the M.T. Section is preparing him a medal for that sprint, followed up by a brilliant rugby tackle one night in Wynyard. We would advise the M.T. Section to accelerate faster.
We hear with great regret that LAW Wegram is shortly to leave us. The Service Police wish her luck in her future duties. We understand she is to cook in the hospital. May she turn out the patients in record time.
It is advised by the hotel manager, Sgt. Hicks that accommodation is strictly limited over the New Year, as we know from experience, the Xmas guests have so enjoyed themselves, they have extended their stay. So do [sic] now and book your reservations immediately.
We would like to advertise our resort: The Hotel is adequately equipped with hot and cold water, rooms furnished with HARD SIDE UP BOARD BEDS and the doors fitted with special locks and a novelty in the form of a window. This enables you to see your opposite number. NO boys, we do not receive the Women’s Division. Before the birds have thought of singing you are up gaining that glowing appetite. Well it is said that the Service always puts weight on a man, boy it sure does, for instance you start off before breakfast weighing 140lbs an by the time you are ready for your mornings sport, you will find yourself 200 lbs. Congratulations to the Messing Committee, it must be a new brand of calories. This sport consists of strapping on your haversack and walking down to the Sergeant Major and asking him how it is played. Well, he hands you a nicely polished piece of wood with a tube down the center and the game starts and ends in one hour dead, if you aren’t dead you should be.
The afternoon is spent in precisely the same way as the morning. With a bit of polishing and shining, we feel sure you will be an expert by the time your sojourn is up. If you walk around and wonder why everyone is staring at you once you have left us, remember you have a very straight back and have been de-smoked, de-coked and de-anything else.
We wish to congratulate Sgt. Green, Cpl’s Moore and Kalb on their promotions. We wish to extend our apologies to all flying personnel if we have caused any difficulties by the searchlights. We are not allowed to keep them on permanently so we just have a peep, and sometimes it is interesting. The Security Guard are looking forward to the hockey season and as we have a very hot team all lined up, we should like to have a few practice games before we enter the finals. Would any other Sections who are interested give Local 25 a ring any time of the day or night and we will fix up a game.
[Page break]
THE DAFOE DIGEST 45
CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF EVENTS, YEAR 1942
February 20 – Airmen’s dance held in Recreation Hall. Decided success under guidance of F/O J.A. Carr.
March 7 – W/C Lowe-Holmes arrived from No. 31 B. & G. School, R.A.F. Picton, Ont., assuming duties of Chief Instructor of this unit.
March 20 – Airmen’s dance held in Recreation Hall – largest attendance yet, ranging from 450 to 475. Another decided success.
March 23 – Second serious aircraft accident at this station. Sgt. Pilot, Haggart, pilot of one plane entered the ranks of the “Caterpillars” by parachuting to safety. LAC Harris, C.G. another student, was seriously injured in the crash and admitted to Station Hospital. He has since recovered.
March 25 – A three-act play, “Here Comes Charlie” was staged in the Recreation Hall under the direction of F/L W.H. Dunphy.
May 1 – Airmen’s dance held in the Recreation Hall – still another success to be chalked up to the credit of the Entertainment Committee.
May 21 – Mess dinner held in Officers’ Mess in honour of American Officers being transferred to the U.S. Armed Forces.
May 23 – Wedding of F/O C.W. Barnett, U.S.A., and Miss Mavis F. Freeman of Springwater, Sask., held in the Officers’ Mess.
May 26 – Anniversary of the opening of the Station – peculiar circumstance: American Officers departed for joint Canadian-American Board for their re-entry into U.S. Armed Forces.
May 29 – Another success yet – Airmen’s dance in Recreation Hall.
June 1 – Advent of Women’s Division - 65 Airwomen arrives as vanguard of W.D. personnel soon to replace Airmen in certain trades.
June 9 – M.P.O. 1206 opened banking facilities for the Station.
June 23 – Inspector General, A.C. Godfrey arrived for his annual inspection.
June 30 – Another Airmen’s dance and another success.
July 8 – The 85 Air Cadets from Saskatoon who had been stationed here since July 1st departed today after completing their summer training.
July 14 – Monster parade and sports day celebration. All the fun of the country fair plus.
July 23 – Third serious crash since station opened. Sgt. Pilot J.E. Parker, LAC M. Bowen and AC2 R.A. Ward were dangerously injured, and LAC R.C. Parker was slightly injured. Bowen and Ward are now well on the way to recovery.
August 1 – Group Captain R.A. Delhaye, D.F.C., handed over command of the station today to his successor Wing Commander P.W. Lowe-Holmes.
August 16 – Flight of 40 Airmen and 16 piece bugle band journeyed to Humboldt today to participate in a Decoration Day ceremony.
August 31 – Another Airmen’s dance in the Recreation Hall – nuff sed.
October 4 – First special week-end train for personnel on 48-hour passes operated this weekend to Saskatoon.
October 5 – Capt. Frank Armitage, Y.M.C.A. gave his impersonations of Shakespearian roles in the Recreation Hall.
October 11 – Harry S. Hay’s concert party from Saskatoon presented a variety entertainment in the Recreation Hall.
October 26 – W.D. precision squad returned from Winnipeg. This squad left on the 21st and paraded several times in Winnipeg in connection with the third Victory Loan Campaign.
October 29 – First Station dance held in Drill Hall – attendance approximately 1200 – successful event considering difficulties in arranging transportation for civilian personnel.
November 9 – The “Lifebuoy Follies Revue”, a travelling concert party organized by Lever Bros., Toronto, visited the Station and presented their show in the Recreation Hall this evening. It was an outstanding success – remember?
[Page break]
46 THE DAFOE DIGEST
BUST ROAD INCIDENT
or It Can Happen Here
By F/S Cunningham
“Hey you!”
“Huh… …who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Are you in the Air Force?”
“Am I in the … say, are you kidding Corp?”
“No. And take your hands out of your pockets.”
“Sure, but….”
“Where’s your hat?”
“Well you see, I was just going across to…”
“Where’s your hat?”
“I left it in the ….”
“What’s the idea wearing a sweater and no tunic?”
“I’m going across to…”
“And you’ve got no shirt on.”
“No. You see…”
“Take your hands out of your pockets! What are you doing with Flight Coghlan’s pant on?”
“These aren’t Flight Coghlan’s pants Corporal, I had my pants in the …”
[Drawing of two men]
“And what is that lump under your sweater? Hah! Bottles!”
“Yes, but I was going across to …”
“And why are you wearing slippers?”
“I just ca…”
“Don’t fidget. Stand still. And didn’t I tell you to keep your hands out of your pockets?”
“Well my hands are cold.”
“Then why don’t you wear your hat, gloves and coat? Hah! You’re a disgrace to the Service. And if I ever…etc…etc…”
P.S. – The poor guy was just trying to carry out orders. He’d gone to the Drill Hall for P.T. and the P.T.I. gave him a bunch of empty pop bottles to take over to the canteen. And through no fault of his own he had been given the wrong pants at the canteen dry cleaners.
MORAL: Leave this P.T. business strictly alone.
o o o
THE ADJUTANT
By A.R. Haskell
Who every morning, beats the lark,
Who works each day till after dark
Sans recognition or remark? –
THE ADJUTANT.
Who puts things right with G.H.Q.,
When “Whys?” and “Please explains” come through
Who knows a blooming thing or two? –
THE ADJUTANT.
Who’s always wanted on the ‘phone,
Who has no time to call his own,
Who’s uncrowned king without a throne? –
THE ADJUTANT.
To whom are applications sent
From “Yores sur most obedient;
“May I go ‘ome, I ‘ates this tent?” –
THE ADJUTANT
Who always tries to be polite,
Who’s always wrong and never right,
Who never pleases all ranks, quite? –
THE ADJUTANT.
o o o
GUNNERS
If I must be a gunner,
Then please Lord grant me grace,
That I may leave this station,
With a smile upon my face.
I may have wished to be a Pilot,
And you, along with me,
But if, we all were Pilots,
Where would the Air Force be?
It takes GUTS to be a gunner,
To sit out in the tail,
Where the Messerschmitts are coming,
And the slugs begin to wail.
The Pilot’s just a chauffeur,
It’s his job to fly the plane.
But it’s we, who do the fighting,
Though we may not get the fame.
But we’re here to win a war,
And until the job is done,
Let’s forget our personal feelings,
And get behind the gun.
If we must all be gunners,
Then let us make this bet,
We’ll be the best damn gunner
That have left this station yet!
[Page break]
[Cartoon of airmen on parade in front of an aircraft, with a dog, a puddle and a halo!] AUSSIE DOINGS
[Page break]
[Underlined] STATION COMMITTEES [/underlined]
STATION INSTITUTE COMMITTEE
President: Flight Lieutenant H.G. McBeth
Secretary: Pilot Officer J.A. Rolfe
Members: Flight Lieutenant E.W. Rogerson
Flying Officer A.H. Edwards
A S O M.Y. Darte
WO2 Armstrong, G.G.
R103609 LAC Johnston, R.B.
R89862 LAC Swick, G.E.
W302689 Cpl. Kimpton, M.E.
OFFICER’S MESS COMMITTEE
President: Squad. Leader W.T.F. Tourgis
Secretary: Flight Lieutenant J.M. Cruse
House Member: Flying Officer P.A. Logan
Messing Officer: ASO H.M. Smith
Bar Officer: Flight Lieutenant J.M. Cruse
SERGEANT’S MESS COMMITTEE
Honorary President: Flight Lieutenant R. Laidlaw
President: Flight Sergeant Driscoll, H.J.
Chairman: WO2 Tracy, F.P.D.
Secretary-Treasurer Flight Sergeant Barrett, E.P.,
AIRMEN’S MESS COMMITTEE
Chairman Pilot Officer J.A. Rolfe
Women’s Division: Corporal Walker, E.K.M.
Ground Instructional School: Corp. Dodd, E.R.F.
Training Wing: Corporal LeFebvre, L.H.
Headquarters Squadron: Corporal Anderson, J.S.
ENTERTAINMENT COMMITTEE
President: Flight Lieutenant A. Paterson
Secretary: Mr. T.G. MacDonald (Y.M.C.A. Rep.)
Members: Hon Flight Lieutenant W.H. Dunphy
Hon. Flight Lieutenant E.N. Morrison
Corporal Taylor, J.A.
SPORTS COMMITTEE
President: Flying Officer W.E. Brown
Vice President: Flying Officer A.H. Edwards
Secretary-Treasurer: Mr. T.G. MacDonald, (Y.M.C.A. Representative)
Members: Squadron Leader F.C. Stibbard
A S O M.Y. Darte
Flying Officer J.A. Carr
Hon Flight Lieutenant W.H. Dunphy
Hon Flight Lieutenant E.N. Morrison
WO2 R.B. Eaton
STATION LIBRARY COMMITTEE
President: Hon. Flight Lieutenant E.N. Morrison
Secretary: Flying Officer W.E. Brown
Members: Sergeant White, W.H.
LAC Hoare, H.
Tom MacDonald (Y.M.C.A.)
FIRE COMMITTEE
President: Flight Lieutenant E.W. Rogerson
Members: Flight Sergeant Wiebe, J.
AIRMEN’S WELFARE COMMITTEE
President: Hon. Flight Lieutenant E.N. Morrison
Members: Hon. Flight Lieutenant W.H. Dunphy
WO2 Tracy, F.P.D.
WO2 Eaton, R.B.
MINIATURE RIFLE CLUB
Honorary President: Wing Commander P.W. Lowe-Holmes
President: F/S Cooke
Secretary: WO2 Burnham, W.E.
Treasurer: Sergeant Talbot, J.L.
Lotho’d by Perfection Lithographers Limited, Saskatoon, Canada.
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
Dafoe Digest
Description
An account of the resource
The first issue of The Dafoe Digest, a magazine produced by No 5 Bombing and Gunnery School, Dafoe. Each section on the base has had a chance to write a short article about their activities.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1942-12
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
48 page magazine
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MGeachDG1394781-160401-06
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Canadian Air Force
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal New Zealand Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Canada
Saskatchewan
Saskatchewan--Dafoe
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Robin Christian
David Bloomfield
Anne-Marie Watson
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-12
air gunner
aircrew
animal
bomb aimer
bombing
entertainment
gremlin
Lysander
military living conditions
military service conditions
sport
station headquarters
training
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1236/17908/PThompsonKG15010092.2.jpg
1228b0ae132f79f88fb56c6e93ec38e7
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
Thompson, Keith G
K G Thompson
Description
An account of the resource
95 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Keith Thompson DFC (1238603 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, documents, photographs and training material as well as his navigation logs. He flew operations as a navigator with 101 and 199 Squadrons.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Mark S Thompson and catalogued by Trevor Hardcastle.
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
2015-09-07
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
Thompson, KG
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
Forces Preliminary course E.V.T. Sennen and Worth Matravers, Dorset, May - July 1946'
Description
An account of the resource
Colour post card of Sennen Cove annotated with 'The School' and 'Station Headquarters'.
Three small photographs of 20 service personnel informally posed in front of a blast wall, wooden hut and base of an aerial tower in background.
Small head and shoulders of a woman in a boat.
A cartoon cut out from Lilliput showing a decrepit car being worked on by four men, captioned 'First Impressions'. Annotated 'I filled up with dirty petrol in Norfolk before leaving for Corwall [sic], and did most of the journey with a jerry can on the front seat. All Jessie saw of me for some time were my size nines. and this was her comment on the cartoon 'It was our first meeting''.
Two small photographs showing the corner of a building with village in the background, captioned 'The Village Inn'.
A colour post card, captioned Land's End Point, North side', annotated 'Jessie's quote 'I had two choices, marry Keith or jump off Land's End, & am never sure I made the right one!!'.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1946
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two post cards, four b/w, two colour photographs and a cartoon on an album page
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Artwork
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PThompsonKG15010092
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Worth Matravers
England--Dorset
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1946
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.
African heritage
love and romance
station headquarters
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1258/17167/PBarronAJK1901.1.jpg
f6b3bac684a11f7127d93f5570e15270
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1258/17167/ABarronAJK190408.1.mp3
c98cabad42ac3ab3f8456bba3c8cb148
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
Barron, Andrew
Andrew James Kelton Barron
A J K Barron
Description
An account of the resource
Three oral history interviews with Flight Lieutenant Andrew Barron (1923 - 2021, 163695 Royal Air Force) He flew 38 operations as a navigator in 223 Squadron at RAF Oulton flying B-24s.
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
2019-05-10
2018-04-19
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Barron, AJK
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
NM: So, my name is Nigel Moore, it’s Monday the 8th of April and I am with Andrew Barron, in his house and he’s going to talk to me about his time in 223 Squadron as a navigator. So Andrew, can you start by telling me about your childhood and growing up? Where did you, where were you born and go to school?
AB: Well, yes, I was born in Chichester, I mean that’s a matter of fact, but my father was, as far as I know, he was a civil servant at the time. He’d fought in the First World War, he’d, he was born in 1893 and so at the outbreak of the First World War he was about eighteen or nineteen and I think he was in the Territorials then, and anyway he fought there, he was sent to Mesopotamia and we never talked about that, you know. I don’t think veterans of the First World War did talk about their experiences any really, much more than veterans of the Second World War: I think it’s taken the interest of our grandchildren really to spark off interest, you know. They’ve started taking an interest. Michael my son in law took us on a jaunt to the Western Front about twenty years ago and I was surprised at the number of young people, teenagers and early twenties and I think this is what has sparked our interest. As far as I am concerned, I’d been a student at the City and Guilds Engineering College in 1941 ‘42 when I joined up and prior to that I’d had an interesting career. My maternal grandfather had been in the Royal Navy, he’d been an engineer officer and I’ve often wondered since if his rather smart uniform and everything inspired my mother to push me into a naval career because when I was thirteen, thirteen and a half I was enrolled in the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth to become a naval officer. I had quite a, quite a pleasant time there really. We were, I’d, my father had been posted up to Wolverhampton in the early 1920s, I was born in 1923, I was about, I think about two years old when the family moved to Wolverhampton and I was essentially brought up in Wolverhampton and without realising it, I acquired a bit of a Midland twang, in fact enough that we were formed in to, we were, at Dartmouth, we were formed into tutorships, three of us would be assigned to a tutor for our education, such as it was, and my, one of my co-cadets, Charlie Badcock put the nickname on me of “Oiky Barron” [laugh] cause he had, he had picked up this twang. Obviously my parents either weren’t aware of it or didn’t assign any significance to it because, or I’m sure they would have done something about it. I often wonder whether it had any bearing upon my future career. Anyway, I spent three, three and a half years at Dartmouth and I got involved in some silly escapade. Somebody decided to pinch a rifle from the cadets’ armoury at Dartmouth and I happened to know a bit more about the, the makeup of the British standard military weapon at the time, the short magazine Lee Enfield, and they wanted these one or two guns that they’d pinched, they wanted them stripped down I think, so that they could hide them away more easily. Well Muggins knew a bit more about the rifle than any of the rest of them, so it fell upon me, and the result was of course it was very rapidly discovered and the miscreants must have, must have blabbed the name of their collaborators because I was up before the Commanding Officer in no time at all and the result of that was that in the spring of 1940 the Admiralty informed my parents that they didn’t think I was suitable material for a naval officer and so I was ejected. And this again was a subject which was never discussed at home. The war was on for one thing and my mother and young brother who was about three years old at the time, were evacuated to Wales where we rented a farmhouse for the holidays and so it was, it wasn’t a no subject, but if my mother had been on the spot she would no doubt would have probed my frailties, but she wasn’t, so she never did and father was, of course, commuting up to London. We lived in, we moved to Dulwich by the way just before the war and so nobody made any enquiries. My father just went to work and the first thing he did was to put me in to a crammers establishment in Holborn, the University Tutorial College in Red Lion Square, which just off Holborn to get my matriculation so that I could get into university and that duly happened and in the autumn of 1940 I was enrolled in the City and Guilds Engineering College to get a degree in Mechanical Engineering. I don’t know what I’d have done with it when I’d got it, but again the war was on so nobody knew what anybody was going to do with anything, in fact. And when I got to the City and Guilds I discovered that the University Air Squadron was still a going concern although they no longer did any flying training, they, if you joined the university air squadron at, in London you joined the air force as a u/t pilot, which I did in November 1941 and that had two advantages. One was that I acquired the airman’s number of 1398741 and having a 1 3 number had some advantages in the following few months and we did the ITW – the Initial Training Wing – which was the square bashing and all that sort of thing and so come the summer of 1942, by which time I had twice failed the, what was it, the not the, it was the, oh god I’ve forgotten what the examination was called, but it was the intermediate BSE. I suppose it was the equivalent of the higher, the higher matriculation, anyway it was the entry exam for the university and I failed that twice. It was in the days before they had – hm, what you call it – before it was, you had modular examinations; you took the whole lot and if you failed one subject or a couple of subjects you had to take everything again. And one, I think the first year I failed physics and passed chemistry and the second year I passed chemistry and failed physics, so I finished up in the July of 1942 without any academic qualification and I was called for the colours and by then they were all 1 8s so the fact that I was a 139, that was a bit of a one up to the other erks. Plus the fact that we’d been issued with the standard RAF uniforms with the standard brass buttons, not the chrome ATC buttons which we should have had as we were part of the Air Training Corps, and being a diligent young man, I’d polish my buttons very, very diligently, so diligently in fact that the raised portions of the eagles on my brass buttons had holes in them [laugh]. The drill corporals thought that was terrific you know; greatly admired that was. So there I was at ACRC, the Air Crew Receiving Centre, or arsey tarsey as it was generally know, as a, promoted to leading aircraftsman ready for the next stage. And the other thing I discovered that during that time the rules had changed and I was no longer a u/t pilot, I was a u/t pilot/navigator/bomb aimer, PNB. They changed the rules so that, you know, if you failed they had a wider field to put you into and I was posted, I spent about a fortnight I think at St John’s Wood and then I was posted down to Brighton to another receiving centre. I think that one was called, you know, I’ve got the documents there if you want the actual proper terminology, but it was the, I think it was an Aircrew Distribution Centre. And we were a very polyglot lot that was in our squad, we had several soldiers who’d re-mustered to the air force. They got fed up with, with you know, being soldiers doing nothing in Britain and there was some [emphasis] re-mustered aircrew. There was one chap I remember, Douglas, D.E. Batten who claimed to have been the rear gunner sole survivor of a Manchester which was shot down over Belgium in presumably 1940, late ‘40 or ‘41, or would have been ‘42, yes ‘42. I looked him up in Chorley’s encyclopaedic list of all the Bomber Command casualties and there was no mention of this chap’s name, so he, probably another line shooter who was, who just decided to change his trade, but yeah, I spent about a fortnight at Brighton, it was very pleasant, it was a nice summer, 1942, sunny and that. We didn’t apprehend the danger from the Messerschmitt 109’s which were sent over to strafe the gasworks just three or four miles up the road from where we lived in Brighton. So we carried on and then after about a couple of weeks I was sent to Sywell in Northamptonshire which was an Elementary Flying School, Flying Training School of the RAF’s to be graded as to our suitability for pilot navigator or bomb aimer. You did about twelve or fourteen hours in Tiger Moths and I emerged as a suitable candidate for pilot training. And then after that it was up to Heaton Park and I arrived at Heaton Park, Manchester, in about middle or late October, September, yes, September 1942, and to await posting to some school for pilot training. Well in fact I mouldered at Heaton Park for about five months because the rumour had it that one of the troopers had been sunk with great loss of life and so there was a hold up on cadets being shipped away abroad. But in fact what we didn’t know of course all the training was being held up to give priority to the troops being shipped to North Africa for the invasion of West and North Africa. So it wasn’t in fact until April 1943 that I was posted out of Heaton Park. In fact I was posted out twice. I was there all kitted up in my webbing and everything else and when my name was called out with one or two others and I was told I was off the draft and I was to go back to me billet. Well, no explanation was given, and like everywhere else at the time, you weren’t told if you didn’t need to know, you weren’t told and if you asked you were not very popular, you didn’t ask questions, you just obey orders. So I stayed there for about another two or three weeks, and then we finally did push off, we boarded this train and in the early hours of the morning we disembarked on the quayside which we later found was the Clyde and there was the bulk, the vast grey bulk of the Queen Elizabeth waiting to take us somewhere else. And I think, I say I, I can’t speak for anybody else, but because, I don’t think we discussed these things, I mean some blokes chatted to each other about what was going to happen and what was happening and so on. I didn’t, I suppose I was too well disciplined. Excuse me, I must go and have a pee I’m afraid, I’ve got a very loose. As I say, I mean as far as I was concerned, oh yes, we’re fireproof the Queen Elizabeth, you know, rocketing along at thirty.
[Other]: Are you all right darling?
AB: Yes thank you my darling.
[Other]: Apparently the docs have just phoned, they say have been trying to phone us all morning. The phone hasn’t rung.
AB: I thought we were fireproof, it wasn’t till I read quite recently that I discovered that we actually sailed from the Clyde about two days after the biggest convoy submarine conflict of the North Atlantic during the war. Two convoys left Canada, one was a slow convoy I think, something like about five to eight knots and the other was a fast convoy, eight to twelve or eight to ten knots, something like that, anyway, they sailed at a time they met more or less in the middle of the Atlantic and so did a whole lot of, what is it, I forget what the Germans called their, their groups of u-boats, their u-boats were sort of formed into groups of fifteen or twenty, something like that, and they were strung out in a line north south more or less in the middle of the Atlantic, and when one of them spotted anything interesting they’d send out a signal and they’d all converge on this spot. This had happened that there had been this tremendous battle I don’t know how many merchant ships and u-boats were sunk, but a great number, and we just missed that, it would have been, we wouldn’t have had a chance I don’t suppose if we’d been a couple of days earlier. Anyway we got to Canada and we were duly sent to a Manning Depot, the RAF Manning Depot at Moncton. I really don’t remember much about that. I was a, I think I was a, I wasn’t, you know, I wasn’t disinterested, I just, I never kept a diary of course, for one thing, and what letters I wrote home would have been fairly heavily censored and I’m quite sure that I wouldn’t have included anything interesting in them, if I had, and my parents didn’t bother to keep them or anything so I’ve no written record of what I got up to in Canada, it’s only just memory and as far as I was concerned Moncton, you know, the lights were all on, you could come out of the mess at eight or nine o’clock and then go to the cinema, you know, everything went on until the wee small hours, I don’t think the, none of the vittling or anything like that made any great impression on me. And anyway, in due course we were marshalled on to a train, again I don’t remember quite how spartan the train was, fairly spartan I expect, for our trip across Canada and I don’t know at what point we were informed where we were going, we just went and what impressed on me, I remember though being impressed by the Great Lakes, this, the fact that this train was umpteen carriages long and we wound our way along the north coast of I think it’s Lake Superior, the top lake anyway of the Great Lakes and you could see the front of the train from a way in the distance there somewhere, and we wound our way across and we stopped here, there and names were called out and men dropped off and they were posted to all sorts of exotic places like Saskatchewan and Assiniboine and Swift Current and so on and the only thing I remember of that was that somewhere out on this the over the Prairies which was flat as a pancake and featureless as a pancake and there was an edifice which would have done service as a bus stop in Britain and there were two or three civilians lounging against this building and two of them at least were fairly obvious of Red Indian origin and as the train pulled out sort of a couple of wags leant out and went [indian noise] these two chaps sort of lurched forward as if they probably would have hauled him out and done him if they’d, if the train hadn’t got away. Anyway, we ended up at Calgary as far west as the RAF’s aerodromes stretched and from Calgary we were, some of us were shipped up to an aerodrome called - what the devil was it called – Red Deer? No, that was the nearest town. Boden, Boden Ontario, Boden Alberta, and the nearest town was Red Deer and you know, a number of us got out and that was it and we did our, started this flying training and I got to the point where I was sent up on my first solo and I think I took about an hour and a half on this first solo; I know I touched down, several, more than once, several times, and sort of took off again because I didn’t think I’d made it properly and at the end of it I was sent up for another go around with the Chief Flying Instructor, at the end of which he said that he didn’t think I was suitable for pilot training, what did I fancy? And I thought to myself PNB, navigator bomb aimer. No, I don’t think I’d like to be a bomb aimer, what – fly to Germany in a blacked out bomber and drop the bombs and then fly home again. I had no idea that the [cough] that the bomb aimer in fact did a lot more than that: he helped the pilot, he helped the navigator, he helped anybody who needed it, and he manned the guns if necessary but I still didn’t fancy it anyway, I wouldn’t have fancied it. I’ll be a navigator. Then I thought no, I don’t want to be a navigator and fly in a blacked out bomber to Germany, I don’t know why I didn’t consider any other option of a navigator’s work. So I thought about it a bit more and then thought I’d be a Nav B, which was the navigator/bomb aimer which was the equivalent of the pre-war observer in the days when there was just a pilot and an observer. The pilot flew the aeroplane, the observer did everything else. He, he navigated the plane to wherever it was going and he dropped the bombs when they got there, he took the photographs if they wanted them and so on. So I said I’ll be a Nav B, which I suppose was quite a good choice and I was at the RC, Canadian Air Force Manning Depot, Edmonton at the time because obviously it was the nearest suitable dumping ground and there were a whole lot of Canadians on their preliminary training of course and a whole lot of Commonwealth airmen like myself who were having a go at something else, you know. There were chaps who’d been and got within a few weeks of getting their wings and had done something naughty, probably low flying, and been turfed out because the RAF was very strict on discipline like that, you know. You, they were very strict on low flying because a great many airmen killed themselves low flying because they thought they knew it all and they didn’t. And so I spent another two or three weeks at Edmonton which was quite good fun actually, we just mucked about and wasted our time, there was no training of any call, we weren’t taught anything, we could just do what we liked more or less and that’s what a lot of them did. The nerve had it or the word had it, that the Canadians had, they had big parade squares on all their stations and the Station Headquarters was built on the one side of this square and marked off with posts and everything and it had the flag, and when you went past the flag you saluted the flag. Well, that didn’t suit the Commonwealth airmen, particularly the Australians and that, and the Brits: they didn’t go for this saluting the flag so we would march all the three other sides of the square to avoid going past the flag. But the Australians took it one stage further: they commandeered the fire axes from the barrack blocks we were in because they all wooden barrack blocks and there were fire axes at strategic points and the Australians pinched the fire axes and chopped down the flag pole, anyway that was another thing. So then we were posted to, for the next training I was, for the next stage in our training and I was posted to Canadian Bombing and Gunnery School at Mountain View, Ontario, which is just about in the middle of Canada and that was about a, it was about a week’s journey, something like that and I was issued with a huge ticket, was about a yard or more long all folded up and sent on me way. For some reason, I don’t know why, I hitch-hiked down from Edmonton to Calgary, although the transportation covered this and that was interesting. I tried flagging down, um, what did I do? I think I tried, I tried flagging down a hearse and the chap said oh there’s a three hundred pound woman in there, I didn’t sort of really quite understand how heavy three hundred pounds was in human weight, and anyway they took me a few miles and then they dropped me off. I tried I think a young couple who were honey, honeymooning and they took me a few miles and then a vehicle stopped and it was full of Ukrainians because the Prairies were heavily, were heavily colonised by Central Europeans, the Ukrainians particularly, because when the American and Canadian railways were pushing their way through hostile Indian territory of course, were pushing their way through to the west they needed staff to, to live in settlements along the way which were refuelling stops for the railways, they had water and they had timber and of course that progressed as they wanted to, they wanted to settle these people, not just have them as, as settlers, so they canvassed Central Europe to find places which were similar in climate and soil where people would come and settle and live there and the Ukraine proved to be a very fertile place, and that’s where the North American tumble-weed came from apparently. The tumble-weed was endemic in the Ukraine and when they brought their seed with them, they brought the tumble-weed seed as well so the tumble-weed came from the Ukraine. Anyway, this car was full of Ukrainians and somehow crammed me in and took me a few more miles and I ended up in a van that was taking eggs to market in Calgary and then from Calgary I went west to see what Victoria was, Vancouver were like because my grandfather, maternal grandfather, had been in the navy in those parts, well so we understood anyway. He had a number of souvenirs of western Canada and China, we don’t quite know where those came from, anyway, I went there and then got on the train and about a week later I got out at a place, well I don’t know what the place was I got out, but anyway it was the railway station for Mountain View, Ontario and it was Canadian Number 6 B and G School. And that was very pleasant. We worked the Canadian system, that was we worked ten days and then we had a four days off, then we worked another ten days and another four days off and so on. It was a polyglot station too. Excuse me. We got a half a dozen New Zealanders, we got, we got about the same, I think, Canadians too. Some of them were sergeants and they were like the chaps back in England they re-mustered they decided that they didn’t want to stay in the Canadian Army doing nothing any more so they joined the, they re-mustered to the air force. There was one Canadian Jew, Moses Levine, and I think all the rest were made up of Brits, so it was a polyglot course. We spent about six or eight weeks there, very pleasant: it was the summer, it was hot as far as I, we were issued with khaki uniforms. The locals took us down on the beach, because we were on the shore of Lake whatever it was, Lake Eyrie or Lake, I think Lake Eyrie, we were on the shores of that and they took us down for a weenie roast [laugh] an introduction to these rather peculiar North American sausages, the weenies, the German sausages. And then at the end of that, oh we used to go up in twos and threes, it depended, we flew up in Ansons to do bombing, bombing training and Bolingbrokes to do gunning training. The Boligbroke was the Canadian, the Canadian made Blenheim and you had, I think you had four aspiring gunners and one lot of bullets had red paint on them, one lot had green, I think another lot had yellow and another lot were plain, and you used to fire at a Harvard which was, which was a trainer, single seat, well it was a, I say it was a single seat trainer, it was a trainer for the pilots who were destined to go on to single seat, to become single seat fighter pilots. And we were, the train on those things they used to count the number of coloured holes - if any - and you know, assess your ability from that. And then the gunnery, the bombing was done in Ansons, which dropped little, I think they were fifteen pound bombs, they were bomb shaped, and they let off a puff of smoke when they hit the ground and there were observers in towers on either side of the range and they used to line up on these exploding bombs and from that they’d assess your accuracy. So that was the bombing, the gunnery and then it was off to navigation school. Well up we went to Quebec. [Laugh] We got out there and they said: ‘No you’re too early, you’re not due for the next, you’re next due for the fortnight so, you know, buzz off on leave.’ So off we went on leave again! I and a few others decided to go down to New York and that was, as a boy one of my favourite articles of reading was the Great World of Adventure and they were death defying stories beloved of the old Victorians of the white man against the black man and the red man, and there were you know, tales of Africa and North America and all these forts, Fort Ticonderoga and other places on the, on the border between English America and well, it was of course French Canada. I don’t think the Americans ever, well they did see themselves, they had, I mean Louisiana and Alabama and these southern states were American, Canadian American but the northern states were French Canada and anyway I hitch-hiked and stopped off to have a look at places like Fort Ticonderoga and other places that I had read about which had been reconstructed and I remember I had a lift from an American naval lieutenant commander and he said what are you doing, I was going to New York and he said, oh I want to catch that bus or something, so he put his boot down and he had me on the edge of the back seat clutching the edge of the back seat as he went screeching along trying to overtake this bloody bus! He did in the end and I got on that and went down to New York and did all the sights, went up the Rockefeller Centre and oh you know, all the things, and being a very um, a very, what’s the word, erm, I can’t think of the word anyway, I didn’t know nothing about anything, I didn’t know what sex was, I didn’t know anything about anything like that, you know, and so, which is probably just as well cause I never got in to any trouble and I had a good enough time in New York. Then it was back to work and learning how to be a navigator and we were paired up for that and I was paired up with a, one of the New Zealanders, Johnnie Johnson, came from Christchurch, in er, he’d been a schoolteacher Johnnie Johnson had, and I enjoyed that, I did anyway, it was great fun. Learning where all the stars were. I remember when I was a small boy in Wales on holiday. I mean it was, I mean that was absolutely perfect viewing weather and my father trying to point out different constellations and it was just a jumble of, jumble of stars you know, and you couldn’t tell one from another, I mean now when you know the, you’ve been taught the stars I mean on a good night yes, so and so Betelgeuse and Bellatrix and all the rest of them and the Plough and that. They had a trainer, a celestial trainer which was like the thing they use in um, oh god, in museums and observatories where they have projections of all the stars and they can show you what any constellation looked like at any time within the last twenty, thirty, forty thousand years, something like that. Very interesting. If you, but again, many, many years before I came to appreciate the value of the stars. Anyway, so in due course I passed out in January 1944 as a Navigator B; I think I was top of the course, anyway, very near the top of the course, second or third. And again, did I have the inevitable leave? No, I don’t think I did actually. I think we were posted. Oh yes, I did have leave of course as I was commissioned and I had to get a uniform and everything, so I had ten days or a fortnight’s leave before boarding a train to go down to the Bahamas. Oh that was, you think oh gosh that’s a bit of a plummy sort of posting but in fact the general opinion was the chaps weren’t very keen on it because the buzz word was that all the chaps from headquarters in Washington and other places where the RAF had you know, posts buying aeroplanes, selling bombs you know, and doing everything else necessary for the conduct of the war, and the rumour was it had, rumour was it that these chaps used to swan off and have a good time there and you know, and keep an eye on the RAF cadets or whatever they were, who were training, but it was all bloody, bloody word of it, of any these chaps, not likely – I mean would you have gone down to the Parade Ground to see how the chaps are getting on? Or yes, I’d like a flight in a Liberator, or something else, whatever they were flying, you know, just to see how the chaps are getting on? Not bloody likely! You’d be off down the nearest well, place of disrepute. So in fact it was quite enjoyable, quite enjoyable and come August ‘44 there I was, it was different, again I was different from the others, it was a bit like arsey tarsey, you know, I was the odd bod, you know, I hadn’t gone through the Stansted - the Stansted? - the standard training rigmarole, I got to, I got to 111 OTU as it was called at Nassau in the Bahamas and me and the pilot were odd bods again because there were two sets of training: the first set of training was on the twin engined Mitchell, which was one of the American light bombers, it was the one that the Americans used to flew off the aircraft carriers to bomb Tokyo just to frighten the Japanese and anyway the normal practice was that you’d get two pilots put together and a navigator and they would be the basic crew of a B25. Well it didn’t happen with us. As far as we were concerned, old Pop Hedges, he was called Pop because he was twenty six, and he was quite old was Pop, worked for the [unclear] Smoke Company I think, in Watford, anyway he was, Pop and I were put together but we had a staff pilot too who was actually captain of the aircraft all the time and we flew all these exercises and so on and then we were posted across to Oaksfield which was where the Liberators operated from, the B24 Liberator which was the RAF’s long range reconnaissance anti-submarine aircraft, excuse me, and you were there crewed up with a pilot who’d, who’d um, no you weren’t actually, because the chaps who came across from, oh god, from what’d I say, Oaksfield, anyway, they came across, the chaps who’d been training on the, on the twin engined, came across as a captain and second pilot and navigator crew and they picked up RAF elements, wireless operators and air gunners who’d been shipped out from England and they made up Liberator crews. We came across and we were put under the command of a pilot, an RAF pilot who’d done about a half a tour with the RAF and was sent to the Bahamas to take a command. He was going to be a captain and so we were put under the command of a little Scotsman, Scotty Steel, and I was the second navigator to Freddie Freek, who’d done again, a half a tour as a navigator in Coastal and we had a half tour wireless operator, near time you went, near time I went I suppose., so that was it.
NM: Tell you what, Andrew that’s a good place to stop, for now and we will pick this up again.
AB: The demise of Andrew Barron at Nassau!
NM: Good place to stop, in the Bahamas isn’t it!
[Other]: Ah yes!
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 Andrew Barron. One
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Nigel Moore
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-04-08
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ABarronAJK190408, PBarronAJK1901
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Navy
Format
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01:02:46 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Andrew was born in Chichester in 1923. The family moved to Wolverhampton when he was about two years old and then to Dulwich just before the war. When he was 13 or 14 his mother enrolled him at the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth, where he spent over three years as a cadet. Following a silly escapade, he was expelled from the Royal Navy. He attended the City & Guilds Engineering College during 1941-42 to get a degree in mechanical engineering. Andrew joined the University Air Squadron and spent a few weeks at St. John’s Wood before being posted to Brighton to an aircrew distribution centre. He was then sent to RAF Sywell, an elementary flying training school. Following a few weeks on Tiger Moths, Andrew was sent to Heaton Park to await pilot training. In April 1943 he sailed on the Queen Elizabeth to Canada for a manning depot at Moncton. Andrew chose to be a navigator / bomb aimer and spent some time at Edmonton and Mountain View. They went to various bases for training on different aircraft and then to a navigation school in Quebec. After he passed out in January 1944 as a navigator, Andrew was commissioned and had leave before going to the Bahamas where he flew on B-25 and B-24.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943-04
1944-01
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Bahamas
Canada
Alberta
New Brunswick
England--Devon
England--Northamptonshire
England--Sussex
England--Dartmouth
England--London
New Brunswick--Moncton
Québec
Ontario--Belleville
Contributor
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Sue Smith
Anne-Marie Watson
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending revision of OH transcription
aircrew
B-24
B-25
Bombing and Gunnery School
Flying Training School
navigator
RAF Heaton Park
RAF Sywell
station headquarters
Tiger Moth
training
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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
Redgrave, Henry Cecil
H C Redgrave
Description
An account of the resource
187 items. The collection concerns Henry Cecil Redgrave (743047, Royal Air Force) and contains his decorations, letters and photographs. He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 207 Squadron from RAF Waddington. He was killed 13/14 March 1941. <br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Pam Isaac and catalogued by Barry Hunter.<br /><br /><span>Additional information on Henry Cecil Redgrave is available via the </span><a href="https://internationalbcc.co.uk/losses/119457/">IBCC Losses Database</a><span>.</span>
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2015-10-02
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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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Redgrave, HC
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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[postage stamp]
[postmark]
Mrs. H. C. Redgrave,
155 Fletton Avenue,
Peterboro’
Northants.
[page break]
[reverse of envelope]
[page break]
[RAF Crest]
Sgts Mess
R.A.F.
Finningley
Tues 1-10-40
Dear Jessie,
Many happy returns of the day darling you look younger and prettier than at 21. Married life must have done you good. Im [sic] sorry I could not manage to get out to send you a card but I am sure you will understand when I say your birthday has been in my mind all day. It seems very difficult to know what to get for you and perhaps you will tell me whether you would like an umbrella or the cash or something else that you might suggest. There is nothing of interest to tell you other than the fact that I have had two night duties over the week-end. Saturday I was out in charge of the beacon but although it was a bit of a bind I had plenty to eat and hot tea and cocoa to fortify me
[page break]
through the night. At Finningley the beacon stays on until dawn and I slept in the lorry for a few hours and had the next morning off.
Sunday night I had a turn at Duty look-out which is a four hour shift on the roof of Station Headquarters. As I was on from 2100 – 0100 it was rather miserable spending four hours stuck up there on a roof top in the dark and bitter cold. I was never more thankful for the wonderful scarf you knitted me last winter and although I had my flying boots on and later a blanket draped round me by one o’clock in the morning I was chilled to the bone.
I like your photo a lot though I have seen both you and Pamela looking prettier than in the picture. When I compared it with the
[page break]
last one of you two I realised just how much our little Pamela has become a big girl and I thought what a credit she was to you with her sturdy legs and round little face.
Its [sic] funny you should mention seeing the Hampdens in the paper, which I presume to be the News of the World, because I was going to tell you to keep the picture as they are of 106 Squadron and probably the only ones I shall be able the get. Havent [sic] you made a mistake dear surely this is the first anniversary we have not been together as I did not go until November 7th. Childrens [sic] clothes are not coming within the scope of the Purchase Tax but its [sic] just as well to get her some things as they are bound to go up. Theres [sic] just a faint hope
[page break]
that I may get 48 hours in a fortnights [sic] time.
The possibility arises from the fact that [deleted] that [/deleted] next Monday I shall start a fortnights crew training course which consists of a weeks [sic] lectures and a week of dry swims and as the lectures finish Friday morning and the dry swims start on Monday the intervening two days may give to a chance to sneak home to you my love. So heres [sic] your husband once again full of hopes and lets [sic] hope they are not dashed.
Lots of love and kisses to you and Pamela
From your loving husband
Harry xxxxx
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
To Jessie from Harry Redgrave
Description
An account of the resource
A letter and envelope from Harry Redgrave to his wife. Harry wishes her a happy birthday and writes about life at RAF Finningley including night-time look-out duties.
Creator
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Harry Redgrave
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1940-10-01
Format
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Four handwritten sheets and an envelope
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Correspondence
Identifier
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ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0001,
ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0002,
ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0003,
ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0004,
ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0005,
ERedgraveHCRedgraveJM401001-0006
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
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
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Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940-09
106 Squadron
aircrew
Hampden
RAF Finningley
station headquarters
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/645/11269/BStevensonPDStevensonPDv1.1.pdf
0ca00135d690b4148fa8190b98631354
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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Stevenson, Peter
Peter Desmond Stevenson
P D Stevenson
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Stevenson, PD
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. An oral history interview with Peter Stevenson (b. 1923) and his memoir. He grew up in Lincolnshire and while he was working towards an engineering apprenticeship he rose through the ranks to become a Warrant Officer in the Air Training Corps.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Peter Stevenson and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2016-08-17
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
CADET 1935-1945
Peter D Stevenson
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Page 1
CADET 1935 – 1945
By Peter Stevenson, a very junior twelve year old schoolboy when this decade started to a somewhat disillusioned twenty two year old young man who, ten years later when it all ended ‘Who had also served who only stood and waited’; came to the conclusion that though it had been a very interesting and formative period of his own life, had to admit that it had not done a great deal to win the war.
For all that it seemed to be a story worth telling, a story which must be dedicated to the many who had suffered that he might live to tell that story and do his bit towards winning the peace that followed.
[page break]
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[underlined] CONTENTS [/underlined]
Introduction 3
Chapter One I catch the Air Bug 6
Chapter Two Private Stevenson P.D. KSGOTC (1935-39) 13
Chapter Three The Public School’s Air Cadet Wing (January to August 1939) 35
The 1939 Public Schools Air Cadet Wing Camp at Selsea Bill 37
Chapter Four Formation of the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps (1939) 45
Chapter Five ARP Messenger P.D.Stevenson. ‘Goes to War’ (1939) 52
Chapter Six I Join No.47(F) Grantham Squadron Air Defence Cadet Corps (1939-40) 58
Chapter Seven 47(F) Sq. Air Training Corps with No. 12(P)AFU at RAF Spittlegate(1941) 66
Chapter Eight 47(F) Sq. ATC with 207 Sq. RAF Bottesford (1941-42) 69
The 1942 Summer Camp at RAF Bottesford 76
Chapter Nine 47(F) Sq. ATC with 106 Sq. RAF Syerston (1942-43) 82
Formation of No. 830 Company Girl’s Training Corps
Chapter 10 47(F) Sq. ATC with The Magic Air Force (9th TCC. USAAF) at RAF Fulbeck 94
(1943-44)
Chapter Eleven Anticlimax and Finale (1944-45)
Epilogue (1945 to 2006)
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[underlined] Introduction [/underlined]
This is the story of an eventful decade in the life of a young man with two ambitions.
He wanted to become a qualified engineer and, as the clouds of war gathered, to serve in the Royal Air Force with a commission in it’s Technical Branch.
It starts in his school days and progresses through his engineering apprenticeship and Technical College studies and eventual maturity. Running right through this is a common thread of service in a succession of Cadet organisations. It ends by looking back over nearly seventy years, with a tribute to the lifelong benefits he derived from the groundwork skills and benefits which such service left him with, as he pursued a post war career in engineering design and the technical training he passed on to others.
He was twelve years old when these two ambitions began to materialise. This was the age when his grammar school allowed its pupils to chose [sic] between ‘The Arts’ and ‘The Sciences’ and at the same time allow him to join the first of his cadet units. He dropped The Arts and joined the school’s ‘OTC’, the pre war somewhat elitist precursor of today’s Combined Cadet Force. However, before his story can begin to take shape, a wider view of overall scene which surrounded him really needs to be expressed in order to add a necessary perspective.
---O---
As everyone knows, the Second World War ended in the summer of 1945, but those of us who grew up between the wars would be the first to admit the seeds of this second conflict were sown in the months immediately following the ending of the first.
The horrors of Flanders had ceased less than five years before I was born. Its bitter memories had bitten deep into the souls of not only my own forebears, but also into those who had survived the war at the front and the bereavements and privations of those on the Home Front. In spite of the annual Armistice Day exhortations that “We will remember them”, civilian attitudes seemed determined to “Forget” as far as possible.
The man in the street and unfortunately, the majority of those in government authority, who still regarded themselves as being in the centre of the British Empire upon which the ‘Sun will never set’ What went on in the Continent was of little interest and was none of our business anyway.
The Treaty of Versailles had left Germany, crippled and bankrupt both economically and politically. A decade of ineffectual governments, each desperately trying to recover from rampant inflation and chronic unemployment, left the hotbed conditions for the rise of Hitlerism. So far as most people in Germany were concerned, any leader was better than none.
In Britain, equally futile governments thrust their heads ever more firmly into the sand. ‘Disarmament’ (at any cost) was the order of the day from the early Nineteen Twenties onwards. All three Services were cut down to mere cadre status, sufficient only to maintain the Empire and police the Dependencies and Protectorates in the Middle East and elsewhere.
With the destruction of Germany, there seemed no point in arming against what was considered to be a nonexistent [sic] European threat.
Luckily, there were a few people in high places who saw more than the ground immediately in front of their noses. Some of these were prepared to fight all forms of governmental apathy and bureaucratic inhibition. For them, the establishment of an effective defence strategy, backed up by small but technically prepared military force which could be rapidly expanded, should the need arise, was still vital for our future.
In all three services, dedicated and far seeing individuals kept each respective flame alight during a decade and a half of budgetary cuts and personnel reductions. Front line, supply and training establishments were cut to the bone. Withdrawing into a few key locations, they were determined to match diminishing quantity with increasing quality of men, equipment and potential.
Until the coming of the Industrial Revolution, my home town had been a typical sleepy country town, centred in a wide expanse of rich farming countryside. In the late 1700s it had been connected to the
[page break]
Page 4
markets of the Midlands and the South by a canal and at the same time received incoming supplies of coal and other commodities. Grantham began the first phase of its expansion. In the 1840s, it received the next boost with north to south mainline railways and important east to west branch lines. Already astride the Great North Road, it now became an important focal point in the country’s communication network. In the remaining decades of the 19th century, heavy engineering industrial expansion gained it an international reputation for the quality and quantity of its products. During World War One, it converted rapidly into a centre for munitions production and an important army training area. In 1917, two nearby hilltops became flying training camps for the Royal Flying Corps.
When the war ended in 1918, Grantham’s industrial capabilities reverted to the peacetime production of diesel engines, farm machinery and the needs of a local agricultural economy. The big army camps were dismantled and the grounds they occupied returned to pre-war parkland status. The erstwhile Territorial Barracks were returned to the care of the weekend soldiery. One of the airfields was also closed down and returned to agriculture. The other went into ‘Care and Maintenance’ for a while.
However, this was not to be the end of Grantham’s military involvement in the post-war scene. April 1918 had seen the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service merge and become the infant Royal Air Force. During the war both the RFC and the RNAS has found the skies (and the ground) of Lincolnshire ideal for the training of their pilots. Although the majority of the home defence and other operational airfields had been returned to agriculture, it was decided that three of the flying training airfields should be retained. Their levels of activity might very well be reduced but all three were very much in ?Grantham’s hinterland.
The post war reorganisation of the RAF centred very much on the training up of a small but well trained new generation of pilots. Six Flying Training Schools (the ‘FTSs’) would be set up, one in Egypt and five in England, of which three would be in Lincolnshire. The furthest away would be RAF Digby, some sixteen miles to the northeast of Grantham. Next would be RAF Cranwell, ten miles in the same direction. An ex RNAS airfield, it would in time become the first Aviation College in the world, and share its airfields with its own FTS. Finally, Grantham’s airfield would not only have its FTS but would also be the home of the FTS Training Group. {Incidentally, over the next half century, the Air Ministry had great difficulty in making up its mind as to what name this particular airfield should bear. Back in the RFC days it had been called ‘Spit[underlined]tle[/underlined]gate’, the name that not only the locals always used, but also used by most if not all those who served there over the years. At various times, the Air Ministry decided to rename it [underlined] RAF Grantham [/underlined] but after a while decided to go back to the original name. However, this time it was called RAF Spit[underlined]al[/underlined]gate for a while until went back to RAF Grantham again. To avoid confusion, throughout this narrative, it will always be called Spittlegate, the name of the village immediately below the airfield which eventually became incorporated into the borough of Grantham.]
Grantham therefore became very much an RAF town in the 1920s and the decades which followed. The people of Grantham got very used to blue uniforms in the town and aircraft in the blue above. The Grantham shops got trade, RAF families not in the extensive station married quarters, lived in the housing estates, and their sons and daughters went to the local schools.
As already mentioned, the Army was not completely unrepresented in peacetime Grantham. The town was still proud of the fact that it still had a small detachment of Lincolnshire Regiment Territorials. Their members made their way, perhaps a little self consciously, up to the Barracks, and marched much more confidently in the annual Remembrance Day parades, and their annual camp was given much reportage in the local weekly newspaper.
There was however, an ‘Army’ unit which will feature in the second chapter of this account. In it, was much ‘Esprit de Corps’, equal pride in marching behind the Territorials on Remembrance Day, and an equal enthusiasm for its annual camp and ‘field days’.
Grantham had its Grammar School, the King’s School of some six hundred years standing. It was the proud possessor of its ‘OTC’ – the ‘Officer’s Training Corps’. Supported by and largely financed by the War Department, it was hoped by the latter that, following its creation in WW1, it would continue to supply a small but steady stream of ‘officer types’ for its peacetime needs. Few of its boy soldiers ever stood a chance of gaining a permanent commission in the Regular Army but it was felt that the rest would receive enough basic training to make them good ‘rankers’ should the need ever
[page break]
Page 5
arise. In any case, they hoped, this would be a useful recruiting ground for the Territorial Army when they left school.
These OTC units were undoubtedly elitist in their outlooks, closely reflecting the ‘Town and Gown’ mentalities of those pre-WW2 Grammar Schools. After that war, such elitism was anachronistic and the OTCs, became Combined Cadet Force units, reflecting the less class conscious and more technical emphasis of modern warfare.
This then, is the background to this account of a cadet who started his decade of ‘military service’ as a very young ‘boy soldier’ in the Grantham King’s School Officer’s Training Corps.
Ten years later, older and perhaps somewhat wiser, he ended up as a Cadet Warrant Officer in the Air Training Corps in the closing months of the Second World War.
This introduction has been written in general terms with the occasional use of the third person. Something which does not endear me greatly in the few autobiographies I have read is the over use of the first person singular. However, trying to write in the third person often results in something which verges on the pedantic. So, I will do my best to keep the number of ‘Is’ to a minimum and hope the reader will excuse the rest.
I suppose also that I should bow to convention and end this introduction with acknowledgements and apologies. To the many cadets in all the cadet units in which I served I give my heartfelt thanks. From them I learned as much as I gave. To the many servicemen in the units to which we were attached, I also give my heartfelt thanks. To those cadets and servicemen who lost their lives in service, I give my heartfelt gratitude. I shall not forget that famous Kohima tribute ‘For my today, they gave their yesterday’. Mine was not a spectacular or heroic war. I can only take comfort from the other saying that ‘They also served who only stood and waited’.
Apologies too. Memory is a strange beast and after more than sixty years, hindsight is more than a little myopic. Some events are as clear as if they only occurred yesterday but at my age the main problem is “Exactly what was it that I was doing yesterday!” So, if you also lived through those eventful years, bear with me, and if you remember differently, by all means get out your writing sticks, and add your quota of memories to the great memory bank in the skies.
A further apology. Faces I can remember but I have never been able to remember names. If you think that I have not mentioned this person or that, it could well be that to mention this person and not that, could well offend the latter. Better perhaps to be a ‘little economical with the truth’, and this could well apply to events as well.
Oh, and don’t forget. Even if you did have a camera then, you could not get films, and if you did manage to have both, you were not allowed to use them, so the few pictures I do have will be scattered amongst the narrative or may be lurking away in appendices to this account.
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Page 6
[underlined] Chapter One I Catch the Air Bug [/underlined]
[AIR BUG – Defn. In the 1920s and 1930s the youth of Britain was perpetually being encouraged to become ‘air minded’. If one became thoroughly air minded then one was accused of being bitten by the Air Bug. I admit to have been badly bitten.]
I was not ‘Lincolnshire Born’. My mother’s family was Yorkshire, my father’s was Nottinghamshire, but my grandparents settled in Lincolnshire towards the end of the nineteenth century. I was actually born in Scarborough but I grew up in Grantham. As a result, I consider myself more of a ‘Yellow Bellie’ than a ‘Cuckoo’.
One is often advised to make sure that you choose your parents carefully. In this respect I think I can claim to have chosen well. Although my parents and grandparents (with one exception) could never be regarded as great intellectuals or scholars, I was extremely lucky to find them well endowed with a lively curiosity and interest in local, national and world affairs. Amongst other things, it looks as if I chose to be the grandson of a highly regarded, if provincial, ‘gentleman journalist’ (sadly, an extinct species). His son, in spite of being a reluctant scholar, apparently had dinned into him that type of education which, it is said, is what is left when you have forgotten most of what you have been taught. My maternal grandmother did come from a highly intellectual and talented family and between the lot of them, the genes they passed on to me are much appreciated. I sincerely hope that I have not let them down over the years.
Conversations round the family tables were always lively and I can never remember being talked down to. Even though it was an age when children were not supposed to talk unless asked to do so, I was still expected to have some opinion on most things under discussion.
My father, born in 1895, had a grammar school education and after leaving became a cub reporter under his father’s tuition. Aged nineteen when WW1 broke out, he immediately volunteered. After basic training, his regiment crossed to France where it was involved in the battles of late 1914 and early 1915. Mentioned in Despatches, wounded twice, he was invalided back to England. After eighteen months in army hospitals in Harrogate (where he met my mother) he spent the remainder of the war on the staff of an army training establishment. Demobbed, the best civilian employment he could obtain in his hometown was a dead end clerk’s job in the local police station. Married now and with a son, he came home to start afresh in Grantham.
His time there was not completely wasted. Amongst other things, he had worked for a Ford distributor and had learned a thing or two about selling cars and running a business. Once back home, he got a job as a car salesman with a large garage in Grantham, which he soon managed to get established as the main Ford distributor in Lincolnshire. Above all, he had come back completely ‘Ford Minded’.
Within a few months, the word ‘Ford’ had become magic and anything bearing the word ‘Ford’ was special. I learned all about Henry Ford starting the mess production of the legendary ‘Model T’, the ‘Tin Lizzie’. I also learned that in that Big Country, air travel was becoming big business and that, following the success of the Tin Lizzie, Henry Ford had gone into the aircraft business with the Ford Trimotor which proved a similar success. Promptly christened the ‘Tin Goose’, its reliability, load carrying and ability to work from small rough airfields not only set new standards in travel but was also popular as a freighter. Soon it was being used for travel and freighting in the North of Canada.
At this point, the U.S. Navy came into the picture. If the first decade or so of the 20th Century had been the Golden Age of Polar Exploration on the ground, the 1920s became the Golden Age of the Conquest of the Air. Using a Ford Trimotor, Admiral Byrd and his U.S. Navy expedition, became the first to fly over the North Pole.
Flushed with this success, another much larger expedition under Byrd, was sent to Antarctica in 1928. There they set up ‘Little America’, an air base on the Ross Ice Shelf, from which they laid refuelling bases, which were used to enable a Trimotor to be the first aircraft to fly over the South
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[inserted picture]
In all aeronautical history, it would be difficult to find even one airplane with more drama, more adventure, and more rugged versatility attached to it than the famous Ford Tri-motor.
Affectionately known as the “Tin Goose”, this outstanding airplane, with its corrugated aluminum [sic] skin, was the first all-metal airplane, and the first commercial aviation transport, designed and built in the United States. It was also one of the very first airplanes to carry passengers for the pioneer airlines of this country.
Built by the Ford Motor Company, the first of this most revolutionary aircraft was unveiled at Detroit in 1926. In it, combined for the first time in one airplane were such developments as enclosed pilot cabins, brakes, heaters, full cantilever wings and doughnut tires.
Most of the U.S. airlines bought Ford Tri-motors and many of today’s leading air routes were opened and developed with this versatile airline pioneer. As flown by the airlines, each plane could accommodate 11 passengers in a cabin that had an average width of only 4 1/2 ft.
In 1929 Admiral Richard E. Byrd on one of his Antarctic expeditions, included a Ford Tri-motor, equipped with skis, in his equipment. It was in this Ford that this great explorer made his famous flight – the first time man had flown over the South Pole. This actual airplane is now a part of the aviation exhibit on display at the Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn, Michigan.
Wingspan of the Ford Tri-motor 4-AT is 74 ft. and overall length 49 ft., 10 in. The three engines gave it a cruising speed of 110 m.p.h. and a top speed of 130 m.p.h. Empty weight is only 6500 lbs. Simplicity is the keynote of construction. Control horns and control wires are mounted outside the airplane. Passenger seats are woven reed. Instruments for the side engines are mounted on the strut above the nacelles and viewed from the cockpit. The entire surface of the airplane is constructed of corrugated aluminum [sic].
More than 30 Ford Tri-motors are still being flown commercially today – more than a quarter-century after being built. It is even now, called “the best ship available for carrying heavy loads into tricky fields.”
As proof of the advanced design and efficiency of this famous historical airplane, the Tin Goose will again be produced in quantity. A West Coast company will build 100 Tri-motors from the original Ford blueprints, making only minor changes to take advantage of today’s smaller, more powerful engines. This is a fine tribute to a plane first manufactured 30 years ago and still worthy of being produced again in its original form.
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Pole. In true American enthusiasm for their other passion, the cinema, this expedition was accompanied by a full ’movie’ crew who, on their return, produced an epic film of an epic flight.
Eventually this film was shown on one of Grantham’s cinema screens, and being thoroughly Ford, my father and I went to see it. Now, if I am pressed to name the event which initiated my thoughts towards the air, it would certainly be this film. Subsequently, I went off on my own several times to see it again. Certainly, when it came to aircraft, the Ford Trimotor became my First Love. This film also sparked a lifelong interest in the Antarctic. During the next few years, I read all the Scott and Shackleton Diaries and anything else available in the Grantham Library about Antarctic exploration, but that is another story.
No doubt in the previous seven years, the Spittlegate aircraft had been circling oven the town. It was just that up to that time, they had not registered. Now they were there. Admittedly nothing quite so big and beautiful as my Trimotor, but well worth watching in future.
My grandfather had to report for his paper on the visit of Alan Cobham and his Air Circus. His Press Pass got us both in for free and I had a wonderful afternoon. The flying was certainly thrilling but it was the aircraft on the ground which really fascinated me.
Then I began making my pilgrimage up Cold Harbour Lane, the lane which ran along the north eastern boundary of the Spittlegate airfield. With the wind in the right direction the planes would come sideslipping in, right over my head, engines puttering over and the slipstream whistling though [sic] their rigging. I could wave to the pilots and occasionally they would wave back.
More down to earth, in the autumn of 1932, just after my ninth birthday, I moved school.
This was not in the depth of the Thirties Depression, and my father’s salary, largely based on commission, was pretty low. There were few people around with money to spend on cars. However, my parents had sufficient confidence in me to send me off to the Grammar School.
At the time, the King’s was a fee paying school, although it was possible to pass what was called the County Minor Scholarship exam, which at least paid your fees. Regrettably, I did not pass and since you only had one chance, that meant that my parents were lumbered with my school fees for the next six years. In later years, when I discovered that this took a whole week’s pay every term, I was more than a little ashamed that I had not been a better scholar.
One normally started at the King’s School at the age of eight and for the first four years you were taught to a generally wide syllabus which gave you a good basis on what might be your line of specialisation when you reached the age of twelve. A certain amount of Physics and Chemistry was balanced by four years of simple Latin and ‘The Classics’, while subjects like Maths, History and Geography would continue after specialisation.
Once I was settled in. I quickly discovered that in addition to the usual cross section of boys from the town and the surrounding countryside, there was quite a high proportion of sons of RAF personnel. I quickly became friends with two of these whose parents lived in the town rather than in the married quarters. I had a fair amount of contact with their fathers and was privy to a fair amount of ‘shop talk’, all of which helped to fuel the interest.
Small boys in general are remarkably schizophrenic in their choice of potential careers. My father’s new job had brought me into contact, not only with the Ford car but also the Fordson Tractor. Our family finances had been much helped by us moving into a company house next door to the premises which dealt with tractor sales and repair. In addition to the tractor and implement showroom, there was a replacement parts store and a repair workshop, all of which was accessible to me through a side door in the house. Naturally the presence of a small boy in the showroom was not welcomed when a prospective buyer was there, but this Alladin’s [sic] Cave was open to me at all other times of the day. I soon discovered that tractors were far more interesting than cars. That was probably due to the fact that the car workshop foreman had a short fuse when small boys were around, whereas the tractor fitters were more than willing to show the small boy in question, what went where and why. Also, most of a tractors ‘gubbins’ tended to be on its outside so that you could see what was going on, rather than having to poke around under bonnets and things.
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[underlined] 26 THE GRANTHAMIAN [/underlined]
* * *
Capt E. Elms.
At the end of this Term the School will suffer, in the retirement of Captain E. Elms, the loss of another link with pre war days. Captain Elms came to the School when the new Workshops were built in 1935, and their continued efficiency has been his constant endeavour ever since. Although Captain Elms came to us from the Estate of Mr. Christopher Turnor, he was no stranger to school-mastering, having spent many years as the Head of a London Technical Institute and being concerned during the 1914-18 war with the training of thousands of men and women for war work.
In 1920 he was granted a regular commission with the rank of Captain in the Army Educational Corps and served on the staff of the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, where he did much pioneer work in the early mechanisation of the regular army.
During his stay with us Captain Elms has introduced the spirit of pride in craftsmanship and a keen desire to produce a good job of work, which has stood in good stead the hundreds of boys who have passed through his hands, and it is with real regret that we learn that Captain Elms is giving up his post here on doctor’s orders. It is to be hoped that the rest from his labours will bring him back to full health and strength to enjoy many years of ease and leisure, which he has so justly earned in the service of The King’s School.
* * *
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Capt. E. Elms
Handicraft Master, 1934-1946
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The Main Dealership agreement which my father had negotiated with the Ford Motor Company resulted in him having to go down to Dagenham every few months. Since in those days, cars had always to be collected from the works (there were no such things as car transporters) he would combine such a visit with the collection of a new car. He also discovered that a second hand car in good condition would always fetch a much higher price in the London area. So, he would take an old car down, attend his business meeting, and bring a new car back. Again, in those days, cars had to be ‘run in’. This involved driving it very carefully at no more than thirty miles per hour for the first thousand miles. This was especially important in the first hundred miles of the car’s life. The 110 miles back to Grantham was a four hour journey of utter boredom. So, in the school holiday times, he started taking me along with him and once we arrived at the works he hand me over to the Works Guide team. Here was an even bigger and better Alladin’s [sic] Cave and by the time I had gone round with them several times, I had got a pretty good idea as to how the various parts were made and how they went together to make cars and tractors.
By the time I was ten or eleven, I had made up my mind that when I left school, I would become a Ford Apprentice. Then, my apprenticeship completed, I too would go over to the States where I would apply to join Ford’s Trimotor service organisation. Having qualified as a fitter on the ‘Tin Goose’ I would join the U.S. Navy and go on the next Antarctic Expedition. How’s that for teenage logic? Of course, in the way of such juvenile dreams, nothing ever came of it, except that there remained a growing feeling that I would eventually become an engineer, preferably in the field of aeronautics, and perhaps in the RAF
Having finished my junior schooling, I was now at the great crossroads. ‘The Arts’ were not for me and as I moved up into the upper school, I rapidly dropped Latin (what I had learned, often came in quite useful in later life). Music was also dropped (which perhaps was a pity as I could well have done with some basic music theory also in later life). Hopeless at art, this was also dropped thankfully. The time spent on English Literature, History and like subjects was reduced, and opting for ‘The Sciences’ meant the time spent on Physics and Chemistry was increased.
The biggest, most interesting bonus of entering the upper school happened to coincide with what, at the time, was a rather revolutionary development on this old established grammar school’s curriculum. Grantham’s King’s School had, over the centuries, produced a goodly number of academics and a few notable scientists (including Sir Isaac Newton). These however, had been at the time when it was centred in a largely rural environment. With the coming of industry in the 19th century, Grantham had become a major engineering centre and the origins (and destinations) of it’s pupils changed dramatically. In spite of the fact that it did it’s best to retain its grammar school ethos. In order to progress, it had to accept that a significant proportion of it’s pupils would end up (hopefully) in the more respectable levers of industry and technology.
The present headmaster was a progressive, doing his best to lift the school out of the stuffiness of decades of the Town and Gown mentalities of his predecessors. His Board of Governors was a good mix of local dignitaries, with enough industrialists to reflect their pupil spectrum. His local government Director of Education was also progressive in his outlook. The end result was that basic handicrafts in the working of wood and metal would replace traditional Art subjects such as painting and sculpting for those pupils opting for the Sciences. To bring this about, a well equipped workshop was built and equipped with wood and metal workbenches, simple machine tools, a forge and brazing equipment. A ‘Handicraft Master’ was appointed, who proved to be a lifelong inspiration to all those pupils who thenceforth aspired to become engineers or, failing that, proved in later life to be good handy men about the house!
If I aspired to be an engineer, then this man became my mentor from the day the Workshop opened for business. Before going on to other matters, I really ought to pay tribute to one other mentor of that time. I mentioned earlier that the foreman of the car garage did little to
CADET 1935-45 CH.1.V4.doc
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de Havilland Gipsy Moth [inserted] (MILITARY VERSION) [/inserted]
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NOTTS ASSEMBLY. – The Fleet of the Nottinghamshire Flying Club and privately-owned craft at Tollerton. The club-house is standard pattern devised by the ill-fated National Flying Services.
[inserted] WHERE I HAD MY FIRST FEW FLIGHTS WITH TOBY MARTIN (HIS GIPSY MOTH WAS PROBABLY HAVE ONE OF THOSE NEAREST THE CAMERA [/inserted]
[inserted] two postage stamps [/inserted]
[inserted] I HAD ONE OF THESE WHEN THEY FIRST CAME OUT [/inserted]
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encourage me to frequent his workshop. The same could not be said about his superior, the Service Manager. A qualified engineer, an ex Royal Engineers Major, a specialist in recovering First World War tanks from distressing and undignified situations, he had become a close friend of my father. He also took an avuncular interest in my early technical education, and incidentally took me up in my first few flights in his Gypsy Moth, which he flew from the Nottinghamshire Flying Club’s airfield at Tollerton’ near Nottingham. That soon became my Second Love and added another bite from The Bug.
It would be about this time that Meccano brought out their sets of aircraft parts which produced far more authentic looking models than those you could make up from the standard Meccano components. Looking back, this was perhaps the starting point of my aeromodelling career.
Thus, the stage seemed to be set for me to start on a career as an engineer but, you may well ask, is it not time for a start to be made on all this ‘Cadet 1935 to 1945’ business?
True enough. Please turn to Chapter Two.
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[underlined] Chapter Two Private Stevenson P.D. KSGOTC [/underlined]
By 1935, the antics of Hitler and his Nazi friends were beginning to cause grave concern amongst the regrettably few politicians and others whose heads were not so firmly thrust into the sands of Disarmament. They were only too aware how pitifully unprepared Britain was to defend itself against the growing threat of German Nationalism and it’s associated territorial ambitions. In spite of the Pacifists and the still ongoing years of depression, the Services did get slight increases in their budgets, but after much argument in Parliament. These did enable them to make some attempt to replace out of date equipment and to increase their recruitment and training programmes.
In the case of RAF, this was the time when they started to award contracts for new breeds of aircraft which, in time, would win the Battle of Britain and the air offensives which followed. Closer to home, there was a marked if gradual increase in flying activity at Spittlegate, Cranwell and Digby – to say nothing of more boys at the King’s School with fathers in the RAF. In spite of this, the King’s School was not outwardly pro-RAF. It was, of course, pleased to have an increase in it’s fee paying scholars. Particularly so, when fathers were posted elsewhere and in order not to interrupt their son’s education, left them as School Boarders. On the contrary, the King’s School was firmly ‘Army Property’ in that it had it’s Officer’s Training Corps, a unit of some standing.
During the first world war, when the life expectancy of the front line subalterns was little more than three weeks, calling for a constant flow of ‘gun fodder’, the inland Grammar Schools had been drawn into a ‘catch ‘em young’ policy with the creation of the OTCs. These [underlined] Officer’s [/underlined] Training Corps existed at two levels. In the Public and Grammar Schools, these were Junior OTCs in which the boys, between the ages of twelve and eighteen would be trained up to a ‘Certificate A’ level which qualified them for [underlined] consideration [/underlined] for a possible commission in the Territorial Army. If in the relatively rare case of the pupil going on to University, he could then join the University’s Senior OTC, hopefully passing Certificate B, which most probably gave him possible entry to Sandhurst.
In both cases, it was hope, when the time came for them to be called to military service, these boys of potentially officer grade would have been well imbued with Army discipline and traditions, together with the elements of infantry training and leadership. From the point of view of the War Office in the first war, the OTCs did an excellent and worthwhile job.
So much so, the post war War Department decided that the OTCs were still a [sic] valuable sources of potential officer and NCO material for the Regular and Territorial Armies. Besides, they would provide valuable Leadership and Character Training, ‘buzz words’ which were very much in vogue at the time.
At school level, for those with OTCs, it became automatic thinking on the part of both masters and pupils, that most boys would, on entering upper school, join it’s OTC unless their parents were particularly set against such ‘militarisation’ as the Pacifists put it.
However, in spite of the fact that locally based RAF personnel outnumbered that of the Army by something like twenty to one, and that ratio was reflected in the pupil roll, nevertheless the school was still Army orientated in it’s outlook. In the absence of anything resembling the OTC on the part of the RAF, there would be little or no encouragement from the school for any of those boys who had ‘caught the air bug’. There was therefore no real choice but, if one gained a Certificate A, it might be a useful pawn when one appeared before an RAF Selection Board.
My own twelfth birthday was in August 1935. So, on the first Thursday afternoon of the new school year in September, I became Private Stevenson of No.4 Platoon of the King’s School Company, Officer’s Training Corps, attached for training purposes to the Lincolnshire Regiment of the British Army. The individual concerned no doubt felt considerably less imposing than the title above would have you believe. He was, of course, the lowest form of military life, and it was not long before he was reminded of the fact.
The first parade of the Autumn Term was a proud one for all concerned. The four platoons reflected the age and status of their place in the school’s hierarchy. No.1 Platoon was composed of boys who had, as a result of the previous year’s terminal examinations, moved up into the Upper Fifth and Sixth Forms. They were predominantly fifteen year olds since most of the sixteen year olds had left
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Lt.-Col. M. H. Raymond, M.A. (Cantab.), T.D.
Master 1921-52, O/C. The King’s School
Contingent C.C.F., 1924-52.
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school already. The remaining Sixth Formers were those who had not been promoted NCOs for the other Platoons. No.2 Platoon were fourteen year olds, now in the Lower Fifth Forms. No.3 Platoon were thirteen year olds now in the Fourth Form. These three platoons, mostly in full uniform, were ‘Fallen In’ with appropriate ceremony, and were doing their best of look smart.
For the moment, No.4 Platoon was merely a motley mob of twelve year olds who had been herded into a safe corner of the school quadrangle by a stern looking, very grown up Sergeant (so he appeared to us, he must have been all of sixteen!) These ‘recruits’ had, for their sins, moved up into the Upper Third Forms, and had thereby qualified to join the ‘Old Tin Cans’.
Each move up into a new platoon was an immense rise in prestige (and pecking order) No.1 Platoon were now possessors of two uniforms. ‘Bests’ were for special occasions – special parades such as the Annual Inspection, Founder’s Day and the Armistice Day Parades, as well as going to the Annual Summer Camp. ‘Seconds’ were for those parades when the ‘men’ were supposed to look, feel and work like real soldiers. ‘Seconds’ were identical with Bests, but had reached the point where signs of wear and tear, brought about by drill, exercises, field days and annual camp, ruled them out for more formal occasions.
Nos. 2 & 3 Platoons had to make do mostly with Seconds, although a few whose drill was particularly smart could join No.1for [sic] special occasions. These uniforms were basically WW1 infantry. A round hat, khaki serge jacket with high collar (hot and prickly in summer), ‘Plus Four’ type khaki serge trousers with knee length ‘puttees’ and black boots, the latter having to be provided by parents.
For the first parade of the new year, Bests were worn by Nos 1 & 2 where issued. The remainder of No. 2 and No.3 wore their Seconds. No.3 were immensely proud as they were wearing full uniform for the first time, even if they were a bit tatty in places. The parade had been preceded by frenzied activity in the kit stores when outgrown uniforms were exchanged for better(?) fits.
As for No.4 Platoon, on that first parade, one could say that as yet they did not exist as such.
They were merely a loose scrum of small (so they felt) somewhat apprehensive twelve year olds, herded into a corner by an impressive Sergeant ‘in ‘is Bests’ bearing obviously new stripes, and doing his best to look as important as he feels. Still in our normal school uniforms, we had no external signs of having become ‘Privates’ or anything else for that matter.
We had watched as the Company Sergeant Major, scarcely recognisable as our erstwhile Head Boy, strode out from the school cloisters and howled for ‘RIGHT MARKERS’. Three figures had emerged from a conglomerate of khaki elsewhere in the quadrangle and had been positioned to the former’s satisfaction, whereupon, to a drum beat Nos.1, 2 and 3 platoon ‘got Fell in’. Right Dressed and subjected to an initial inspection by their respective Sergeants (more new stripes) the Sergeant Major called the lot to attention. This was the signal for sundry junior officers to emerge in their turn from the cloisters, revealing that they too, on close inspection bore remarkable likenesses to several of our form masters. Having taken command of their respective platoons, the Second in Command emerged to take over the whole parade, each of which takeovers being accompanied by a succession of ‘Attentions’, ‘Stand at Eases’ and mutual saluting. Having taken up a position of importance on the front of the parade, the ‘2 i/c’ was now approached by the COMMANDING OFFICER.
Having assumed command, he proceeded to inspect closely all three platoons, silently (but sometimes less silently) expressing his dissatisfaction at the regrettable loss of smartness and established Good Order and Discipline, he handed the platoons over to their officers and then headed over in our direction, much to our further apprehension.
Captain Raymond was, on the other days of the week, our senior English teacher and even in that role was something of a martinet. In his military guise, he was even more so, tending to strike terror into transgressors both in class and on the parade ground. His determined step in our direction was to say the least of it, unnerving. He stopped in front of our motley group who, by that time had been herded into some semblance of order by the Sergeant. He regarded each of us in turn (as if he had never seen us before) with a cold silent gaze, expressing obvious disgust. After a pregnant pause, he said “Carry on, Sergeant” and stalked away after acknowledging a crashing salute from the latter.
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The Sergeant proceeded to ‘Carry On’ in more ways than one. He announced that although we were not wearing uniform, [underlined] we were now in the Officer’s Training Corps [/underlined], and we were not to forget it. For our first year in No.4 Platoon, our school uniform was also our OTC uniform. From now onwards it must be maintained to a much higher standard of neatness and cleanliness than it had previously been used by mere schoolboys.
In one’s teenage years (term not yet invented) someone who is three or four years older appears to be an adult even if he is only sixteen in actual fact. He has had three or four years of ‘military service’ by then and may also be a School Prefect. With the latter’s authority to inflict punishment which prefects had in those days, plus his now military authority, the utterings of our Sergeant seemed to have the authority of the Law, if not that of God himself!
Anyway, he told us that our shoes were filthy and by next parade he would expect to see his face in them. Our trousers were little better and he would expect them to be pressed with a straight and sharp crease. Our jackets were similarly over due for a good brushing. Our ties were yanked straight and our caps must be worn straight and level, and we all needed a hair cut.
Having got that lot off his chest, the time had come he said, for us to learn a bit of basic foot drill. We were taught to ‘Stand to Attention’, ‘Stand at Ease’ and ‘Stand Easy’. Detail is largely forgotten (it was seventy years ago) but every Thursdays afternoon it was ‘square bashing, so it seemed. We learned to Fall In, Fall Out, Right Dress and Salute, Right Turn, Left Turn and About Turn. We learned to Number, Size and because the Army at that time marched in Columns of Fours, we also learned that interesting manoeuvre ‘Form Fours’.
Drilling at the Halt more or less mastered, we then had to go on to Drilling on the March.
In the process of concentrating on swinging a stiff arm and wrist (thumbs pressed down etc) up to the level of the waist fore and aft, the command “Quick March” presented, in a few cases some immediate problems. Having established that the first step was always with the [underlined] left foot, [/underlined] this was often accompanied by the left arm being swung forward at the same time. The resulting progress would be somewhat reminiscent of that of a camel. That sorted out, we then had to master upon which step an About Turn was started, how many to get round to the opposite direction and when (and how) to step off again. The same applied to Left and Right Turns on the march, together with Right and Left Wheels. It was amazing how difficult the simple process of walking from A to B had become! On the other hand, our parents were having to get used to sons who now seemed to delight in Marching everywhere rather than adopting their previous ambulatory gait.
We had taken turns at being Right marker and had made a reasonably smart exhibition of ourselves at Falling In, Right Dressing, Falling Out and Saluting, and it was felt by our NCOs that we could be trusted to Fall In with the other platoons at the beginning and end of parades. Came the day when the Sergeant Major howled for Right Markers and four of these strode out, and four platoons ‘got Fell In’ without rousing the anger of all in authority about us.
With that, we really felt we were beginning to be soldiers, especially as now we were ‘in uniform’. Admittedly only just, one might say. We had been issued with khaki webbing belt with a brass buckle and a couple of extra brass fittings, the significance of which we would only learn later. Next was our introduction to that wondrous substance ‘Blanco’ which we learned to apply without getting khaki everywhere. ‘Brasso’ for the brasswork, without getting black stains elsewhere. Wearing this, we were now in the third category of uniform – ‘Mufti’.
This was an Arabic word brought back by the army to describe clothing worn by the soldiery when not in uniform. Two thirds of all our parades would be in mufti, i.e. school uniform plus the by now ubiquitous khaki webbing belt, no doubt to spare the Best and Second uniforms from wear and tear. However, we in No.4 Platoon must not be confused with the ‘real soldiers’ in the other platoons. Their belts would include the ‘Frog’, an extra bit of khaki webbing which would carry our bayonet scabbard when we progressed to rifle drill, but that was not for the ‘sprogs’ in No.4
Although it still feels like it, we did not spend the whole of every Thursday afternoon on the parade ground. We also had lectures on various subjects which, as we learned later, were the beginnings of the subjects on which we would be examined for ‘Certificate A’. Ranks and Badges, Army Structure and Organisation, Rules and Regulations, the first elements of First Aid and Hygiene, Map Reading are the ones which I can remember. No doubt there were others.
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‘Officer material’, we were not being trained as mere ‘rankers’. We were being trained as leaders and we were expected to act as leaders. We must not only learn (whatever it was) but we must also learn to teach – or rather ‘instruct’. Every new drill movement or any other subject was not only taught to a high level of competence, but each one of us in turn must expect to be called upon immediately or at a later date to instruct the others in that movement or subject. Of course, at No.4 Platoon level, this usually involved only simple drill movements, but from the very beginning we got used to standing out in front of the Section or Platoon and take command irrespective of whether we wore stripes or not.
This was all heady stuff. Discipline was always strict but there was also no shortage of praise where praise was due. Having received praise, we also learned to look for praiseworthiness and not be afraid to give it. We all became dead keen and looked forward to new subjects, though most of these were mainly symbolic. The Services make great play on the expression ‘Esprit de Corps’ and every man jack of us from twelve years upwards, stood high, marched high and bawled out our commands as good as the rest.
Which was just as well, for the high point of the spring term’s OTC activity was usually the Annual Inspection. For the OTC boys there was no school work that day, but it was no holiday. It was very much a ‘spit and polish’ affair and even closer attention was paid to hair length, trouser creases, shine on footwear and brasswork and general appearance. Drill movements were practised to perfection.
In addition to our usual officers hovering in the cloisters as we went through the initial stages of Falling In, the presence of the Inspecting Officer and his entourage, visibly heightened the tension. When the parade was ceremoniously handed over, he then proceeded to make his initial inspection. This took time as each man in each platoon was examined from head to toe and questions asked. The platoons not being inspected were thankful to be stood At Ease, but as he finished with No.3 Platoon, the command of ‘Attention’ to us, brought heartbeats up to heart attack levels as we stood strictly Eyes Front. The Inspecting Officer, usually a ‘Top Brass’ from Northern Command, cast his eye critically over us. We appeared to pass muster, and, acknowledging an even greatly smashing salute from our Sergeant, moved on to higher things.
The rest of the morning superficially resembled a typical Thursday afternoon’s activity. I was to learn later that it had been carefully orchestrated to show each platoon at it’s best, drilling, learning and instructing in turn to allow the Inspecting Officer to drop in at will to observe and examine. Apart from foot drill, I don’t think much was really expected of No.4 Platoon, but for all that, he watched us carry out a typical routine of movements at the halt and on the march. We had almost reached the point of relaxing when a couple of us were called out to instruct. So far as I can remember, I was not one of the (?) lucky ones. That happened on one of the later Annual Inspections.
The morning successfully over, we were dismissed for lunch. In the afternoon we were marched up to the School Field, preceded by the Band who had gone through their Counter Marching and other gyrations, bugle calls and drumming displays during the morning. Thereafter the senior platoons demonstrated their tactical and ‘battle’ skills with much shouting of commands and firing orders, together with some hopefully impressive bayonet charges. As yet No.4 Platoon was not up to such extremes and I think we spent most of the time watching, as the Inspecting Officer watched on with a critical eye. The programme over,
the Inspecting Officer expressed his satisfaction of all he had seen, congratulated us upon our turnout etc., etc., accepted a ceremonial General Salute from the Band and a final March Past, received and acknowledged a further round of salutes and departed with his entourage.
We marched back to school amidst sighs of relief for another year.
As the spring weather improved, we were introduced to another ‘delight’, the Route March. Pre war, the army did not have much in the way of troop transport. ‘Footsloggers’ were expected to footslog their way from A to B. for those who had them, this was a uniform afternoon and headed by the band, off we would go through the town and into the country lanes, fifty minutes march and ten minutes break. The first route march of the season would be for five or six miles but later this would be increased to ten miles or so. One hundred and thirty paces to the minute, roughly three miles per hour with our length of leg. The ‘adults’ of No.1 Platoon could, if necessary’, manage the regulation thirty three inch pace, but No.4 Platoon found it hard going. Amongst the other commands such as
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‘March to Attention’, ‘Eyes Left’ to a passing RAF Officer, etc., there would be the frequent cry passed forward of ‘Shorten Pace’. The relief was usually short lived as the Band having had a break from blowing, stuck [sic] up a new tune, to which the forward platoons immediately stepped out in response.
We had by now learned a little about ‘tactics’ in our theory lectures. As the better weather of late spring promised the possibility of dry grass, we frequently marched up to the school field to put into practice the principles of Section and Platoon field movements. We spent much time advancing, retreating and taking cover behind what little cover there was. Most of this seemed to be in the prone position, interspersed with mad, but carefully controlled dashes which were officially supposed to be ‘charges’.
This was all a bit theoretical in the case of No.4 Platoon as we did not have rifles. At twelve years old or so, we were mostly too small to handle the 8,1/2lb, 0.303in Lee Enfield without doing ourselves or others some serious damage. However, we had our khaki belt, and in the best Army tradition, we ‘went through the motions’, as much as anything to impress the other non-OTC boys who were condemned to spend their Thursday afternoons ‘gardening’. These pour souls, rarely in the least interested in things horticultural, were being persuaded by seemingly equally unenthusiastic house masters to cultivate the six small plots of land euphemistically called ‘House Gardens’ in which a few long suffering flowers and vegetables strove to survive.
Whatever their motivations, inspirations or inclinations, we ‘soldiers’ despised the ‘gardeners’/ in the years before we could join the OTC, we had done our share of gardening to level and prepare ground for new rugby and cricket pitches and no doubt there were a few in our ranks who had joined the OTC solely to escape further gardening.
As can well be imagined, the average school field does not contain much ‘cover’ from a military point of view. Our field contained the usual pavilion and gardening sheds, plus a captured WW1 German Howitzer which must have been attacked and defended countless times during the Twenties and Thirties before it eventually succumbed to the WW2 scrap metal drive. Finally there were those House Gardens alongside the eastern boundary.
By the middle of the Summer Term, there would be a fair show of vegetation in these and therefore qualified in the eyes of we, the soldiery, as potential cover. As a result, much to the annoyance and frustration of the house masters doing their best to maintain some measure of order and orderly growth, the gardens were bravely defended and resolutely attacked. Eventually, when combat reached the point where actual bodily harm threatened the vegetation and/or its reluctant cultivators, complaints from the house masters resulted in a Standing Order being issued placing the area ‘out of bounds’. This would hold for the rest of the school year but would have been conveniently forgotten by the commencement of the following year’s Spring Offensives. The summer term had two high points for the older platoons, which were denied to those in No.4. These were the Field Day and the Annual Summer Camp. In both cases, the participants had to be old enough, possessors of full uniforms and competent in arms drill. We were none of these and had to watch the departure of the privileged, taking some small comfort in the fact that in time, such delights would come our way. When indeed it did come my way, there would be much to recount. But it was still painful to have to wait.
Schooling in the Thirties was heavily examination orientated. In addition to the end of the year scholastic exams to decide the Movers Up and the Stayers Down, we also had OTC tests and assessments. I don’t think anyone actually stayed down in No.4 Platoon but we were nevertheless closely advised to revise all we had learned in the past year. In the interest of Esprit de Corps and personal pride, these tests had to be passed with the highest possible markings.
The Summer Term ended with much personal satisfaction on the part of Private Stevenson P.D., knowing that he had been not found too wanting scholastically and would be moving up a Form, but he would also be moving up into No.3 Platoon. His last military act was to carefully blanco and polish his belt and hand it into Stores. For the next few weeks he would revert to civvie life, forget school and the Army and catch up with the RAF.
Once again there would be the pilgrimages up Cold Harbour Lane, that green lane bordering the north eastern boundary of Spittlegate airfield, to check up how the pupils of No.3 FTS were
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RAF GRANTHAM 1938
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Avro 504N
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Armstrong Whitworth Atlas Trainer
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Hawker Tomtit
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de Havilland Tiger Moth
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Avro Tutor
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Hawker Hart Trainer
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Avro Anson
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progressing and to find out what, if any, new aircraft were doing their Circuits and Bumps. Although the pattern of flying did not appear to have changed much over the previous year or two, quite a lot had happened to the aircraft. For Elementary Training, the legendary Avro 504N had given way briefly to the Hawker Tomtit. This in turn had been replaced by the first of the de Havilland Tiger Moths, which No.3 FTS were the first to introduce into training service. In their turn, they had been replaced by the new Avro Tutor. There had also been changes in the Advanced Training aircraft. The ageing Armstrong Whitworth Atlas was replaced by the Hawker Hart Trainer which was fast enough to outpace most of the current fighter types. These were all single engine biplane types, but the RAF would soon be introducing two monoplanes into front line service as the rearmament programme slowly gained momentum. Suddenly our sound spectrum had a new sound as the Avro Anson trainers began their circuits. There was much to see and note, and the fathers of my two school friends, one on the FTS staff, the other on the staff of the Training Group H.Q. were quick to transmit their enthusiasms for the new types. To our delight, the three of us were smuggled in to the hangers one day to make first hand contact with them, and for the first time I was able to sit in cockpits and lay hands on controls.
Feet once more on ground, there were two other significant developments that summer. The Air League of the British Empire, had done much to promote the Hendon Air Shows, and had also taken a large hand in the promotion of the RAF Open Days. Spittlegate was one of the first to open its gates to the general public, and in addition to an impressive line up of its own aircraft, hosted a wide variety of new and tried aircraft from the other RAF units. These were great events, both on the ground and in the air displays forming an essential part of the programme. Naturally, I was in the first group to rush in when the station gates opened.
The other event was also an Air League development. As a continuing aspect of its Air Mindedness programme, it had started a Junior Section. For a modest subscription, its monthly magazine kept its readers up to date with all the latest in military and civil aeronautics. Having been one of the first to join, this magazine was to become essential reading, to the detriment of homework assignments on the days following its arrival. Copies were filed away for reading through again and again through the school holidays.
Like all summer holidays, that of 1936 went all too quickly. The last week was a desperate attempt to complete the holiday homework tasks (which of course had got left to the last possible minute). School uniforms were cleaned and the summer’s accumulated grime was carefully removed from shoes. There was also a most important item to be purchased, a pair of black army style boots!
The first parade of September 1936 was typical. Frenzied activity in the area of the Quartermaster’s Stores over the previous days had equipped the new No.1 Platoon with ‘Bests’ (Appropriately larger) together with Seconds. They had also been reissued with ‘Service’ rifles (i.e. capable of being fired with live and blank ammunition, possessing sharp bayonets, and these were being furiously cleaned, oiled and lovingly examined. The new No.2 Platoon were issued with Seconds and most of them had to be content with ‘Demonstration Purposes’ rifles. These ‘DP’ rifles, long past being safely fired, still carried their regulation Bolt but its firing pin had been removed, so that it could still go through the motions of being fired with ‘DP’ rounds, to the general safety of all concerned. To their delight the new No.3 platoon would now in time be issued with Seconds, but until they had mastered the arts of wearing them correctly, they had been reissued with the inevitable khaki belt, but this differed in one vital respect.
This term, No3 Platoon would begin Arms Drill, which involved the wearing of the bayonet (D.P. and therefore blunt), and this called for the addition of the ‘Frog’. To the uninitiated, this small extra piece of webbing, used to hold the bayonet scabbard when worn, hanging down the left thigh of the wearer, would be the one thing which distinguished the seasoned troops of No.3 Platoon from the riff-raff of No.4 Platoon when Mufti was being worn! As before No. 3 would not parade with arms until they had learned to handle them.
Bearing the appropriate accoutrements, the parade Fell In with the exception of No.4 Platoon which once again did not yet exist. In No.3, we Faced Front and ignored the presence of a heap of very young looking humanity herded into one corner by a very new Sergeant who also seemed to be nothing like as old as our Sergeant. Surely, they didn’t expect to make soldiers out of that lot!
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SIR ARTHUR & LADY LONGMORE WITH THEIR FAMILY AT ELSHAM HOUSE.
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[underlined] THE ‘SHORT LEE ENFIELD’ 0.303in RIFLE [/underlined]
[underlined] [which we came to know so know [sic] so very well] [/underlined]
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Following ‘Fall In’, Inspection (usual silent expression of disgust on the part of the Commanding Officer) and ‘Carry On’, our feelings of superiority were instantly deflated by the descent upon us of a new set of newly promoted NCOs. They immediately informed us that our last year’s performance was merely the kindergarten stage, and that we must now set about turning ourselves into real soldiers. Even at the age of thirteen as we now were, to us, the sixteen year old Sergeant appeared to be highly adult, especially as he now had two Annual Camps behind him, in which he had been subject to full Regular Army life and discipline.
However, before we could commence our ‘licking into shape’, we needed to be ‘kitted out’. No old soldier needed to be reminded of that peculiar (in both senses of the work) aroma of the Quartermaster’s Stores, (or in our school, ‘The Armoury’). A mixture of the smells of blanco, webbing, polish on boots, leather, gun oil and above all, uniforms. Well worn and long used heavy serge acquires a lingering scent of mud, rain and sweat, and after prolonged storage in poorly ventilated store rooms, no amount of cleaning, be it the home wash tub or the professional cleaners, can remove it completely.
In spite of the slow beginnings of rearmament, funding at No.3 Platoon level was virtually zero. Our ‘new’ uniforms conceivably many moons ago someone’s Bests, had by the time we were struggling into them, been issued, reissued, worn, patched and washed to the point where it’s khaki was more of a shade than a colour. Its serge had long ago given up the task of retaining a decent crease and defied most attempts at ironing and pressing. Most parents must have been horrified at the garments so proudly brought home later that afternoon. After all, their son, being in the OTC was costing them five whole shillings per term. (Something like £20 in 2006 money!)
For us, the new No.3 Platoon, the afternoon seemed to be spent in being issued with the various bits of uniform and getting them on properly. We were issued with a round service cap bearing the cap badge of the Lincolnshire Regiment. Then a high collared jacket whose brass buttons bore the school emblem. A pair of equally misshaped ‘plus four’ type trousers followed, which had to be held up by a pair of braces. These were fastened by a strap just under the knee. Much to our satisfaction, was the belt, [underlined] complete with Frog. [/underlined] Much less to our subsequent satisfaction was the pair of Puttees. (Magic word from India this time, from.. Hindi ‘patti’ = bandage)
As it’s derivation would indicate, the puttee was a khaki strip some 10cm wide and about two metres long, which would be wound round your carves, starting at the ankle and ending (hopefully) just under the knees on top of the lower end of your trousers, where it is tied with two laces. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Nothing could be further from the truth. The army puttee is of a standard length intended for six foot plus beefy adults down thirteen year old mini soldiers. The winding of a puttee is both art and science. Having put on your boots, you roll up the puttee into a tight roll, it’s top end in the middle. Two turns are wrapped round the ankle and you start to wind it carefully up the leg, clockwise round the right leg and anticlockwise round the left (and heaven help you if the inspecting officer finds that you have wound both legs round the same way). Now comes the difficult bit. The aim is to end up at the top with two overlapping turns, and the art/science is how to manage the major part of the length in the middle. For a start, each wrap round the leg must advance upwards by [underlined] exactly [/underlined] the same amount. Obviously, the smaller you are, the smaller should be the distance between the lower edges of the wraps. This is a state of perfection which takes weeks to achieve, especially since the next problem is ‘How tight?’. Too tight and your feet freeze ‘cos you have stopped your blood flowing. Too loose, and horror of horrors, following a particularly enthusiastic stamping of the feet, the whole lot unwinds round your feet, bang in the middle of an important parade! It seemed to take the whole of the afternoon (and more practises at home) to get everything sorted out to an acceptable standard on subsequent parades. One final item to complete this initial kit issue – a Button Stick, a wondrous relic of those Brass Button Days. A strip of stiff brass with a slot down the middle, allowed it to be slid under the buttons and Brasso applied without fear of getting black stains on the serge beneath. After further instruction on the care of the uniform (deliberately issued a size or so bigger ‘to allow for growth’), we just about made it in time for the afternoon’s ‘Dismiss’.
As with life in the schoolrooms, the first few parades of the new year were devoted to revision. The school holidays had, as we were once again reminded, allowed us to slip back into sloppy ways. Foot Drill had to be brought back to scratch and theory re-polished, so there was a lot of square bashing and theory revision to be done before we could start on anything new.
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Came the great day when, having completed our afternoon ration of foot drill, we were marched off to the Armoury to collect a rifle apiece. The first impact was, of course it’s weight. Carrying it carefully to a nearby classroom, we began our first lesson – ‘The Naming of Parts’. New to us perhaps, [deleted] by [/deleted] [inserted] BUT [/inserted] not to Kipling and the Indian Army. Like 95% of all previous subjects, the lesson was delivered by one of the senior NCOs, with the usual admonition “Learn these names until you can recite them in your sleep, because when I’m finished, one of you is going to instruct the others and every time I see you lot, someone else is going to have to do the same”
We started at the muzzle and worked down steadily to the butt. We removed the magazine and the bolt and we peered up the bore. We discovered the little flap in the brass plate of the butt to reveal the ‘Pull Through’ with it’s bit of flannelette known as the ‘Four By Two’ and beyond that the brass oil bottle. We examined the Foresight which was fixed (It was years before I gathered that John Galsworthy’s Forsyte Saga had nothing whatsoever to so [sic] with the aiming of a rifle). Then on to the Rear Sight, which was not fixed and had a lot of fiddley bits which we would have to learn to use. The Sergeant then handed each of us five Dummy (D.P.) Rounds which we learned to load into the magazine. Making sure that the muzzles were pointing at the ceiling, we loaded the magazine into the rifle and ‘put one up the spout’. Since these were D.P. Rifles, which had no firing pins, and again making sure our spouts were pointing skywards, we ‘fired’ our first round. Ecstasy!. Loosing off the remaining with gay abandon, we put everything to rights, and with some reluctance, handed them back into the Armoury. We discovered later that these rifles had been formally issued to individuals in No.2 Platoon who were not at all happy that [underlined] their [/underlined] rifles were being used by the ‘rookies’ in No.3.
Having sorted out which end was which, we were now ready to make a start on Arms Drill. Now the Short Lee Enfield Mk.IV or whatever it was (they looked old enough to be Mk.I) was sufficiently long for it’s muzzle to be somewhere around the right ear of some of us when it was standing vertical. It was also heavy enough to seriously threaten the stability of the smaller thirteen year olds if handled too enthusiastically. So, when the day came for us to start, we were stationed sufficiently far apart to ensure mutual safety, and enough NCOs about to assist in individual safety. First, we had to learn new positions of Attention, At Ease and Easy. No great problem and no threat to safety, apart, that is, from someone who managed to drop his rifle. Short lecture on the three grades of army crime – dropping one’s rifle is rated as ‘Major’. The real trouble starts when having had a brisk demonstration of the movement instigated by the command ‘Slope Arms’, accompanied by the shouting of ‘One Stop – Two Stop – Three’ which will become bitten into the souls of all true soldiers, we attempt to do the same. Of course our sixteen year old Sergeant is almost fully grown and from long practice can whip the 8 1/2lb to the first and second movements as if it were mere balsa wood while his body remains virtually motionless. Three years younger and half grown, the 8 1/2lb suddenly becomes 8 1/2kg, requiring major bodily movement to achieve anything like the same effect. Bodies totter and NCOs leap in to restore balance. Miraculously, the rifles are now on our left shoulders but slope in all directions. In the case of an adult, the relative proportions of rifle and body will, given time and practice, achieve a 45 degree slope of the rifle with a horizontal left forearm, with the weight evenly balanced on the shoulder. Unless one is large for one’s age, by No.3 Platoon averages, something has to give if the weight is not to tip the victim backwards. Having more or less straightened us all out, we attempt the ‘Order Arms’ which we achieve without crushing our right toes. We try again with slightly more success. Eventually the lesson ends. Whether it because the Sergeant was satisfied (which perhaps was doubtful) or whether we were exhausted (which was more likely) or indeed, whether one or the other was on the point of tears, which was equally likely.
Subsequent arms drill sessions involved all the normal foot drill movements now with rifles, plus a few extras such as Present Arms, For Inspection Port Arms, Ease Springs, etc. Having more or less mastered these we progressed to Fix Bayonets (“When I says Fix, you don’t Fix, but when I says ‘Bayonets’ you whips ‘em out and you wops ‘em on and you wets a while” (phraseology faithfully passed down from NCO to NCO from pre-Napoleonic days or even earlier). It took months to get it all more or less right and all the time we were being reminded that we were supposed to be in the British Army and not Fred Kano’s (Fred Kano was supposed to be the mythical General of the army of some equally mythical South American Banana Republic state and therefore the most contemptible of military establishments.
The Armistice Day parades came and went with us in full uniform, even if we did have to let No.2 Platoon have their rifles back for the occasion. Our second year in the Corps was aimed at completing our initial training as infantrymen. Background subjects proliferated with field tactics
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playing an increasing part in our training, for this year would be the first in which we could take part in the annual Field Day. Now that we could (more or less) handle a rifle, we had to learn Fire Control and the principles of covering fire and the like. We were presented with posters showing various forms of terrain over which we needed to plan our movements to take advantage of available cover and where to expect enemy fire. The countryside surrounding our school field became suddenly hostile or potentially useful according to whether we were defending or preparing to attack. We now took part in attacks and defensives at both Platoon and Company level which duly impressed this year’s Inspecting Officer, who incidentally, did not appear to be anything like so formidable this year. Maybe it was he was not so formidable, or was it a measure of our growing confidence?
Another annual event which has not been mentioned so far was ‘Founder’s Day’. This was the day when the school opened its gates to all and sundry including fond parents who could see what their little darlings were doing in exchange for their parent’s hard earned school fees. The day would start with a service in the nearby Parish Church in which King Edward, and his merry men, back in the fourteenth century, were praised for their forethought, and other notables including such past pupils as Newton, Lord Burleigh, and Archbishop Wand, were praised for their ghostly presence. After this formality, we trooped back to the school. The OTC in all (or nearly all) their Bests, accompanied by the Band in their Very Bests (Big Drummer in his Tiger Skin etc, [sic]) gave a formidable display of Felling In, being inspected by the Mayor, Foot and Arms Drilling, marching and counter marching, Marching Past and Dismissing all to cries of command ranging from semi bass to semi falsetto.
While the civvies were being suitably diverted, the soldiers suddenly changed into school boys to man impressive displays in school rooms, art rooms, laboratories and workshops.
That out of the way, we prepared for Field Day, No.3 Platoon now qualifying for the first time. In preparation for this we were issued with more kit. This consisted of a haversack which hung from the waist, a backpack which (obviously) went on your back and ammunition pouches which hung down your front, all of which required more in the way of webbing which was fixed to the brass buckle things on the belt that we had spent the last two years assiduously polishing for no apparent reason.
The Field Day was held in the Parklands of a kindly disposed stately home from which his Lordship would observe with interest (and his gamekeepers with apprehension) while the soldiery of six or more local Grammar School OTCs, scared the living daylights out of his wildlife. The various OTCs would be divided into two Brigades, one of which would defend some appropriate strong point while the other attacked. The ground would have been carefully surveyed by the respective Commanding Officers in conjunction with sundry Regulars from Northern Command who would act as umpires for the day, and an approximate battle plan worked out in advance. On the day, the defenders would arrive from one direction and get themselves ‘dug in’ and, suitably camouflaged. Forward ‘O.Ps’ (Observation Posts) would be deployed towards the general direction of the expected attack. Meanwhile, the attackers arrived from another direction, would ‘debus’ and form themselves into something resembling an attack Brigade. Deploying on a wide front, scouting parties would be sent out to probe the enemy’s positions. Much creeping, ducking and crawling, accompanied by soot voce commands would, in due time provoke a volley of blank cartridge fire from one or other of the O.Ps.
Battle was joined. All very confusing at 3 Platoon level, especially as my section’s Corporal managed to get us separated from the main force which resulted in us being declared ‘Wiped Out’, or ‘Captured’ or something before we really got going. Appropriately labelled by an Umpire, we had to sit and listen to the battle raging around us. Those of No.1 Platoon and a few in No.2 who were the proud possessors of Service Rifles had received a ration of blank cartridges and these were being used to most audible effect against an enemy who had apparently been issued with ever more. Very exciting.
The Umpires having inflicted significant casualties on both sides, declared that it was now time for a truce to be declared and emergency rations to be consumed. This was no great help since, although our parents had filled our haversacks with enough emergency rations for several meals, the exertions and the fresh air had caused them to be dipped into long ago and little remained. After lunch, the state of battle had apparently reached the point where the defenders should stage a counter attack. To our delight, another Umpire declared that we had been uncaptured or something and that we could now rejoin the affray. Happily toting our few D.P.SLEs, even if we could not have any blanks to fire, we deployed, worked our bolts, took aim at indicated targets, worked our bolts,
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squeezed our triggers and shouted BANG at the appropriate point. Sometime later we somehow managed to locate a Section of the enemy holed up in an outhouse without them detecting us. We had learned to throw a D.P. Mills Grenade by this time, but these were far too valuable ‘stores’ for them to be carried on manoeuvres. In compensation, we had been issued with a box of matches and a number of ‘penny bangers’. Having discovered that the door to this outhouse had a convenient knot hole which he had used to spy on the occupants, the Corporal lit one and posted it through, to the consternation of those within. The Corporal claimed victory from the observing Umpire.
With some justification, the Umpire ruled that (a) if the Corporal had a Mills Bomb, he would not have been able to post it through the said knot hole, (b) had he opened the door and thrown the banger in, as he would have had to have done had he used a Mills Bomb, his slaughter might have been allowed, but (c) the door had been bolted so he couldn’t have done so anyway. The Umpire then withdrew both us and the ‘enemy’ to a safe distance apart and told us to get on with our war. (It is truly amazing how the memory of such minor incidents remains fresh after so many years when far more important things are lost forever)
However, I think it was about this time that the Head Umpire called for the cessation of hostilities. After much blowing of whistles, shouting and Rendez Vous hand signals, the troops were eventually brought altogether for the Inquest. Unit A was praised for this and Unit B censured for that, but overall the exercise was declared a success (It always was). As for us, we were far too tired and hungry to take much in, and it was a weary mob who ‘embussed’ for the journey home. As was to be expected, someone had lost something, which led to no end of enquiry and recriminations, but in compensation, we had managed to ‘acquire’ several other things of value which was cause for quiet satisfaction and a blind eye.
Field Day over, we settled down to our final term of the year. ‘Settled’ was a misnomer of course. The summer term was always the most hectic term of the year. Masters were desperately trying to complete their curriculum targets. Scholars were desperately trying to make up for lost time and standards and ‘squaddies’ were desperately revising and polishing up their instructional techniques. Behind all this there was an increasing buzz as No.2 Platoon were doing their best to hide their excitement as the time neared for them to go to their first Annual Camp. There was a similar buzz in No.1 Platoon, but this was tempered by the realisation that although it would be their second camp, it would be the last for many.
At No.3 Platoon level, the question of camp was still a matter of biding our time for another year, but that did not remove the feelings of envy. This year it was Northern Command’s turn to stage the Annual Camp, the two thousand or so Senior and Junior OTC cadets would be ‘entertained’ at the big army complex at Strensall in South Yorkshire. Even to those who were unable to go, ‘Strensall’ and 1937 were inseparable. Enviously, during the last week of term, we watched their final kitting up. For some of our NCOs, this would be their swan song. When school opened again in September, not only would we see a new NCO structure with many new stripes on display, the announcement that we had successfully passed all our tests, meant that next year we would be in No.2 Platoon.
We made our final Dismiss of the year, we handed in all our kit. We closed our desks and sang our farewell hymns. We said goodbye to those friends we would not be seeing over the holidays, and went home determined to forget all about school, but not all about the OTC.
For six or seven weeks we were gong [sic] to be civvies, and catch up with the RAF. There was a lot to catch up in 1937. Aircraft which had been mere specifications in the early Thirties, were now coming into service and their successors were well into the prototype and development stages. The biplanes were beginning to go. Sleek monoplanes were increasingly seen.
Much Lincolnshire farmland was being requisitioned for new airfields. New Squadrons were being formed. They might spend a few months ‘working up’ on Hawker Hinds but once their act was together, they converted to single and twin engine replacements. RAF Scampton, just north of Lincoln, reopened and was home briefly to Barnes Wallis’ first geodetic wonderbird, the Vickers Wellesley. It’s long range capability and load capacity was to equip the RAF’s Long Range
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[picture]
Vickers Wellesley
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Handley Page Hampden
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ST. VINCENT’S
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Vickers Wellington
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Fairey Battle
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Development Flight at Cranwell and in the following year it gained the World’s Long Distance Record for the RAF.
A new Bomber Command Group was formed and established it’s Headquarters in a large house and grounds in Grantham, just down the hill from Spittlegate. Within a few years, tis Group would become a legend and it’s Commanding Officer equally legendary. It’s staff increased and the sons joined the King’s School. ‘5 Group’ and ‘Harris’ entered our vocabularies and the plane spotters reported Handley Page Hampdens and Vickers Wellingtons in the skies to the north.
Things were also changing on the Flying Training scene. Now that the threat from the air was more likely to be from the east, Lincolnshire airfields were needed for combat squadrons.
No2. FTS left RAF Digby for safer skies in the south west and two fighter squadrons moved in. They were originally equipped with biplanes, but these were soon replaced by Hawker Hurricanes. No.3. FTS also left Spittlegate shortly afterwards. Spittlegate became a bomber station. Two bomber squadrons moved in, both working up with Hind biplanes but soon converted to Fairey Battles. More changes of personnel and new faces at school. New aircraft to land in over our hea[underlined]d[/underlined]s up Cold Harbour Lane.
We must have been getting older. The summer holidays appeared to be getting even shorter!
Only days after my fourteenth birthday, so it seemed, we were on countdown to a new school year. Destined for the Lower Fifth, we were also at an age when we were growing up the fastest, and by the time school started again, we would have grown out of last year’s clothes anyway. This was not the only criterion. As members of this year’s No.2 Platoon, we would be getting [underlined] Bests [/underlined] as well as Seconds and we must look as correspondingly smart in our Mufti.
We had no sooner got kitted up and drawn [underlined] our rifles [/underlined] (for this year each rifle was to be the personal responsibility of the person to whom it was issued), and had carried out our first parade of the year, when we learned that changes were in the air. It would seem that the Army was to be equipped at infantry level with the new Bren Gun, a highly accurate, easily manageable machine gun to replace the clumsy, heavy and temperamental Lewis Gun which had been the Army’s lot since WW1. These were to be issued at the rate of three to the platoon. Numbers and dispositions were going to be reorganised into a Platoon of three Sections, each of seven men. Of course it would be years before D.P. Bren Guns would be available at OTC level, but from now on we would ‘go through the motions’ as riflemen.
New Drill and Field Training Manuals would eventually arrive. The principal change in drilling was that the new compact three rank platoon could move off smartly in columns of threes rather than having to go through the ‘Form Fours’ procedure which now became history. (Pity in a way. A good ‘Form Fours’ executed smartly by a well trained squad could be a joy to watch). Other foot drill movements were also affected by this new platoon formation and this all took time to master, both in execution and from an instructional point of view.
Generally speaking, this 1937-38 year followed it’s usual pattern of drill and theory sessions, major ceremonials and new challenges. Increasingly, as No.2 Platoon, we were called upon to instruct even though we were still a long way off from wearing stripes. By now we had well mastered the use of the mnemonic of the day, PODEIR. Called upon to instruct, the first thing we had to do was to carry out our Preliminaries, i.e. collecting any necessary gear, getting the squad into the necessary place for the instruction to begin, and to prepare yourself for the task. Addressing the squad, you needed to clearly state the Objectives of the unit of instruction. “Today you will learn how to clean your rifle correctly’. Next, you need to give a clear Demonstration of what you are proposing to teach the squad. This is then followed by a clear Explanation, repeated often enough for the subject to be thoroughly understood.
[underlined]I[/underlined]nterrogation of the squad is carried out to find out if the subject is indeed thoroughly understood. Repetition of the movement or whatever, on the part of the squad is then carried out enough times to insure that the instruction has ‘stuck’.
The routine was interspersed by a number of small but memorable events. One significant, but not previously introduced member of the instructional team, was the local Territorial Depot Sergeant. As ex Regular, he lived in the Territorial Barracks on the far side of the town, coming down frequently to keep a fatherly eye upon all our doings. As we progressed to higher things, squads from Nos.1 & 2 Platoons, as a pleasant change from field exercises on the school playing field, would march up to
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the Barracks for sundry training activities under his instruction. One of the most popular of these was firing practice on the Territorial’s indoor range. If I remember rightly, a thing called a Morris Tube or some such name, could be inserted into the bore of the standard 0.303in rifle enabling it to fire 0.22in bullets, with quite reasonable accuracy. Thus armed, we could carry out single shot, groups and rapid fire exercises, as well as learning Range Discipline. On other occasions, we carried out Gas Drill.
This was still within living memory of the gas attack horrors of the Great War and we, as a nation were still apprehensive of another war unleashing even more horrible war gases on both the military and civilian populations. The Barracks therefore had a Gas Room, in which we were first of all introduced to synthesised odours of Mustard and Phosgene gases. We would then don and learn to adjust an army style gas mask and sit there while the room was filled with tear gas. As you begin to perspire as a result of the claustrophobic effect of sitting there in a hot stuffy room, the tear gas settling on your sweat, starts to prickle like mad.
At this point the Sergeant yells at you to pull your masks off and clear the room IN AN ORDERLY MANNER1[sic]. Half blinded and choking, we clear the room in a most disorderly manner while the Sergeant reminds us that until that moment we had been sitting in a room full of tear gas with no apparent effect and to emphasise the point, makes us redon our masks and go in for another ten minutes. Not one of our pleasantest exercises.
There was one seldom expressed advantage of marching up to and back from the Territorial Barracks. As may be gathered from the previous commentaries, the King’s School was strictly boys only. On the opposite side of the town, and directly opposite to the Territorial Barracks, was the Girls High School and it’s extensive playing fields. Now the headmistress of this school ran it with an iron hand and was constantly complaining to our headmaster that his boys were making a point of parading past her school in order to fraternise with her pupils. As a result, the road past her school was, in term time strictly out of bounds to any boys who did not have to pass that way. Somehow, to the delight of all but the headmistress and her all female staff, our marches to and from the Barracks, not only had to pass her school and playing fields, but seemed to do so when her darlings were doing their jolly hockey sticks or whatever. Discipline was difficult to maintain on both sides of the fence, and the command “Eyes Front” tended to be ignored.
On an even lighter note, we were once again in the Route Marching season. When we were marching through the town and therefore in the public eye, we would ‘March To Attention’ either to some stirring tune blared out by the buglers, or to the accompaniment of pace taps from one of the side drummers. Once clear of the town, the command would ring out “March At Ease”. After a brief period of semi relaxation, someone would start whistling. Unlike today, everyone seemed to ‘Whistle While They Worked’ or went about their daily life. Of course, from early childhood, we had learned of the sad fate of those unfortunate Green Bottles which had been overcome by the effects of gravity. Also, though we were yet to discover the location of that elusive Meadow which required so many men to mow it and why the first man always had to bring his dog along, we nevertheless sang along regardless. These we soon realised, were excellent marching tunes which could be hummed, whistled or sung aloud with appropriate gusto. We also marched to, whistled and sang about the considerable distance between the centre of London and Tipperary (wherever that was). At our age, it was perhaps debatable whether we should be so enthusiastically singing the praises of the Barley Mow, that establishment’s staff and it’s wide range of barrels containing it’s liquid refreshments. Straying a little nearer the edge, someone might start whistling the tune of Colonel Bogey or one of the more liberal minded officers, the army’s less respectable lyrics could be heard quietly sung by those in Nos.1 & 2 Platoon who had been to Annual Camp where apparently there were few inhibitions on such ribaldry. On the other hand, if the Commanding Officer was striding along at the column’s head there would be an immediate command to “March To Attention” which put a rapid end to such lack of good order and discipline.
Armistice Day, Annual Inspection, and Founder’s Day passed sufficiently routinely to leave no great mark on my memory for the autumn of 1937 to the late spring of 1938, and so did the Field Day for that year. Some of us in No.2 Platoon were able to take Service Rifles, which meant that we could fire blank cartridges. We got involved in black market transactions for ‘gash’ blanks. Apparently, at Annual Camp the Army would dish out far more blank cartridges than the troops were called upon to fire, which meant that the pouches of the said troops arrived back far from empty. It was ‘not done’ to hand these in, and the blanks were smuggled home and hidden away from nosey parents until the next Field Day. Now the usual official issue of blanks was rarely more than ten, but somehow
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enough blanks had mysteriously changed hands, (to some advantage to the vendors thereof), so that when an NCO or an officers [sic] called for say “Five Rounds Rapid Fire” , the resulting volley seemed to go on for far longer than was expected., [sic] even after “Cease Fire” was commanded.
So, inexorably, the Summer Term of 1938 heralded more terminal examinations and OTC Tests and Assessments, but this year it was different. We were fourteen years [underlined] old [/underlined], reasonably competent in Arms Drill, had fired on the indoor range, had experienced two Field Days, passed most if not all our annual tests and assessments and were therefor eligible to go to our first Annual Camp with the ‘veterans’ of No.1 Platoon.
Behind all the anticipatory excitement of going to the Annual Camp was the sobering thought that proud as we would be at also moving up into No.1 Platoon, the height of achievement, the primary objective of life in No.1 Platoon would be the one and only opportunity for most of us to pass our Certificate A. For several months we had been working through and revising all the various aspects of the ‘Cert A’ syllabus, and once we started again in September, it would be the final count down to the actual tests which would take place either just before or just after Christmas. Since a large proportion of these tests had direct reference to the experience we would gain at Camp, that week’s activity was never to be regarded as a fun holiday.
[underlined] The 1938 Tweezledown OTC Camp [/underlined]
Following the previous year’s Northern Command’s camp at Strensall, it was now Southern Command’s turn to host the OTC Annual Camp, and for the good of our souls, it was decided to give us the full Aldershot treatment.
Accordingly, The Chosen assembled in Good Order and Discipline on the southbound platform of Grantham Station on the Saturday morning following the end of school for that year. Kitbags had been issued and were now bulging with Seconds, spare clothing, towels and toilet kits, knife, fork, spoon and mug and items of ‘tuck’ and recreation. We were in our Bests, with boots and buttons gleaming in the sunshine, webbing blancoed to perfection.
Ammunition pouches were empty apart from a few surreptitious ‘extras’ left over from the last Field Day. On the other hand, we all bore full Service Rifles complete with Firing Pins and sharp bayonets (None of your ‘D.P. stuff for this week!). We awaited the arrival of the specially chartered train to take us and other OTC contingents from the north.
When it eventually arrived, somewhat late, our demeanour and composure was somewhat discomposed by the howls, jeers, cheers and catcalls from the contingents already on board. Our Commanding Officers [sic] was not amused, ordered us aboard our specified carriage, delegated the stowage of our kitbags and other spare gear and stalked forward with his other officers with appropriate dignity to the First Class carriages.
We quickly discovered that our carriage was sealed off from the others, no doubt to prevent an outbreak of civil war. We settled down to await developments. As the train gathered speed, we were somewhat surprised to observe yards and yards of paper flying past our windows. An opened window disclosed the reason thereof. In the forward carriage beyond us, two extended arms held a vertically disposed bayonet which had been threaded though [sic] a toilet roll. The slipstream was doing the rest. Any attempt to copy this in our carriage was rapidly quelled. The train approached Peterborough station. Through trains were required to pass though [sic] at ten miles per hour giving platform dwellers opportunity to gaze with some interest at a train full of what appeared to be very young soldiers. The train contents gaze back. Suddenly a volley of rifle fire erupts from one of the carriages to the rear. Amidst screams and shouts, the crowd on the platform scatters. Someone pulls the communication cord and the train screeches to a stop. Officers appear rapidly from the forward carriage, Railway Police appear rapidly from their den. Platform crowd emerges from cover. More shouting and commands. Our train is shunted onto a siding. We await further developments. Whistles, jerks and shunting noises from the rear of the train. Even more behind time now, the train moves off. NCOs work down carriage, carefully searching for and confiscating any further stocks of ‘gash’ blank cartridges. We explore the contents of our haversacks. We never did discover the identity and fate of the contents of the carriage we left behind. their unit was reported as ‘Missing Presumed Lost’ on arrival at Aldershot Station which was reached without further incident.
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We were met by army lorries, manned by Regular Army personnel who made it quite clear that henceforth, everything had to be done ‘at the double’. Our camp was to be held on the Racecourse at Twezledown (or was it ‘Twezeldown’ or even ‘Tweezledown’ or …….) Anyway, there was nothing ‘twee’ about it, as we soon discovered. It was next door to the big Aldershot Army Training Camps, whose staffs were right here to get us sorted. We were tipped out and marched off with kit and kitbags to a bell-tented city of hundreds of tents and marquees. Our homes for the week were allocated, into which our kitbags were dumped. We were told to change into Seconds at the double and fall in outside our tents. Marched off (at the double, of course) to a large marquee filled with straw, we were issued with canvas ‘Palliasse’ covers which we filled with straw. Enthusiasm led to over filling and almost cylindrical objects defied all attempts to lie comfortably for the first night or two. (God help any tent with any discarded whisps of straw decorating the hallowed grass surrounding it) Having disposed of these round the interior of the tent, feet to the middle, we doubled off to another tent to collect blankets and a pillow apiece, only to find upon our return, that a rival unit had obligingly collapsed our tents. Such, we gathered from those for whom this was their second camp, was ‘Army Life’. More confusion as we re-erected them, double secured the guy lines and made our beds up into some semblance of order.
We had of course, consumed our travelling rations within ten miles or so of leaving Grantham so that by now, we were ravenous. However, around this time a bugle sounded ‘Cookhouse’ and we all trooped off to the Mess Tents for a ‘tea’ which just about half filled our aching voids. On our return to our lines, we found our tents in the process of being once again collapsed by a raiding party, the ensuing free fight being quickly subdued by some patrolling VERY LARGE Military Policemen.
Our first day at camp was rounded off by the whole camp falling in to the Main Parade Ground, a last time, we experience the phenomenal parade ground voice of RSM Britten, the Senior Regimental Sergeant Major of the British Army of that era, the terror of all ranks below that of Colonel.
We began to appreciate the true size of the OTC movement as rank upon rank of us were inspected by the Camp Commandant. We were, after all only the top ends of our respective units. That over, we celebrated the lowering of the Union Flag to the sounds of mass buglers sounding the Last Post. A mass March Past and Dismiss gave us the false impression that things were over for the day. Back at our tents, we collapsed onto our ‘beds’ only to be hauled out again for camp experienced NCOs to demonstrate how beds should be made properly and how kit should be disposed of in an orderly manner. Having made up our own beds to their grudging satisfaction, we collapsed again. Ten minutes later, and we were up on our feet again as fatigue duties were handed out and weary bodies were despatched in all directions. After all it was high summer with British Summer Time still giving us much lovely daylight which the Army could put to good use.
Utterly exhausted (so we thought), we were delighted to hear some poor bugler still on duty,play [sic] ‘Lights Out’. Ten minutes later (so it seemed) the damned fool was sounding ‘Reveille’. NCOs were whacking the sides of our tents with swagger canes, bearing another load of Fatigue Duties. Groans of recovery were not mollified by the one P.B.I with a watch announcing that it was only 06.00.
Cookhouse wallahs disappeared in one direction while the remainder were shocked into consciousness by the impact of ice cold water in the washlines. Luckily most of us were too young to need a shave, otherwise this would have been an even greater assault upon the senses
Next came the loose scrum brought about by the next priority of the morning – preparing the tents for kit inspection. Luckily, it had been a fine night so that we were able to learn the mysteries and mayhem of blanket folding and kit layout. What it would have been like if it had been (a) raining or (b) we had been the regulation fifteen to the tent compared with our ten or so, heaven only knows.
Halfway through the morning (the boy with the watch announcing that it was now 07.30), more bugling announced ‘Cookhouse’ and hundreds of aching voids stampeded their way to the Mess Tents. We knew where they were by now. There was no need for NCOs to shout ‘Double up There’.
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Army Porridge, Army Eggs, Army Bacon, Army Bread and Army Butter topped with Army Jam were dolloped, dumped and poured into Army Plates and Mugs, and all these were hopefully washed down with Army Tea. I hoped the Tweezledown worms liked the Army Tea, it took some time to discover where the Army Drinking Water surfaced.
Having gulped that lot down, we dashed back to our tents to don Best Uniforms. In spite of much preparatory brushing and polishing, they were deemed to require further spit and polish before we ere [sic] ready for kit inspection and the morning parade. Of course in our haste, our puttees refused to wind at just the right tension and spacing. Somehow we managed to achieve some measure of perfection before our Commanding Officer made his inspection of our lines. Then out to the Main Parade Ground for the Raising Of the Flag, the Morning Prayers (we hoped He would approve of our turnout even if the General’s Inspection found us wanting)
After this, we dispersed. The events of the day and the days which followed have merged into a blur of memories. Of incessant activity of which the major component seemed to be doubling to mess, marching to parades, doubling to lectures and demonstrations, cookhouse fatigues, fetching and emptying, digging and filling latrines, picket duties, cleaning and polishing kit, guarding our rifles with our lives, foot drill and arms drill, kit inspection and foot inspection, lectures when you could hardly stay awake, day exercises, night exercises and ‘dawn patrols’. Then, when they thought that you still had a little untapped energy left, they took us for Route Marches when we found Aldershot’s Long Valley truly lived up to its name. Learning to obey instantly one minute and being prepared to take command the next. Constantly being reminded that the letters OTC stood for [underlined] Officer’s [/underlined] Training Corps, and that we were there to learn and instruct, to obey and command.
Of course there were the high moments as well as the low. The first ride on a tank and the time you were given the controls of the new Bren Carrier. The rifle ranges where we had or [sic] first experience of firing live 0.303in ammunition at ranges up to 500 yards. The day when they felt we were safe enough to fire a Lewis Machine Gun, terror or ecstasy to a fifeteen [sic] year old. Even firing the murderous Boyes Anti Tank Rifle, a right bastard of a gun which fired a half inch copper bullet with a massive brass cartridge. When fired, it would leap six inches up in the air, drove you the same distance backwards, dislocated your right shoulder if you were not holding it correctly and took two of you to carry it. The morning when we threw our first live Mills Grenade. The calmness of the instructors who hustled us out of the throwing trench when a terrified cadet dropped one at his feet. The same calmness when they went out to place a small charge against one which had failed to explode.
It was only a week, but it felt like a year. The boy with the watch was forbidden to tell us what the time really was. Then, at the final concert on the Friday night, when we were all wished the best of British Luck by the assembled Brass, we suddenly realised it was all over. It had been a week of sheer hell most of the time but we wouldn’t have missed it for a moment. We said goodbye to new friends and promised to write – which we didn’t of course. We promised to come back for next year’s Camp – but we never did.
Of one thing we were quite sure. We had arrived the previous Saturday as mere schoolboys but we would be leaving the following morning as soldiers and furthermore, however old we actually were, we were quite sure now that we were GROWN UP
I vaguely remember getting on the train at Aldershot, but knew nothing until being shaken awake as the train slowed down for Grantham Station. When I staggered in through our front door, my mother was horrified at my appearance. She reckoned that I had lost a stone in weight – maybe she was right. She said afterwards, that I drank a pint of milk without pausing for breath and immediately asked for another, after which I slept for sixteen hours without a break – I don’t remember a thing. When I finally surfaced, my father, the Old Contemptible and P.B.I. of WW1, just looked at me and grinned. [underlined] He [/underlined] knew what we had been through
Uniforms and kit cleaned, repaired and handed in. rifle bore ‘boiled’ and oiled, its bayonet emeried up to its appropriate gleam, both replaced in their place of honour amongst the other Service Rifles in the Armoury and for the remainder of the summer holidays, school and the army could be resolutely ignored in favour of things less earthbound.
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[picture]
Avro Anson
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Airspeed Oxford
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Bristol Blenheim I
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FAIREY BATTLE TRAINER
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[underlined] A [/underlined]
Form [underlined] M.T. [/underlined]
460
Officer Training Corps.
CERTIFICATE “A”
This is to Certify that
Mr. Peter Desmond Stevenson of the King’s School (Grantham) Contingent, Junior Division, Officers Training Corps, has fulfilled the necessary conditions as to efficient service, and has qualified in the Infantry syllabus of examination, as laid down in the Regulations for the Officers Training Corps. He is, therefore, eligible for consideration for a commission in the Supplementary Reserve, Territorial Army, Territorial Army Reserve of Officers or Active Militia of Canada.
On appointment to a commission he will be entitled to the privileges conferred on holders of this Certificate as set forth in the Regulations concerned, and to any further privileges that may be authorised after the date of this Certificate.
In the event of a national emergency involving the mobilization of the Regular Army and the embodiment of the Territorial Army, he is requested to notify his address immediately to the Under Secretary of State, The War Office, S.W.1, with any offer of service he may wish to make.
THE WAR OFFICE,
Date March 1939.
[signature]
Major-General,
Director of Military Training.
95360) Wt.13585/6884 12,000 5/38 A.& E.W.Ltd. Gp.698 J.4202
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As usual, there was much to catch up. Once more things had changed at Spittlegate. In the preceding twelve months, it had been decided to move No.3 FTS to safer skies elsewhere, and for a brief interval RAF Spittlegate became a bomber station. Into this had moved a succession of bomber squadrons which were in the process of converting from Hawker biplanes to Fairey Battles. Amongst these were 106 Squadron which we will meet again in Chapter Nine. Spittlegate had also become the base for the No.5 Group Communications Flight. Around this time, the airfield itself was considerably enlarged.
In spite of its close proximity to No.5 Group H.Q. down the hill, they then decided that the existing airfield, notwithstanding the extension which moved the Cold Harbour Lane over several hundred yards, would never be big enough to accommodate the heavy bombers which would soon be coming into service. So, the bomber squadrons had left, and Spittlegate once more became a training station. Coming into service in the near future would be a new generation of twin engine fighters requiring an intermediate stage of training between the Flying Training Schools (such as No.3 FTS) and the operational squadrons. These were to be called Service Flying Training Schools and Spittlegate was now home to the new No.12 SFTS. Equipped with many Ansons, Oxfords, Blenheims and Battle trainers, the volume of Grantham’s soundscape was now considerable, especially as the old WW1 training field on the adjacent hill top, once again called RAF Harlaxton, became Spittlegate’s satellite airfield. Added to this, the arrival of the new North American Harvard, smote our ears with its raucous, supersonic prop tip scream and its near fighter performance. Things really were hotting up over Grantham. Frustratingly so.
Behind all this had been the Munich Crisis, the build up of the Civil Defence organisation, the issue of gas masks to the civilian population, practices by the ARP and the first wailings of the air raid sirens. The war clouds were gathering and increasingly it was becoming ‘When’ rather than ‘If’.
The summer holidays of 1938 passed quickly and the autumn term started with a new feeling of urgency. For most of us, this would be our last year at school, with the School’s Certificate Examinations the following June our primary scholastic target. More immediately, however, were the Certificate A Tests and Examinations of the autumn term.
Our first parade was naturally, a notable occasion. As expected, we were now this year’s No.1 Platoon, and we ‘battle hardened’ survivors were now permitted a further visible sign of our maturity. When not ‘bearing arms’ and on general duties, we could now sport a ‘Swagger Cane’ whose silver cap bore the School’s emblem. This gave rise to some further drill movements which we were more than a little proud to show off to the other ranks, as well as to the general public as we strode our way to and from parades. There were sundry promotions amongst those who had stayed on from the previous year, but we had to await the outcome of our ‘Cert A’ before we knew where we stood on the promotion ladder.
Frantic swotting, sweating and general revision, endless practices and brushing up of our drill and its instruction brought us up to the fateful day when we began taking the written papers. Then followed grilling from visiting examining officers from the Regular Army on the more practical aspects. After this, there were generalised interviews, which were obviously aimed at assessing our potential as ‘officer material’. The examining officers left with their sheaves of paper and their non-committal expressions. We were left to stew.
A week or two later, the grapevine announced that the results had arrived. On tenterhooks, we paraded the following Thursday afternoon and awaited our fate. (Oh how frustrating to have a surname so far down the alphabet!) Private Stevenson P.D was at length called out to receive the coveted cloth star to be proudly sewn onto his left sleeve. At the same time he was informed that henceforth he would be Lance Corporal Stevenson in charge of one of the Sections in No3. Platoon, the which duty he commenced with alacrity – but it was not to be for long.
For it was not just the Certificate A results which had been exercising the grapevine of late. Shortly after his promotion, he, plus a number of others were called upon to appear before a Selection Board which had nothing whatsoever to do with His Majesty’s Army.
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[underlined] Chapter Three The Public School’s Air Cadet Wing (January to August 1939) [/underlined]
As can be gathered from the previous chapter, the OTC was pretty extensive in numbers and scope. I have very little idea of how the Royal Navy set about convincing the schoolboy population that a worthwhile career awaited them in that Service, apart from the known existence of certain schools to which families with a strong naval tradition usually sent their sons. There were also the Training Ships who took in boys of school age and trained them up in the manner of the Midshipmen of old. All this was of course, very much of a coastal phenomenon, until the later formation of the Sea Cadets. The Army therefore appeared to have, in the inter war period, a virtual monopoly of military involvement with the inland schools, with a declared aim of ‘creaming off’ the best ‘officer types’ according to its needs.
With the phenomenal rise in the size and effectiveness of the Luftwaffe during and after the Spanish Civil War, and its obvious close support of the Wehrmacht, even our War Department began to admit, albeit somewhat reluctantly, that the RAF should have some access to the schoolboys who would be the fighting men of a future conflict. It should be remembered that even in the late 1930s, aircrew were predominantly commissioned ranks and that therefore the RAF were also looking for potential officers.
It was finally agreed that a small proportion of OTC cadets, [underlined] provided that they had already passed their Certificate A, [/underlined] and who expressed a preference for service in the RAF, should be allowed to join a ‘Public School’s Air Cadet Wing’, for appropriate pre-entry training by the RAF. No doubt the Army, having spent some four years bringing these boys up to Cert A standard, felt that there was enough Army Esprit de Corps in their veins to render them immune to the blandishments of the Men in Blue.
Each interested OTC would be allotted a small number of places which, added to a similar quota from the Senior OTCs, not already in the University Air Squadrons (the RAF having penetrated to Universities much more successfully) would not exceed a total of two hundred and fifty nationwide. These cadets would still continue to wear their OTC uniforms and badges of rank but would also wear a brassard of RAF colours bearing an Officer’s forage cap badge of ‘Crown and Wings’.
In the case of the King’s School OTC, the initial allocation of places would be seven, which was later increased to eight. The rumours came to a head when a notice to this effect appeared on the OTC Notice Board, which produced an instant effect. Names were rapidly added, including my own, but I had doubts as to whether I would qualify. The scheme was undoubtedly aimed at aircrew potential, and I already knew that my eyesight was not up to aircrew standard. Luckily, the list was not over subscribed. The school already knew that my sights were set on the RAF, and that my service in the OTC had been aimed at improving my chances. I suppose that may have been responsible for me not being struck off the list of those due to appear before the promised Selection Board. Naturally, all the other hopefuls were sons of serving officers and were obviously aircrew material and therefore stood an excellent chance of being accepted. In spite of my keenness, I was more than a little doubtful of my own chances.
RAF Spittlegate, to which our section would be attached, had apparently received directives from on high, duly convened a Select Board and sent them down to hear our respective cases. In our very Bests, with Cert A Star prominently displayed, we were called in one by one. The others went in and after some time reappeared with non committal expressions and told to wait. I was called in last. Acknowledging my best salute, I was told to sit.
As I fully expected, the first question was, as a result of seeing my glasses, what was my eyesight standard. I explained that it had been my intention to apply for a commission in the RAF Technical Branch for several years now, and they would obviously need at least one Technical Officer to keep the other six in the air. From their reactions, I gathered that they had not quite expected this answer from a khaki clad figure. I went on to explain that my one purpose of serving in the OTC was to improve my chances of acceptance, that aeronautical matters had been my hobby for several years and showed my Membership Card of the Air League Junior Section to prove it.
After looking at each other once more, one of them started asking questions about the Theory of Flight, Aircraft Construction and general questions on current aircraft types which I managed to answer without batting the proverbial eyelid. I got the further impression that they were not expecting
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all this from a khaki clad fifteen year old. After a few more minutes of this, I was told to leave the room as the others had done.
The others were called in one by one and emerged with appropriate grins. Then I followed, wondering what my fate was to be. I was told that in view of the fact that only the requisite number had applied and that I had put forward a good case and was already well informed, they would accept me on the same grounds.
We were all ‘agog’, the following Thursday afternoon when an RAF truck arrived to whisk us up and away to the Spittlegate airfield. Feeling very superior, from now onwards we would be leaving the ‘Footsloggers’ down in the town to do their footslogging while we:
‘Slipped the surly bonds of earth, and danced the skies on laughter silvered wings, *
Dropped off at the Station H.Q., we were ushered into the Adjutant’s Office, given our appropriate passes, signed the Official Secrets Act and were presented with our PSACW Brassards., to be proudly worn below our stripes – we all had at least one. From then onwards, it became increasingly obvious that those upon high had issued orders to the effect that all concerned were to do all they could to make up for lost time.
Almost immediately, we found ourselves in the Crew Room being kitted up with flying suits and helmets, shown how to don a parachute and what to do should the need arise. Paper work included local air maps and the signing of the inevitable ‘blood chit’. Out on the tarmac, we were loaded into a couple of Ansons. The ‘Annie’ was originally a small passenger carrying civil plane which had been developed into a very useful maritime reconnaissance aircraft. It also became an ideal trainer, in which role it was equipped with dual control, had space for navigation and/or radio desks, an air gunners top turret and even a bomb aimer’s position in it’s nose. Not called upon to fly high, it had a greenhouse of a cabin with large windows on all sides and room enough to move around. It was a perfect plane in which to experience one’s first flight in a service aircraft. We trundled out to the [underlined] other [/underlined] side of that fence along Cold Harbour Lane, turned about and took off. An hour or so later, we came whistling in after a glorious run around the local area. We even thought we could see those poor footsloggers down there in the school quadrangle. The ‘Annie’ may have touched down but I doubt if our feet did for several hours.
Every Thursday afternoon from then onwards, we were shown every possible aspect of a Service Flying Training School’s activities. We were given lectures on the Theory of Flight, Airframe and Aeroengine construction, Meteorology. Air Armament, Air Force History and Law, RAF Command Structure, and the functions of Bomber, Fighter, Coastal and Transport Commands. On the Station Range, we fired Lewis and Vickers Air Guns and learned to strip and reassemble them and clear stoppages. We took over the controls of ‘Annies’ in level flight (mind you, ‘Faithful Annie’ could quite happily fly along in level flight without your help when it was ‘trimmed’ properly) and we did our best to avoid crashing the Link Blind Flying Trainer. We learned to set up the dropping sequence on bomb racks and how to use the current types of bomb sights, how to guide the pilot on a ‘bomb run’ on the AML Bombing Trainers as well as acting as plotter on the Camera Obscura Bombing Trainer.
Although each one of us had been utterly converted to the RAF as a possible career even before we had become Public School’s Air Cadet Wingers, we were determined to show our new friends in Blue that we knew our drill and we ‘Brown Jobs’ could outsmart them anytime. We were of course, something of a curiosity with our khaki and our puttees and the fact that however old and mature we might have felt, we were still outwardly and obviously schoolboys, but we were schoolboys who were being given the VIP treatment.
At the time, we were green enough to take much of this for granted. Later on, as the war escalated, it became a source of wonder how this SFTS, already flat out on desperately needed pilot training, had been able and willing to devote so much time and effort upon who must have appeared to be such mere schoolboys. Much as we would have liked to believe that it had been recognition of our obvious keenness, behind it all must have been some pretty powerful directives from someone or something high up in the Air Ministry.
*From ‘High Flight’ – One of WW2’s best known pieces of poetry, penned by a young fighter pilot learning his trade at RAF Digby.
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Meanwhile the clock had steadily ticked on. It was now early 1939 and for us in the Upper Fifth, the School’s Certificate Examinations were only a few months ahead, and for most of us the end of schooldays perhaps only a month or so after that. Swotting, cramming and mock examination papers ruled our existence. To add to our fears and apprehensions, the clouds of war were also looming ever closer, but at our age, the prospect of war was always a challenge rather than an actual fear.
By the early summer, most people realised that time was running out. In addition to the rearmament programme which now flat out with most of the local factories changing over to munitions and other war essential work, there were quiet moves to call up reservists. The Civil Defence organisation was largely in place and more and more people were to be seen with civilian duty gas masks and tin hats with ‘ARP’, ‘AFS’ and ‘W’ on them, slung over their shoulders. Suitable cellars were being taken over and converted into shelters. There were practices when we all had to don our civilian gas masks and leaflets distributed telling us whereabouts in our homes were the safest places to take cover. Other leaflets and notices in the papers and over the radio told us of the availability of the Anderson Shelters which could be half buried in our gardens, covered over with soil and the turf of the previously cherished lawn. For those without gardens, the Morrison Shelter was also available. This was like a large steel table capable of preventing the family, sheltering beneath it, from being crushed by a collapsing house.
In spite of all this, neither we nor the authorities, local or national, had any clear idea of what to expect if war was declared. Thanks to the appeasement tactics at Munich and the months which followed, Czechoslovakia and then Austria had been occupied by the Nazis, more or less peacefully, thanks to little or no local resistance. Now the Nazi Hate Machine was being directed towards Poland, but it was known that the Poles, however hopeless their resistance might be against the German Blitzkrieg, would not go down without a fight to the death. Both Britain and France finally came to realise that a stand must be made sooner rather than later.
What we could do to help Poland was unknown, but if we did go to their aid, then our fate might well be massive air raids against which we appeared to have little or no significant ability to resist, let alone retaliate.
This then, was the atmosphere in which we came to the end of our last peacetime school term.
We sat our exams and awaited results. To the dismay of the footsloggers, the Army preparations for the 1939 Annual OTC Camp first of all ground to a halt and were then cancelled ‘in the interests of safety’. Not only did the War Office feel that it was unwise to divert the resources of the Regular Army at such a critical time, perhaps the idea of hundreds of schoolboys massed together in a tented camp, might be politically explosive if they were subjected to air attack.
[underlined] The 1939 Public Schools Air Cadet Wing Camp at Selsea Bill [/underlined]
No such disappointment was to be felt by those Lucky Few in the Air Cadet Wing. The RAF, not to be outdone by the Army, had made their plans for an ‘Air Camp’ at the end of July, and much to our glee and anticipation, they had no intention of cancelling [underlined] their camp. [/underlined] Furthermore, it was going to be organised on the basis of ‘Whatever the Army can do, the Air Force can do Bigger and Better’
By now, being very seasoned personnel (or that it [sic] how we viewed ourselves) we were told to kit ourselves out and with RAF Rail Warrants, to make our own way to Portsmouth without an accompanying officer to tell what or what not to do. Compared with our previous year’s journey to Aldershot which was initially, a bit of a ‘rag’, this journey was a much more sober affair. The nearer we got to Portsmouth, the more Service uniforms there seemed to be, and the less of a curiosity we seemed to be.
Although we had been given a very sketchy idea of the week’s programme, we had no real idea of what was in store for us. On the way down we had come into contact with other small parties Portsmouth bound and the mutual sense of anticipation heightened. At Portsmouth Station, RAF transport was awaiting us and we and our kitbags were whisked away to a tented camp at Selsea Bill, a stone’s throw away from the Tangmere RAF Fighter Station.
Here we were met by RAF NCOs who took us to our ‘homes’ for the week. We were no more than four to a tent and in place of the straw filled palliasses we had at Twezledown, we had proper
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Supermarine Southampton
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Saro London
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Short Sunderland
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Gloster Gladiator
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Hawker Fury II
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Boulton Paul Defiant
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Handley Page Heyford
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Armstrong Whitworth Whitley
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Next day (Monday), began the ‘real work’. At Tangmere, our Anson fleet was awaiting us and after kitting up again we took off and in loose formation, flew up towards London to land at RAF Northolt which was the H.Q of Fighter Command at the time. We were lectured on the command structure of Fighter Command, the disposition of the Fighter Groups and their Sector control rooms. We saw the Northolt Operations Room in action against a simulated air attack on London. It was to be some time before we realised that some deliberate vagueness on their part was disguising the exact nature of certain ‘information received’ i.e. our early Radar system. We toured the hangars and examined at close quarters an impressive array of Fighter Command’s aircraft. They ranged from the last of the four gun biplanes such as the Gloster Gladiators and Hawker Furies, to the latest eight gun monoplanes, the Hurricanes and Spitfires, together with the ill fated twin seat Boulton and Paul Defiant with it’s four gun turret, upon which much hopes had been placed, only to find them sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe a year later. We swarmed all over, under and into these and had their details pointed out by enthusiastic pilots and ground crews. Taken round to the firing range we saw a Hurricane, with Merlin engine at full throttle, loose off all it’s eight guns at a target which disappeared most impressively in the blink of an eyelid. After a lunch (fully up to the standard which we now came to expect from the Junior Service) we adjourned to the tarmac. Seated en masse, we were given a thrilling display of formation flying, aerobatics and dogfighting. Being so close to London, the RAF had opened it’s doors to the media, including newsreel cameramen. In 1989, when viewing an episode in the TV series ‘Fifty Years Ago This Week’ there was a short item on this Northolt display under some caption such as ‘Future Fighter Pilots?’ unbeknown to the those [sic] in the foreground, the camera had panned over our massed ranks, and there, a few feet in front of the lens was the King’s School contingent. Frustratingly, it was off the air before I could get my video recorder in action.
It was Bomber Command’s turn the following day. Once again our fleet of ‘Faithful Annies’ were waiting at Tangmere to take us up to Upper Heyford, a bomber station on which a similar display was laid on. Again Bomber Command structure, history and traditions were explained in detail and its aircraft lined up for our inspection. There were the last of the biplanes and the new generation of monoplanes. Many of these were the ones we were beginning to see in the skies over Lincolnshire, but this was the first time we could examine them in detail on the ground. More demonstrations and displays on the ground and for a lucky few a flight in a Wellington, Whitley or a Hampden. I missed out on that one.
Impressive, if not so aerobatically [sic] spectacular was the air display which followed, and with that we ‘emplaned’ for our flight back to Tangmere. This was our last flight in our Ansons.
It was road transport the following morning, through Portsmouth to Southampton. Awaiting us there were RAF Air Sea Rescue boats which took us roaring down Southampton Water, past the Imperial Airways passenger flying boat base to Coastal Command’s seaplane and flying boat base at Calshot. Once again, we were given the full treatment on Coastal’s organisation, duties and aircraft, both land and sea based, (including it’s extensive pigeon lofts) by its air and ground crews. We saw seaplanes and flying boats launched and beached, rescues of ditched crews and plenty of opportunity to examine exteriors and interiors. Of course, since this was the main base for the Schneider Trophy seaplane races which had given Britain three successive World Air Speed Records, we had to learn all about how the Supermarine seaplanes designed by Mitchell, the ‘First of the Few’ had led the way to the design of the Spitfire.
Then, to our delight, we were ferried out in RAF launches to waiting flying boats. Some of us went out to the graceful Sunderlands and the rest to big but still graceful biplane boats, mostly Southamptons, and Londons. Once aboard, moorings were cast and we taxied out into Southampton Water. With engines roaring and impressive bow waves to port and starboard, we were ‘up on the step’and away into the Big Blue Yonder. (It was amazing how well our organisers had got the Met Office to lay on a full week of wonderful weather! – with the exception of one thunderstorm later in the week which caused a slight diversion) These stately beasts, cruising along at one hundred knots or less, enabled us to emerge into the gunners cockpits at the front and rear of their hulls, so that we could look vertically downwards a thousand feet onto the shipping coming up and down Southampton Water and the naval shipping in Portsmouth Harbour. We renewed our aerial acquaintance with the Isle of Wight and the Yachting round Cowes, had another look down to our camp at Selsea, but all too soon, we were ordered to sit ourselves amidships while the monster prepared to land.
When we had taken off, the roar of the four engines and the strangeness of the take off, had largely drowned the hiss of water against the hull. Now with engines throttled back, we were unprepared for
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sound of contact with the sea. For a second or two, we thought we had landed on a shingle beach!
The following morning, only too aware that today was Friday and therefore our last day, we piled aboard our transport again for the short hop across Portsmouth to the Fleet Air Arm base at Lee on Solent. This was at the time when the Navy had not quite completely taken over from the RAF, and the day was to be a kaleidoscope of Fleet Air Arm, RAF and Navy uniforms. One was never quite such at any one point who was exactly running our show, but it was quite obvious that although they were in last wicket, they were certainly not going to be outdone by what we had received at the hands of the RAF over the previous days. Furthermore, they proposed making quite sure that their share of we ‘likely lads’ would, in time, come their way.
Our day was spent looking at Swordfish and Walrus aircraft, together with sessions on ancillary equipment such as torpedoes and airborne mines, catapult gear and aircraft carriers. At nearby Gosport we went round the workshops where the ‘tin fish’ were being serviced and tested and saw divers being trained in the Diving Tanks. Then after a naval lunch we were taken out in navy pinnaces into the Solent to watch a demonstration at fairly close hand, of torpedo dropping. All in place, the first demonstration was to be by a Swordfish (the ‘Stringbag’ to us by now). Down it came with appropriate dignity, and its ‘fish’ was duly launched. According to the experts in charge of our boat, the drop was a perfect one, cleanly entering the water and at the end of its run, floated gently up to the surface ready to be retrieved by one of the other pinnaces.
In distinct contrast to the bumbling Swordfish with its biplane wings, rigging wires, fixed undercarriage and open cockpits, a long sleek monoplane shape came into view from the direction of Southampton Water, with its torpedo neatly slung beneath, looking far more menacing. Our commentator told us that what we were about to see was still on the experimental list. The aircraft was the Vickers Wellesley, the Barnes Wallace predecessor of the Wellington which we had met on the Bomber Command day. Obsolete as a bomber, the Fleet Air Arm has hopes that the Wellesley would be a faster, longer range, shore based torpedo bomber to replace or augment the ageing Swordfish.
It came in fast and low, and down dropped its fish. There was an immediate sharp intake of breath on the part of our matelots as it appeared to enter the water at a queer angle. A second or two later it emerged at an even stranger angle and appeared to do its best to bite the tail off the Wellesley, which departed at high speed. Striking the water tail first, clouds of spray masked what appeared to be two half torpedoes which promptly sank to groans from the navy accompanied by comments generally in the line of “What can you expect from having to use RAF pilots” and “I suppose some poor bugger is going to have to go down tomorrow to fish out the bits”
We were hurriedly returned to shore, bade farewell and transported back to camp. We were told to start packing for our journey home the following morning. We had noticed a lot activity [sic] in the direction of our Mess Tent and were told to keep well clear until called for our evening meal. During the week, the meals in the mornings were generally informal, but we had tended to be more circumspect in the evenings (as befitted our maturity!) Tonight, apparently things would be rather special and we were to appear as smartly turned out as possible. Also, we were to consult a seating plan and when called upon to do so, be prepared to move smartly and without fuss to our allotted places and stand to attention behind our seats.
When the call came, we marched to the Mess Tent by units, where were [sic] met by RAF Mess Waiters who conducted us to our seats where we stood carefully At Ease. The transformation of our mess tent was astonishing. It was now an Officer’s Mess. The tables in front of us had spotless linen tablecloths and serviettes. Precisely positioned cutlery and tableware, was even graced by flowers and in addition to tumblers and carafes of water, each place had a wine glass!
When we were all in place, all two hundred or so, we were called to Attention and the most amazing collection of ‘Top Brass’ from all three Services entered in immaculate Mess Uniforms complete with Medals, Orders and other marks of distinction. They took their places at the top table, and at a nod from the senior officer, we were instructed to take our seats. We were then [underlined] served [/underlined] by mess waiters. It began to dawn upon us that not only had our mess tent been converted into an officer’s mess, but that we were also being treated as at least potential officers, as well as being regarded as guests of the RAF despite our khaki uniforms and obvious immaturity.
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Between courses we were addressed by one or other of the senior officers of the Fighter, Bomber and Coastal Commands and the Fleet Air Arm. They hoped we had enjoyed our week and looked forward to us joining their ranks. Each was respectfully if enthusiastically applauded. We certainly had and we certainly would, if and when.
Finally, the senior officer turned to the ‘civvie’ at his side who was obviously the guest of honour, and announced that he wished to introduce ‘Viscount Norwich’. A whisper had already gone round the table as to his identity. He was better known to the general public as Mr. Duff Cooper,
At this time, perhaps the most controversial political figure apart from Winston Churchill, he hated everything that Hitler and the Nazis stood for and had been at the forefront of the rearmament lobby from the early 1930s. At daggers drawn with the pacifists and the appeasers, he had resigned as First Lord of the Admiralty at the time of the Munich Pact. Detested by Chamberlain and his government, he was sidelined with Churchill and branded by the Conservative Press as a ‘War Monger’, but that never stopped him voicing his vociferous opinions on every available occasion..
His address was brief and to the point. After giving us a brief resume of the current political situation and the apparent build up of troops on the Polish frontiers, he launched into an attack on Nazism, finishing with prophetic words on the line of “Gentlemen, within a month we will again be at war with Germany, and this time the survival of Britain will be decided in the air” (He might have been two weeks out with the beginning of the first, but he was dead right a year later about the second, by which time Churchill was back and Duff Cooper became one of Winston’s principal ministers)
Duff Cooper’s speeches were known to be great rabble rousers and he certainly got us to our feet. Whereas the Service officers had been given restrained applause, Duff Cooper sat down to crescendo of cheering and clapping. However, we were all astonished when a chorus of booing came from one quarter. Later, we were to learn that the Oxford University contingent had included a number of members of the ‘Oxford Movement’. This had emerged following a highly controversial debate in the University Debating Society at the time of Munich which passed a motion ‘That this house will not go to war for King and Country’. How and why such opinion had attended this camp would remain a mystery. Maybe they had come ‘just for the lark’, in which case it was a pretty expensive lark for the British Taxpayer.
Order restored, we returned to our tents. It had been a great evening and we were naturally elated, but at the same time we were somewhat subdued. Tomorrow, we would be returning to ‘civvie life’, but we had the feeling that we had heard the last notes of an Overture to War, and most if not all of us would be inextricably drawn into that war. The majority of those who had attended were unquestionably aircrew potential, and in the years that followed, I often wondered how many of them made the ultimate sacrifice.
The following morning, tents empty except for neatly stacked bedding, kitbags full once more, we had our final parade and dismiss, we saluted and thanked our officers. We said good bye to our new friends and wished them good luck. We threw our kitbags into the waiting transport and followed them in. at Portsmouth Station, we ‘entrained’ and all too soon it seemed, our kitbags were upon our shoulders once more as we left Grantham Station, and scattered to our various homes in which it seems, we never stopped talking.
After a week during which we had been treated as officer cadets and responsible adults, it was not easy to drop back into being a mere schoolboy once more, even if it was school holidays. However, following the usual practice of these who had attended Annual Camp, my uniforms would stay at home until the commencement of the new autumn term. These were carefully cleaned, pressed and hung away, but my Air Cadet Wing Brassard, prominently on display on my bedroom shelf, was there to remind me when: “I joined the tumbling mirth of sun split clouds, and did a hundred things you did not dream of” (another quotation from ‘High Flight’). Thinking back then and in the years to follow, I often wondered how much it has all cost and whether the RAF, felt in due time, that they received value from their investment
Incidentally, I have it on record that the camp was visited and inspected by Air Chief Marshall Sir Arthur Longmore. I cannot remember now the time and circumstances of his visit, whether perhaps he was one of the dignitaries on the top table at our farewell dinner or whether his visit was at some
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other time. In view of the significant part he took in the formation of the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps (which is recounted in the next chapter) it could well be that he was equally significant in the setting up of the Air Cadet Wing. I hope someday, that an inspection of Air Ministry Records might throw some further light on this.
I lost touch with the others who had gone to Selsea. They were all aircrew material and as the only ‘groundhog’, I could well be the only survivor. I must also go back to the school records sometime and find out who, if any, survived. As for the Public School’s Air Cadet Wing, the Selsea camp was most probably its swan song. It could well have died a natural death with the outbreak of war.
My own future was far from clear. I was still dead set on becoming an engineer and now that war seemed imminent, I would be into the RAF as soon as I was old enough and further qualified to do so. There was a 50/50 chance that I might stay on at school in the Sixth until the time came for call up, in which case I would also stay on in the OTC. In the event neither of these came to pass. Naturally I hoped that I would be able to maintain my contact with No. 12 SFTS at Spittlegate. This did happen, though not through the OTC and the PSACW. When it did, it was in very different circumstances.
As will appear in a following chapter, the declaration of war delayed the opening of school until well into the autumn. Eventually, I decided to leave school and start an engineering apprenticeship, This left my ground clear to join the Air Defence Cadet Corps, now well and thriving as its Grantham Squadron, attached to RAF Spittlegate to which I marched as a humble cadet, rather than being picked up by RAF transport and treated as a privileged guest, but that was no grounds for regret.
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[underlined] Chapter Four – The Formation of the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps [/underlined]
(and the appointment of its first Commanding Officer)
August 1939, with my feet firmly on the ground after the Public Schools Air Cadet Wing camp at Selsea Bill, this was for me, a time of indecision. For a great number of my school friends, there was no choice in the matter. They would have to leave school and find a job as did most schoolboys at that time. My closest friends were all sons of RAF officers and would all go on to the Sixth Form and on to higher thinks, but what was I to do?
By now, I was equally determined to become an engineer and if possible to combine this with a career in the RAF as an Engineering Officer. The international situation had now moved firmly from the ‘If’ and ‘When ‘state into the ‘How Soon’ and as August progressed, war seemed to be matter of sooner rather than later. There was no question of me trying to join up immediately – there were far too many records about me, civil and military to show that I was only just about to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. ‘Call Up’ would be a good two years ahead and the war, if it was declared, could well have been decided, one way or the other long before that. In the end it seemed to be the best policy to sit tight and await developments. It would undoubtedly stretch our family resource4s for my parents to grubstake for another year or so in the Sixth Form. In the meantime, until the immediate future seemed a little clearer, when at the beginning of the new school year in September, I would be staying on at school.
What eventually did happen, I will hold over to the next chapter, for what I want to do now is to turn back the clock six months or so, or for that matter even back to the first decade of the 20th century..
There can be very few people around who have not heard of the epic first flight of a powered aircraft by the Wright brothers. Of course there had been nearly a century of unsuccessful attempts before that and people like Lillienthal were becoming quite proficient at building and flying man carrying gliders and box kites as well as the well established mania for constructing and flying lighter than air craft. The man in the street was becoming well aware of the fact that the air was the next great adventure.
To encourage ‘air mindedness’ not only in the mind of the man in the street but also in the minds of influential policy makers and financiers, the year 1908 saw the formation of the Air League of the British Empire. Throughout the First World War and increasingly in the post war years, the Air League campaigned vigorously for Britain to take the lead in all aspects of aeronautics. They supported the ‘air circuses’ like Alan Cobham, the legendary Hendon Air Displays, the RAF Station Open Days, and the later Empire Air Days, all at a time when the disarmament lobby was doing its best to persuade the Government to reduce all the armed forces to a state of impotence.
As already mentioned, in the mid 1930s the Air League formed a Junior Section aimed at giving the maximum encouragement to Britain’s youth. Amongst its various publications one now learned that the Air League was proposing to form an Air Cadet Corps.
News of the setting up of an organisational structure and appointment of senior officers, the design of an appropriate uniform and training programmes, was followed by the announcement that the first Squadrons of the ‘Air Defence Cadet Corps’ had been formed in the London area, to be followed by the formation of other squadrons in the Home Counties. Was there any chance that an ADCC squadron might be formed in a little town like Grantham, and if it were, would I be able to join it?
I think I need to break off at this point and name a few names who will become significant later. Anyone who knows anything of the history of the RAF will know that Air Marshall Lord Hugh Trenchard will forever be remembered as the ‘Father of the RAF’. In the post WW1 years, he collected round him a number of young officers, some of whom had fighting experience in the latter years of the war and had served with some distinction in the course of the RAF’s involvement in the policing of the troublesome territories which had become Britain’s responsibility in the 1920s and 1930s. By the time the clouds of war were again gathering in the 1930s, many of these officers were occupying high rank in the various commands of the RAF both at home and abroad. Others, equally distinguished, had reached retirement age but had not retired from public duty.
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[photograph]
[underlined] AIR CHIEF MARSHALL SIR ARTHUR LONGMORE [/underlined]
Sir Arthur Longmore was arguably the most influential of the ‘Founding Fathers’ of the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps in 1939, which in 1941 became No.47(F) Squadron of the Air Training Corps, the only ‘Founder’ Squadron on Lincolnshire
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One of the latter was Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir John Salmond who had been appointed Commandant and Chief Executive of the infant Air Defence Cadet Corps. One of the other officers still in active service was Air Chief Marshall Sir Arthur Longmore. Amongst the many ‘cornerstones’ of the early RAF attributable to Lord Trenchard was the setting up of the RAF College at Cranwell and the College’s third Commandant was Arthur Longmore, who on his appointment took up residence in Grantham where he and his wife quickly became involved in Grantham affairs. However by 1938, Sir Arthur Longmore was O.i/c RAF Middle East but that did not prevent him, when on leave, from continuing to interest himself in the wellbeing of Grantham, and when he was not at home, Lady Longmore was just as dedicated.
I now need to introduce another name who was crucial to the formation of the Grantham ADCC Squadron. Stanley Foster was a successful Grantham businessman, young and active and much involved with Grantham affairs. He was soon elected to the Grantham Town Council and in the 1938 to 1939 Mayoral Year was elected Mayor. Over the years he undoubtedly had much contact with the Longmores, and it would appear that Sir Arthur, well aware of the activities of his erstwhile service colleague who was now Commandant of the ADCC, had suggested to Stan Foster that the possible formation of a Cadet Squadron would be a desirable thing for the youth of Grantham.
Today, the Air Training Corps is very much a part of the RAF and as such it is almost completely funded from the RAF budget, but the Air Defence Cadet Corps before it became the ATC in 1941, was entirely a voluntary organisation. True, almost immediately a squadron was formed, the local RAF gave considerable material help, but a new squadron depended almost entirely upon local sponsorship, donations, subscriptions and fundraising to pay for rental and maintenance of its headquarters, administration, provision of uniforms and other running expenses. It was vital therefore that a well publicised inaugural meeting needed to be held to drum up a considerable level of local support. With this in mind, the Grantham Journal reported in its 7th January 1939 edition that such a meeting was to be held on the following Monday, and for those interested, an ADCC uniform would be on display in the Grantham Gas Company’s showroom.
And so it came to pass, as the saying goes, that on the 10th of January 1939 an inaugural meeting was held in Grantham’s Guildhall, and the Grantham Journal on the following Friday gave a lengthy report on its proceedings. Upon the stage in front of considerable audience of local celebrities, townsfolk and would be recruits, sat an impressive array of ‘top brass’. Centre stage was Stan Foster in full Mayoral Insignia and flanking him was Sir Arthur and Lady Longmore, who in their turn had brought along Sir John Salmond, Commandant and Captain Hazelwood, Area Organiser of the ADCC
In turn each spoke of the desirability of forming a Cadet Squadron and gave an outline of its likely aims and aspirations, whereupon the Chair called for a show of hands to approve the proposed formation. (Carried Unanimously). Next Stan Foster called for generous financial support and within a short time £89 was promised (quite a lot of money in those days) enough to get things moving.
The next item on the agenda was the appointment of Squadron Officers and it is at this point that i [sic] must again break off the narrative to record my own personal involvement in this meeting and that of my father. At the time of this meeting I was still in the King’s School OTC. although nominally I was still a ‘P.B. Infantryman’, I had already been seconded to the Public School’s Air Cadet Wing section. Also it was also in my penultimate term before sitting my School’s Certificate/Matriculations examinations. In spite of this I was determined to attend the meeting whether or not I would be allowed to join. However, my hands would be firmly handcuffed in a manner of speaking.
Recently, we had had a change of Headmasters, in place of the previous somewhat liberally minded head, we now had a rather straightlaced, rather narrow minded, disciplinarian who was determined to uphold the King’s Grammar School image. In spite of the fact that the majority of his pupils were sons of ordinary town and country folk, he did his best to establish a ‘Town and Gown’ separation of the activities within the school and those of the world outside. As we have seen it was usual and expected that at the age of twelve the ‘normal’ pupil would join the OTC. However, if a given pupil’s parents objected to the ‘militarisation’ of their son, he was allowed to opt out and join the ‘gardening brigade’ on Thursday afternoons, but they were nevertheless considered ‘second class citizens’. Out of school, a boy might join the Scouts but this again was somewhat discouraged.
When the idea of the formation of the Air Cadet squadron was mooted, he came down with a firm edict – no King’s School pupil was permitted to join the ADCC if he was already in the OTC. This effectively tied one of my hands!
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[photograph]
COUNCILLOR S. FOSTER
Mayor-Elect of Grantham, 1938-9
Councillor ‘Stan’ was one of the most popular and enthusiastic Mayors of Grantham in the 1930s and 1940s, and it was during his time as Mayor in 1938 that he was instrumental in the staging of the inaugural meeting in the January of that year which led to the formation of the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps. He not only chaired that meeting, became an enthusiastic member of it’s subsequently appoined [sic] steering committee but also ensured that the Squadron enjoyed the full support of the Borough Council. Accordingly he has every right to be regarded as one of our principal ‘Founding Fathers’.
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My father’s outlook was equally firm. For a number of years matters aeronautical had tended to occupy a higher priority for me than my schooling, in spite of a sudden new found determination to catch up lost ground, I still had a lot of lost ground to catch up. My father’s foot went down firmly – “Your Matric Exams are coming up in a few month’s time and you are already in the Public Schools Air Cadet Wing. No way will you be allowed to join anything else. Subject closed!”
“But I still want to go to the meeting to find out what it is all about”
“All right then, but only if I go along with you to make sure that you don’t do anything silly and get yourself signed up” – And so we both went!
In view of what was to happen next, it would be appropriate to outline my father’s previous history. Philip Stevenson was born in Grantham in 1895 and was educated at the Sedgebrook Grammar School which later merged with the King’s School. After leaving school he spent a year or so as a cub reporter with his father who was a journalist and branch manager of the Nottingham Guardian Group. Aged nineteen at the outbreak of the Great War in August 1914, following the patriotic fervour of the time, he immediately volunteered for the Army, eventually joining the Seaforth Highlanders. After infantry training in Scotland, his Battalion was sent over to France where he took part in the battles during the retreat from Mons during which he was slightly wounded and received his first ‘Mentioned in Dispatches’. Returning to the Front he survived the various skirmishes during the winter of 1914/15, but when the Spring offensives flared up, he was seriously wounded in the battle of Neuve Chappelle. Invalided home with a further ‘Mention in Despatches’, the award of the Meritorious Service Medal and the Mons Star, he spent the next eighteen months in various military and convalescent hospitals in the Harrogate area. Assigned to light duties he was seconded to the Headquarters Staff of the Ripon Reserve Training Establishment, one of the largest Army training setups in the country at the time, responsible for the infantry training of some twenty six thousand recruits per annum. There he quickly made his mark, was promoted Sergeant and became Personal Assistant to the Commanding Officer.
Demobbed, all the ‘Land Fit for Heroes’ could offer him by way of a job was clerk to the Grantham Borough Police Force which in the 1920s boasted a Chief Constable, two Sergeants and ten constables to provide a 24/365 service for the good people of Grantham! A dead end job, he stuck this for several years but by 1927, married with a young son, he decided to try for a better life in the United States. However before he could bring his family over to join him, all his available capital was lost in the Wall Street crash and it took him nearly a year to save enough money to pay for his ticket home. When he eventually arrived back in Grantham, he did have something in his favour. In the States he had become a quite proficient ‘hard sell’ car salesman and it was not long before he managed to get a job as salesman to the local Ford dealer. In spite of the deepening depression of the early 1930s, he was able to make quite a few successful ‘sells’, particularly to the local RAF personnel (who seemed to be the only sector of the community with money to spend on cars!) During the course of these negotiations he got to know quite a few of the RAF officers at RAF Spittlegate/Grantham, the new No.5 Bomber Group Headquarters and at RAF Cranwell. Significantly, these included Sir Arthur Longmore who, succumbing to Philip Stevenson’s powers of persuasion, ‘bought Ford’, and it would appear that during sundry conversations, Sir Arthur learned quite a bit about Philip Stevenson’s past military history and experience.
So, back to the inaugural meeting and the point in the agenda where officers for the new cadet unit were to be appointed. Obviously the first of these would have to be a Commanding Officer. Before anyone else could start to nominate somebody, Sir Arthur, pointing to my father said “Mr Stevenson is our obvious choice. He has all the necessary military administrative experience we need”. (Or words to that effect – this was nearly seventy years ago). Point taken. Carried unanimously. Signs of embarrassment on the part of my father but, since I had noticed that as the previous proceedings had obviously aroused in him more than a little interest, he accepted his nomination with creditable alacrity.
Further nominations and volunteering filled the remaining vacancies for Adjutant and the four flight commanders which our possible cadet roll could justify, and the final item on the agenda was the enrolment of recruits. The audience certainly contained a high proportion of hopefuls and these formed an orderly if excited queue at the desk set aside for the purpose. Prominent amongst these was the first cadet already in uniform. For the purpose of the meeting, the uniform which had been on display in the town had been adorning the body of Tony Teague, who I suppose can be considered as Grantham’s first ADCC cadet.
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As the Grantham Journal reported the following Friday, the evening’s activities resulted in the initial recruitment of 45 cadets. The new squadron’s strength might now be six officers and forty five cadets amongst whom would be found Mr. P.P.L. Stevenson – Commanding Officer, but sadly and frustratingly, not Peter D. Stevenson amongst the enlisted recruits.
My father and I had much talk about on the way home and over the next few days.
The Grantham Journal really took us to heart and practically every issue from the [sic] on contained news of the increasing tempo of the new squadron’s activities. In the January 14th edition they not only reported at length the inaugural meeting but also included a picture of Sir John Salmond, Sir Arthur and Lady Longmore, and Stan Foster. The following week they reported that the subscription list had doubled to £167. On the 28th January there was a report on a meeting at Elsham House, the Longmore’s home, during which a support committee was formed, Messrs Stevenson and Ruxton were officially appointed Commanding Officer and Adjutant respectively.
On the 4th February it was reported that ADCC Headquarters had officially confirmed the setting up of the Grantham Squadron and the official appointment of Cadet Squadron Leader P.P.L. Stevenson as Commanding Officer, Cadet Flight Lieutenants A. Chapman, F.F. Hall, I.G. Smith and G. Widdowson as Flight Commanders. It was also reported that a Headquarters building had been secured. (This was the Victorian town house building on St. Peters Hill next door to the General Post Office which was to be the home of the Grantham Squadron throughout the war years. It had been unoccupied for a number of years and had the advantage of having a useful number of large and small rooms as well as the remains of a large walled garden which, when cleared, made a useful Parade Ground)
On February 11th, the Journal reported that the Squadron had been officially affiliated to No.12 SFTS at RAF Spittlegate. The 25th February edition published a photograph of recruits being medically examined, and that 48 cadets had now been accepted and fully enrolled. The first batch of uniforms had been ordered, the first lectures had taken place, and a first party of cadets had visited No.12 STFS at Spittlegate.
I am not sure now at what point in time another very important personage joined the ranks of the new squadron. Fred Dawson was an ex-Coldstream Guards Sergeant who had a most impressive list of accomplishments of value to our Squadron. In addition to being an excellent drill instructor, he had in his time been a Physical Training Instructor, Army Boxing Champion and coach, a Black Belt Judo Instructor, a born leader with a genuine interest in bringing out the best in boys. For all that, he was not exactly the easiest person to get on with and had a short fuse when it came to suffering fools gladly. Anyway, he very soon made his presence felt, instructing cadets and officers alike in the niceties of foot drill and soon sorted out a short list of cadets who were potential N.C.O. material. Originally titled ‘Sergeant Major’ in the A.D.C.C. days, he became Cadet Warrant Officer when the A.D.C.C. became the Air Training Corps in 1941. Following the age old traditions of Sergeant Majors and Warrant Officers, he soon took upon himself the aura and responsibility of the second most important person after the Commanding Officer (with whom he reserved the right to disagree forcibly if he felt the circumstances warranted). He served with the Squadron until 1943 when he got at cross purposes with the C.O. over something or other, whereupon he thumped in his resignation. However, when the war ended and the Squadron had a new C.O., he once again became ‘S.W.O.’ for a further spell of duty.
On April 22nd 1939, the first picture of the cadets in uniform was published together with one showing the complete squadron on parade on the Grantham Cricket Ground.
By this time, the Squadron had be [sic] officially numbered No.47. At A.D.C.C. Headquarters back in 1938 had decided that all the Squadrons which had come into being in that year would be designated ‘Founder’ Squadrons. In the event, the number of squadrons which had actually been formed before the year’s end just fell short of the magic number ‘50’, so the powers that be relented and awarded coveted (F) to the first fifty, and Grantham at No.47 just scraped in and to this day proudly calls itself No.47(F) – the only (F) Squadron in Lincolnshire.
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The Squadron was now well up and running and all through that last summer before the outbreak of war, squadron progress and achievements was steady and noteworthy.
On June 3rd, the Squadron proudly presented itself in Ceremonial Order for inspection by Sir Arthur Longmore. ‘Father of the Squadron’, no doubt having been kept fully informed by Lady Longmore who had worked tirelessly in the background supporting and encouraging ‘her’ squadron!
Regrettably however I was, during these formative months a watcher from the wings. However at least I had the Commanding Officer across the dinner table who was able to give me a daily running commentary on the way things were shaping up. of course I was as jealous as hell, not being able to join in with all the ‘fun and games’, but my father, with his Commanding Officer’s hat on, was quite adamant that I would not be able to take part in any way in Squadron activities until I was entirely free to join as a normally recruited and enrolled cadet. That of course could not be until I had left school, the O.T.C. (and the Public School’s Air Cadet Wing and passed my terminal examinations – he had a point!
So far as the Squadron was concerned, perhaps the high point of that summer’s activity was when a small and favoured group of cadets went over to Great Hucklow in Derbyshire a [sic] had a week’s gliding camp. Naturally I envied them greatly but was more than compensated by the stupendous time I was having at the same time at the Selsea Bill camp.
It is all a long time ago now and any of those teenage cadets who may be still alive today, are now in their eighties! My great hope is that one day I can locate one of those first A.D.C.C. Cadets who can still remember those early days and fill in the gaps in my narrative.
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[underlined] THE HEADQUARTERS OF No.47(F) Sq. ADCC/ATC on St. Peter’s Hill, Grantham [/underlined]
[photograph]
[underlined] GRANTHAM BOROUGH COAT OF ARMS [/underlined]
[underlined] AIR LEAGUE OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE MOTIF [/underlined]
[picture]
[underlined] THE CAR STICKER I DESIGNED FOR THE 1939 ADCC FUND RAISING CAMPAIGN [/underlined]
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[underlined] Chapter Five – ARP Messenger P.D. Stevenson. ‘Goes to War’ [/underlined]
Several times in previous chapters I have referred to the ‘Phoney War’, that period from the declaration of war by the Allies on September 3rd 1939 and the Spring of 1940 when the ‘Hot War’ started with the invasion of Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium and France by the Nazis. How did this affect us down at ground level in Grantham?
Through the dark days of 1938 and early 1939, against a programme of appeasement on our side, Hitler had progressively occupied country after country without serious opposition by means of apparently overwhelming strength of arms. Then, in August 1939, he invaded Poland and for the first time came up against real and fanatically dedicated opposition, in spite of the relative weakness of the Polish Army and Air Force.
Propaganda films from Germany had got us used to seeing superbly equipped and disciplined German troops goosestepping into whichever country he chose. Now we saw in the newsreel and newspaper stills, these troops in action, backed up by dive bombing and ground strafing by the Luftwaffe, and began to realise what ‘Blitzkrieg’ really meant in practice. We saw what the cost was to the Poles, but what we did not know, was the price paid by the Germans.
Many, if not most people in Britain honestly believed that this ‘Blitzkrieg’ would be immediately called down upon us as soon as we declared war in honour of our recent pact with Poland. We felt we had good reason to be worried in Grantham. For a start, it was an important communications centre. The A1 passed right through the centre of the town and at one point it was so narrow that a single bomb could block it completely. At three other points it passed over or under the main east coast railway line and again at these points, a single bomb could block both lines of communication. It was also a principal junction point in the rail network with important branch lines to the east, north and west.
At that time Grantham also had a considerable military significance. Spittlegate Airfield, a mere mile or so from the centre of the town had been an important air base since WW1. It was now the hope of an important flying training school, operating round the clock to train up pilots for future combat and it has a satellite airfield a mile or so away on the opposite hilltop, also flying round the clock. In 1936, a large house and grounds in the south east of the town had become the headquarters of Bomber Command’s No.5 Group which was to become a legend in the bomber offensives later on in the war. All these facts, we felt sure, were well known to the Luftwaffe.
Grantham was still a very important heavy engineering industrial town with a considerable potential for the production of war material to which it had been rapidly changing over the past year or so. The main factories were largely concentrated in the south of the town and were surrounded by large concentrations of their workers houses.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, a very modern highly equipped factory ‘British Manufacturing and Research Co. Ltd’ (BMARC) or ‘Marcos’ to the locals) had been built to mass produce the Hispanio Suiza 20mm aircraft cannon and it’s ammunition. At this time this was the only cannon factory in the U.K. and would be forever famous for it’s part in the forthcoming Battle of Britain and the subsequent air battles.
Therefore, we were quite sure that Grantham, as a primary strategic target, would receive early attention from the Luftwaffe, and although it did not do so the day war broke out, we did not think that we would have long to wait.
Now that the subject of air raids has been introduced, it might be well to digress a little onto the subject of air raid warnings, since these were to intrude so frequently into both our public and private lives.
In those very early and rudimentary days of Radar, then known as ‘R.D.F.’ or ‘Radio Direction Finding’, a chain of large signals stations along the east and south coasts were set up, each with four huge aerial pylons and associated buildings. One of these pylons still stands at Stenigot on the top of the Lincolnshire Wolds.
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These ‘Chain Home’ stations could relay back warnings of the approach of enemy aircraft to the Fighter Command Group Headquarters who in turn would alert the ARP organisations in the threatened areas. These radar stations could only face out to sea and could not detect aircraft which had passed behind them. The responsibility of keeping a track on them now passed on to the Royal Observers Corps who would similarly keep Fighter Command, and thus the ARP, fully informed.
From the Munich Crisis in 1938 onwards, Civil Defence had been progressively stepped up. starting with the hopefully reassuring issue of gas masks to the setting up of Wardens, Casualty and Rescue, Demolition, Gas Detection and Decontamination, Evacuation, Emergency Shelter and Feeding organisations and teams, ARP had moved on in the last months of peace to the sandbagging of key buildings and the provision of public air raid shelters. The general public were also encouraged to build their own shelters. Many thousands of kits to build the earth covered Anderson Shelters (which could be built in one’s back garden) or the steel table like Morrison Shelters which could replace the dining table indoors if one did not have a suitable garden area.
With the approach of war, the ‘soundscape’ of Grantham had also changed significantly. The starting and stopping times of the shift workers in the various factories had for more than a century, been announced by a great variety of steam or compressed air whistles, horns, hooters and even the occasional bell. (If we were temporarily transmitted back to the Nineteen Thirties, we might well be astonished at the amount of whistling and hooting which went on at certain times of the day!) It might also be remembered that the Great Depression was but a few years back and that in spite of the urgent rearmament programme, we had not yet reached full employment. The shop foreman’s authority was still absolute and he could sack you on the sport [sic] if you were a few minute’s late more than once a week. If you were a factory worker, your life was indeed ruled by the factory’s hooter. For the matter, most of the townsfolk measured the passing of the day by the hearing of the various hooters rather than looking at the Town Hall Clock or looking at your pocket watch.
As Grantham geared up for war, these were all ‘grounded for the duration’ so far as the workers were concerned. ‘Marcos’ had been the first and only factory to have installed a ‘new fangled’ American style electric siren, which is now forever remembered as the wartime ‘Wailing Willie’. Until such time as others were installed elsewhere in the town, this would be our first warning that enemy aircraft had been detected crossing the coast. This ‘General Alert’ state would exist until the Observer Corps reported that the enemy were now within twenty five miles of the town. Then one of the steam hooters in one of the factories would sound off a number of blasts. This was the signal for all and sundry to drop everything and dive for the shelters. These blasts were promptly christened ‘The Pips’ and for the next few years would rule our lives also. So much so that at the end of the war, all factory hooters and sirens were banished from our lives and only the sirens were retained as flood warnings and other civil emergencies.
All this and other ARP procedures had been exercised on quite a number of occasions before war was declared, as well as preparations for a total ‘Blackout’. On that fateful day of Saturday 3th, all street lights and other exterior lighting was extinguished until the threat of air raids ended nearly five years later. Millions of yards of black cloth blackout curtaining had been issued or purchased and blackout screens constructed, so that no chink of light could aid the marauding bomber crews. All car, lorry, bus and even cycle lights had to be fitted with hoods so that the light could not be seen above waist level. If you had a torch, then it could only be shone downwards and the Warden came down on you with a ton of bricks if you lit a cigarette or pipe without a shaded match!
A somewhat lengthy digression perhaps, but appropriate to what is to follow for now we come to that fateful day. One of the corner stones of my career as an engineer was undoubtedly Edward Elms. He had been the head of army apprentice training in WW1 and in the 1920s, during which time he had been Commissioned and had attained the rank of Captain before returning to ‘civvy street’. In the mid 1930s he had joined the teaching staff of the King’s School. Up to that time the Kings had been a typical Grammar School accepting the need to teach Physics and Chemistry and, for the less technical, Biology. Reluctant acknowledging the fact that the majority of it’s pupils would never go on to University and that most likely a goodly proportion of them would go into the town’s industries, it had been decided upon high that the school would break from tradition and build a build a craft workshop in which the (regrettably) technically minded amongst it’s boys could learn the rudiments of wood and metal working and technical drawing.
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Though he was officially referred to as ‘Captain Elms’, having a head of dead white hair, to us he was always ‘Snowy’. He was always a strict disciplinarian while on duty and could have a short fuse at times, but he soon became a hero to those who worked in well with him and measured up to his high standards of workmanship. By 1939 I was his willing slave and allowed great freedom of action in his workshop. As the most practically minded of the masters, he soon became ‘Mr. Fixit’ and we did many extra curricular jobs together. It was not surprising therefore that when Snowy stated that he had bought a set of Anderson Shelter bits and pieces, we were both to be found in his back garden creating havoc on his cherished lawn. We had reached the point where the appropriately shaped hole had been dug, the soil stacked nearby and a start made on the assembly of the corrugated iron pieces, when Mrs. Elms came out to say that Mr. Chamberlain was to [sic] about to make an important announcement on the ‘wireless’. We listened in silence as he made that now famous speech which ended with the fateful words “….and it is my duty to say to you, that a state of war now exists between Great Britain and Germany”. Snowy broke the ensuing silence with “I suppose we had better get it finished”, so back we went into the garden.
We had not been working long before Mrs. Elms came out again to say that her father was on the line and wanted him urgently. Now, it might be said that Snowy’s wife happened to be the daughter of the District Council’s Director of Education. Be that as it may, the fact was that the said Director of Education was also now something high up in the Civil Defence for the area. It would now appear that the Civil Defence people had realised that if the Luftwaffe decided to have a go at Grantham’s industries, the main telephone exchange was well in the line of fire. If it got knocked out of action, communication would be lost between the Civil Defence Headquarters and the various ARP Posts around the town.
The gist of the message was, could Snowy organise ASAP a corps of ‘likely lads’ to act as ARP Messengers who could carry essential messages through Hell and High Water if the phones went dead. He came out into the garden with an urgent expression on his face.
“Drop everything” (or words to that effect) “Get on your bike and find as many boys over sixteen as you can and tell them to report to me. While you are doing that, I will find out how many the HQ and the Posts want messengers. As the boys come in, I will allocate them and arrange for the necessary kit. Oh, and by the way, you are Number One”
There followed a hectic day. I was able to contact a number of erstwhile Fifth Formers who were either waiting for the school to reopen or, having left, had not yet started work. In addition, I was able to contact a number of ADCC Cadets who were over sixteen and would be willing to ‘work nights’ as ARP Messengers. Suffice it to say that by nightfall, we had a messenger in each of the ARP posts and several at the ARP Headquarters, and in the days which followed, we were able to recruit enough to give each Messenger ‘three nights on and one night off’. All that remained was to wait for the action to begin.
We found that a goodly proportion of the ARP Posts were situated either in the outbuildings of pubs or not far away from one (Surprise, surprise!). I was not all that pleased to find that Snowy had allocated me to the Post nearest to his home and that too was in the back building of a pub. In compensation though, Messengers were to be paid, not a great amount, but better than what I got when I started as an engineering apprentice a month or two later.
Although later we were to have armbands and tin hats with ‘M’ upon them, that first night we would have no distinguishing marks, so it was decided that where we had a uniform, we should wear it. At nightfall I made my way across town and up the hill to my allotted post wearing my OTC uniform but now equipped with a tin hat and a civilian duty gas mask, basic rations for the night and feeling very official and ready for the worst. Having reported to the Head Warden of this particular post, an outbuilding more or less unrecognisable under hundreds of sandbags, I was given a quick tour of it’s layout and equipment. Warden’s gear, gas detection and decontamination, search, rescue and demolition gear, first aid gear, stretchers, blackout and gas screens and bunks for those who were not outside on duty.
Following this was a load of information on the organisation of the ARP at Post and Sector Level and communication with the ARP Headquarters in the Guildhall.
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This had all taken some time and we, that is the Head Warden and his No.2 (who was on duty that night) and myself, had no sooner sorted out who was going to be on standby and who could kip down on the bunks for a while, when our first ‘Distant Alert’ was sounded. Marco’s ‘Wailing Willie’ sounded for real for the first time and the heartbeat of Grantham started to flutter.
There have been many stories of the air raid warnings which sounded off in the London area not long after Chamberlain had finished his announcement. In Grantham we missed these, which we blamed on jittery fingers down south, but for all that, we felt sure that Grantham would get a right pasting much sooner than later.
The phone started ringing and we all started putting our gas masks and tin hats ‘at the ready’, trying hard to disguise our own flutters. A few minutes later, breathless figures were heard pushing their was [sic] through the blackout screens. Having reported and collected their gear, they left for their dispersal and patrol areas.
After a brief pause, we were then presented with our first casualty. The curtains parted and a helmeted figure wearing a gas mask, staggered into the room, collided with an equipment stand, collapsed on the ground and passed out cold! We stretched him out, removed his sweat soaked facepiece. Gasping for air, and much to our relief, he began to revive. The face began to resume a normal colour but for all that, the Head Warden did not like the looks of him and called for an ambulance to take him off to the local hospital. It later transpired that he, a fairly corpulent man in his fifties, had immediately donned his gas mask when the siren had sounded and had started to cycle furiously up the steep hill which led up to the ARP Post. Furthermore, he had neglected to soap the inside of his gas mask visor so that within minutes his perspiration had completely fogged his vision. In the blackout, he had collided with the kerb several times and come a cropper each time. a small incident perhaps amongst the thousands of more dramatic ones which would happen in Grantham over the next year or two, but remembered long after we had become inured to shocks and surprises.
On this occasion too, this was a false alarm. The All Clear was sounded shortly afterwards, the Wardens reported back, took off their gear and departed thankfully if uneasily, and we went to our bunks for the rest of the night.
The night flying aircraft from the Flying Training School and the nearby Bomber Command bases which had been hurredly [sic] grounded, were soon aloft again which, in a way was reassuring as the silence before the All Clear had been uncanny. For months now, only very bad weather had given us a night free from aircraft noise. This silence, if only for a short while on an otherwise fine night, had brought up all ears, straining to detect a different engine note.
In the nights and weeks which followed, we had quite a number of General Alerts and a few ‘Pips’ which caused an even greater straining of ears.. [sic] With the urgency upon us to train up every available pilot, the RAF decided to fly on during General Alerts and only ground their aircraft during the most likely of the Local Alerts. With the sky full of circling Ansons, Oxfords, Battles, Harvards Trainers, and Hampden Bombers, it was next to impossible to sort out the odd Ju88, Dornier or Heinkel. Many of these alerts would be merely precautionary but there were quite a few genuine intrusions as ‘Jerry’ probed our defences in the same way as we were probing his. Although there had been by this time, quite a few daylight incidents by and on both sides, as yet the air war at night had not developed into the holocaust we had been led to believe. There had been a tacit reluctance on both sides to accept responsibility for being the first to cause civilian casualties.
As September drifted into October, the ‘Phoney War Blues” began to creep in. as false alarm followed false alarm, sheer inactivity began to erode the initial high morale and dedication of the first few days and destroy the underlying sense of purpose. Some of the Wardens on duty soon discovered that the landlord of the adjacent pub was not averse to leaving his back door open after closing time. On a number of occasions I had to do a quick cover up job when, as being apparently the only one on duty, I had to ‘go fetch from the toilet’ or whatever when some senior ARP man or the police made an unscheduled visit. There were occasions when I wondered if the Wardens were going to be capable of coordinating their own movements let alone those of the sector wardens if the sirens went.
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Sometimes we only just made up our team of Wardens as some of them had drifted off to other jobs. The Messengers too began to drift away. By the beginning of October, there was talk of the schools opening again and the sixteen year olds who had been planning either to go back to their Sixth Form or to find jobs began handing in their notices. I was beginning to feel restless too. On a number of occasions I felt sure that I had been sent off on a fool’s errand just to prove to Headquarters that someone was on duty at the Post.
In the meantime, I had being [sic] doing quite a bit of research. Part of this was into what the RAF expected of me when the time came for me to register for military service and partly into what I could do constructively with the year and a quarter which intervened. When the time came for the school to reopen, I had already decided that, since the University route to engineering qualification was now ‘closed for the duration’, another year or so in the Sixth would serve no useful purpose. It became obvious that making a good start on an engineering apprenticeship combined with the Ordinary and Higher National Certificate in Mechanical Engineering courses which would eventually lead on to Corporate Membership of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers, would be a good bargaining point when it came to my appearance before the appropriate Selection Board.
So, where to start. There was still no sign of the local Technical Institute opening. This would be the bottom rung of the National Certificate course, but at least I could do something about starting and [sic] apprenticeship with one of the local engineering firms.
At that time, Grantham had three major engineering concerns and a number of smaller ones. Of the former, Marcos were out for a start. Flat out, working three shifts, seven days per week, all they wanted were unskilled machine operators and assemblers. If you started with them, you would be put on a machine and once you had mastered it they would clap a ‘Reserved Occupation’ order on you and you would be stuck on that machine for the rest of the war. They didn’t want the bother of apprentices.
The other two big companies were of world fame as fine engineers and had very sound apprenticeship schemes, but by early October their apprentice intake was already full and as soon as they heard of my ambition to go into the RAF as soon as they would have me, they firmly showed me the door.
This left the smaller companies. One of them again had a good apprentice programme but this too was already full.. I began to despair, but at this point my father stepped in to take a hand. A friend of his was the Chief Engineer of a small American firm making coal mining machinery. Admittedly they only had an assembly shop with a few simple machines. They had no facilities for the other manufacturing processes in which practical experience was necessary for eventual qualification. Following a successful interview with him, he agreed to take me on as an apprentice draughtsman for the couple of years or so before my callup. (Of course, as in the case of the First War, there were still a large number of people who blithely believed in the old ‘Over before Christmas’ nonsense, but most people were resigned to the fact that we were most probably facing up to a long hard fight which we had only just started)
At first I was none too enthusiastic. Although by this time, having been taken round the workshops, met the Foreman and seen the product, and had got a fair idea of what the company stood for, I was still ‘Johnny, Head in Air’. Later on in the war in a dramatic semi-documentary film about the RAF and the families involved in it, there featured one of the most famous little poems of the war. It started with the two lines:-
Do not despair for Johnny Head in Air,
He sleeps as sound as Johnny Underground
Now for me, Johnny Head in Air, you could not get anything so Johnny Underground as a Coalcutter. However, it seemed as good a place to start as any, and so a starting date was agreed upon, and I went away to ‘put my affairs in order’
My first job was to hand in my notice as an ARP Messenger. I was not popular and made to work my week out. I was no longer a Messenger.
My next job was to go to my OTC Commanding Officer and tell him that I had decided to leave school and therefore would no longer be one of his NCOs and therefore may I hand over my OTC uniforms and the other equipment. Expressions of regret and offerings of good wishes.
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I then went to Snowy Elms to tell him that I was not only leaving the Messengers but I was also leaving school. Even more expressions of regret and more good wishes.
Next to the school office to say that I would not be coming back to school when they decided to open again. My departure suitably recorded. I was no longer a schoolboy. I was instructed to white to the HQ of the Public School’s Air Cadet Wing to say that, having left school, I was therefore no longer in that organisation. (I never got a reply so I assumed that it had died a natural death with the outbreak of war) I was no longer a PSACW Cadet.
Having done all that, I paused for breath and asked myself what was left? The answer was that I was now a mere sixteen year old ‘civvy’ waiting to start off as an apprentice next Monday morning at 7.30 am sharp. (What happened then is, of course, quite another story)
But, and it was a big but, [underlined] I was now free to free to join the Grantham Squadron of the Air Defence Cadet Corps! [/underlined] And that is a matter for the next chapter.
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[underlined] Chapter Six I Join No.47(F) Grantham Squadron Air Defence Cadet Corps [/underlined]
By the Autumn of 1939, the Squadron had been in existence for some eight months and had become a smart, well disciplined and well organised unit. Basic training was well advanced and the roll count had passed the hundred mark. A few of its cadets had already registered for military service and there had been a few changes in the command structure as one or two officers had been called up. In addition to the officers, the squadron had a number of civilian instructors, notable amongst whom was one of the principal civilian signals instructors from the Radio School at Cranwell. He was to serve us faithfully through all the war years, and the name ‘Betts’ was to be ever associated with the ‘beeping’ of morse buzzers which seemed to be a constant background to our evening parades.
Our association with RAF Spittlegate had, over the months, become very close and practically every parade saw at least of one of their instructors down at our Headquarters holding forth on a wide variety of subjects. Every Sunday morning too, a strong contingent of cadets would be seen marching through the town and up the hill to the airfield. Once there, the various ‘trades’ would disperse to the hangars or instruction rooms and by this time most cadets had had their first flip’, especially those who had opted for and been accepted for aircrew when the time came for their callup. These were taken off to Navigation rooms, the Meteorology section, parachute packing etc., and many of the Ansons, Oxfords and Blenheims, away on navigation exercises would have a cadet on board glued to the windows and their air maps.
At Headquarters, most rooms were now plastered with wall charts and model aircraft hung from the ceilings. Now that war had been declared, most of the windows were painted out of fitted with blackout screens or curtains. However, by the time I joined, most people had got used to gloom and groping around in the semi dark. The Orderly Room buzzed and the neighbours got used to the yells of command from the parade ground to the rear of the building. The Town also got used to seeing the blue of the ADCC uniform both as the cadets made their way to HQ for parades and also marching parties ‘showing the flag’. We were still heavily dependent upon the support of the townspeople’s subscriptions and donations for most of our running expenses. In this respect the support committee, headed tirelessly by Lady Longmore, the Mayor (Stan Foster) and the others who had formed the guiding committee when the Squadron was formed in January, worked away in the background.
It might have been noticed that the possessive ‘our’ had crept into this account. My father, who was of course, the Squadron’s Commanding Officer (and was very proud of how the Squadron had developed), talked much at home of all the doings at ‘Cadets’, Nevertheless he had been quite adamant that I should take no part in its activities until such time as I could join it officially. I suppose we had both known that in time I would join the Squadron, but although as yet I had not done so, we both felt that 47(F) was [underlined] our squadron. [/underlined]
Well, I had sat and passed my Matriculation exam in July and had left school, so there would be no more examinations to sit until the end of the Technical Institute’s terminal examinations next summer, the war permitting of course. I was no longer in the OTC or the Air Cadet Wing for that matter. I had left the Messengers and was now waiting to start my engineering apprenticeship and my night school studies. So, there was apparently no reason why I should not join the Air Defence Cadet Corps. There was, however one problem which had to be thrashed out before there was any talk of me signing up.
The problem was that I was the Commanding Officer’s son. As soon as I made it known that I was now free and keen to join, my father had made a point of discussing it with his officers.
He now made it quite plain to me that I would only be allowed to join on the strict understanding on all sides, and mine in particular, that I did so as an ordinary cadet. I would have no rank and no privileges, given or expected, until such time as I had earned commendation and recommendation for promotion. Furthermore such recommendations must come from other officers than the C.O. and only after such time as I had passed my basic training requirements and there was a vacancy for such a promotion to fill.
By the time I actually presented myself at the Squadron Orderly Room to be enrolled as Cadet No.308 Stevenson P.D., it was well known to the officers and others, what my previous experience in the OTC and the Public Schools Air Cadet Wing had been. I made a point of playing this down and stuck to plain facts on my enrolment form. I cannot remember now whether it had been discussed, but from now on, as soon as we were in uniform, our family relationship was formally and firmly
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dropped, even at home. Henceforth he became my Commanding Officer at all times, to be meticulously saluted and addressed as ‘Sir’. Furthermore, we made a point of never leaving our house, walking along to the H.Q., or leaving the building together, in order to emphasise this ‘no favours’ relationship. This policy was rigidly adhered to throughout the four years he was in command of the Squadron and, henceforth, so far as this commentary is concerned, he will always be referred to as ‘The Commanding Officer’.
Formalities over, measured for uniform, added to the list for the next visit by the Medical Officer, regarded with some curiosity by the existing cadets and sternly by Squadron Warrant Officer Dawson,
I took my place amongst the ‘sprogs’ of No.4 Flight. In the drill session which followed, I did my best to show that there was not much in the ADCC Drill Book that I had not already mastered in the OTC. At the end of the session, I was told by W.O. Dawson to report to his office at the next break. Wondering what I had done wrong on my first night, I duly stood before him, standing stiffly to attention. I can’t remember his exact words now but it was something like ”I know full well that your foot drill is probably as good as or better than most other cadets and could probably instruct the recruits in drill as well as most of my NCOs, but don’t try so damned hard to show it. They are all obviously watching you and it may be misinterpreted as trying to get promotion the moment you arrive. I’m not asking you to act stupid, just pretend to be just average for the moment. Understood?” “Yessir” say’s I somewhat surprised. He then barks “And you should know by now that you don’t address your Warrant Office as ‘Sir’, do you Cadet Stevenson?” “No, er, [underlined] Mister [/underlined] Dawson” says I. “Dismiss” says he, and I do so, just managing to avoid saluting him.
In due time I had the inevitable medical which I passed A1 except for eyesight and eventually got a uniform which more or less fitted me. Having had four years of khaki serge with high collar, apart from the colour change, it did not feel much different. Naturally, it had no stripes or other insignia to indicate that I was anything other than the lowest form of life.
The maximum strength that an ADCC Squadron could hold was two hundred cadets, divided into four flights. If its strength would be likely to exceed this in the long term, then another squadron had to be formed. In those early days of the Squadron, our numbers hovered around the hundred mark on the books, with average parade strength of seventy to eighty.
For us, this was a convenient size at around twenty in each flight. When the weather was bad or when the parade was at night after blackout, we could just about parade the whole squadron in the largest of our rooms. After that, there were enough relatively big rooms to accommodate a flight in each and the walls gave some indication of which flight was using it.
Flights One and Two were, in general, the older more experienced cadets, with No.1 Flight being mostly cadets who would be opting for Aircrew when their time came, having passed their medical examination and had the necessary educational standards. No.2 Flight was mainly Ground Trades. Numbers 3 and 4 Flights were essentially ‘feeder flights’ with reasonably experienced cadets in No.3 who had either not yet made up their minds, or had not yet attained the necessary acceptance levels. No.4 Flight naturally ended up with the ‘sprogs’ and the very youngest cadets. Right from the start, the minimum age for entry had been fourteen, since a very large proportion of the children of this typical industrial town, still left school at fourteen.
Naturally, for my sins, I was dumped in No.4 Flight, and would stay there until such time as I could justifiably deserve to be something better. So, I bided my time, held my tongue and did my best to behave as a new recruit. However, once a recruit had got a uniform and had mastered enough basic foot drill not to disgrace the Squadron, he was permitted to join the Sunday morning contingent up to Spittlegate. Consequently, when I was allowed to join the chosen, I was very ‘chuffed’.
Completely resigned now to the fact that I could never be accepted for aircrew, I joined the Trades Group on their way to the hangars, determined to learn as much as possible about engines and airframes ‘in the flesh’ in manner of speaking.. Of course, this was by no means terra incognita as I had been there quite a few times in the Air Cadet Wing days, now several months back. This time however, the emphasis was more ‘hands on’.
At this point I think there is a need to revert to the subject of my apprenticeship and its associated technical studies. I had made a start in the workshops of the coal mining machinery company and was getting used to making a cold dark start at 7.30am six days a week. (The normal working week in the factories was still a standard 48 hour week, 7.30am to 5pm Mondays to Fridays plus 7.30 to 1pm on Saturdays. These were the hours worked by the apprentices, but the men had their standard week increased ‘for the duration’ by compulsory overtime to a 54 hour week. Sometimes,
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when there was a rush job, the men were called upon to work Sunday mornings also. These working hours took a hefty slice out of one’s week for a start!
Unless one’s ambitions were to be no higher than a shop labourer, then attendance at night school was a conditional part of your apprenticeship. In my case, with my sights being set somewhat higher, this would involve, for the first year, attendance at the local Technical Institute for three nights per week during the Institute’s autumn and spring terms. It was sheer luck that these three school nights did not coincide with either of the two Cadet nights. Thus my new working week involved five and a half working days and every night Monday to Friday at night school or Cadets. Add on Sunday mornings at Cadets plus two or three hours homework and private study and my week was beginning to fill up quite nicely!
There was still another demand upon available time. The Technical Institute had, like many other similar institutions, postponed the beginning of their courses until the air raid threat had receded. Instead of their usual opening at the beginning of September, it was now late October and they had lost five or six teaching weeks. As a result, instead of an evening’s instruction being two one hour sessions, 7pm to 9pm, in order to make up for lost time, the evening would comprise three one hour sessions from 6.30 to 9.30pm.
By late 1939, my life was roughly divided into three existences, my daytime apprentice’s life, my night school life and my evening and Sunday morning’s ADCC life. Time left over (if any) could be spent on non-essentials such as eating, sleeping and the trivialities of ordinary life!
During the three months of ‘Phoney Peace’ we had quite a few intrusions by the Luftwaffe. At first these seemed to be largely exploratory, but having apparently found that the Grantham area was not one with antiaircraft or balloon defences, they must have decided that we were open for attack and we began to get our first bombs. Unlike the ground war, which was to explode into dramatic action the following spring with the invasion of the Low Countries, Grantham’s air war built up slowly.
Their principal target was the 20mm cannon factory and as soon as it was effectively located, the intruders adopted a regular nightly pattern whenever the weather was favourable. In the winter months with daylight ending in the late afternoon, as early as 6pm on some nights, the Distant Warning sirens would start their wailings (There were now several of them at various parts of the town). The Spittlegate and Harlaxton trainers and the local Bomber Command aircraft would still be aloft, but we on the ground would be held in suspense. The intruder, having passed through the radar screen would then fly around until it got amongst our own aircraft circling round our air bases. After a while, with a bit of luck on their part, our Observer Corps would lose track of them with the result that they would not be able to initiate the ‘Pips’ to send us scuttling for the shelters. We would wait for an hour, perhaps two, and nothing seemed to happen. Sometimes the intruder would switch on his own navigation lights and join in with the circling trainers, no doubt making absolutely sure of his position. Then perhaps, with fuel getting low, he might line up behind a trainer starting his landing approach and silhouetted against the airfield’s flare path, he would fire a burst with his forward guns. All too often, his aim was accurate.
Successful or not, he would then circle round to make a low, fast bombing run over the centre of the town and loose off a stick of bombs into the industrial part, hopefully hitting his primary targets but all too often, falling short and hitting the housing areas. With the ‘Pips’ sounding desperately, we would dive for shelter but the horse had flown.
Quite apart from the actual damage and casualties inflicted, the object of these attacks was obviously intended to cause as much disruption as possible to our war work and the training of our pilots, therefore, the timing of these raids would vary considerably, with several intruders keeping the sirens going off and on throughout the night at times. All this was very tiring of course, and nerves began to suffer. In the event, the cannon factory received very few direct hits and was usually back in full production the following day. Various books have been published illustrating the damage inflicted upon the mainly working class housing to the south of the town and on the bombing run in. these dramatically underline the fact that in the early 1940s, per head of population, Grantham was the most heavily blitzed town in the U.K. and suffered the highest casualties.
Even amongst all this death and destruction, these [sic] was perhaps a wee excuse for a little bit of dry humour. One night at Cadets, we were in one of the front rooms having an Aircraft Recognition session under an RAF instructor who had come down from Spittlegate. The room was blacked out as usual with shutters in place and his screen backed onto the window. The Distant Warnings
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sounded but we decided to carry on. Spittlegate’s trainers were still flying around, some of them quite low over the town. In addition to the aircraft silhouettes being projected on the screen, there was a quiet running commentary going on as the various engine notes were identified. “Oxford”, “Anson” “Blenheim” etc.
However, the sound of the engines notes of the Blenheim and the Ju88 were very similar, so that when a particularly low aircraft passed over our heads, a small voice from the audience said “Blenheim”.
A second or two later, there were five enormous explosions as a stick of bombs tore the guts out of part of the factory a quarter of a mile south along the main road (incidentally killing one of the fitters with whom I had been working earlier on in the day} [sic]. The blast, in the way bomb blast tended to go, ricocheted along the road and hit the front of our Headquarters, blasting out several windows including the one in the room where we were sitting. However, by this time we were adept at diving for cover and before the glass hit the floor, had there been light to see, I doubt that a single head would have been above desk level. In the ensuing silence which usually followed a bomb, an equally small but audible shaken voice said “It wasn’t, you know”. Another brief silence was followed by shrieks of equally shaky laughter, after which we decided that we had had enough aircraft recognition for the night. The parade was dismissed and I went along to my own factory which had also lost the majority of its windows. There was not much in the way of coal mining machinery produced during the next few days until we had cleared up the mess, replaced the glass in the windows and restored the blackout.
Running ahead a bit perhaps , but there was another incident which caused quite a bit of amusement in the Squadron and at RAF Spittlegate as well. It was in the tense months following Dunkirk with the threat of invasion hanging over us. There was even more activity at Spittlegate to put every possible pilot into the air. At that time, the RAF Regiment had not been formed and the ground staff had to man station defences in addition to their work in the hangars and elsewhere. Round the clock working, disturbed nights and picket duties were taking their toll and flight commanders were doing their best to arrange 24 and 48 hour passed wherever possible, to reduce the strain.
By this time quite a few of the more senior cadets had become proficient on the station firing range, not only with rifles but also with mounted Lewis and Vickers machine guns. Our C.O. received an urgent phone call from the officer responsible for station defence. Would it be possible for a small selected group of these senior cadets to come up to the station and take over some of the perimeter patrols and act as backup to the defence posts for half a day or so next Saturday. Agreed, rounded up and delivered.
Now there happened to be a gate in the perimeter fence on the eastern boundary of the station, conveniently accessible to the Officers Mess and Married Quarters. Crossing the green lane outside the gate gave access to a footpath leading to the little nine hole golf course which the RAF tended to use as well as the town residents. When Saturday morning’s duties had been appropriately completed, it was the Station Commander’s habit to change into civvies after lunch and partake of a round or two, which this Saturday he proceeded to do.
Some time later, our Commanding Officer was called to the telephone by a somewhat irate Group Captain. It would appear that the said Group Captain had, suitable garbed and kitted with golf gear, left the station by this gate and had been let out by one of the stations ground staff on picket duty. However, while he was enjoying his game, a tall and somewhat burly ADCC Cadet, armed with a pick axe handle, had taken over.
This cadet is approached by a civilian in golf gear who shows every intention of entering the station.
The ensuing conversation goes something as follows:
“I’m sorry sir, civilians are not permitted to pass through this gate”
“But I am the Group Captain ‘X’ in command of this station”
“Very good sir, may I see you [sic] pass?
Too late the Group Captain realises that his pass is still in his uniform pocket, back in the Mess.
Tried bluster and words of authority. Cadet unmoved, sticks to his instructions.
“May I suggest sir, that you make your way round to the Main Gate Guardroom where they will be pleased to check your identity and let you in. I am afraid I am instructed to let no one in without the appropriate pass”
Group Captain realises that he was not going to get past this large and burly figure of authority and by the time he had walked a further half mile around the station perimeter, he is in no mood to accept further frustrations. It seems that the guard on duty recognised his Commanding Officer and let him
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in with appropriate ceremony. The C.O. strode on a further few yards, stopped, turned round and stormed into the Guardroom to demand from the NCO in charge, why he, in civilian clothes, had not been requested to show his pass. Group Captain walks through the camp to the Officer’s Mess and demands a drink to cool his ire. Refreshed, he sees the funny side of it and tells the other officers present how he was denied entry to his own camp by mere [sic] boy who effectively barred his way.
Joke goes round the camp like wildfire and the Group Captain rings up the Cadet C.O. to report what happened. Cadet C.O. extremely apologetic, promises to tear off a strip when the Cadet in question next parades. No, says the G.C.. Pass on my appreciation of his devotion to duty etc., etc.
(I very much regret that the name of the cadet has not remained in my memory bank even if his actions have. He surely should appear upon the Squadron’s unofficial roll of honour!)
Having ‘slaved in the galleys’ for a respectable period, I eventually got my big break, but it came in rather a strange way. Thanks to my previous experience in the OTC, the Air Cadet Wing and my own general knowledge in matters aeronautical, there were quite a few subjects in which I was ‘ahead of the class’. There were of course quite a few new subjects which I attended assiduously, but in those subjects in which I was not exactly wasting my time, there was a tendency to use me as a ‘gopher’ (The later expression for someone who is told to “Go for this” or “Go for that”) The fact that our home was but a stone’s throw from the Cadet HQ also contributed in a way. I soon got into the habit of opening the place up on parade nights, getting the fires going and taking along parcels of uniforms etc., which had been delivered to my father’s business address nearby. This had brought me into contact with the Squadron’s Equipment Officer who was a quiet but likeable Scot and I drifted into giving him a hand from time to time. The fact that I had done a ‘fatigue’ or two in the OTC Armoury and knew my way around the issue and storage of uniforms etc., also helped.
Cadet F/Lt MacKay was also Stores Manager at one of the big engineering firms in the south of the town, now flat out on war work. he was beginning to find it difficult to get to Cadets every parade night and suggested to the other Flight Commanders that when I was not involved in my own personal training, and he was unavoidably absent, I should as his officially appointed assistant, be in charge of the squadron equipment store and be responsible for the receipt, storage and issue of uniforms and other items.
The suggestion was accepted in principle but the Adjutant pointed out that responsibility and authority must go hand in hand. He said that if I was to be in charge of the stores when the Equipment Officer was absent, then I should have at least a couple of stripes to represent the authority required. However, since at the moment the Squadron had a full complement of NCOs, the appointment should be non-substantive. In other words, I would be an Acting Corporal whose authority did not extend beyond the door of the Equipment Stores. I supposed it was a start, even if it was only half a step on the rung of promotion. The C.O. agreed, the existing NCOs were told of my exact standing and I was accepted as not representing a threat to their seniority or authority. I think that the very strict ‘no fraternisation’ policy which the C.O. and I had stuck to so carefully, had paid off in the long run.
There were no real problems at Cadet H.Q., but when we were up at Spittlegate, there were a few occasions when my declining to use my stripes was misunderstood.
Matters came to a head rather suddenly one Saturday afternoon. It would seem that there was some sort of ‘flap’ on at Spittlegate and our C.O. had received a call that morning from the Duty Officer asking if it was possible for a working party of Cadets to go up there and lend a hand. I was asked if I could drum up some volunteers plus a senior NCO to take charge.
When the time came for the main party to move off, there was no sign of the Sergeant who was supposed to march us up. Having waited for ten minutes or so, I left a message asking him to catch us up and assume command. Fully aware that I did not really have the authority to do so, I formed the group up and gave the command to march. Up at the Spittlegate Guard Room we checked in as usual and waited for the Sergeant. After a further ten minutes, I decided to exceed my brief once again and marched the group up to the Duty Officer, where I was told to take them ASAP to the hangars. I tried to explain that I was not really a full NCO, but it fell on deaf ears. In the hangars, the Flight Sergeant told me to find out where help was needed, as help was apparently needed urgently. Again I tried to explain that I was only an acting corporal but all I got was a “Stop arguing and get on with it” sort of look, so I stopped arguing and got on with it, putting the cadets where they were needed. Nobody seemed to object and we spent the rest of the afternoon helping, holding, fetching and taking and generally making ourselves useful. When eventually a halt was called, the Flight
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Sergeant came over, thanked us and said that he had arranged for transport to take us back to the town.
Back home, the C.O. asked how we had got on. Not wanting to ‘shop’ the Sergeant who had not come to take charge, I was deliberately vague as to who was actually in charge, and left it at that. Next morning at our usual Sunday morning parade, I was told to report to the Orderly Room. Rather to my surprise an RAF driver was there, with the C.O. looking hard at me. “Who was in charge of yesterday’s party at Spittlegate?” After a certain amount of havering I was forced to admit that Sergeant X had not turned up, so I had decided to take them up myself rather than wait any longer. “I tried to explain, but they were too busy to listen”. Well, says the C.O., it appears that they want the same party under the same NCO to go back again for the day and they have sent down a truck to take them up. They seem extremely pleased at the way the cadets got stuck in yesterday.
At this point either the Adjutant or one of the Flight Commanders chips in – I can’t remember which. “We will be losing Sergeant Y soon, may I suggest that Corporal Stevenson be promoted Sergeant with immediate effect so that he can take full command of the party” The C.O. looks appropriately non committal until nods from the other officers signify their approval. “Carry on, Sergeant” says he, so there was I, up another rung. “And see me in my office tomorrow night” says Dawson with a look which warns me not to get cocky about it!
Assuming command can be a very individual thing. Around this time an amusing relationship built up. Again, I have unfortunately forgotten names, but it concerns two cadets who became close ‘buddies’ as a result of their experiences on the firing range at Spittlegate. One of these was a tall well built, sixteen year old ‘townie’, the other a diminutive fourteen year old country boy. The former proved that, as soon as he got a rifle in his hands he went completely ‘gun shy’, failing to hit anything, since he firmly shut his eyes the moment he started to squeeze the trigger. We were convinced that the country boy must have been born with a shotgun in his hands. He was completely gun mad, but obviously well trained in the handling of guns by his father. He was determined to fire everything the RAF had to offer. Rifles, Lewis and Vickers air guns and even the vicious 0.5inch Boyes Anti Tank Rifle whose ‘kick’ would drive him backwards a good six inches. (As was to be expected he became an Air Gunner when he joined up) Meanwhile, the range instructors had done everything they could think of to get the big cadet to overcome his gun shyness but to no avail. Then, quietly, the country boy decided to take over.
We never knew how he did it but, taking the pair of them to the far end of the range, he spent the next half hour quietly talking to the big boy. Soon, steady cracks signalled that the big cadet was not only firing away confidently but was also doing some respectable scoring. After that, they were inseparable and were both the first to volunteer for range practice.
It was surprising how many jobs the RAF at Spittlegate could find for us to do. Volunteers were also called for helping out at the Officers Mess. Before I got my ‘Three’ up, I trod very carefully about volunteering. Too little volunteering and I could be accused of shirking, too much and I could be accused of angling for promotion. Somehow, I managed to get ‘wished’ into helping out in the Mess but it was a job I hated. Becoming a Mess Orderly was not on my list of possible careers in the RAF. Maybe it was because I had already found out that alcohol did nothing for me, and so I could be regarded as ‘safe’. Certainly, had I been that way inclined, I could have knocked back many a drop or dram as there were times when the few orderlies were busy elsewhere and I was in sole charge of the bar.
While on the subject of volunteering, this may be the point to introduce another member of our team who would feature frequently in the doings of the Squadron over the next five years. I cannot remember now whether she came to us in the ADCC days or whether we had become ATC by then. Right from our inaugural meeting in January 1939, our weekly local newspaper, the Grantham Journal, had given us excellent publicity. By now, the sub-editor had been calling in at least once a week to see if there was a story, and during these visits, she had come to the conclusion that the secretarial side of our Orderly Room was far from orderly. What was needed was a ‘woman about the place’. Her offer of assistance was enthusiastically accepted, and so we acquired the services of Miss Llwelyn-Owens who became an integral part of the Squadron’s doings over the next five years.
She was short, dumpy and very efficient. She reorganised our filing, straightened out our records, typed or [sic] letters and memos, tidied the place up and became our Squadron Mother. In her early thirties, she was of course middle aged to us, but what she lacked in height and good looks, she more than made up in personality. She broke no hearts amongst the cadets but they became her
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willing slaves. She was ‘interesting’ and naturally well informed, and once she was on the strength, she stepped up our publicity. Much more about our ‘Miss Owens’ later.
Also on the subjects of ‘Mothers’, we must pay further tribute to Lady Longmore. We were still mainly dependent upon public donations and subscriptions for our running costs and our support committee, under the leadership of Lady Longmore worked tirelessly to bring the cash in. whenever Sir Arthur (now Air Chief Marshall) was on leave, she would make sure he added glamour to the occasion. We have already called him the ‘Founding Father’ of the Squadron and by the same token Lady Longmore was surely our ‘Founding Mother’
Meanwhile, we cadets spent our daytimes at our apprenticeships or other jobs, our evenings at night school or at Cadets, and our night times wondering when the Luftwaffe would have yet another go at the cannon factory and the other factories. In spite of the fact that we frequently had to dive for the shelter (the H.Q. building had some useful cellars which had been requisitioned by the ARP) training continued apace, the recruits came in and the first of our older cadets had left for the Forces. The RAF certainly thought we were doing a good job. The Battle of Britain was over and it was London’s turn to feel the effects of their Blitz. The threat of invasion had passed and the country was girding itself for a long hard struggle. 1940 ended and a New Year of uncertainty began. The Air Defence Cadet Corps, (several hundred squadrons strong now) felt, with some justification, that it was a creditable part of the overall war effort.
Rumours had been going around for some time that the RAF was of the same opinion and that the Air Ministry was making active steps to take over the responsibility of the Air Cadet movement. As 1941 began we were told that this was to take place within the month and that the ADCC would now become the ‘Air Training Corps’ with effect from the beginning of January. Our officers would have temporary commissions in the RAF Volunteer Reserve. The Cadets would have new uniforms and retain their ranks. Everything, with the exception of purely welfare expenditure, would be paid for by direct per capita grants from the Air Ministry. From now on, we were to consider ourselves as being an integral part of the RAF.
WE HAD ARRIVED!
[photograph)
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[underlined] Chapter Seven – 47(F) Sq. Air Training Corps 1941 – No. 12 (P)AFU at RAF Spittlegate [/underlined]
1941 was a fairly momentous year for the Squadron. It started with us becoming No.47(F) Grantham Squadron [underlined] Air Training Corps. [/underlined] Our officers were now commissioned in the RAF Volunteer Reserve and would reappear in normal RAF officer’s uniforms. Nominally though, they dropped a rank. Commanding Officers of cadet squadrons were remustered as Flight Lieutenants, Flight Commanders as Flying Officers and so on.
Cadet ranks remained essentially the same. New uniforms would be reissued in a style more or less resembling the standard RAF ‘erks’ outfit although it would still retain the high ‘choker’ collar.
Existing ADCC uniforms would be converted to ATC by new buttons and other insignia.
A new training syllabus was introduced which was intended to match in with the training at the RAF Reception Centres and the Initial Training Wings (the ITWs’). The intention was that an ATC cadet having, passed specified training standards, would be exempted the early stages of RAF training or at least placed on a ‘fast track’ programme.
New training manuals soon arrived. These were now printed by HMSO bearing the age old Air Ministry preface ‘Promulgated by Order of the Air Council for the guidance of all concerned’. Much of it was merely a more official version of the training material which had been issued by the ADCC, which in itself had been modelled on the ‘Square Bashing’ stages of RAF recruit training at the beginning of the war. There were however, a number of new subjects which we had previously introduced on an ad hoc basis after our cadets had more or less passed their initial ADCC training requirements.
The Battle of Britain had seriously depleted the reserve of fighter pilots and Fighter Command was working flat out to build up its strength once more. The Battle of the Atlantic was calling on Coastal Command to increase its patrol and anti-submarine capabilities. Bomber Command, now the only branch of the services capable of carrying the war into the enemy’s camp, was losing many crews on ineffectual bombing and leaflet dropping missions. Soon too, they were expecting a new generation of heavy bombers to enter squadron service, aircraft with several new air crew categories to meet the increased crew sizes. The training of aircrew, especially pilots, had to be stepped up for us to survive
At Spittlegate, the emphasis had changed from general pilot training to a more specific need for night fighter pilots. Airborne radar, though still in its early stages, was beginning to improve our interception success which had not been all that successful to date. Better, heavier and more powerful night fighters were also coming into service. The station ceased to be No.12 Service Flying Training School and now became No.12 (Pilots) Advanced Training Unit. i.e. No.12(P)AFU. There were very few changes in personnel, it was just a case of taking trainee pilots, already up to general ‘Wings’ standard from other SFTSs, and converting them specifically to be night fighter pilots or ‘Intruder’ pilots. In each case there was a greater concentration on blind flying, night flying, long distance navigation and the use of aircraft more similar to the Radar equipped Blemheim, Beaufighter and Mosquito night fighters which would soon be in service
In spite of the increasing tempo at Spittlegate, we were still welcome. As far as possible we ‘earned our keep’ by making ourselves as useful as possible in the hangars and elsewhere, in exchange for opportunities to use the firing range and go for flights when there was a seat going. Since we were only on the station in daylight, much as we would have liked to have gone on night flights, we were unable to do so. Daylight flying usually involved the pilots under training at the beginning of their courses, but as they became more proficient in handling the aircraft, they not only moved over to night flying, the actual flights were of longer duration. They were also more dangerous and a number of crews were lost.
We were lucky in that throughout all the war years, when our cadets flew on countless occasions at the various stations to which we were attached, we never had a single cadet injured. This was in spite of flying with pilots who were still very much learning their trade on the one hand, and in aircraft liable to engine failure (e.g. the Blenheims at Spittlegate and later the Avro Manchesters at RAF Bottesford), The nearest we got to a casualty, was when a young cadet, off on his first flight (in a MkIV Blemheim with its underslung gun pod) had the interesting experience of a wheels up crash landing on the airfield. More or less beneath his feet, the pod was wiped off over a hundred yards of grass and the propellers took up some rather curious shapes. When everything came to a halt, the crew and the cadet lost no time in hopping out to a safe distance. The arrival of the crash and ‘blood wagons’ created more mayhem. While the first enjoyed covering the Blenheim with foam, the latter
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landing on the airfield. More or less beneath his feet, the pod was wiped off over a hundred yards of grass and the propellers took up some rather curious shapes. When everything came to a halt, the crew and the cadet lost no time in hopping out to a safe distance. The arrival of the crash and ‘blood wagons’ created more mayhem. While the first enjoyed covering the Blenheim with foam, the latter [sic] put in some useful practice treating non existent casualties. Now it has always been the RAF tradition that if a crash occurs and the pilot and/or crew are uninjured, to restore nerves and morale, they immediately go up for another flight. In spite of this being his first and somewhat eventful flight, our very young cadet immediately insisted in going up with them again! Certainly one for the Squadron’s records.
In the background to all this, Britain was now on its own. The Battle of France had been lost and the Battle of Britain won the previous year. The war in Europe was in stalemate with armies facing each other across the Channel. Britain was reeling from the Blitz, as most of its major cities received nightly attacks from the Luftwaffe, which it had to be admitted, were a lot better at finding their targets than our Bomber Command was at finding theirs. Until airborne Radar was fitted to ageing Defiant and Blenheim night fighters, there seemed little we could do to stop them. Interception did improve and by the time the first Beaufighters came into service, we were able to fight back, hence the ongoing drive to get night fighter pilots through the Spittlegate courses as quickly as possible. The end result was that although we were still welcome in the hangars and other ground facilities, there were far fewer opportunities for those of our cadets who were opting for aircrew to gain air experience.
Our cadet roll had settled down, it would seem, to around one hundred or so with again around seventy to eighty on parades. In addition to those who lived in and around the town, there had been right from the start, a significant number who were prepared to cycle in from the surrounding countryside. We even had one cadet who cycled down the Great North Road from the outskirts of Newark, some eleven miles each way! (His devotion to duty was not confined to the ATC. He served with distinction in the RAF when his time came, became a ‘Regular’ in the post war RAF and rose to wear ‘Scrambled Egg’ upon his cap). We had a very strong contingent from the large village of Colsterworth, some nine miles south of Grantham, and in time this would lead us to forming a Colsterworth Flight, but more about that later.
It would also be around this time that a new category of ‘cadet’ joined our ranks. Conscription into the service had become the norm. thanks to the excellent and well recognised pre service training contributed by the Sea Cadets, the Army Cadets and the Air Cadets, it had been decided that any young man who ‘Registered’ at seventeen and a quarter and who was not already a member of the Cadet movement, must attend the Cadet unit of the Service into which he had been accepted. Most of those who joined us, saw the advantages of becoming a regular cadet and were soon absorbed into our ranks. Others, who seemed determined to remain ‘civvies’ until the last possible moment, declined our uniforms and remained something of an ‘awkward’ sub-flight, reluctantly parading to the rear of No.4 Flight, when they bothered to attend and were correspondingly treated with some contempt by the other cadets. They were however recipients of the same training programmes.
Thankfully, an increasing flow of well prepared training material was now coming through from ATC Headquarters, together with a much more coordinated training programme. This meant that by now, after some two year’s experience, there was much less for our own officers and other instructors to improvise or ‘swop up’. Unfortunately in a way, none of our offices at this time were ‘technical’. As a result there were a few significant gaps in our coverage of the subjects needed to meet the new emphasis on aircrew on aircrew training. But, as the saying goes, “Its an ill wind that blows nobody any good”
Once I had been promoted to Flight Sergeant, I was able to fetch out those instructional skills which had been so carefully instilled in me back in the OTC days. All the usual introductory subjects for recruit training in the ‘square bashing’ phase presented no difficulty and wherever possible, I did my best to train my Sergeants and Corporals to present them themselves. This gave me time and opportunity to concentrate on subjects which I really liked and derived great satisfaction in presenting. Theory of Flight, Airframe Construction, Meteorology and, increasingly Map Reading and Navigation, all of which were ’technical’ and essential to aircrew aspirants.
It was around this time that the Flight Sergeant rank was introduced. Furthermore, quite a few of our senior NCOs had been called up and in best ‘dead man’s shoes’ tradition I was now more or less the senior Sergeant. As more Corporals were promoted and given more responsibility, so I was able to
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delegate a goodly number of my elementary subject instruction to them and concentrate on my ‘technical’ subjects and thereby became more of a squadron instructor than a mere administrative NCO, awaiting callup.
This new status was reinforced by the fact that by mid 1941, I had passed my Ordinary National Certificate in Mechanical Engineering. Having Registered the previous autumn, I had appeared before the appropriate Selection Board and had been officially accepted for entry into the RAF Technical Branch. This was dependent upon the completion of my engineering apprenticeship, and passing my Higher National Certificate in two year’s time. I was now ‘deferred’, subject to annual appearance before the Selection Board. As a result I could now look forward to at least another two year’s service in the Squadron. A coveted crown had been added to my uniform above my three stripes, and so up I had gone another rung.
My situation was somewhat helped by the various stages of my apprenticeship which involved alternation periods in the works and the drawing offices. Office hours were of course less demanding and at lunch hours, my drawing board could be used to work up diagrams, charts etc., for my ATC lectures. Even my technical studies helped in a way. Once having mastered the theory of vector forces and motions, it was easy to covert [sic] the basic principles into navigation exercises and aerodynamics. Another thing which helped was that once I had passed my second year exams at the Grantham Technical School, instead of attending three evenings per week, I now attended the Newark Technical College’s part time day release National Certificate courses. These involved a four day working week at my factory and a fifth whole day plus one evening at the Newark Technical College.
As mentioned earlier, our attachment to Spittlegate had become somewhat less satisfactory as a result of their new responsibilities and working practices. Our CO had been working away quietly for sometime [sic] getting No.5 Bomber Group H.Q. personnel (from the top downwards) interested in our activities and also in the town’s ‘Wings for Victory’ and other war savings drives. We never got Arthur Harris down before he moved on to become Commander in Chief of Bomber Command, but his successors as O. i/c 5 Group certainly added lustre to 47(F)’s prestige from time to time. While on the subject of ‘name dropping’, we not only had AVMs Bottomly and Cochraine ‘drop in’ from time to time but Sir Arthur and Lady Longmore continued to help us whenever possible. We certainly had friends in high places.
This new relationship with No.5 Group suddenly bore fruit. For the past year there had been frenzied activity on requisitioned farmland just north of the village of Bottesford on the Lincolnshire/Nottinghamshire border, and in the autumn of 1941, RAF Bottesford became operational. Into it moved No. 207 Squadron, a newly reformed 5 Group squadron which was to become famous in a number of very significant ways. Furthermore, No.47(F) was going to be attached to them for the next year.
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[underlined] Chapter Eight 47(F) Sq. Air Training Corps and RAF Bottesford 1941-42 [/underlined]
As already mentioned in earlier chapters, our Commanding Officer had built up connections with members of the staffs of many of the local RAF establishments and these included the headquarters staff of No .5 Bomber Group which was already beginning to gain its legendary reputation. As a result of some gentle arm twisting, 47(F) was now attached to RAF Bottesford, a new bomber station some twelve miles in the opposite direction from Spittlegate.
During the 1930s rearmament period, the ‘Golden Age’ of RAF architecture had given Lincolnshire a number of superbly designed airfields with classic accommodation and mess blocks, hangars and service buildings, such as those to be found at Coningsby, Digby, Scampton and elsewhere. As the war approached, many older fields were given a more hurried facelift. Then, when war was declared, a massive programme of even more temporary airfield construction threw up dozens of ‘hostilities 0nly’ airfields in our and surrounding counties.
Bottesford was typical of these. A grass airfield with only a concrete perimeter track, dispersal sites for aircraft and a minimum of corrugated iron, steel framed maintenance hangars (Most daily maintenance and minor repair work on bomber bases would be done in the open dispersal areas during the war) Dispersed accommodation sites with uninsulated Nissen huts for the ground staff and slightly less uncomfortable wooden huts for aircrew were backed up by a few more permanent brick or concrete structures such as the H.Q., Control Tower, Officer’s and men’s messes, fire and rescue buildings etc.
Into this, with it’s concrete barely dry, had come No.207 Squadron. Formed originally as a Royal Naval Air Service Squadron in WW1, it had been disbanded when that war ended. It was reformed in 1940 at RAF Waddington where it originally worked up with Handley Page Hampdens, the ageing workhorse of No.5 Group in those early WW2 years. Although at the time it was initially intensely proud of the distinction, it had the ill luck to be chosen as the first squadron to fly the ill fated Avro Manchester. Having converted, the whole squadron was moved down to Bottesford where they were now getting to grips with putting this ‘monster’ into operational service.
At this stage of the war, Bomber Command was still thinking in terms of bigger, but still two engine ‘heavies’. Of the four principal manufacturers of bombers for the RAF throughout the war, Vickers would stick to mass production of their two engined ‘Wellington’, the ‘Wimpey’ of everlasting fame. Shorts, who were flat out making Sunderland flying boats for Coastal Command, decided to save valuable time by using the Sutherland wings with their four radial engines, grafting on a new slim fuselage, tail plane and undercarriage. They called it the ‘Stirling’ and in the event, the Stirling was the first ‘heavy’ to go operational. Hurried into service, it proved to be a typical ‘camel designed by a committee’. It was slow, it lacked the ability to carry large bombs and had a low service ceiling. It proved reasonably reliable but was not popular amongst the crews called upon to fly it.
The two other manufacturers (and the Air Ministry) were pinning great hopes on a new super-engine then under development by Rolls Royce. Essentially, it was two earlier (and reliable) vee-form twelve cylinder Kestrel engines, one upright and the other inverted, driving a common crankshaft. Hopefully, this new engine, optimistically named the Vulture, would in the hands of Handley Page and Avros, power two new two engine ‘heavies’ which would be much faster and with greater bomb loads, greater range and service ceiling than the Hampdens, Whitleys and ‘Wimpeys’ of No. 5 and other Bomber Groups. Rushed into service before it was properly developed, the Vulture proved a disaster and the two engine aspirations of Handley Page and Avro were dropped in favour of four engine developments.
The 207 Sq. air crews selected to fly this first of the new generation of aircraft, upon which Bomber Command were pinning even greater hopes, had been carefully gleaned from experienced Hampden crews from other 5 Group squadrons. These included quite a few, who in turn would be poached by Guy Gibson when the time came to form 617 Squadron, the Dam Busters.
By the time 47(F) appeared on their scene, 207 was just about settled in and getting their Manchesters operational. I am not sure how welcome we were when we first arrived, but 5 Group H.Q. in Grantham appeared to have told them that we were coming and could possibly be put to good use on the ground, and please would they give the cadets as much air experience as
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possible. In the case of the ground trades, they too were to be given as much experience of a similar nature.
We were not to know this when the Sunday morning Bottesford party assembled for the first time at Cadet HQ to await the arrival of the truck to take us there. All agog in anticipation of our first visit to a fully operational bomber station, we were not surprised to see an armed guard on the gate. Having passed through the barrier we were told to enter the Guard Room where the Security Officer watched as our Identity Cards were checked and our names recorded, whereupon he gave us a short sharp talk on Station Security. Nothing, repeat nothing, which we would see, hear or learn on this or any other visit, was to be discussed outside the station perimeter, and we were left in no doubt as to the penalties we would suffer should we be found to have done so. Pointing to the ‘Careless Talk Cost Lives’ posters which after eighteen months of war were everywhere, he said “This is for real here and don’t you forget it”
Suitably subdued, we formed up outside and marched as smartly as possible, we were escorted to the Duty Officer’s office. After a similar warning, we were taken on a brief tour of the central service area facilities and then onto the tarmac in front of the hangars where we had our first face to face encounter with the Manchester. At Spittlegate, we were all used to the ‘Faithful Annies’, the ‘Oxboxes’, the Blenheims and the Harvards which were all very much of a size but in comparison, the Manchester seemed ENORMOUS. Propellers which seemed big enough for a windmill, tyres as big as the average cadet, engine nacelles as big as a Harvard’s fuselage, a cockpit canopy twenty feet up in the air and a bomb bay big enough it seemed, to carry a bus. Although, we were to gather later, they were beginning to have grave doubts about the engines, they were immensely proud of the Avro airframe. We were proudly shown around its ‘innards’ and sat for the first time in power operated gun turrets. We had occasionally glimpsed a Manchester in the distance, but since they were instructed to keep well away from Spittlegate and Harlaxton’s training air space we had not seen them close to. During the morning there had been one or two of them doing flight tests and we had stood in wonder as they taxied out and, with savage roars from their huge Vulture engines, they took off circled around, and landed.
After some grub in the airmen’s mess (a distinct improvement on Spittlegate’s NAAFI wagons!) we broke up into ‘trades’. Our aircrew cadets marched off to the navigation and crew rooms where we made sure that they appreciated that we knew all about putting on Sidcot suits and parachutes and knew our flight drill. Since there were some more flight tests scheduled for the afternoon, a lucky few were taken out, installed in upper and rear turrets or in second pilots and navigator’s seats in the ‘office’ and away they went into Bottesford’s air space. Back on terra firma, they were drooling with excitement.
Meanwhile, our ground trades had dispersed into their respective work areas. The Armourers for example, as soon as they could, demonstrated that they too knew how to strip a Vickers or Lewis Air Gun and clear the usual stoppages, but now they needed to learn the same for the Browning air guns which were used in the Manchester turrets. A new piece of gear which they would get to know very well in the ensuing months, was the machine gun belt filling machine. We had seen the long trays which lined almost the whole length of the rear fuselage of the Manchester which guided yard upon yard of rounds into the turret guns. This was no mere demonstration. These rounds if fired, would be for real. Down in the bomb dumps, we looked in awe at hundreds of real live bombs of all sizes, and air drop sea mines. They were also introduced to the chore which the RAF were only too pleased to hand over to the ATC in later visits, the loading of canisters with hundreds of the RAF’s little 4lb hexagonal magnesium incendiary bombs, which we learned to load [underlined] very carefully [/underlined]. Earlier on we were given a demonstration of what would happen if one was dropped on its live end. Very spectacular. We never dropped one! In the hangars, the fitter trades similarly indicated that hangar life was not a closed book to them.
As was to be expected, this was our introductory visit. They got to know us and we got to know them. We definitely wanted to come again and they seemed very willing to have us back. From our point of view, the change in atmosphere had been dramatic. At Spittlegate, we had been used to a more or less round the clock tempo with aircraft flying, at all hours of the day and night, weather permitting. Maintenance had also been an ongoing, more or less regular routine. The only ‘flaps’ had been the result of attempts to bring a course back on time after a spell of bad weather or to urgently complete the training of a given course.
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At Bottesford, all seemed very different. The weather was of course the all deciding factor as to whether the station was on a ‘Stand Down’ or ‘Operations On’ status. On this, our first visit, the station was on ‘Stand Down’. All hands seemed to be working hard but steadily during daylight hours to get all essential maintenance up to date, damage repaired, aircraft air tested and training exercises completed. At nightfall, we were to find that, apart from late working in the hangars, there was an air of relief as air and ground crews collapsed for well earned rest and a chance to catch up with lost sleep. It was to be very different on the day we went to Bottesford when ‘Ops’ were scheduled for the following night, but more on that subject later.
We were a much bemused party which returned to Grantham late that afternoon. There was an overwhelming urge to chatter on about all we had seen and done. However, we NCOs, remembering the admonitions of the Security Officer, jumped down hard on any talk involving ‘sensitive’ matters, and our officer in charge reiterated our security responsibilities when the time came for us to dismiss. There was one thing we could say, we quite sure we had fallen on our feet when it came to our new attachment.
It was not long before our now quite regular visits to Bottesford settled down to a regular routine. Air crew category cadets, on arrival would make their way to the Navigation Section. There, they would go over the exercises which they had done at cadet H.Q. under my supervision and would work through previous ‘plots’ which had been done in recent operational sorties over France and Germany. At this time, many of these sorties involved the dropping of sea mines in areas of the North Seas, Baltic, Channel and Biscay coasts. Such navigation and position fixing had to be very accurate and we learned a lot of how it was done ‘for real’. Once the 207 navigators felt that we could make quite a good job of working out a simple plot, they would get us to work out one for a Manchester which was due for a flight test that day. Then to our delight, they would take us up on the test and the pilot rather than just ‘stooging around’ (as the saying went in those days) would follow our courses as we sang them out. with us glued to our air maps as we map read our progress over the ground, at the end of a half hour triangular flight, if we did actually arrive more or less back over the airfield, we really thought that there was something in this air navigation business, and how we were guiding this huge powerful machine around the skies. However, it should be added that this sort of thing was more characteristic of our visits to Bottesford later in the year.
While this was going on with our air crew cadets, our ground trades were similarly busy in the hangars, armaments sections, and out on dispersals. As it had been at Spittlegate, our cadets who were also engineering fitter apprentices, were soon helping out with maintenance and repair work. Of course the training aircraft at Spittlegate had suffered occasional damage as a result of forced landings, overshoots and ground collisions etc., but now we had our first experience of battle damage. One or two Manchesters had come back from mine laying sorties with the tips of their propellers bent back. Because the mines had to be dropped from a very low level in the dark, the pilots were experiencing the same difficulties of judging their height as the Dam Busters did two years later. Often these same aircraft came back with their bomb doors ripped off and one came back with seaweed in its radiator intake. On one occasion, one came back with a long length of German balloon cable wrapped round one of its propellers. When low flying exercises were on the go, twigs and small branches on one’s wing tips were regarded as great trophies.
These were the lucky ones. Somehow, their pilots had managed to regain control and bring their damaged aircraft back home. Others didn’t and paid the ultimate price. Practically every weekend when we arrived, the ground staff were grooming up replacement aircraft for ones lost on operations or, increasingly, regrettably and disastrously, those which had crashed or failed to return due to engine failures. It was obvious to all now, that the Vulture, rushed into production before it had been properly developed, was a complete failure.
There had been crashes and fatalities at Spittlegate either through aircraft failures, pilot errors or, sadly, through intruder gunfire, but these had rarely been talked about. Whether this was to keep such matters away from our young ears or whether it had been standard practice to keep up the morale of their trainees, I have no idea. At Bottesford, discussion of by now regular losses seemed unavoidable. I do know that certain badly damaged aircraft were ‘out of bounds’ to us until such times as certain rather unpalatable evidences of the less heroic aspects of war had been cleaned away. What they also did their best to hide from us was their undoubted loss of morale and confidence in the Manchester. The general opinion amongst the aircrews was that they were far more likely to lose their lives to a Vulture than a Messerschmidt [sic]. In spite of this, there seemed to be
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no reluctance to taking us up on test flights etc. We, being young and ‘good keen types’ were only too pleased to sign the inevitable ‘blood chit’ before take off, and make sure that little or nothing of this leaked back to our parents!
The replacement Manchesters by this time were all Mk.2 versions. In spite of their loss of faith in its engines, they still considered that the aircraft (with engines running well) was a delight to fly, but then on one bright sunny early summer morning they had something new to show us. There on the tarmac was a Manchester Mk.3. Still the same fuselage and tail plane but the Vultures had gone. The wingspan had been increased by ten feet each side and two new outboard engine nacelles housed sleek ‘vee twelve’ Merlins. This was the prototype of the legend to come.
Both aircrew and ground staff were ecstatic. It was doing the rounds of the Manchester squadrons to get their opinions as to how it handled and what they thought of it. For the first time, we heard in place of the Vulture’s snarls, the gentle purrs of four Merlins ticking over, changing to a purposeful roar as the ‘Mk.3’ took off and shot us up at zero feet.. This was to be the sound of ‘Bomber County’ for the next five years.
Very shortly after we started going to Bottesford, we arrived to find that operations were ‘on’ for the following night. The whole camp was in a very different state and was now working in top gear. We were there to give4 a hand wherever it was needed, irrespective of trade or category. Final checks and adjustments, much running up of engines, bombing up, fuelling up, arming up, frenzied but purposeful activity. Later on in the war, the country would be immensely inspired by Laurence Olivier’s production of Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ and the lines in the Prologue to the Battle of Agincourt could never be more apt to the scene on ‘Ops’ night at Bottesford or any other Bomber Command station that night or any other night of the escalating bomber offensive:
“And in the tents, the armourers accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Gave dreadful note of preparation”
Everywhere was a noisy and ascending crescendo of activity.
This was to be an early evening takeoff and as the crews were called to final briefing there was a palpable increase in tension. This heightened even further as we watched the crews, loaded with parachutes, charts, code books and other gear, climbed up into the lorries which would be taking them out to dispersal. Another pregnant silence and then the noise began.
First one, two, ten, twenty, forty and often more engines coughed into life. Clouds of smoke followed by another pause, then each engine in turn would be run up. Full revs, full boost, mag drop, temperatures, pressures, fuel checks and all the other pre-flight checks were carried out and we knew what was going on now. Then, when all was satisfactory, the whole squadron, with all engines ticking over, formed a slow procession round the perimeter like a great noisy herd of elephants, to the down wind point of the airfield. A red light would appear on the south horizon. This would be the hazard light on top of Bottesford village church, a nasty reminder that the aircraft, loaded to capacity, would have gained little height by the time they passed over it.
By this time, most of the station not directly involved in the take off would have collected near the take off point to cheer and wave them off as the Green from the control trailer gave the clear to go. By this time we had our favourite aircraft or crew and would be shouting as loudly as the rest.
One by one, they would roar off and away to join the other 5 Group aircraft also clawing for height. Bottesford at that time was at the south west edge of 5 Group territory so that we did not see the bulk of their take off, but as happened on so many ‘ops’ nights the noise of hundreds of Rolls Royce engines not only filled the night sky, but nearer to the bases, even went so far as to make the ground shake. We were fighting back now and repaying with interest, and 47(F) were doing their bit. On these ops nights, when we were there, we slaved in the bomb dump loading up the incendiaries, in the ammunition huts we would help loading up the machine gun belts, and everywhere else we would be fetching, carrying, cleaning up and taking messages.
We saw the other side of the coin when we arrived on the station on the morning following a night op. All too often in those Manchester days, the station was subdued. The airmen had grim expressions and quite a few WAAFs had red rimmed eyes. This introduces another difference we had noticed between Bottesford and Spittlegate.
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At Grantham, the WAAFs seemed to us at least, to be ‘motherly’ types who, if we were not careful, would ‘fuss’ around us. However, those in the Parachute Section were somewhat different. The Packing Room was always a haven of peace, where the ‘chutes’ were quietly issued and taken back into store, regularly unpacked and hung up to air, taken down and meticulously repacked. All very calm, caring and impressive. I had noticed that there was no shortage of volunteers amongst the older cadets when a party to the Parachute Section was proposed, and I also gathered that it was not just the parachutes that they were hoping to see. The packing of a parachute is a very precise procedure and calls for the exact placing of the various panels and shroud lines and a cadet invited to ‘have a go’ would invariably have his hand gently guided to the exact spot. To a seventeen year old boy in those far off very inhibited days (compared with today of course) these particular WAAFs who seemed to be cut above the others when it came to charm and good looks, could be quite disturbing in such ‘hands on’ circumstances. The effects were not lost on the other cadets, or the WAAFs either, who seemed quite prepared to join in with the fun!
At Bottesford, the WAAFs were far more tight lipped and serious. Pleasant enough and tolerant to we cadets, but acutely conscious of living in an adult and at times brutal world where death, injuries and bereavement were just round the corner, perhaps that very night.
There would be empty spaces in the dispersals and men busy cleaning up the plane interiors as well as patching flak and bullet damage. The more senior cadets would help wherever possible whilst the more junior cadets were taken to less dramatic chores. We grew up fast, very fast at times.
On the subject of favourite crews, 207 was beginning to create its heroes and its legends. One of these was a Canadian Air Force pilot. In actual fact he was an American who, at the outbreak of war had crossed into Canada and joined the RCAF. He had come to England and was posted to 5 Group and was one of the chosen to form 207 at Waddington. A superb pilot he had built up a first class Manchester crew and was well into his second tour of operations. Around this time, the German Navy was becoming a prime target for the RAF and although daylight raids had proved suicidal, the growing threat of the German battleships such as the Tirpitz and the Bismark on our Atlantic conveys was calling for desperate action. The call was for low level daylight attacks to be practiced, and low level flying was what this American loved. His idea of a pleasant Sunday morning’s jaunt was to do just what the powers that be wanted. If they wanted low flying that would suit him down to the ground (in all senses of the word!) Several cadets had come back telling how he preferred to fly [underlined] round [/underlined] trees rather than lifting up to fly over them. Since I was usually the NCO in charge of the Bottesford parties, I nearly always allowed the other cadets to go up on any available flight tests, navigation or low flying exercises, but eventually my turn came and I was delighted when the American came out and climbed in. Of [sic] we went, hedge hopping our way down to the Fens to the consternation of man and beast. There are few things more mind blowing than having a Manchester, of worse still a Lancaster, suddenly roaring over your head, fifty feet up and doing two hundred mph. The Lanc although quitter at height, gave little or no warning of its approach when ‘down on the deck’.
I had managed to grab the mid upper turret, the best place to be when you are practising map reading but this is not easy when tree tops get in the way of your view! According to my air map there were some H.T. lines ahead. We are still at fifty feet. With some temerity, I decide to warn the pilot. Pilot grunts. Still no change of altitude. Pylons appear ahead. We stay at fifty feet. Generally speaking, breathing stops. H.T. cables pass [underlined] over [/underlined] our heads. Breathing recommences. It was therefore no surprise to me to learn a year or so later that Joe Macarthy and his crew were among the first to be poached by Guy Gibson when the time came for him to form 617 Squadron.
By late spring of 1941, we were not only welcome at Bottesford but, when there was some sort of a ‘flap’ on they actually started to ask us to lend a hand. These were usually ‘ops’ and sometimes, for security reasons, we were not allowed to leave the station until after take off. At other times, they asked us to come on the Saturday and be prepared to stay overnight, in which case we were allocated a Nissen hut in one of the dispersal areas. As senior Sergeant now, I was usually put in charge of such parties and once again my previous experience in the OTC and Air Cadet Wing camps came in useful. Having drawn mattresses, blankets etc, the cadets needed to be introduced into the niceties of blanket and sheet folding, pillow and personal gear arrangement and display. ‘Fatigues’ were allocated, the inevitable Magnet Stove coaxed into reluctant and smoky life, the fire bucket relieved of its fag ends, after which we could get on with the war!
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Once on site, we were treated just like the other airmen and joined parties marching off to the mess halls. (It is interesting to reflect on the fact that in those days one never ‘proceeded’ as an individual, one invariably marched as a group.
After nearly three quarters of a century, certain events stand out in one’s memory as clear as a bell, others are completely lost and many although well remembered, are difficult to pin down as to time and place. Not so the 29th of May that year. This was the night when the RAF made history and 47(F) did their bit to make it so. It started when we received a call for as many cadets to go to Bottesford as possible, prepared to stay overnight. When we arrived it became obvious that the ‘flap beyond all flaps’ was on. Every aircraft capable of flying had to fly. Over at the bomb dumps we loaded the inevitable incendiaries. Machine gun belts were filled in the armament section and as usual we lifted, held, took, carried and cleaned up. Engines roared and meals were snatched. Eventually the aircrews were called to briefing. On arrival were [sic] had been warned that no one must make any contact with the outside world and the reason for the flap would be explained later.
When the time came for 207 to take off, the skies were already filling. In addition to the local 5 Group aircraft, they started climbing up from the west which was Operational Training Unit’s airspace, which was strange.
Tired out, we staggered off to our Nissen hut with the promise that all would be made clear in the morning. We were not to see the headlines in the papers until later on in the day, but at a collective briefing just after breakfast, we were told that the RAF had made its first ‘Thousand Bomber Raid’ on Cologne, and 47(F) had been there to help.
Naturally our visits to Bottesford were the highlights of our ATC weeks, but back at our Grantham H.Q. many other things were going on apace. Following the introduction of the new ATC Training Programme and associated training manuals, came the Proficiency Certificate tests. Having by now become an instructor in quite a few subjects, as I was still technically a cadet, it obviously seemed right that I should pass my Part 1 as soon as possible. There was therefore a lot of swotting up on the part of the NCOs and senior cadets to get their four bladed propeller badges indicating that they were ‘Proficient’. There were a number of categories, Pilot/Observer, Wireless Operator, Flight Mechanic (Engines) etc., as well as those for ground trades.
The pilot/Observer syllabus now included a first introduction into Astronavigation, as well as the usual Dead Reckoning Air Plots, Map Reading Exercises etc.. For the Part 1 Certificate Astronavigation only involved the recognition of the principle constellations and individually important stars.
Being now very much of a ‘county boy’ (our family having moved away from the Luftwaffe’s bombing run in 1940) the night sky had become a great fascination to me. Britain was still a domestic coal burning society with central heating being almost unheard of, and we were often beset with autumnal ‘pea souper’ fogs. At many other times of the year the sky could be crystal clear. With the imposition of the total blackout, there was no [underlined] ‘light pollution’ as we know it today. Also, our night vision was far better than it is today since there were no flashing vehicle headlamps to blind us, since all road users (cyclists included) had to hood their lights so that nothing shone above the horizontal.
It was usually well on into the autumn before we could start on star identification. With the imposition of Double Summer Time in the summer months and ‘single’ Summer Time in the winter months (to help the factory workers enjoy a bit of evening after their overtime) it never became properly dark until after evening parades had dismissed. When we could go out into the parade ground for star identification, it was usually well into the winter months, and here I mean real winter. Not the snow free, late autumn, global warming, cold snaps we chose to regard as winter today. having memorised one or two of our Star Charts we would, on a fine cloud free night, go out and first identify the Plough whose ‘Pointers’ would guide us to the Pole Star. Dependant [sic] upon the month, we would go on to identify the constellation of Cygnus, the Swan whose nose, tail and wing tip stars would be so vital in the astronavigation to follow. The Square of Pegasus, Leo the Lion and when the Orion group came above the eastern horizon, to really show one’s prowess in star identification by identifying the Pleiades and see if you could count more than seven.
Of course this was most important if you were intending to be a Navigator on the first steps to mastering astronavigation. At the same time it was felt vital by the RAF that [underlined] anyone [/underlined] in the aircrew could make the difference between life and death if he could, by the briefest of glimpses through a break in the clouds, identify Month and then West, the way home for a crippled aircraft whose other navigational aids had either failed or had been destroyed by enemy fire.
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[photograph]
A.T.C. Form 3
[crest]
AIR TRAINING CORPS.
Certificate of Proficiency
Part 1
This is to Certify that
Cadet Flight Sergeant Peter Desmond Stevenson of No. 47.F. (Grantham) Squadron is granted a Certificate of Proficiency in that , during his membership of the Air Training Corps, he has fulfilled the necessary conditions as to efficient service and has qualified in the Pilot/Observer syllabus of training, as laid down in the Rules and Regulations of the Air Training Corps.
[signature]
Air Commodore
Commandant, Air Training Corps.
Date 11-2-1942
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[underlined] The 1942 Summer Camp at RAF Bottesford [/underlined]
With the threat of invasion now safely behind us, ATC HQ in conjunction with the Air Ministry decided to hold, wherever possible, summer cadet camps at local RAF stations. Numbers would be limited and there would be much competition for the places. At Bottesford there would be a one week camp for twelve cadets with an officer in charge. In the event none of our officers could get away on the week involved, but in view of our experience in running our own Nissen, they were quite prepared to accept a senior cadet NCO as camp leader.
Eventually a short list was established and the cadet’s employers were persuaded to allow the cadets concerned an extra week’s holiday. (War time holiday allocations were limited to one week ‘for the duration’). My own firm by this time, was a strong supporter of our Squadron and I had no difficulty in making sure that I was on the list, which ended up with me being in charge.
As luck would have it, my written report of the following week’s activities is still in existence and as a result I can give a blow by blow account of a most wonderful week.
On Saturday 16th May, the chosen few assembled at Cadet H.Q. complete with kitbags and gear for the week. A camp lorry took these out, while we cycled out in commendable order befitting the occasion. (We needed our bikes because everything at Bottesford was always a long way from anywhere else). ‘Arriving at the Guard Room at ’13.00 hrs’ (etc., etc.) we assembled before being marched off to our camp site. It would seem that the concept of a summer camp was taken literally. Fully expecting to reoccupy our Nissen on the far side of the ‘drome, we were slightly surprised to find ourselves in a tented camp more or less opposite to the Station Headquarters. Here had been set up a small marquee which became our ‘Orderly Room’ and store for spare kit, four bell tents for our accommodation, and another for our bikes. Bedding was delivered and an attack made on the resulting chaos, since in addition to three barrack room ‘biscuits’, two sheets, a pillow and pillow case apiece, we were issued with no less than six blankets each. They obviously didn’t intend us feeling cold.
Our party comprised three sergeants who occupied the Senior NCOs tent, a corporal and two cadets in No.1 tent, four cadets in No.2 Tent and the other three cadets in No.3 tent, so we had plenty of room. Thanks to my Twezledown and Selsea camp experience, and our overnight stays in the Nissen, we lost no time in telling the airmen who had been detailed to look after us that we were quite capable of running our own camp. Order was ultimately achieved, just in time for ‘tea’ to be declared.
After that, the rest of the day was declared ‘free’. The more energetically disposed went off to the exercise area and the assault course, while the less so, opted for the NAAFI. Sgts Kirk and Rudkin and myself had all passed the Pilot/Observer’s Proficiency Part 1 earlier on in the year and we were getting lined up for the first Proficiency Part 2 examinations. These were going to take place in July, so that any spare time for us this week would be devoted to swotting.
Reveille was ordered for 06.30, but being the first day of camp, it was no great surprise to find all ranks were already exercising themselves on the station assault course by 06.00 (somehow this enthusiasm was not repeated on subsequent mornings!). having set our camp to rights, we made our way over to No.2 Airmen’s Mess which was about half a mile away – Bottesford was well dispersed and most things seemed to be at least half a mile from anywhere else! Back at our camp, we readied ourselves for Kit Inspection, but as our Oi/c Camp was also Duty Officer for the whole station, that duty fell upon myself, so I borrowed the dignity of an inspecting officer and regarded all efforts (including my own) with appropriate severity.
We were expecting to be sent off to the hangars and elsewhere for the usual ‘Fetch and Carry’ duties which normally preceded a chance for a flight, when we were ordered to report to the Station Adjutant in the HQ. He told us to divide into two groups. One group, comprising our Wireless Operator/Air Gunners and other trades, was to report to the Station Signals Section for a morning’s instruction on aircraft wireless equipment. The other group, Pilot/Observer, was again to divide into two smaller groups, one to report to A Flight Commander, the other to B Flight. (By this time, almost all the Mancesters had been replaced by Lancasters)
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Since A Flight was not flying that morning, we were taken to the AML Bomb Trainer where we were instructed on how to use the new Automatic Bomb Sight which was just coming into service. Having dropped ‘three sticks’ apiece, we went over to the Spotlight Trainer for half an hour’s Turret gunnery practice. This was a concrete dome shaped building, in the centre of which was a mid upper turret connected to an external hydraulic power generator. Using a projector, the instructor could flash onto the interior of the dome, either a spot of light or the silhouette of a fighter aircraft. In the case of the latter one had first to decide its identity ([underlined] before it [/underlined] shot [underlined] you [/underlined] down) then follow it with a spotlight projected from the turret gun cluster and ‘fire’, having allowed the appropriate ‘deflection’.
This would all be accompanied by a lot of Merlin engine noise and gunfire as appropriate, according to whether you were shooting at it, or it was shooting at you. The only things missing was the turret being thrown all over the sky as your skipper ‘weaved’, and the smell of cordite from your guns. All very exciting. This was followed by a very interesting session when we ‘assisted’ in the compass swinging procedure for one of the newly delivered Lancs. Stationed in the centre of a circle round which were marked the various ‘True’ headings from True North clockwise round the compass, the aircraft was carefully turned to various key headings and the readings of the on board compasses compared. The errors caused by the various bits of magnetic material in the aircraft were duly noted to produce the Deviation Chart, vital for accurate courses to be calculated by the Navigator. All valuable knowledge for those of us hoping to get a question on Variation and Deviation in our Proficiency Part 2 exam and for me as part of my Navigation Instructors lecturing.
While all this was going on, the cadets attached to B Flight were having an equally exciting time. Bomber Command was hoping that the extra speed, firepower and range of the Lancaster would enable them to mount daylight attacks once more after the disasters of the early war Wellington attacks, had forced the bombing offensive into night operations. It was back to low level flying singly, and in formation. This morning it had been a one and a half hour low flying practice, ending with a low level bombing run over a bombing range.
After lunch two cadets went on a night flying test, and since 207 Sq. was on operations that night some cadets went on the Link Blind Flying Trainer for a while and the rest of us dispersed into the hangers [sic] to make ourselves useful.
All very thrilling, but not quite what we had expected. I never knew whether the week we had at Bottesford was a result of direction from ‘upon high’ or whether it was Bottesford thanking us for services previously rendered. It was probably a bit of both.
The following day there was even more flying for the cadets with formation flying, low level flying and bombing runs over the Clifton Pastures bombing range near Nottingham. Sgts Kirk, Rudkin and myself, anxious to hone up our navigation skills, opted to spend most of the day in the Navigation Section, totally absorbed in plots on air maps of the U.K and the Continent, and working out the routes recorded in the navigator’s logs of some of the old Manchester raids.
The next morning, having drawn overalls, the main party went across to No.4 hangar where a brand new Lancaster was to receive a pre-service checkover. Two cadets joined engine fitters on each of the four Merlins, two to the inside of the fuselage and two more for the exterior. In spite of the fact that the aircraft had been rigorously inspected at the factory before it was test flown and delivered, nothing was taken for granted and its acceptance check took most of the day. At lunch, several cadets remarked on how clean and ‘new’ it smelled. (Everyone who has had contact with Lancasters will agree that they had a special smell, especially when they were new. A combination of new paint, aircraft dope, hydraulic fluid, gun belt lubricant and less identifiable smells, and these will persist through out its life. To these will be added the smells associated with its service life, some of which are far less pleasant. Cordite fumes, the rear end of the fuselage just forward of the tail plain where the Elsan lost its contents during violent manoeuvres, elsewhere other traces of the effects of air sickness, fear and wounding, persist in spite of careful cleaning by ground staff. Even today, one has only to poke one’s nose through the door of ‘Just Jane’, East Kirkby’s taxiable Lanc of the BBMF’s flying Lanc and the mind flashes back)
We three Sergeants reported once more to the Navigation Section where we were to be given a navigation problem to work out. However, plans were changed and we went off on another low flying exercise in the Squadron’s last Manchester, which called for some exciting map reading, made just a little more difficult by nearby trees obscuring the more distant landmarks! The flight finished with us leaving our visiting cards at the Clifton Pastures Range.
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In the afternoon, all the others went of [sic] on yet more low flying exercises. So far as I can remember, these were all part of the Augsburg, Capital Ship Bomb, and the Tirpitz/Scharnhorst/Gneisenau urges and purges at the time. We decided to take our plotting problem back to our ‘Orderly Room’ and work away at that for the afternoon.
Thursday was one of my last ‘day release’ days at my Technical College before the end of the year examinations, and granted leave of absence, I left my two Sergeants in charge. In the morning, all went flying again. Since the Squadron was on ops that night, the afternoon was declared ‘free’ but I understood that they made themselves useful again.
Bad weather on the Friday grounded all flying, so we all adjourned to the Armaments Section for a lecture on the Browning Turret Guns followed by participation in one of the station’s periodic anti-gas exercises. The weather improved after lunch, and most of the cadets got a forty five minute flight in night flying tests after the previous night’s operations. We had hoped, as the week progressed, that we might get at least one night flight, but operations and the weather prevented this. However, in compensation for this, most of us were given the chance to take over the controls. (The Mk.1 Lancs still had dual controls). Thanks to the Link Trainers at Spittlegate and Bottesford, most of us could by now, maintain a reasonably straight course and execute some modest Rate One Turns without dropping the nose. Suddenly holding the same in a twenty ton 4000hp, 100ft wing span monster doing one hundred and fifty mile per hour was a rather different matter to being in the Link Trainer humming away in an otherwise quiet room! However, we did not disgrace ourselves and managed ‘straight and level’, some gentle turns and quite creditable figures of eights.
On the Saturday, our final day, we had a camp inspection by 207’s Commanding Officer, after which we struck camp and got our gear packed away. This was followed by a final flip in flight tests for that night’s operations. We were then told to report to Station H.Q, where the Station Commander, accompanied by the Adjutant, the Station Warrant Officer and the two Flight Commanders, gave us a farewell ‘pep talk’, after which it was back to ‘civvie street’.
What a week it had been! One little statistic from my camp report – The thirteen cadets involved, clocked up a total of one hundred and ten and a half hours flying time between us!
This was now the end of May 1942, and the next priority so far as we three Sergeants were concerned, was the count down to the Proficiency Part 2 examinations in a couple of months time. ATC H.Q. had warned us that the various papers would all be tough ones and that the pass marks would be high. Also, since we would be in the first group of cadets to enter for the examinations, our performances would be regarded as the bench mark for subsequent exams. It therefore behove us to be as prepared as we could be.
There would be papers on the Principles of Flight, Aeroengines and Airframe Construction, Aircraft Recognition, Law and Administration, Anti Gas, Hygiene and two papers on Air Navigation and Meteorology. Failure in any one of these subjects would result in a ‘Fail’ for the whole examination. The examination, lasting two full days, would be held at the RAF’s No.2 I.T.W. at Cambridge and all ATC Squadrons were warned not to submit candidates unless they stood a good chance of passing.
On August 3rd 1942, Sgts Kirk, Rudkin and myself went to Cambridge by train, and by 11.00 we were at the gates of Emmanuel College which was to be our billet for the next three nights. There we met up with eight cadets from No.1045 (Wolverhampton) Squadron, which was the only other Squadron to submit candidates. Having been allocated rooms in the University Student’s Wing, we found our way to the Dining Hall for our midday (and subsequent) meals. The rest of the day was declared free, which I put to good use visiting relatives.
The following morning, a 7am breakfast called for a 6am reveille. Hoping for the best and fearing the worst, we formed up and marched across town to the Cambridge Union Society Examination Rooms (where many a promising academic career has crashed in flames).
Our first paper started at 09.00, Principles of Flight, which went well so far as I was concerned, although I did detect signs of stress elsewhere in the room. Without a break, we went onto the second paper which was ‘Engines’. Every question seemed to be just what was wanted, but again that happened to be my opinion. After a half hour break, we had a one hour paper on Anti Gas. Having marched back to Emmanuel for lunch, and back again to the exams room, a one hour paper on Law and Administration, followed by a half hour paper on Hygiene, which also included some questions on First Aid.
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79
A.T.C. Form 3A.
657
[ATC Crest]
AIR TRAINING CORPS.
Certificate of Proficiency
PART II.
This is to Certify that
Cadet Flight Sergeant Peter Desmond Stevenson of No. 47.F. (Grantham) Squadron/[deleted] Flight [/deleted]
Is granted a Certificate of Proficiency in that during his membership of the Air Training Corps, he:-
(i) has satisfactorily completed the course of Proficiency Part II Training;
(ii) has passed the examinations in the following subjects and obtained the percentage marks as shown:-
(a) Air Navigation and Meteorology 67%
(b) Principles of Flight 85%
(c) Engines 100%
(d) Aircraft Recognition 96%
(e) Law and Administration 80%
(f) Anti-gas 86%
(g) Hygiene 84%
By Command of the Air Council
[signature]
Dated at the Air Ministry
this 4th/5th day of August 1942.
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That was more than enough for one day and amidst groans from the Wolverhampton cadets we staggered back to Emmanuel. The three of us felt that we had done reasonably well, but the main hurdle would be next morning.
True enough, the two hour paper on Air Navigation and Meteorology was a right [***censored][sic]. The questions looked innocent enough but they all seemed to have hidden traps. Faces were long at the mid morning break, and nerves were somewhat shattered for the final paper on Aircraft Recognition. However, we three did well and by that time we had little sympathy for the Wolverhampton group as it was quite obvious that they had been nothing like ready enough. When results were declared, every one of them failed and I understood later that their Squadron got a rocket from ATC H.Q. for entering cadets who, in the majority of cases, were just not up to it, and had therefore wasted a lot of RAF money and time.
Sadly, although the other two did well on all the other papers, they just missed the pass mark for Navigation, and so they too did not get their hoped for pass. My own marks in the two Navigation papers I must admit, were nothing to be proud about, but at least they were a pass. This, coupled with good marks in all my other subjects, meant that 47(F) could at least claim that one of their cadets managed to bring home the very first Air Training Corps Proficiency Part 2 to be awarded.
Although only a partial success, this represented my ‘good news’ for the summer of 1942. Now for the bad news. The Navigation paper was not the only brute of a paper I sat that summer. My engineering studies had been going on all this time, which of course represented what should have been my main priority, and by the summer of 1942 I was coming to the end of my fourth year of the five year Higher National Certificate course.
It was usual practice for the College to frame the questions for the examination at the end of the Spring Term on the basis that this would be a ‘mock’ for the end of year examinations.
I passed the spring exams with good marks in all subjects and hind sight, I suppose this should have been a warning. in the end of year exams, three out of the four papers were comparatively easy and apparently I did well in them, but the fourth was definitely a ‘so and so’, and none of us did well. In that subject, the spring paper had dealt with aspects in which I was able to perform well and I had achieved high marks, but the summer paper seemed aimed at all those aspects I [sic] which I was nothing like so confident. Net result, I missed that subject by [underlined] one [/underlined] mark!
This was unquestionably disaster. The Institute of Mechanical Engineers who were the ultimate authority in the Higher National Certificate and Diploma courses, were at that time, absolutely adamant that their Corporate Membership qualification (i.e. ‘Chartered Mechanical Engineer’) should never be lowered in quality and prestige by the ‘exigencies of war’. At each and every stage, a student [underlined] must pass each and every subject [/underlined] before he is permitted to progress to the next stage, and that [underlined] this edict must apply equally in peace or war [/underlined].
For two years now, I had been ‘Deferred’ by the Joint Selection Board in order to gain the necessary technical qualification, on the strict understanding that I should indeed pass at each stage. Now, this one mark had failed me for the whole ‘4th Year’ and if I wanted to progress to the final year and eventual Corporate Membership status, [underlined] then I must take the whole 4th Year again [/underlined].
As usual, I had to appear before the Selection Board in the early September to report my progress (or lack of it!) They were not pleased. [underlined] They were not at all pleased [/underlined]. Of course, I also had to report on all that had happened in the ATC for which I submitted written reports. They congratulated me on my attaining Proficiency Certificate Part 1 and Part 2 and my appointment as Navigation Instructor etc., but made it very clear that creditable though it all might be, that was not what I was being deferred for. I was told to wait outside while they discussed my fate. I could well imagine the words on my documents which said ‘Recommended for consideration for a Commission in the Technical Branch’ being firmly crossed out and the words ‘Immediate Call Up – A.C.2’ being substituted. They still had hard faces when I was eventually called back in, but to my immense relief they had decided to give me a last chance. My progress in general they said, was acceptable, but I would be allowed to take my fourth year course again, [underlined] provided [/underlined] my technical studies were given absolute priority – in other words [underlined] more study [/underlined] and [underlined] less cadets. [/underlined]
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Suitably chastised, I returned home to pick up the pieces. It was difficult not to feel somewhat bored when one had to go back to the starting point on those subjects in which one had done reasonably well. However, I took their admonishments to heart and on balance, when I did move forward again a year later, I am sure that the repeat of this year was a definite benefit. Trying to look on the bright side, I did console myself with the fact that right at the beginning, my exemption from the first year of the course meant that I had been a year ahead in age terms.
Following the usual August break, cadet parades resumed again in the September with new recruits to ‘break in’ and the usual revision and ‘smartening up’ of the older cadets which characterised the beginning of another year of training. My own setback had no effect upon the fortunes of the Squadron of course, but the bad news so far as the Squadron was concerned was still to come.
As soon as we resumed our visits to Bottesford, we were informed that there were plans afoot to move 207 Squadron to another airfield. Bottesford had been initially constructed around a typical grass airfield which was quite suitable for the likes of the Hampden bombers of the early war years. Following the introduction of the ‘heavies’ with their steadily increasing all up weights, even the construction of a stop gap concrete runway could not disguise the fact that the airfield was breaking up under the strain.
It was quite a body blow when we were told that Bottesford was going to be closed for a complete ‘airfield work over’ for the provision of a full set of ‘heavy duty’ concrete runways and that 207 Squadron was going to move, lock, stock and barrel, over to RAF Langar, just to the east of Nottingham. Langar was however, the ‘property’ of Nottingham’s ATC Squadrons and our attachment could not move over with 207.
They couldn’t do this to us! 207 Squadron belonged to 47(F) Squadron! But war is war and postings are postings, whether we like it or not. So the Autumn of 1942 was the end of one era but it was also the beginning of another.
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[underlined] Chapter Nine 47(F) and RAF Syerston 1942-43 [/underlined]
207 Squadron’s move from Bottesford to Langar had left us without attachment. In the meantime, the number of cadets coming into Grantham from villages to the south had steadily increased and in order to reduce the distance cadets were having to cycle in and back, we had started a Colsterworth Flight. The village of Colsterworth lies some nine miles to the south of Grantham, and the opening of a new flight there would also increase our catchment area. We could now enrol cadets from villages further to the south which were now within cycling distance of Colsterworth. I must admit that I have little or nothing to contribute to the history of the Colsterworth Flight. Its inauguration came at a time when I was up to my neck with my studies, apprenticeship commitments, and affairs at the Grantham HQ. Our CO was a great believer in the delegation of responsibility [underlined] and [/underlined] authority, and apart from the occasional supply of specialist instructors from time to time, he had every confidence in the capability of the Oi/c Colsterworth to run his Flight without unnecessary interference from Grantham HQ. As a result of this policy, I personally had very little contact with them.
RAF Spittlegate were now able to take a few cadets at weekends and they agreed to the attachment of the Colsterworth Flight to them. Even if we had wanted to do so, there was no room for the main Squadron to return to a Spittlegate attachment.
All of which left us somewhat in the air (or on the ground if you prefer) Thanks to the close relationship which our C.O. had maintained with 5 Group H.Q., we were not long before we had a new attachment. This time it was to a newly acquired 5 Group Station, RAF Syerston, between Newark and Nottingham.
At the beginning of the war, Lincolnshire and the more easterly parts of Nottinghamshire, had been the home to two Bomber Groups. In the south had been No.5 Group (Hampdens) with its H.Q in Grantham, and in the north No.1 Group (mainly Wellingtons) with its H.Q. at Bawtry. As Bomber Command expanded, more new squadrons were formed than there were new airfields to accommodate them. By 1942, 1 Group were expanding more in North Lincolnshire and 5 Group, in addition to gaining newly constructed stations (such as Bottesford), were also taking over some of the more southerly stations of 1 Group’s erstwhile territory, and RAF Syerston was one of these.
Syerston had been one of the last ‘Golden Age’ stations, with elegantly designed buildings and hangars. It had come into service in mid 1940 and had been the home of 408 Sq., a Polish squadron which had used Fairey Battles to ‘work up’ into RAF procedures before converting to Wellingtons and moving north in December 1940. (Incidentally, I never knew until years after the war had ended that the Poles had their own ATC Squadrons in which instruction was carried out in both English and Polish) For the next sixteen months Syerston had gone into ‘Care and Maintenance’ while the airfield received a full set of heavy duty runways. In the late Spring of 1942, the station came back into service with the arrival of its first 5 Group Lancaster squadron.
In early 1939, No.61 Squadron, then at RAF Hemswell, had converted from Blenheims to Hampdens. It moved down to South Lincolnshire in 1941, where it converted to Manchesters. Then having converted to Lancasters, it moved into the newly commissioned Syerston.
Three months later, they were joined by No.106 Squadron. Like No.61, they also had WW1 origins. 106 was reformed in 1938 in the south of England,. Briefly, it came back to Cottesmore for a couple of months while it converted to Hampdens. It spent 1940, at Finningley, and most of 1941 at Coningsby where it converted to Manchester, before it replaced these with Lancasters. By this time, it had begun to acquire its reputation as one of 5 Group’s most prestigious and accomplished squadrons. At Coningsby it had also acquired as Commanding Officer, a Wing Commander Guy. P. Gibson (also of later fame!) which may have had something to do with it. In September 1942, 106 Sq. Moved over to Syerston, and shortly afterwards 47(F) started lending them a hand!
The significance of events is rarely obvious at the time of their occurrence. When it was announced that we would be attached to Syerston, I suppose we took it more or less for granted. I am sure at the time we thought it would be a bit of a let down. No one, we felt could possibly match up to ‘our’ 207 Squadron. How wrong we were, and it took a remarkably short time for it to sink in. In the years to follow, I have often pondered on how we came to get this ‘plum’ posting. I know that our CO had a remarkable flair for ‘Cultivating People in High Places’ and no doubt he had a good deal to do with it.
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At the same time, the hand of Sir Arthur Longmore may well have twisted the occasional elbow. Perhaps too, reports to Group H.Q. of our doings at Bottesford had not gone unnoticed. Maybe it was a combination of all three. Certainly, there were nearer stations to which we could have been attached, and certainly there were other ATC Squadrons nearer to Syerston.
There was no question of us being able to cycle from Grantham, so on our first visit there we were waiting expectantly for the arrival of a truck to take us the twenty or so miles across country. We had a good idea of where it was but the wartime travel restrictions (“Is Your Journey Really Necessary” etc) had meant that we had no real idea of how the station had progressed since its construction had started before the war but had not been completed until relatively recently. The station still exists today, even if it is no longer an operational flying station apart from being an ATC Gliding School. From the A46 main road, the woodland which surround it, still give no indication of the station’s size. One can still see the edges of married quarters as you approach from the south, and as you pass through the camp from the north, the Officer’s Mess and married quarters are on the east side and on the west can be seen the Guard Room, a few of the admin buildings and the end of one hangar. The end of one of the runways comes up to the road but the curve of the ground obscures all other view of the airfield proper.
This was more less [sic] the same initial view we got of Syerston when we first rolled into the station back in 1942. We went through the usual formalities at the Guard Room and were guided up to the Adjutant’s Office where we were placed in the hands of the poor soul who had been given the job of looking after us for the day. As with our first visit to Bottesford, we had the feeling that they were not quite sure what to do with us, but we soon got down to business.
We explained what we had done at Bottesford and they proposed that the first step was to take us on a tour of the station. I think perhaps that I should have explain [sic] that the parties which went out to Bottesford and now to Syerston, were nearly always our older, more experienced cadets who had reached the age of Registration and therefore had more or less decided their aircrew or ground trade categories when the time came for their callup. Visits to RAF Stations were always considered as privileges to be earned. From time to time younger cadets would be included partly to make up numbers but principally to give them an idea of what they could look forward to.
We had already realised that the station itself was a much more ‘up market’ affair than Bottesford. Where Bottesford had grass, Syerston had lawns. The buildings were elegant and neatly arranged. The hangars were vast and their workshops designed into them rather than being in ‘add on’ huts. Lancasters were everywhere. Bottesford had been a one squadron station with between twenty and thirty Lancasters at any given time. Syerston, being a two squadron station, had between fifty and sixty. Not that we could see them all at the same time because, like Bottesford, there were dispersal areas all round the perimeter, many of them tucked away in the many surrounding woods. The bomb dumps we [sic] also twice the size and since the RAF were now bigger and better big bangers, their stock of ‘cookies’ were even more impressive.
What became increasingly obvious, was a difference in atmosphere. Our stay at Bottesford had been at a time when targets were varied, calling for equally varied tactics. We had passed though [sic] the leaflets dropping and mine laying eras, the low level preparations for possible daylight raids, and the early exploratory experiments in the use of electronic navigation, target finding and marking aids. Now, in late 1942, a far more single minded approach to air warfare was being entered. This, in time, would lead to the Battles of Hamburg, the Ruhr and Berlin, and Syerston’s job was to ‘take out’ the industrial potential of the Third Reich. The enemy’s potential to strike back had increased proportionately. The Luftwaffe now had radar equipped night fighters and sophisticated radar aided ground control systems and our losses were mounting. Syerston was definitely a station in which ‘kill and/or be killed’ was an every night affair, a station on which flying was no longer fun but all too often a grim reality.
By the end of our second visit, we had more or less dropped into the same routines with the ground trades going into the hangars, armaments sections and the like, while the aircrew candidates went to their equivalents. Wherever possible, we ‘got stuck in’ and made sure we had earned the chance of a back seat in a test flight. Most of these flights were generally short, relatively speaking, as both squadrons were not [underlined] practising [/underlined] for anything, apart from breaking in replacement crews. Inevitably, some of us ended up in the bomb dumps loading incendiaries and other menial chores in the hangars, but we were not there to be entertained.
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Again it was not long before we were welcomed rather than tolerated. For myself, once the routine had been established, I tended to send other Sergeants over in charge of the parties, and only once in a while went over with them to see how things were going. As a result, events at Syerston have remained less clear in my mind. My main reason for doing so was that a visit there was always a full day’s job, and I needed my Sunday afternoons for my technical studies. So, more and more, my Sunday mornings were spent in our Grantham HQ, either instructing or relieving other NCOs to go to Syerston.
[underlined] No.830 Company Girl’s Training Corps [/underlined]
By mid 1942, male conscription had settled down to a steady flow of boys into the three Services. The Sea Cadets, the Army Cadets and the ATC were all feeding their senior services with increasingly capable recruits who knew their basic drill and basic skills. Conscription had also begun for women over the age of eighteen. Most of them would be directed into war work, nursing and the Land Army etc., but a significant proportion were going into the Wrens, ATC and the WAAF. The three Services complained that there seemed to be no pre-service training organisation to give equivalent pre-entry skills to their women entrants. At the same time none seemed prepared to allow girls to enter their Cadet units. This was of course in an age when segregation of the sexes was still considered essential ‘on moral grounds’.
Without further research, I have no idea of when, where and how the idea of a Girls Training Corps came to fruition. It started, and for most of the rest of the war years, existed in a state more or less equivalent to the early days of the Air Defence Cadet Corps i.e. a largely voluntary organisation which the Services assisted, but only nominally supported financially. It depended almost totally on local financial and material fund raising. Its aims were to give girls below conscription age, basis [sic] skills in nursing and general care, first aid, cookery and ‘good citizenship’ (whatever that meant). On top of that, those girls who, upon Registration opted for one of the Services, would be taught basic foot drill and the basics of that role in which they would serve when the time came for their callup.
Once the idea was proposed, the Girls Training Corps quickly blossomed and spread. As with the early days of the ADCC, the first units (called ‘Companies’) were formed in the south. It was some time before the idea spread to Lincolnshire, but in November 1942, the Grantham Journal reported that a Girl’s Training Corps Company was to be formed in Grantham. Now at this point I need to introduce two personalities, one new and another whom we met earlier on in this narrative.
You may remember back in the early days of the Grantham Squadron, the sub-editor of the Grantham Journal had always given us valuable publicity. Not only that, she had volunteered herself into being our Squadron secretary. For the last three years she had kept us, our records and [underlined] her [/underlined] Orderly Room in good order and discipline. Small dumpy and efficient, Miss Llewellyn-Owens had charm and a definite way with things and when she was called upon to report on the proposed formation of a GTC Company in Grantham, she did a lot more than just report. The other personality was in distinct contrast. One often meets people who are large both in personality and stature. Grantham’s Mrs. Brace was both, collecting and ruling her numerous committees with much verve and vigour. Where our Miss Owens persuaded, Mrs Brace commanded. While Mrs Brace drummed up support, Miss Owens proceeded to persuade, and the first person she persuaded was our C.O. who was ‘invited’ to attend an inaugural meeting which took place a few weeks later.
Grantham had no Sea Cadets and the Army Cadets were still finding their feet, so Miss Owen was determined that if there was any serious talk of cooperation, it was going to be with the ATC. It would seem that history had again a tendency to repeat itself. The meeting was held
Mrs Brace was the obvious candidate for Commanding Officer, Miss Owens became Adjutant (and later second in command). The ATC Commanding Officer was invited to comment and he promptly offered the full cooperation of his squadron’s facilities in those fields of instruction where there would be common interest. Furthermore, until such time as the new GTC Company could find a home of their own, they could use the ATC Headquarters on those nights and other times when they were not in use by the ATC.
At this point I would like to step aside to air some recent concern within 47(F)’s command structure. As the age of conscription was raised, we had lost a number of our younger Flight Commanders but over the four years of the Squadron’s existence since its inauguration, the Commanding Officer, the Adjutant, two of the Flight Commanders and the Squadron Warrant Officer had remained the same.
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[paper cutting]
[underlined] GIRLS TRAINING CORPS COMPANY TO BE FORMED IN GRANTHAM [/underlined]
[indecipherable word]
Registered as a Newspaper 1942 FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 13[inserted]th 1942 [/inserted]
BY-PASS ROAD MYSTERY
Cause Of Soldier’s Death Unknown
BELIEVED TO HAVE “JUMPED” LORRY
The death of L/Bdr. James Edward Moseley, 24, Church-street, Smallthorne, Stoke-on-Trent, who was found lying on the Colsterworth by-pass on the night of October 16-17th, with severe injuries, which proved fatal, is still an unsolved mystery.
The deputy borough coroner, Mr. C.Y.L. Caleraft, at the resumed inquest on Friday, stated death ‘was caused by shock and toxaemia, following injuries’. He was, however, unable to bring in a verdict of how the injuries were caused, though a theory was put forward that deceased had “jumped” a lorry, stunned himself in getting off, and had been run over by another vehicle.
PC Beech said he arrived 300 yards south of the railway bridge on the by-pass at 12.50 a.m. on October 17th. He examined the deceased who had been moved by lorry drivers to the side of the road and found him suffering from extensive injuries. He was conscious and asked if he was off the road saying “Don’t let them run over me again”. In reply to witness’s questioning, Moseley said he had been to Grantham and had returned on a lorry, but did not know how he had met with an accident. His injuries, added witness, suggested that he had been run over. Soldiers were in the habit of taking lifts on passing lorries, sometimes without the drivers knowing.
POLICE EFFORTS UNAVAILING
George Edward Pallister, West Hartlepool, lorry driver, explained that late on the night of October 16th he was driving through Colsterworth and in the light of his headlamps saw an object lying on the road. He skirted it, drew up and found it was a soldier, lying with his head touching the kerb and his feet directly across the road. Two other lorries came up, and together they moved the soldier and covered him with coats, while one driver went for an ambulance and the police.
The efforts made by the police to find anyone who had any knowledge of the accident, were described by Inspector Taylor, who said he telephoned Biggleswade and asked them to stop all vehicles proceeding south, to examine them for bloodstains, etc., and interrogate the drivers. He also requested that the message should be passed further south to the Metropolitan police. Witness then spoke to intermediate stations between Grantham and Biggleswade, so that lorries in cafes could be examined. It was also arranged that the message should be circulated by police wireless and on the following Monday the B.B.C. broadcast a message. Despite this, however, no information about a vehicle or driver who might have been involved had been obtained.
Continued from next column
National Service sent her name to Mrs. Leeke, Grantham Vicarage, by Friday next, November 20th mentioned whether she would like to attend the course at Sleaford? We have been promised most valuable help by the A.T.C. and the Red Cross, and the A.T.S. and W.A.A.F. have cooperated most generously in the work already begun in the county”.
THE G.T.C.
Company To Be Formed At Grantham
At a well-attended meeting in the Guildhall, on Saturday, under the chairmanship of Mrs. G.H. Schwind (chairman of the Kesteven G.T.C. advisory council) it was unanimously decided to form a company of the G.T.C. for Grantham, and later to extend the work to include nearby villages.
Miss Janet Campbell, county commandant of the corps, gave a most inspiring account of its work, which aims at giving a sound basic training to girls up to the age of 18, with optional classes under well-qualified instructors for those who intend to become munition-workers, land girls, nurses or members of the Forces.
The great success of the boys organisation, she said, was due to their keen desire to take their share in winning the war, and in this the girls were no less anxious to do their part. Social activities were included in the programme and a camping site was already in use, thanks to the generosity of Commander J. Cracroft Amcotts. The uniform was simple and applications from would-be cadets in Grantham had already been received. Officers were needed aged 19 and over.
The following committee was appointed: Mrs. Schwind, chairman pro tem., Lady Longmore, Lady Welby, Miss Bellamy, Mrs. L. Bond, Miss Cherry, Miss Frier, Miss Gillies, Miss Hargraves, Miss Jabet, Miss R. Jackson, Miss Law, Mrs. Leeke, Miss E. M. Preston, Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. G. A. C. Shipman, Mrs. Talbot, Miss Townsend and Mrs. Walsh.
Flt.-Lieut. P. P. L. Stevenson representing the Grantham A.T.C., of which he is commanding officer, and promised the active co-operation of the corps.
It was decided to accept cadets over the age of 14 and to invite those willing to become officers to notify Mrs. Leeke.
CHANCE FOR GIRLS, 14-18
Mrs. Schwind writes:-
“the Corps, which is recognised by the board of Education as the pre-service organisation for girls gives the basic training to cadets, aged over 14 up to 18, in drill, fire-fighting, first-aid, handy-women’s jobs, hygiene and physical training, while tuition in other subjects such as aircraft recognition, field cookery, food production, home nursing, shorthand, car maintenance and workshop calculations is provided according to the careers which the girls hope to follow, whether in munitions, land work, nursing or the Forces. Before we enrol cadets (there are already nearly 40 who have expressed a wish to join) we need officers – women and girls over 19 interested in the work and able to give one or two evenings a week. (the more officers, the fewer their hours of duty need be. In addition to the commandant, vice-commandant, adjutant and quartermaster, we need one or two officers for each section of 25 cadets. A week-end course for officers will be held at Sleaford High school on Saturday and Sunday December 5th – 6th. under Miss Janet Campbell, county commandant, at which we hope to have officers from the companies formed or being formed at Sleaford, Stamford and Bourne.
“Will anyone willing to offer herself for this much needed form of
Continued in previous column
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[paper cutting]
[deleted] Red Cross [/deleted] cadets on parade
[photograph]
THIS contingent of Grantham Red Cross cadets. Led by Susan Brace, was taken outside the Guildhall towards the end of the Second World War. Taking the salute is an American general.
Third from right is town MP Denis Kendall and on top of the bomb-blast wall is Rothwell Lee. In the background is a building later demolished to make way for the JobCentre.
The picture was brought in by Joyce Szewd, of Sixth Avenue, Grantham.
[/paper cutting]
[paper cutting]
Cadets were girls of the Training Corps
[photograph]
A RECENT picture described as the Red Cross cadets towards the end of the war was in fact the Grantham 830 Girls Training Corps.
Although the Red Cross wore similar uniforms, they wore caps and aprons on parade.
During the war, all youngsters over 16 had to join a uniformed youth group, such as Red Cross, Army Cadets or ATC.
Winnie Barnes, of Ripon Close, Grantham, rang to say she is the lass on the second row, nearest the camera.
Led by Susan Brace, second in command was Miss Llewellyn-Owens, a Journal reporter who later joined the WRNS.
Beryl Neal, of Robertson Road, on the front row ahead of Miss Barnes, said they met in a room on London Road, which became the Kendall umbrella factory.
She said: “We marched around the streets. There was little traffic in those day [sic].
“We learned Morse code at ATC rooms, St Peter’s Hill, by Mr Betts.”
Margaret Burdon, of Grantham, brought in the photograph above of members of the Grantham 830 Girls Training Corps celebrating the group’s third birthday in 1945 in the grounds of Elsham House (now Grantham College), shortly before it disbanded.
Pictured are from from [sic] left – Joan Ray, Audrey Nickerson, Betty Ward, Betty Goodacre, June Bradley, Winnie Barnes, Margaret Smith, Miss Gardner, Mrs Brace, Miss Hall, Winnie Guilliat, Doris Anderson, Joan Parker, Margaret Wilson, Jean Ranby, Pauline Palmer, Doreen Sellars and Mary Shepherd.
[/paper cutting]
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Now as mentioned much earlier, the difference in rank between a Warrant Officer and his Commanding Officer may be considerable, but it [sic] a matter of respective opinion as to which considers himself to be endowed with the superior responsibility, authority or whatever. Over these four years, each respected their relative rank and apparent authority, but of late there may have been some cooling of regard. I may be wrong, but I have always had the feeling that our Warrant Officer was seeking an appropriate opportunity to tell our CO what he could do with the former’s Warrant. Whether it was simply a case of him just having had enough of the job for a while or whether it was more of a case of personalities in disagreement, I never knew, but our W.O. had been increasingly on the point of handing in his resignation.
However, back to the formation of the GTC Company. As part of the package of cooperation, our CO promised to supply drill and other instructors until the GTC could stand on its own feet with an NCO structure of its own. As with the early days of the ADCC, there had been a rush of girls wanting to join. This called not only for their initial drill instruction generally, but also to train up as quickly as possible, a core structure of recruits with appropriate leadership and instructional skills.
While our CO had obtained immediate offers of help from our officers to assist in the drill and administrative instruction of the GTC Section Commanders, it was a very different matter when it came to the point of who would be in charge of other ranks instruction. Our Warrant Officer chose this point to become the ‘Immovable Object’ and refused point blank to get involved. Our CO, realising that the employment of ‘Irresistible Force’ would achieve little or nothing, turned this force elsewhere.
It will be appreciated from all that transpired in the many previous pages, that all the cadet units in which I had served to date had been ‘boys only’. The King’s School was (and still is) a boys only school. Fraternisation with the girls of the Kesteven and Grantham High School across the town had been actively discouraged and a King’s School boy had to be more than a little careful about the town’s other girls with whom he was seen to be associating. In fact, at that time, prefect power and a regime which permitted a fair measure of ‘ragging’ (not to be confused with bullying), to be openly observed with a girl friend (of the right social order of course) was regarded as being a Sixth Form privilege. To do so under the age of sixteen was to invite merciless ragging and unless one was particularly extrovert, one’s later teen age years left one with a ‘wimmin is trouble’ complex.
There were no girls in our family of my sort of age and both before and during the war our homes had been isolated in terms of neighbours. Until the later years of my apprenticeship, my contact with any girls of my own age was negligible. Both the ADCC and the ATC had (until now) been totally ‘boys only’. As for me, until adolescence, I had only thoughts for model aircraft, Meccano, and the like. After adolescence, all I was interested in was my studies, my cadets and keeping my family together in the very primitive conditions in which were [sic] had evacuated ourselves to escape the bombing in Grantham. On top of this, having by now seen too much distress and despair when loved ones ‘failed to return’ I had in effect’Signed [sic] the Pledge’. Until such time as we could get this war business over and done with, I would leave the chasing of girls to the others who had enough spare time to ‘get involved’. Besides, I had a shrewd idea that I was more of an ‘odd fish’ than I cared to acknowledge. If there was a ‘right girl’ out there somewhere she would not only take quite a lot of finding but she would probably get fed up with waiting for me to get my qualifications/commission or whatever other excuses I had for not spending enough time with her.
If the SWO was not prepared to instruct the GTC girls then, the C.O. decided, there were plenty of NCOs in his Squadron who would jump at the chance. ‘Throwing Rank’, he said (in no uncertain terms), that I would be in charge of GTC drill instruction, and in particular would be in charge of a crash course to train up their NCOs. I immediately protested that I had already got too much on my plate, but he promptly slatted me down by saying that I had said that my studies were going well and that I was delegating the majority of Syerston visit supervision to my other Sergeants. “Besides” he said, “It will do you good” (I was far from sure what he meant by that. Neither was I sure how much Miss Owens’s hand was mixed up in this)
Over the years, there had been quite a few ‘social evenings’ in our H.Q. to which the other cadets had brought their girl friends along. We also had a succession of girls helping out at our mid evening cocoa and tea breaks. In addition, beyond the blackout curtains at our front door and the end of parade, there would usually be a certain amount of whispering and giggling as girl friends awaited the emergence of their boys. The sound of female voices was not unknown in our HQ but had
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always been in the minority, but this was no preparation for the sound effects of the first night upon which No. 830 (Grantham) Company of the Girl’s Training Corps had their first parade. As fully expected, there had been no reluctance on the part of the other Sergeants to undertake drill instruction for the GTC cadets. I had made a point of arriving early so that I could hide myself away in my instructor’s office until the last possible moment. As I buried my nose in my affairs, I became increasingly aware of a crescendo of female voices filling the hallway and other rooms, together with voices of authority attempting to produce a semblance of order out of the apparent chaos.
Eventually, order was established and the next thing I knew was that on the opposite side of my desk was a uniform which was not RAF Blue, and a voice which was not one of my cadets. She informed me that the NCO squad was awaiting my instruction. The dreaded moment had arrived.
Now it has taken me sixty odd years to admit it publicly, but the real reason for my reluctance was that I was in a ‘blue funk’ as they say. Without a qualm, I could face a squad of new ATC recruits with calm and authority. I could perform for, and converse with the Topmost Brass of the RAF and other dignitaries without turning a hair. I could command a parade of several hundred strong without a tremor in my voice, but the idea of facing up to a dozen or more ‘wimmin’ was something approaching nightmare. ‘Wimmin’ were a closed book to me and I didn’t want to ‘get involved’ whichever way you like to interpret it. Section Officer Owens had assured me that they had been carefully selected and that they were ‘all nice girls’, but that was no help.
I faced the group. They appeared to size me up and I did my best to size them up. In the same way as a horse will immediately sense a nervous rider, it was obvious they sensed that in spite of my stripes and apparent age, I was more than a little nervous (Under statement)
Throat cleared, I resorted to my usual preliminary patter. I was “Flight Sergeant Stevenson and over the next few parades I would be instructing you on basic Foot Drill and furthermore instructing you on the basic principles of drill instruction etcetera, etcetara [sic]” Sundry signs of interest, what might have been encouragement, and a few more enigmatic signs which might has [sic] been amusement. I pressed on regardless and relaxed very slightly.
As usual, the first thing was the “Stand to Attention”. The usual patter starts at the feet and works upwards. In those inhibited days, ‘gentlemen’ refrained from regarding anything below the female face with anything further than the briefest of glances. Now I was called upon to considering closely the disposition of a dozen pairs of black shoes, topped with a dozen pairs of female ankles above which were a dozen pairs of female legs. Somehow, I managed to sort that lot out.
The next problem was the rest of the figures above. Although they were unquestionably ‘different’ from the dozens of squads I had previously instructed, there [sic] seemed to possess that same cross section of posture problems. Some of them naturally stood up straight and pulled their shoulders back in the approved manner, but there seemed to be a new spectrum of hunching which of course had to be corrected if smartness on parade was to be established. With boys, the usual practice was to stand behind them and, forcible employ ones thumbs and fingers to haul the back into the correct position. What on earth was I allowed to do? Summoning up courage, I picked on one of the ‘stoopers’ who didn’t look as if she would slap my face. I stood behind her and as gently as possible pulled her shoulders back. At the last moment she let out a slight gasp which the others must have heard as all shoulders visibly straightened – to my relief!
There were constant pitfalls for the unwary male. “Arms straight, fingers clenched, thumbs behind the seam of the . . . . . .” Oh, Christ, they don’t have trousers, do they? Do their skirts have a seam down the side? I flounder. One of the more capable ones who seems to be enjoying herself chirps up “Yes Sergeant, there is a seam down there”. Grins and the odd giggle. I press on. More problems when we get to ‘Right Dress’. Boys, in a manner of speaking, present less of a problem. Get their chests lined up, and the rest drops into place. No [sic] so this lot! After a bit, I give up and line their noses up!
Gaining confidence a little, I yell the usual “Come on, stand up straight, pull your shoulders back and stick your . . . .” I stop dead. I must admit that they responded admirably until the whole group collapsed into helpless laughter at my expression, and at that moment our CO and S/O Owens walked in to see how we are getting on. I get a stern look from our C.O. and what might be called an old fashioned look from S/O Owens. (I did not realise that the cadet who was beginning to wind me
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up was her niece, and that later she had thoroughly enjoyed giving a first hand account of their first drill session)
And so it went on.
Somehow I managed to survive the rest of the evening and I had to admit that they were indeed ‘nice girls’ as promised and they were all dead keen to learn. Whoever had short listed them had done a good job. Afterwards, I was amused and somewhat heartened to learn that the other ATC Sergeants had encountered similar problems but unlike me had thoroughly enjoyed themselves. At first I was a little embarrassed when the NCO group were referred to as ‘[underlined] your [/underlined] girls’, but after a while, they were doing so well, I was getting sufficiently proud of them to catch myself calling them ‘[underlined] my [/underlined] girls’. Luckily for my studies and other commitments, the ones who might be considered ‘my type’ appeared to have their own boy friends so I could retire gracefully into my bachelordom and not ‘get involved’. We all seemed to get on well with each other and that was fine. However, in retrospect, I think the C.O. was most probably right when he said it would “Do you good”
For a while, our H.Q. was busy every night with ATC and GTC on alternate nights, but it was not long before they got an H.Q. of their own. There, they could do their nursing, first aiding and caring skills and their NCOs could carry on the good work so far as drilling was concerned, but the more Service orientated cadets still came to us for things like Signals, Aircraft Recognition (They might not be so good at sorting their ‘Flaps’ from their ‘Slots’ but they were good at recognising the general shape and ‘sit’ of an aircraft)
If I remember rightly, for these subjects we began to parade on the same nights and now the barriers were down, our H.Q. became very much ‘co-ed’. I think for a time at least, the classes were kept separate, but at breaks and at the end of the evening’s activities there was a lot of ‘fraternising’ and a noticeable tendency to ‘pair up’ when the time came to shoo them all out. This then was the pattern which seemed to hold for the next couple of years. We definitely paraded as separate units on formal occasions, but so far as instructional and social activities were concerned, there was always a high degree of cooperation. It was an interesting phase of our Squadron’s history
The GTC did not survive into the post war era. When the time came, in less inhibited times, for the various Cadet units to enrol girls on the same footing as their boys, though difficulties might still arise, it would not be the first time that 47(F) had ‘wimmin’ about the place.
We had a second Annual Camp in 1943, (boys only of course) A tented camp was set up for us next door to the Parachute Section alongside the lane which leads off to Syerston village. Sadly, my camp report for that week has not survived, so I cannot give a day by day account of the doings. Although we did not receive the same V.I.P. treatment we had at Bottesford, I can still remember a lot of flying and a lot of slaving in the hangars and other sections, In retrospect, I suppose in a way, this and our attachment to Syerston could be considered the apogee of 47(F)s wartime involvement with the hot war.
As 1942 moved into 1943, I was now in a somewhat curious situation. The ATC had been created from the Air Defence Cadet Corps to meet a wartime need. I am not aware that at that time there had been any specific maximum age for an ATC cadet. No doubt with a callup age of eighteen, nearly if not all cadets would have left for the Forces by that time, and a maximum age limit was hardly necessary. We had no cadets on our strength who were not liable for military service.
Thanks to my Joint Selection Board deferment to obtain my Higher National Certificate as an entry qualification, I was now not only the Squadron’s senior NCO with all those cadets of the same age having already left for the RAF and elsewhere, within eight months, I would be aged twenty. Looking back, I suppose I was one of the few cadets who had been in the ADCC/ATC for the whole of the war period to date.
As a result, my future in No.47(F) was to say the least of it, a bit uncertain. There was the Selection Board stipulation that I must be in some form of pre-service training, so my having to leave the Squadron on age grounds might well present a problem. I suppose I was just about old enough to apply for a commission within the ATC, but we were up to strength on the unit’s officer count, and the ramifications of applying seemed somewhat complicated. The matter was solved however before
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A.T.C. Form 3
[ATC Crest]
AIR TRAINING CORPS.
Certificate of Proficiency
PART I
This is to Certify that
Cadet Flight Sergeant Peter Desmond Stevenson of No. 47.F. (Grantham) Squadron
is granted a Certificate of Proficiency in that, during his membership of the Air Training Corps, he has fulfilled the necessary conditions as to efficient service and has qualified in the Flight Mech (E) syllabus of training, as laid down in the Rules and Regulations of the Air Training Corps.
[signature]
Air Commodore
Commandant, Air Training Corps.
Date 7 – 8 – 43
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that decision was made. Our Squadron Warrant Officer suddenly decided that enough was enough, and thumped in his resignation.
The CO (naturally) decided that a suggestion replacement should be from his fellow officers. Net result, would I be prepared to resign as a cadet, and apply for consideration as the Warrant Officer. In August 1943, therefore Cadet 308 Flight Sergeant Stevenson P.D. ceased to exist. He handed in his uniform, received a W.Os clothing allowance and was next seen sporting a rather smarter uniform, service shirt and tie and the W.Os ‘Crown on his lower sleeves. As far as duties were concerned, there was not a great deal of difference, as his predecessor, over the previous months had been only too pleased to hand over his more irksome duties to his senior Flight Sergeant.
That was the good news I suppose, but life always seems to balance this with a bit of bad news. The latter affected the Squadron as a whole. Lincolnshire’s air bases were to undergo another, and even more drastic upheaval. No.5 Group was to move to occupy more of the north and east of the county and its Headquarters would also move north. Nearly all their bases to the south and west were to be handed over to the Troop Carrying Command of the U.S. 9th Army Air Force whose headquarters would now be in 5 Group’s erstwhile home in St. Vincent’s in Grantham. Syerston’s two Squadrons would separate to other bases and we could no longer be attached to them. Calamity indeed!
‘The Yanks were Coming, the Yanks were Coming’ – and we were left to make the best of it. The autumn of 1943 was, to say the least of it, the beginning of yet another phase in the 47(F) Story.
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[A.T.C. LEAVING CERTIFICATE OF SERVICE]
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[A.T.C. crest]
[photograph]
WARRANT
To P.D. Stevenson.
As Commandant of the Air Training Corps for the Midlands.
I do hereby appoint you to be a Warrant Officer of No. 47F (Grantham) Squadron, from the Twelfth day of August 1943.
[badge]
You are therefore carefully and diligently to discharge your duties as such as required by regulations and to observe and follow such orders and directions as you shall receive from a superior officer.
[signature]
G/Capt
Eighteenth day of 1943.
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[underlined] Chapter Ten – The Magic Air Force 1943-44 [/underlined]
Before I start on this penultimate chapter, a word about its title. Leslie Thomas, the prolific author of highly amusing accounts of WW2 service life, produced a masterpiece in his ‘Magic Army’. This started with an hilarious account of the impact of the invasion of the Dorset countryside and coast by the first elements of the United States ground forces who came ‘over here’ to finish this war of ours for us. It was centred around a small seaside community of local yokels, guarded from the enemy by a more or less forgotten detachment of British artillerymen. Its gun was of dubious reliability and had barely enough ammunition to do more than scare the pants off a ‘tip and run’ German reconnaissance plane. Into this scene had marched the first elements of what would eventually be an overwhelming army of American servicemen. They had come to prepare the ground. They had come from many parts of the United States and some of them had been recruited from the Deep South with complexions which were a distinct contrast to those of the Dorset folk. (In these days of political correctness, one has to be careful with one’s phraseology) Their military bearing and behaviour was also in distinct contrast to that of the Tommies manning their gun. The story ends in tragedy but don’t let that put you off. It will give you another facet to the eight months or so when the Grantham area was host to another American invasion.
These were not by any means the first U.S. units who had come over here to join the fray.
For the past two years, East Anglia had been the Forty Ninth State as the U.S Eighth Army Air Force battled its way with ever increasing strength (and appalling casualties) in its daylight raids over the Continent. As the planning and preparations for D Day progressed, the combined operations of the British and American Airborne Forces resulted in many of the airfields surrounding Grantham being freed from RAF activities to make room for the Troop Carrying Command of the U.S Ninth Air Force. Grantham’s St. Vincent’s, had become their Command Headquarters, and it was their staff personnel who were first seen about the town. Having more or less established themselves, the time had come to ‘call in the Cavalry’ and shortly afterwards the aircraft and their ground personnel began flying into the airfields.
The aircraft were mostly the rugged, reliable and much loved C-47, better known to us as the Douglas Dakota, and the much less reliable and largely hated C-46 Curtis Commando which had a nasty habit of bursting into flames at awkward moments (It was eventually withdrawn from service). Equipped with these, came the various Troop Carrying Groups
Now in the U.S Air Forces, what we know as a Squadron, they know as a ‘Group’ and what we know as a Group, they call a ‘Wing’. Each of their Troop Carrying Groups had about seventy aircraft which were too many to administer as a single unit, so to make it even more complicated, each was made up four sub units (roughly equivalent to what we would call a Flight) which they now called Squadrons, (TCSs) each of which has a different unit number. Get it? – well perhaps not.
O.K let’s start again with a specific example. Together, the 14th TCS, the 15th TCS, the 53rd TCS and the 59th TCS made the 61st TC [underlined] Group [/underlined] which went to RAF Barkston Heath. This TCG with others at RAF’s Folkingham and Fulbeck in Lincolnshire, Saltby (Leics), Cottesmore (Rutland) and Spanhoe (Northants) together made up the 52nd Troop Carrying [underlined] Wing [/underlined]. 52nd TCW plus two other TCWs in the south of England then made up the 9th Troop Carrying [underlined] Command [/underlined] whose H.Q was at Grantham. In each case, these Troop Carrying Wings were stationed close by the various British and American Airborne Divisions who would fly to war with them.
One other thing we need to establish in the way of definition, was the question of the terms of occupancy of the various airfields used by the Americans way back in the early Forties when our overseas investments were all used up, the Lease Lend agreement with the Roosevelt administration ended up with the British Government agreeing to lease British bases f.o.c. to American Forces in exchange for ships, aircraft and other war material. Thus, a British airfield remained the property of the RAF, who would equip and maintain its buildings, runways etc., leaving the Americans free to concentrate on their flying. Thus, even though a given airfield might be known to the Americans as ‘No.683 Base’, it was still RAF Fulbeck with an RAQF Station Commander, with its flying operations under the command of a U.S. Army Colonel.
Having allowed the staff at St. Vincent’s to settle in, our C.O. went to work. Thanks no doubt to the two years he had spent in the U.S. in the late 1920s he was soon on friendly terms with the Troop Carrying Command’s General Beresford. Invited down to our H.Q., he apparently liked what he saw and promised to attach us to Fulbeck which was going to be the 9th TCC headquarter’s airfield. This incidentally, was just down the hill from Fulbeck Hall which was to be the place in which the detailed planning of the Arnhem operation was to take place, and close to Stragglethorpe Hall which was the Headquarters of the British 1st Airborne Division.
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2 [underlined] GENERAL GILES, Commandant 9th TROOP CARRYING COMMAND USAAF INSPECTS NO.47(F) GRANTHAM SQUADRON AIR TRAINING CORPS 6th February 1944 [/underlined]
[underlined] 6th February 1944 [/underlined]: Sunday. The weather was cold and dull, which was rather unfortunate because during the morning there was an inspection of the A.T.C. by an American named General Giles. There was also present at this little function the Mayor and Mayoress and Sir Arthur Longmore. The latter appeared to have aged considerably; or perhaps it was the cold, for the wind was bitter.
[photograph]
[photograph]
GENERAL GILES INSPECTS THE A.T.C.
[photograph]
A familiar sight at North Witham, Barkston Heath, Folkingham and Fulbeck were the C47 Dakotas of the US 9th Troop Carrier Command. These particular aircraft are from the 434th Troop Carrier Group, possibly at Fulbeck.
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When the time came for our first visit to Fulbeck, we awaited the promised truck with both interest and curiosity. Well, we waiting and then waited a little longer, but eventually a large truck bearing the now familiar large white star on its bonnet (sorry ‘hood’), rolled to a halt outside our H.Q. “Sorry” said the gum chewing driver, “I got lost”. We piled in. thankful to hand over the navigation, we set off. We were offered a stick of gum. “Sorry”, we said, “We are not allowed to chew sweets when in uniform”. We get a look of surprise. We eventually arrive. Used to several years of RAF Security, we are now somewhat surprised to roll through the gate with no more than a wave from the driver to the guard who is too busy chatting up a couple of Land Army girls to do more than languidly wave back. (We gathered later that a staff car bearing a General’s flag and stars was about the only thing to warrant a guard turnout) Our driver dumps us somewhere in what appears to be the nerve centre of things and in the best of service traditions, proceeds to ‘get lost’.
Eventually, we find someone who seems to have some idea of who we are, but it becomes quite obvious that they have no idea of what to do with us. They play safe, and while they detail someone to take our cadets on a guided tour, our Flight Commander and I do our best to thrash out something constructive. It takes some time to convince them that we are anything more than a glorified Boy’s Club, there for a bit of fun. Having heard what we had done at Bottesford and Syerston, they agreed to attach our ground trades to the equivalent functions in their hangars and on dispersal, and allow the aircraft cadets access to Navigation and Signals section etc. They also promised to give all our cadets as much air experience as possible. In fact they immediately bundled all of us into a Dakota and gave us a twenty minute flip. I don’t think the flight was for any specific purpose from their point of view. They were just being friendly.
Before this happened, it had been lunch time and we were led (we soon learned that no one ever marched in this Magic Air Force) over to the ‘Enlisted Men’s Canteen’. We dutifully queued up and it was our turn to be surprised (not that we had stopped being surprised from the minute we had arrived) Huge plates were dolloped with huge quantities of food. Naturally, individual meals are long since forgotten, but the general impressions last. Apart from immediate perishables, the Americans had agreed to be responsible for the importation of all their food, and the one thing the Americans had decided upon at the outset, was that they were not going to go hungry. They were still in a state of astonishment at how well we looked on what they considered were the starvation rations we were living on. So, when meat was on the menu, we got the equivalent of a week’s ration on our plate. If it was egg[underlined]s[/underlined], then it was in the plural at a time when our week’s ration was one fresh egg, and only aircrew, who were on ops that night got a fresh egg for their breakfast. Sugar was on the tables in great bowls, and the ‘kawffee’ was real coffee and not the ‘Camp’ chicory extract we had been drinking for the last four years. At this stage of the war, though we were certainly not starving, we were hungry most of the time. This of course showed externally when we compared our bodies with our new friends. We were not exactly skinny but in comparison they did tend to bulge better.. I must admit that our meals and ‘kawffee breaks’ were a highlight of our visits to Fulbeck, but with qualifications. Certainly the quantity was there, but to the more discerning palate, the standard of cooking left much to be desired.
Later on, we discovered a further interesting example of Anglo-American cooperation. By then we had got to know the RAF ‘Care and Maintenance’ staff, and it would appear that to be posted to a USAAF base was initially considered to be the ‘reward’ for not having measured up to the requirements of a General Service Officer. Once there, the ‘perks’ more than balanced any remaining stigma. Quite apart from the generally relaxed atmosphere, with little if any of the usual RAF ‘bull’, the general standard of living was measurably higher. The small RAF team soon dropped Officer and O/R segregation and shared a small communal mess. This received the same per capita rationing level as the USAAF, but used RAF catering staff to do the cooking. As Warrant Officer, I and any other ATC Officer would be invited, indeed advised, to eat with the RAF.
It was interesting to see the considerable expansion of this RAF Mess over the months we were there. Apparently, the USAAF officers, once invited to eat with their RAF colleagues, asked for their ration allocations to be routed (sorry ‘rowted”) to the RAF Mess in order for them to enjoy much higher cuisine standards than pertained in their mess. Not all of these US based ration allowances were consumed on the premises, as can well be imagined. We understood that the Fulbeck RAF officers (and I suppose the same applies to the other 9th TCC stations) became not only very popular with their own families and friends, but also with their colleagues on adjacent RAF stations.
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[underlined] YOUTH DAY PARADE – MAY 4th 1944 [underlined]
[photograph]
[underlined] GENERAL PAUL WILLIAMS 9th TROOP CARRYING COMMAND USAAF – INSPECTING OFFICER [underlined]
[photograph]
No.47[F]GRANTHAM Sq AIR TRAINING CORPS
[photograph]
No.830 Grantham Co. GIRLS TRAINING CORPS
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[underlined] YOUTH DAY PARADE – MAY 4th 1944 [underlined]
[photograph]
KINGS SCHOOL J.T.C.
[photograph]
THE U.S.A. POLICE GAVE EVERY HELP
[photograph]
YOUTH DAY, SUNDAY, MAY 7TH. THE ASSEMBLY IN THE CAR PARK
[photograph]
AN AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPGER
[photograph]
THE ASSEMBLY IN THE CAR PARK.
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This was not the only ‘grey’ market which developed and was quietly turned a further blind eye upon. This one had interesting ramifications. During the week before one of our visits, some of our cadets would ‘accumulate’ a quantity of U.K. currency, for which they found a ready market amongst the GIs who were dating up English girls. Now in possession of dollars and cents, our cadets could look forward to the arrival of the ‘chuck wagons’ which heralded the ‘kawffee breaks’. These treated the cadets the same as the GIs. Available on these were sweets and cigarettes in quantity and, more importantly, [underlined] off ration [/underlined]. Furthermore, the cadets also discovered that, provided they had American currency, they we [sic] free to buy things in the ‘PX Store’ (more or less equivalent to one of our NAAFI Shops). These were fabulous sources of things virtually unheard of unless one was well into the British Black Market. Our next currency transaction was from dollars and cents into the new wartime wonder – Nylon Stockings. Once our poor inhibited, blushing cadets (by now unmoved by a Lancaster turret full of blood and guts) had screwed up their courage to effect the transaction, their popularity rating with the GTC went up by leaps and bounds.
This was not the only forms of negotiable currency. Thanks to the generosity of our new American friends, Grantham and the surrounding district had soon learned that ‘gum’ and the Herschey Bar (for ‘Herschey’ read ‘Cadbury’) were in plentiful supply. We were correspondingly popular on next parade night. This brings me back to the GIs Mess Halls.
When we had first collected our midday meal and taken them back to the mess tables, we were puzzled by the large earthenware jars with big wooden spoons in them. Carefully observing our nearby GIs, we gradually discovered their contents and their use. Thanks to having gone with my father up to London pre war, I had been introduced to the delights of the American Waffle. The latter seemed to be a very popular sweet course at Fulbeck, and Jar No.1 was Maple Syrup ([underlined] Real [/underlined] Maple Syrup not ‘flavoured’) By 1943 the British diet was not only frugal, it was also dull and bland. Our idea of heaven at that time was probably limited to something like a small spoonful of sweetened condensed milk. Maple Syrup was not only unobtainable in wartime Lincolnshire, it was virtually unheard of. Since we were also permitted to go back for more, we certainly went back for more, and in spite of its stickiness, some even migrated back to Grantham..
Jar No.2 was more of a mystery. We observed the thickly spreading of a light brown gooey paste onto waffles or thick slices of bread, [or even onto slices of fried bacon!]. Not to be outdone we did the same. The resulting impact on our wartime taste buds was dramatic to say the least. Some faces immediately registered disgust, while others froze in expressions of gastronomic bliss. Somehow, small quantities again drifted back to the unsuspecting Grantham public and these produced the same effect. I honestly think that at that time, nothing else so divided the British wartime public into two opposing camps. There seemed to be no half way, one either adored or loathed PEANUT BUTTER!
Please don’t get me wrong. In spite of our American friend’s efforts to augment our wartime diet, we were not there just to eat and indulge in a little grey marketing. We soon convinced them that we knew something about aircraft and the flying of them. Our ground trade cadets demonstrated that Douglas airframes and Pratt & Whitney engines held few secrets.
What did surprise the cadets was the quality and quantity of the tools which were issued to the American airframe and engine fitters. Those of our cadets who were engineering apprentices, came back drooling about the tools they had used in comparison to the ‘War Economy’ finish of the tools in our factories and what the RAF had to use. New words came into their engineering vocabulary such as ‘Stilson’ and ‘King Dick’. I don’t think our cadets got involved in another form of East/West trade but it was a little surprising how many American tools managed to drift into Grantham factories during the eight months the 9th were with us.
It was a little different when it came to our flying experience. Again at first we had to convince new USAAF aircrew after new aircrew that we [sic] not just after a joy ride. The Dakota does not have so much room ‘up in the office’ as the Lancaster but it does have a lot more windows along the fuselage. After all it was a military version of a very successful air liner. It also had a huge pair of rear doors, big enough to drive a Jeep through. Since they always seem to fly with these doors wide open, there was always a terrific view of the countryside beneath. The airliner passenger seats had gone, of course, but there were bench seats all along the side. Unless one stood up, there was not much to see out of the windows except for the sky and the wings. However, once they got the message of what we wanted to do in the way of map reading exercises, they fixed us up with boxes we could sit on round the doorway, together with a safety belt anchored back to the parachutist’s trip cables up in the roof just in case in our enthusiasm, we happened to fall out.
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Flight formalities were not minimal, they were non existant [sic]. They had never heard of ‘blood chits’ and considered them quite unnecessary (“Our C47s don’t crash, Chum, unless the pilot does something stooped”) Flying suits? (“We don’t go high enough to get cold, Chum”) Parachutes? “C47s don’t get into difficulties and you would be too low for them to open properly”. All very reassuring. We make our way over to the Dakota indicated and climb up the ladder and enter. The interior is seen to have other occupants, local yokels, Land Army girls, even Italian Prisoners of War who we had seen earlier on [sic] perched on benches outside the flight office hoping for a flip on this bright and sunny Sunday morning. Having been plied with gum and Herschey Bars, we all wait for engines to be started. From the front, one of the crew brings in a bucket which he places in the middle of the cabin. “Aim in it, not at it please” he announces and with that, off we go.
We head off into the blue and the map reading class gets going. We locate this and we identify that we mark our track on our air maps and note our changes of direction. After twenty minutes or so, one of the crew comes back and cheerfully shouts “O.K. boys, where do you reckon we are?”. We ring our present position. “Good” says he and goes back forwards. As he goes through the door, we hear him say “O.K. Skip. We’re on course”. There were apparently, the odd occasions in the early days when the ATC Cadets at the back were the only ones on the plane who were sure of their position and gave the folk up front a course for home.
It was indeed not easy to remain uncritical. There poor navigators had trained in the Mid West where the roads were dead straight and it was a case of “Follow State 66 until it crosses a river, then turn left. About ten miles on, the river will be crossed by a railroad track. Turn right and look for a small town. If you can’t find it, land near a farm and ask them to call us so that we can give you a course for home” (“Geezus, in this goddam country, before you get a chance to identify one town, you have passed over four more”).
We were only there on Sundays to see their activities on the ground. Away from Spittlegate’s airspace, the 9th were flying round the clock, desperately trying to get new crews into close formation flying, then to get squadrons to formate in Groups, and finally to get Groups to formate in Wings. Impressive enough in daylight, but when they got round to night flying, the sight of several hundred troop carriers, sometimes towing gliders, with undimmed navigation lights and master navigators and formations, was mind blowing. When all that passes over your head at six hundred to a thousand feet, the noise was terrific.
Not so impressive was the impact of the invasion on the ground. As D Day approached, the build up of the Paras in the Grantham area increased proportionately. Grantham was a focal point for both the British 1st Airborne and the American 82nd and 101st Airborne. Neither of course had been recruited on the basis of their finer feelings. The latter sadly displayed the usual ‘Over Paid, Over Sexed, and Over Here’ characteristics which led to pitched battles in Grantham’s streets, aggravated by the invasions of Nottingham’s ‘Ladies of Easy Virtue’ who arrived by the car, bus and train loads on pay nights, to be shipped back again by the Grantham and Military Police the following morning, usually the worst for wear. (I often wondered how many ATC/GTC romances started when the ATC Cadets were recruited to escort the GTC Cadets safely home through the blackout when parades ended.
On the 5th of June 1944, the 9th airfields sprang into life carrying the spearhead troops into the early airdrops of the Invasion. They suffered many casualties and returned visibly shaken. This was obviously not the war they had expected. Our honeymoon period with them evaporated. We helped but were not entertained, and as the Normandy battles developed, there were more drops and more losses. For D Day, the 9th only dropped American troops, but as the preparations for Arnhem progressed, it would be the British 1st Airborne who would be travelling with them and Fulbeck became a much greater focal point of Anglo-American cooperation.
Meanwhile, the Allied advances into France and the Low Countries had liberated German airfields closer to the front line and the first of the 9th Airforce units began preparing to move over to the Continent. This would eventually include the Command Headquarters at Grantham. They all began to make farewell noises.
By the mid summer of 1944, The Magic Air Force had flown!
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While we had been ‘enjoying’ ourselves at Fulbeck on Sundays, quite a lot had been happening back in the Squadron in Grantham. Amongst other things, we had , over the previous Syerston and Fulbeck periods, established an attachment with the RAF Regiment. In the First World War, Belton Park just outside Grantham had been the birthplace of the Machine Gun Corps. In World War Two, the same park had been chosen for the birth of the RAF Regiment. Just outside its southern boundary had been established the Regimental Headquarters, Barrack Blocks Parade Ground, and Gymnasia to train up specialist troops for the protection of RAF airfields.
Here, suitable recruits were put through their paces. The RAF had of course been teaching their airmen ditching and sea survival skills since the beginning. Now, with the increasing success of the various Resistance Movements in Occupied Europe to channel our aircrew survivors back to Britain, capture avoidance and other ‘escapology’ skills were being taught to aircrews as part of their normal training, and the RAF Regiment were just the people to teach those skills. When we were not going to Syerston of Fulbeck, we would spend a happy(?) hour of two learning the best way to use the Boche’s coal scuttle helmet to break his neck, or to use a piece of piano wire to remove his head if you think the former is too quick for your liking, as well as quite a few of the less gentle aspects of unarmed combat. Then again, how to jump out of the back of a lorry doing twenty miles per hour and use a parachute roll to prevent you breaking your own neck. Again all very exciting if not exactly pleasant
For my part, the Spring and Summer of 1944 had been the big run up to my Finals for my Higher National Certificate in Mechanical Engineering which I sat in July. The various papers were not exactly easy but I walked away feeling fairly confident. I was now waiting anxiously for the results to come out.
During the spring, ATC Headquarters had announced the staging of a three day, No.1 ATC Warrant Officers Training Course at RAF Cardington. This was to be a fairly intensive work out of RAF Rules and Regulations, Drill Instruction and the administration of big parades, and lots of other subjects which to tell the truth, seemed just a little bit irrelevant if I was leaving the ATC for a technical commission in a month or two. Much of the detail of this course is now forgotten. Perhaps., the most lasting impression I have left of Cardington was spending several hours learning all about the construction and flying of Barrage Balloons. (Balloons and Airstrips have always been a passion of mine)
All that was mostly the good to medium news. Around mid summer, our C.O. had been showing signs of overwork. Right through the previous five years, he had been tireless in running the Squadron, liaising with Spittlegate, 5 Group and the USSAF, taking a major part in the organisation of the various ‘Wings for Victory’, ‘War Weapons Week’ and similar events as well as holding down a rather difficult civilian job. Regrettably too, like so many of his generation, he was a fairly heavy smoker and lately had been putting on too much weight. His doctor read the Riot Act.
Luckily, there had been moves in the higher administration of the ATC, the result of which was the creation of a Lincolnshire Wing to coordinate the activities of the now quite considerable number of ATC Squadrons in the County. This would be a desk job, and as the senior Squadron Commander, he was promoted to Squadron Leader.
Effectively, 47(F) lost its C.O. and the senior Flight Commander was promoted to replace him. Sadly, after a month or two in his new appointment, Squadron Leader P.P.L. Stevenson suffered a massive heart attack and went into intensive care for several weeks. He survived, just, but his ATC days were over.
By the late autumn of 1944, both the Allies and the Russians were hammering at the gates of Germany. The end seemed to be in sight, even though there was still to be much bitter fighting both on the ground and in the air. The bomber offensive was at its peak, but apart from Spittlegate, Cranwell and Digby, the other airfields round Grantham were most quiet, and somehow, apart from the nightly roar of Bomber Command in the skies to the north and the very occasional air raid warning that a suicidal Luftwaffe intruder was about, the war had passed our part of Lincolnshire by.
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[signature] [missing letter] Burges [indecipherable word] (Best Regards)
[symbol] [underlined] No. 1. A.T.C. W.O.’s. Course. [symbol] [/underlined]
[underlined] Cardington. 1944. [/underlined]
[Back Row, left to right]
[underlined] Munass [/underlined] 392
[underlined] Masterson [/underlined] 4071
[underlined] Cook [/underlined] 996
[underlined] Wright [/underlined] 391
[underlined] Gabrad [/underlined] 231
[underlined] Cabboll [/underlined] 220
[underlined] Hirst [/underlined] 1053
[underlined] Andrew [/underlined] 387
[underlined] Harvey [/underlined] 877
[underlined] Bruce [/underlined] 1383
[underlined] Stevenson [/underlined] 478
[underlined] Hodgkinson [/underlined] 124
[Middle Row, left to right]
[underlined] Bishop [/underlined] 1303
[underlined] Guest [/underlined] 1990
[underlined] Lister [/underlined] 1341
[underlined] Dorricott [/underlined] 57
[underlined] Wood [/underlined] 481
[underlined] Jackson [/underlined] 2133
[underlined] Parmenter [/underlined] 1116
[underlined] Austin [/underlined] 1861
[underlined] Major [/underlined] 1456
[underlined] Watts [/underlined] 1904
[underlined] Russell [/underlined] 398
[Front Row, left to right]
[underlined] Munn [/underlined] [indecipherable number]
[underlined] Edwards [/underlined] 1476
[underlined] Powell [/underlined] 1148
[underlined] Butler [/underlined] Wolverhampton Wing.
[underlined] Hearn [/underlined] 79
[underlined] Sgt Pearson [/underlined]
[underlined] Sgt Bridges [/underlined]
[underlined] Dawson [/underlined] 1968
[underlined] Harby [/underlined] 1942
[underlined] Malier [/underlined] 1547
[underlined] Brown [/underlined] Colchester Wing.
[underlined] Bourdoe [/underlined] 38
[photograph]
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10
[photograph]
Barrage balloons being towed by their winch lorries
They can be rapidly deflated, transported to another site, and re-inflated
[photograph]
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[underlined] Chapter Eleven Anticlimax and Finale [/underlined]
August 26th 1944. It should have been a day of celebrations, but in the event, it was a bit of a damp squib.
It was my 21st Birthday and it therefore marked the end of my engineering apprenticeship. I was now a Junior Draughtsman in the Design Office of an internationally renowned company producing construction equipment. I was also the acolyte of its revered Chief Designer and we were engaged in some important and interesting design and development.
I went down to our village Post Office to collect our mail (Our isolated farmhouse home was way off the village postman’s beat). On this very day, in addition to greeting cards from our scattered family, there was one letter for which I had been waiting anxiously for a week or two. Yes, it was my exam results. With bated breath I tore it open. I HAD PASSED!
I shot off home and dashed off a letter to the Joint Selection Board to say that I now had the necessary Higher National Certificate and now awaited their instructions. This posted, I returned to an empty house. My father was now just out of intensive care in one hospital in Nottingham, after his heart attack.. My mother was in another Nottingham hospital awaiting surgery and my brother was in yet another recovering from another operation. I was dreading to think how they are going to manage when the time came for me to go. At present, not one of them was capable of looking after themselves, let alone the others.
Thank goodness it was a sunny day. For the first time in years, I went for a day’s walk in order to have a good think.
Throughout my life September, rather than January, has always been the beginning of my year. The new school year, the new OTC year, the new Air Cadet year and later on in life, the beginning of various forms of technical training programmes. This year, hopefully, it would be the beginning of a completely new life.
For 47(F) it would also be a new year. It had a new Commanding Officer who would undoubtedly want to make some changes in order to ‘make his mark’. One of his first jobs would be to establish a new ‘attachment’, now that the USAAF had gone. Recently promoted Flight Lieutenant, Albert Chapman had been one of the first officers to be appointed at the inaugural meeting of the Grantham Squadron back in January 1939. At that time, he had been a civilian driver in Spittlegate’s Transport Section, and had remained in the Section throughout the intervening years, this being unquestionably a Reserved Occupation. He therefore had a fairly firm ‘foot in the door’ at Spittlegate which he now used to re-establish 47(F)’s attachment to its original parent airfield.
Spittlegate was still a very active training station. No. 12(P)AFU was still churning out night fighter and intruder pilots, but the pressure upon them to do so was beginning to ease slightly and they seemed more than willing to welcome us back.
The overwhelming Allied air supremacy, coupled with the Luftwaffe’s increasing shortages of experienced pilots and aviation fuel, meant that our losses were beginning to fall. In fact, unbeknown to us, the Air Ministry were already beginning to question whether they now had more than enough aircrew trainees to finish the war, now that Allied forces were well established on the Continent once more.
With our usual August break over, Cadet H.Q. opened its doors to a new if uncertain future, welcoming back its old cadets and signing on the usual intake of new recruits
The Joint Selection Board had merely acknowledged my letter informing them of my H.N.C. pass and said that instructions would follow. In the daytime, I continued my Design Office work. In the evenings, on parade nights, I continued to function as S.W.O. and started lecturing again, feeling more than a little restless. On other nights, I rediscovered the delights of doing nothing that didn’t need doing, apart that is, from looking after the family. My father had returned home almost completely disabled and anxious to learn what his Squadron was doing under the new C.O. The rest of my family came home also, but they were far from fit to resume their previous lives (my brother was only twelve and still ‘poorly’). Much as I looked forward to the arrival of my papers, we could only bless the days when they never arrived.
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Eventually, towards the end of September they did arrive with a Rail Warrant to the RAF Reception Centre at Cosford, but also with instructions to stay put until further orders. Thankfully, in a way, the further orders seemed to go into ‘hold’ for most of October.
Then, I was asked once again to go before the Selection Board. There, somewhat apologetically, they informed me that recruitment for commissions in the RAFTechnical [sic] Branch had closed! They had already got enough Engineering Officers to finish the war without my help in effect. Before I had a chance to express my disgust, they started questioning me closely about the work I was doing at Aveling Barford, the construction machinery manufacturers with whom I had just completed my apprenticeship, and some general questioning about what I knew about airfield construction equipment.
Without explaining why, I was told to go back and again wait for further instructions. For another two or three weeks nothing happened, then a letter arrived offering me a commission in the RAF Airfield Construction Service. After due deliberation, I come to the conclusion that this might be useful practical experience towards my eventual membership of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers. I wrote back, accepting. Again nothing happened. Again I am called back to the Board who then questioned me about Aveling Barford’s post war ambitions (as if I would know as a 21 year old junior draughtsman!) Throats were cleared and the Chairman said that even though the war was still unfinished, the Government was giving urgent thought to the question of Britain’s part in the reconstruction of Europe and the revival of the British economy. We will need to ‘Export or Starve’ blah, blah, blah, and in this respect it was obvious to them that my future should lie in the engineering industry. Ye Gods, after nearly ten years of doing my best to get into the RAF, was this the best they could offer!
I went back home and told my parents that they still had a son, to their obvious relief. I went back to my works and told them they still had a Junior Draughtsman, and they welcomed me back. I went back to 47(F) and told them they still had a Warrant Officer and they also welcomed me back.
However the bad news was not yet over. ATC Headquarters then delivered a bombshell. Although in the event, the war in Europe still had another six months to run, the Air Ministry had decided to cut drastically, the funding of the ATC. Future recruitment into the RAF was also to be reduced and acceptance standards drastically raised. In future, Squadrons must be self supporting for all activities except those specifically details for the training of cadets of the required acceptance standards. There was a lot more to it which said in as many words that the future of the ATC was more in the shape of boy’s clubs in which ‘good citizenship’ was to be encouraged and more blah, blah, blah. Out of this, a few selected entrants will be recruited to replace servicemen due to be demobilised.
This called for a lot of hard thinking regarding the future of the Squadron. Although I for one, was far from happy about a new ‘boy’s club’ image for the Squadron, our new CO seemed quite willing to take up this new change of image. In a way, this was not surprising. Right from the start, mas Flight Commander, he had always been a great supporter of any sports and social activities, and having a teenage daughter, was very supportive of our cooperation with the GTC Company. Since their inception, there had been quite a few social events, quite apart from sharing training facilities. Although each unit had its own headquarters and to the outside observer, functioned as two separate units, parades over, apart from uniform differences, that outside observer could hardly be blamed for thinking that they were a single unit.
In view of what is to follow, I think I need to admit that I have always been (and still am) a pretty unsociable cuss. I don’t like loose crowds and I loathe ‘parties’ and I did my best to avoid getting involved in these ‘socials’.
Inevitably, a ‘Funding’ meeting had to be held. This not only included both our officers and cadets, but al [sic] a similar contingent had been invited from the GTC. They of course, having had much less financial help from official sources, had always needed to rely heavily on fund raising. We, on the other hand, had received reasonably generous grants from the Air Ministry. Now that we needed to raise funds, the GTC might give us a few tips.
Ideas were called for. The GTC officers told us that the general public, after five years of whist drives, jumble sales, ‘coffee’ mornings, summer fetes, Warship Weeks, Wings for Victory, comforts for the troops and so on, a further round of such activities was not likely to raise a significant amount of the needful, especially as the general public still believed that the ATC was fully supported financially by the RAF. Silence prevailed.
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During the previous year or so, our Headquarters had acquired a most useful addition. The RAF had offered us a redundant 60ft x 20ft wooden accommodation hut and this had been duly erected to one side of our parade ground. This had proved invaluable since it was large enough to parade the whole Squadron indoors on dark or wet evenings and enabled a certain amount of drill on the march to be carried out. It was in this hut that this combined meeting was being held, in which I was taking a determinedly back seat. Raising money for social and sporting events was definitely not my reasons for joining the ATC.
Fortunately or unfortunately (depends upon the circumstances) I have a habit of observing the existence of a number of ‘twos’ which, by what was later called ‘lateral thinking’, I would then put these together to make a dozen or so. During the foregoing discussion, I observed at the far end of the hut, the various officers sitting behind a large table, doing their best to look helpful or intelligent. To their side is the upright piano of doubtful tonal value which we have recently acquired from somewhere or other. After parades, this frequently formed the focus of a mixed group of cadets, Although never standing a chance at the International Eisteddfod, they frequently sang their intentions to ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ and ‘Hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line’ etc. accompanied by one of our cadets who could thrash out at [sic] tune on this long suffering instrument.
I also recollected that another popular ATC cadet was a great comic, and that one or two of the GTC girls had quite reasonable singing voices. Somehow at this point, William S managed to assure me that ‘All the world’s a stage, etc Much to my later embarrassment, I heard myself saying “If we could make a stage at this end of the hut, do you think we have enough talent in the two units to make up an ATC/GTC Concert Party?” Too late, I realise that I am now the centre of attention. Expressions of interest and approval from the table, hubbubs of interest from the cadets. The redoubtable Miss Owens assumes command, “What an excellent idea”, and within minutes the inevitable committee is formed and before I can protest further, I am press ganged into service. “Good” says I to myself, “If I can supervise the erection of the stage and any props they might need, I can stay well in the background and leave any ‘acts’ to the others”. – so I thought.
The committee, chaired of course by Miss Owens, agreed that the whole programme should be designed to put as many cadets onto the stage as possible from both units. Miss Owens agreed to find and stage manage, a multi character one act play. Audition as many cadets with instrumental skills. Can we think of any songs with multi part singers. Muggins suggests Pedro the Fisherman which is the rage at the moment. Accepted, and ‘on the night’ Muggins has been ‘volunteered’ into the part of Nina’s father – “One day her father said to her etc”. (How old do they think I am?)
Can you think of a finale that brings everyone back onto the stage? You are good at writing, Can you work up a sketch on these lines? I suppose I could. So it went on, but after a bit, I had to admit that I began to enjoy being something other than a technical student or a technocrat cadet. Maybe I’m not so old after all.
There was no doubt that during the two months or so that that it took to work up this Concert Party, training suffered a bit, but now that the pressure was off, no one seemed to mind. It was a long story and if anyone was a success. It brought in several hundred pounds for the two units (which was a lot of money in those days. Afterwards, it was inevitably a bit of an anti-climax. Hopes were expressed that we might stage another one next year, but in the event this proved to be a ‘one off’.
Quite suddenly, I decided that I had had enough. This was no way to finish one’s war. What can one say when your children ask “What did [underlined] you [/underlined] do in the war, Daddy?”
There is little comfort from the saying “They also serve who only stand and wait” I could say “Well, while I was waiting, I probably knocked several hundred hours off the training time of several hundred Cadets and Registered Men before they were called up. I also loaded up several hundred incendiaries, helped service a few Lancasters and swept out a hangar or two. Oh, and I nearly forgot, I probably saved the life of an injured airman”.
It had happened like this. In early January 1945, I was cycling home around midnight after one of the last rehearsals before the concert party was staged. These were the days when we had [underlined] real [/underlined] winters and for more than a week it had been freezing hard. There had been reports that skating was possible on the Grantham Canal. It was a bitterly cold, and no one was about by that time of night.
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[photograph]
[photograph]
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JOURNAL, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 16th, 1945.
YOUNG PEOPLE’S REVUE
A.T.C. and G.T.C. Show at Grantham
No 47F (Grantham) Squadron A.T.C. and No 830 Coy. G.T.C. made their debut on the stage on Friday and Saturday, when they presented their revue, “Blue, White and R.A.F. Blue.” in the A.T.C. hut and played to packed houses.
A critic who has had nothing to do with the organisation of the show says that there were three features about the revue which placed the entertainment much ahead of the usual run of amateur shows – first the number of original items put over, second the complete absence of prompting, and third, the even run of the production and the lack of irritating delays.
Considering this is the first show staged by the organisers – the producer and arranger was W/O. P.D. Stevenson, and the dramatic section was under the direction of Jun. Commandant J. Llewelyn-Owens – they are to be congratulated on overcoming three most important factors which so often mar amateur efforts.
LOVE BUG v AIR BUG
The chorus opened the programme with their signature tune, “Blue, White and R.A.F. Blue.” which was followed by “Pedro the Fisherman.”
The next item was a sketch, “Love Bug versus Air Bug,” the G.T.C. cadet being taken by C.S.L. M. Shepherd and the A.T.C. cadet by W.O. Stevenson. Then came the theme from “The Warsaw Concerto,” played on the piano by Cpl. Turner, and the chorus returned to sing, “Long ago and Far Away.” “I had a Dream” (first public presentation) and “Swinging on a Star.”
Cdt. Tuckwood, A.T.C., gave a clever dialect rendering of “Albert and the Lion.” and a humorous “Advertisement Drama” was enacted by Cdt. 1st Cl. J. Hook as Rupert Chislethorpe, S/L. Sellors as Mrs. Westerby, Cdt. W. Guilliatt as the maid, Cpl. Bramley as the narrator, and F. Sgt. V. Hutchison as Mr. Westerby.
[deleted] They were followed by Cpl. Bennett and Cdt. Sharp on their harmonicas, aided by Cpl. Howlett on the spoons and then the chorus wound up the first half of the programme with their marches past – “Forty-Seventh Squadron A.T.C..” and “Girls of the G.T.C.” [/deleted]
After the interval came a one act play. “The Batercom Door,” with the following cast: Prima donna, A/S/L. J. Bradley; young man, Cpl. F. Bramley; old gentleman, Cdt. 1st Cl. J. Hook; young lady, S/L. D. Sellors; old lady, A/S/L. P. Palmer; Boots, Cdt. Feneley.
VERY GOOD ACTING
The standard of acting was on the whole quite high. The principles had been chosen with care, and they showed an ease which was really refreshing.
Though all did well, Cdt. Hook deserves special mention. He was undoubtedly the star actor, and with more experience, this young man could create a reputation. Praise must also be given to June Bradley for her changing moods as the prima donna.
It was unusual to find so many original items in an amateur show – songs, a sketch and dramatic poem. These were the work of W/O. Stevenson, and their enthusiastic reception should encourage him to produce more.
The final tableau was a fitting end to a most successful show. While a poem describing the work done by ex-cadets of both A.T.C. and G.T.C. was declaimed, representatives of the different services into which they eventually go (not forgetting the miner !) marched on to the stage, and ended by singing, “There’ll Always Be an England.”
A TRIFLE STIFF
A little criticism may be levelled at the combined chorus of A.T.C. and G.T.C.; they were just a trifle stiff and were far too serious. The voices were well blended, but they need more practice to bring out the volume.
Make-up was by Junior Commandants Mrs. Worth, J. Llewelyn-Owens and M. Gardner.
An appeal was made on the opening night for the two corps’ welfare funds by Mr. W.J. Marshall, chairman of the welfare committee, who said that A.T.C. plus G.T.C. equally X.T.C.
The chorus consisted of: A.T.C. – F./Sgt. V. Hutchison, Cpls. F. Bramley, F. Howlett and Beecham, Cdts. 1st. Cl. J. Hook and Ebb. Cdt. 2nd. Cl. Charity: G.T.C. – Co. C/S/L M. Shepherd, S/L D. Sellors, A/S/L/s J. Bradley and P. Palmer, Cdts. P. Aspland, B. Ward, A. Nickerson, J. Parker, V. Edgley, B. Goodacre, W. Guilliatt, J. Marchall and C. Robinson. The accompanist was Miss R. Chapman.
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[embossed crest]
Royal Air Force Station,
Spitalgate,
GRANTHAM,
Lincs.
Ref: C/49/76/P1 15th January, 1945.
Dear Mr. Stevenson,
re Accident to Blenheim V Aircraft No. AZ.993 near Harlaxton on 5th January, 1945.
I have learned of the invaluable and extremely kind assistance that you rendered to Warrant Officer R.C. Ford, who was one of the two pilots in the above aircraft when it crashed at 23.23 hours on the date stated and I am writing to ask you to accept my most sincere and grateful thanks for all that you did.
I am unable to commend you toohighly [sic] for the initiative you displayed immediately you heard the call for “help” and after you had located Warrant Officer Ford. Your action in covering Warrant Officer Ford with your own greatcoat, having regard to the bitterly cold night, was most thoughtful and kindly.
As you already know the other pilot in the aircraft (Flying Officer G.G. McGolrick) was killed instantly. Warrant Officer Ford was, miraculously, only slightly injured but he had been “wandering about” for one hour when you found him and had you not acted as you did it is most probable that he would have suffered seriously from exposure after the crash. He did develop pneumonia but as far as can be seen at present he is recovering satisfactorily.
Your action in this instance was in keeping with the fundamental principles of the Air Training Corps and, naturally, it is with personal pride that I write this letter to you as you are a member of the Squadron affiliated to this Station. Acts such as yours strengthen the bonds of mutual friendship and understanding between the Royal Air Force and the Air Training Corps.
Yours Sincerely
[signature] (J. COX)
Group Captain, Commanding,
[underlined] R.A.F. Station, SPITALGATE [/underlined]
Warrant Officer P.D.Stevenson,
No. 47 (F) Squadron,
Air Training Corps,
[underlined] High Street, GRANTHAM [/underlined]
[NOTE THAT EVEN THE GROUP CAPTAIN Oi/c RAF SPITALGATE HAD, BY 1945 TO USE [indecipherable words] NOTE PAPER]
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In those days, everybody seemed to whistle the catchy tunes of the day and I was most probably giving ‘Pedro the Fisherman’s’ tune a further airing. As I reached a point where the main road ran parallel to and close to the Grantham to Nottingham canal, I was surprised to hear a faint voice calling “Help, Help”. I naturally assumed that it was some late night skater who had got into difficulties. Dumping my bike, I clambered over the far side. Not risking the ice, I ran back to one of the bridges, crossed over and eventually found him stretched out near the edge and obviously injured. He was in flying gear and he told me that he and his instructor had taken off in a Blenheim trainer from the nearby Harlaxton airfield, when both engines failed and they had crashed some distance away. In spite of damage to his back and one leg, he had tried to find his instructor, but was unable to do so. He had crawled around about for an hour or so, finally crawled along the canal bank until he could go no further, calling for help but no one had heard him until he had heard me whistling.
He was obviously badly shocked and deathly cold, so I made him as comfortable as possible it was obvious that he was in no condition to walk back to the road, so I covered him up with my coat and told him not to move until I could summon help. Luckily there was a nearby house who let me ring Spittlegate sick quarters who sent out an ambulance and a search party. The former got him stretchered up and taken away. The search party admitted that they had no knowledge of the area, so back we went and spent another hour looking for the crash. Eventually, we found enough dead mutton to feed a hundred, (they had apparently crashed into a flock of sheep) Following the blood and gore, we found the remains of the Blenheim but the cockpit area was completely missing. Forty yards or so further on, we found the instructor, still strapped into his seat and who had obviously died on impact. There was nothing else I could do so, frozen to the core, I made my way home in the very small hours.
A few days later, I received a latter [sic] from Spittlegate’s CO thanking me for my “extremely kind assistance blah, blah, blah” and assuring me that my action “was in keeping with the fundamental principles of the Air Training Corps blah, blah, blah”. (As you may have guessed by now, I was getting a bit bitter at the way things had gone). What made it worse, somehow or other the Grantham Journal got hold of the story and the next thing I knew was it being splashed centre front page.
By the end of January, my mind was made up. Removing one of my Warrant Oficer’s [sic] ‘Crowns’ (for old time’s sake) I sent my uniform to the cleaners. Shortly afterwards, when Headquarters were deserted, I hung my uniform behind my office door, put my paperwork, files and training manuals in order. Closing my office door for the last time, I went downstairs, placed a letter of resignation on the Adjutant’s desk. Checking that the place was secure, I dropped the latch on the front door and closed it quietly behind me. I posted my keys through the letterbox. The sound they made as they hit the doormat signified the end of my war. After ten years of being a Cadet, I was now just a plain ‘civvie’.
I supposed it was now my job to do something about ‘winning the peace’.
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The big moment comes when the instructor, waving his bats, signals you to release the tow line and you make a steady, if hardly dignified descent to earth. (The Primary looks pretty fundamental as a flying machine, and its glide angle ensures that there is no risk of you landing in another nearby field). Progressively, you are pulled higher and released later, until the day comes when your log book proudly records that you have stayed up a full minute!
Having done so, you now have to pay more. Your previous flights cost you two shillings and sixpence each. A rough calculation tells us that this was about one fiftieth of a skilled man’s wages in those days,. From now on the price is doubled. By the time you are able to stay up a bit longer, you are introduced to the Club’s next acquisition, a Grunau Baby intermediate glider. This was more or less equivalent to the Slingsby Cadet which the ATC cadets were then using. However, Cadets were taught from scratch in dual control gliders, and never went though [sic] the slide/ low hop/ high hop routine we had to follow on the Primary.
I had reached the point, having stayed aloft for five minutes in the Grunau, and had thereby gained my Second Class Gliding Certificate, when I had to leave the Club. This was a great disappointment as the Club was not only hoping to invest in a high performance sailplane but was also planning to have a week’s camp at the Long Mynd, the Mecca in those days for glider pilots in Central England.
It came about like this. In 1945, I had a week’s cycling holiday in the south of England, my first ‘civvie’ holiday since before the war. In the June of 1946, I decided to do the same, this time exploring the South Wales area a bit. On the way back, I met up with two Lincolnshire lassies who had been doing the same. How one of these became that ‘girl somewhere out there’ who was prepared to put up with this ‘odd fish’ and was prepared to wait until he passed all his technical examinations, is too long a story to be included here. However, within three months we had decided that this was ‘it’, and as soon as my swotting days were over, we would get married. The first priority in the meantime, was to save up enough to do so.
In those days, personal finances were on a very different basis from today. Hire purchase agreements, apart from a mortgage on a house, were only for the impecunious who had not the ‘moral fibre’ to wait until one saved enough to buy something which you needed to pay ‘cash on the nail’. As for daring to go to the Bank Manager (who in those days, you actually knew by sight!), and having grovelled in front of his desk and asked him for a loan, you were definitely ‘guilty until proved innocent’. Something had to go, and amongst our many drastic economies, gliding (which was now getting quite expensive), was one of the first, and to all intents and purposes, that was the last contact I had with aeronautics for the next twenty years or so apart from flights in commercial aircraft.
We got married in 1948. In the next two decades raised two delightful daughters and saw them through school and University, enjoying vicariously their university days denied to us through the intervention of the war years. Our respective DIY skills were used to restore two houses. I had become a Senior Designer with several successful construction equipment designs to my credit. I had left design and put my former instructional skills to good use by becoming Sales and Service Training Manager in another construction, quarrying and mining machinery manufacturer. In the process I had gained the necessary practical experience to be elected a full Member of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers.
I had left Grantham about the time when flying ceased at Spittlegate. Over the years I would see it become a Territorial Army Transport Depot, the former hangars and tarmac, home to hundreds of trucks. RAF Digby too, after a brief period as a satellite training outstation for Cranwell, had also ceased flying and had become a hush hush signals establishment. Waddington and Scampton had become V Bomber bases. Cranwell, still flying, was also into the jet age for their traine4rs, but I was not inspired by jets. Like diesel locomotives, they lacked ‘soul’ I felt.
My work over the years had involved a far [sic] amount of air travel. I had crossed the Atlantic at a time when BOAC commemorated the earliest commercial flights by presenting you with an impressive certificate commemorating the fact that you had successfully and safely crossed the ‘Herring Pond’ and ditto when you crossed the Equator. I had flown in an early flight of the DeHavilland Comet, the world’s first successful jet airliner, together with several other ‘firsts’. However, the higher you flew, the less it appeared to be real flying.
At one period, I had, as one of my departmental instructors, a man who was the chief Instructor of the Trent Valley Gliding Club who did his best to persuade me to join. At the time I had neither the time nor the available funds to finance such indulgence, so I resolutely resisted such temptation.
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I was now fifty, and that is an age when one takes stock, looking forwards to unattained ambitions and thinking back to past achievements and experiences. By now the wounds and the resentments of never getting into the RAF, had, to all intents and purposes, healed over. I got to thinking of the summer days before the war, when we lay in the grass along Cold Harbour Lane and watched the biplanes side slipping their way over our heads to land at Spittlegate. Of ‘Faithful Annies’ taking us over the Solent and circling over Grantham. Of Lancasters over Bottesford and Syerston, Dakotas over Fulbeck.
Deep down, some small ember which had been dormant for thirty years or so, started to glow faintly.
I crept into the local model shop. Yes, Airfix do an Anson kit. I buy it, a tube of styrene cement and some tins of Humbrol enamel, and spend a happy week or two building the Coastal Command version which was placed on a shelf in the spare bedroom. It was surprising how often I needed to go in there for a peep at the finished product. (There’s no fool like an old fool, is there?) Having relived my Public School’s Air Cadet Wing Days with its help, I think it would be nice to convert it to an Anson Trainer, so off comes the turret and pot of Training Yellow is bought. Shortly after that, the Annie is joined by an ‘Oxbox’, and then a Blenheim. Why not a Hawker Hind trainer? Easy enough, they were all Airfix, but when it came to the Avro Tutor and the Armstrong Whitworth Atlas which had been used in the 3FTS days, it was back to ‘build from scratch’.
Now well into my ‘Second Cadetship’, two years later, I had seven cases containing the forty two aircraft which had flown from Spittlegate from its opening in 1917 to when it ceased as an operational airfield in 1948. What now? Between times, I had of course built a Lancaster and a Dakota to bring back old times, but it had been nice to work to a theme.
One day, when listening to Radio Lincolnshire, I heard that the farmer who owned a goodly part of the old RAF Metheringham airfield, together with a group of local enthusiasts, had restored some of the buildings at the former bomber base, to form the basis of a small museum and heritage centre to the memory of the three hundred or so aircrew who had lost their lives on operations from there. When the number of the squadron was mentioned, I sat up sharpish, as they say. It was 106 Squadron. The 106 who had been briefly at Spittlegate in the late Thirties. The 106 which had been ‘our’ Squadron, when 47(F) had been attached to Syerston.
Equally sharpish, I joined the ‘Friends of Metheringham Airfield’. I took over the maintenance and repair of the many aircraft models which they acquired. The next job was to make them some cases with models and captions, covering the aircraft history of 106 from its WW1 formation, its reforming in 1938, though [sic] its days of Hawker Hinds, Fairey Battles, Handley Page Hampdens, a nice job of converting a Lancaster kit into a Manchester, and their last days with the Lancaster itself.
There was no doubt that ‘The Bug’ had bitten once more, and after I had completed a few more displays for Metheringham, the next project materialised. I knew that the owners of Fulbeck Hall had set up, within the actual rooms, a small museum covering the planning and execution of the Market Garden operation, the airdrop at Arnham, which had been carried by the Dakotas of the 9th Troop Carrying Command flying from the airfields at RAF Fulbeck and elsewhere. Attention on this museum was focussed in the early 1980s when our house provided accommodation for the Veterans of No.250 Coy RASC of the 1st Airborne Division who went into Arnham in Horsa Gliders towed by Halifax tugs. Having been stationed in our village during the run up to the drop, for most of the 1980s they had a reunion here which naturally included a visit to Fulbeck Hall. I got involved and made up several cases of models showing the British Halifax/Horsa and U.S. C-47(Dakota)/Waco glider combinations, and other aircraft related incidents. Later, Fulbeck Hall changed hands and sadly the new owners closed the museum. Most of the memorabilia went over to Holland to the Airborne Museum in Arnham, but the models now are on permanent display in the Thorpe Camp museum in East Lincolnshire.
Another announcement on Radio Lincolnshire presented the next challenge. The most active local authority on Lincolnshire has always been the North Kesteven District Council who are also extremely active in supporting and initiating aviation heritage in this, the ‘Home of the RAF’ and an integral part of ‘Bomber County’. In combination with the staff at RAF Digby, the wartime Operations Room was restored and another museum created. Although Lincolnshire has always been referred to as ‘Bomber County’, Fighter Command was by no means absent. Before the war, Digby had changed from being a Flying Training School to a Fighter Station, a Sector Station of No. 12 Fighter Command. Again, between times I had ‘adopted’ RAF Coleby Grange as one of those largely forgotten satellite stations whose night fighters and intruders seemed to lack the aura of the Glamour Boys who were flying the Spitfires at the base station at Digby. Again working to a theme, initially for my own amusement, I had developed a display of
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[missing letters]NGSBY Type 5 GRUNAU BABY 2
[technical drawing]
A single-seat intermediate sailplane built by Slingsby under licence from Germany. Of conventional wooden construction, the Grunau was built by many people from plans sold by the B.G.A. It was also built post war by [missing letters]iotts of Newbury as the Eon Baby. q.v.
Wing span: 13.57m., 44’ 6’’. Length: 6.10m., 19’ 8’’.
Wing area: 14.21 sq.m., 153 sq.ft. Aspect ratio: 13.
Wing sections: Gottingen 535 at root, symmetrical tip. Braced wing, with no airbrakes or flaps.
Weights: Tare 157 kg., 346 lbs. A.U.W. 250 kg., 550 lbs.
Wing loading: 17.68 kg./sq.m., 3.62 lbs./sq.ft. Max L/D: 17.
Placed into production at Kirkbymoorside in 1935. The price was £137.10.0 in 1939.
CLOUDCRAFT DICKSON PRIMARY
[technical drawing]
A single-seat primary glider of wooden construction, designed by Mr. Roger S. Dickson, and built by the Cloudcraft Glider Co., Southampton, in 1930. Many built by gliding club members.
Wing span: 10.45 m., 34’ 3 1/2’’. Length: 5.28 m., 17’ 4’’.
Wing area: 15.79 sq.m., 170 sq.ft. Aspect ratio: 7.
Wing section: Clark Y-H. Wire braced wings, no airbrakes or flaps.
Undercarriage type: Main skid only.
Weights: Tare 81.65 kg., 180 lbs.
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all the aircraft and their Squadrons who had served at Coleby Grange during its brief history. These were offered to the new Digby Operations Room Museum and were quickly accepted. Under the leadership of the then F/Sgt Curry, the museum had both grown and prospered. However, when I became a ‘Friend’, the concentration seemed to be entirely on the memorabilia of the many Squadrons (mostly RCAF) who had served in or passed through the Digby airfield. Little credit seemed to be given to its satellite airfields of RAF Coleby Grange and RAF Wellingore, and almost nothing of Digby’s long history as a Flying Training School in the 1920s and 1930s. I decided to fill in the gaps, and after five years or so, there were models displaying the insignia of every Squadron which served, however shortly, in all three stations, something which apparently delights every visiting veteran who, of course is principally interested in [underlined] his [/underlined] Squadron. The Flying Training School history is similarly represented by models of all the aircraft used, together with a model of the Belfast Hangar, that icon of 1920s airfield architecture.
Until I came to live here in Lincoln, I had always been in the popular misconception that Lincoln’s part in the First World War was principally the Tank Story, plus a load of other munitions. It had been a bit of an eye opener to discover that far more important was its role as the country’s largest manufacturing centre for aircraft production. That too, is a long and interesting story.
For some time I had considered the possibility of modelling a complete set of the twelve aircraft made by the three principal engineering firms in Lincoln at that time. Only two of those were available as kits at 1/72nd scale and only one at 1/48th scales. With the intention of these eventually being on permanent display in one of the museum/heritage centres, and also being used for lecturing purposes. I decided to model these at 1/48th scale, since ‘build from scratch’ is much easier at that scale. I had made the first few of these when a ‘Made in Lincoln’ theme was declared as the city’s Millennium project which naturally gave an impetus. Two year’s work and a display of these went the rounds in a series of exhibitions and lectures. Having served that task, they too are now on permanent display at the Digby Ops Room Museum.
Much contact with North Kesteven District Council’s tourist and heritage unit in the meantime, led to an invitation to display my ‘build from scratch’ techniques at their annual ‘Craft and Modelling Day’ at the Cranwell Aviation Heritage Centre, another joint NKDC/RAF museum project. For quite a few years, this was an enjoyable chance to meet up with other aeromodellers. However, it was noticeable that the museum, though graced with a case full of beautifully crafted models of a general interest, the museum as a whole had few models specifically relating to Cranwell’s long aviation history. The various individual aspects of that history are excellently illustrated by extensive wall displays of photographs and text, but lacked what might be described as ‘three dimensional’ impact. Becoming yet another ‘Friend’, I made a start. Further research saw me beavering away in the College Library. This in turn led on to me making contact with the present day Headquarters of the Air Training Corps which is now based at Cranwell.
Here, I was welcomed back into the fold as a ‘Veteran’. I had previously made contact again with today’s 47(F) and gave talks about the Squadron’s early days. Contact too has been made with the King’s School Combined Cadet Corps unit, today’s descendent of its OTC. This now has two uniforms, Khaki/Camouflage and RAF Blue, in more or less equal numbers, though I doubt today that RAF parentage is represented in the same proportion.
My circle was complete. My back may not be so straight, my knees no longer march, I no longer parade in uniform, but whether I am in one or other of the museums surrounded by the memories invoked or surrounded by cadets (both boys and girls now) my heart is still young and on parade with them. Once a Cadet, always a Cadet? Or is it just Delayed Adolescence?
---O---
In my introduction, I made some acknowledgements and words of thanks, but I think it right that this narrative should end more specifically.
I remember, and ask you to remember, those hundreds of aircrew in 207 and 106 Squadrons RAF and those of the 9th TCC to which we were attached, who unhesitating went out to ‘Give Their Yesterdays’ and in particular, Ken Masters who went with me to the Air Cadet Wing Camp at Selsea. He was just one of the fifty King’s School boys who were killed in the Services in WW2 but he was my best school chum.
Also to all those who served in the various cadet units who, whether or not they joined up or like me, ‘also served’ but nevertheless contributed much to this story, [sic]
Dublin Core
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Title
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Cadet 1935-1945 Peter D Stevenson
Identifier
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BStevensonPDStevensonPDv1
Description
An account of the resource
Peter Stevenson's account of his service in the Officer Training Corps at Grantham and later in the Air Training Corps. Tells of his life in Grantham and the effect of the war on the town. Also his involvement post war in museums and projects to record the wartime activities that took place locally.
Creator
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Peter Stevenson
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
2006
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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115 typewritten sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Photograph
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Grantham
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Steve Baldwin
106 Squadron
207 Squadron
5 Group
air sea rescue
animal
Blenheim
bombing
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
civil defence
crash
entertainment
ground personnel
home front
Lancaster
Manchester
military service conditions
RAF Barkstone Heath
RAF Bottesford
RAF Cranwell
RAF Grantham
RAF Harlaxton
RAF Northolt
RAF Syerston
sanitation
station headquarters
training
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force